Dance To My Rules
1052 Words
Priscilla Pov
He was right there at the bench waiting for me. I watched him check his wrist several times and dial my number but it all went to voicemail.
I want to know how long he's willing to wait. How long he can be patient enough. But he stands, cussing and walking from one end to the other, his eyes scanning the street for me but I'm right behind him yet he couldn't see me.
I finally came out acting like I'm being caught up or held by traffic.
He grabs my arm.
“You're late” his voice is cold.
It has always been, since three years of being his wife.
“Let me go you're hurting me”
“You're getting on my last nerve…” I don't wait for him to finish, I don't wait for him to ruin me with his words anymore.
“Cut the crap, do you want this divorce or not?”
He is shocked, I haven't spoken to him like this before.
I run his hand through his hair, a habit he has developed each time he's mad at me.
I'm not going to let you off the hook, my dearest husband. I will love to watch you beg on your knees and have you crawl and wish you never let me go even for a second.
My revenge will be to bruise your ego.
“There is a charity auction happening today by 6pm. I will love to go with you”
“Is that it?”
“Yes, I will text you the address”
“Fine”
As much as I want to let him go. I want to feel what it is like to be loved even though it's fake and out of pity I don't mind.
I got down from the vehicle that conveyed me to the auction, my eyes searching for someone. My husband.
He was right there, in a black custom made suit, handsome as always. His hair sleek back just like I wanted.
He sees me and comes closer, our eyes locked and there that same look again like he is captivated by my beauty.
Butterflies in my tummy but it was all gone when he opened his mouth. His words hurt like blade.
He never praised me, he never acknowledged my beauty for once even though I went all out just to look pretty for him.
“You look so pale, are you on diet or something because whatever you're doing is not working”
I staggered behind almost losing my balance but he caught me and held my hand and I realized this is the first time we ever held hands together. The first and might probably be the last.
The little tiny gesture I have yawn for but denied by him.
“Is that Mr Beth and Mrs Beth, they have never been this close before” someone says.
“I thought they are having a divorce, probably they have a change of heart. They look so gorgeous together” compliment from strangers who saw us outside.
My husband took my hand and we walked hand in hand to the auction.
The bidding started, it started with my painting. The one I painted in Paris while at school. An image of a girl fading, just the story of my life, every single part of me was slowly fading away.
My paintings had meanings, meanings I thought my husband could see which is why I brought him here.
“This painting will be going for a $5000”
I raised my hand for a hundred while my husband raised $250,000.
Some other dude bid for $500,000 but then my husband bid for $800,000.
“This painting doesn't even cost that much, why should Mr Beth bid for it this much”
“Probably he loves his wife so much”
“Going for $800,000, going. Gone” the speaker hits, declaring close to the product.
My husband bought the paintings. I smiled at him, took his hand and whispered.
“Thank you”
But he snaps my hand away.
“I didn't buy it for you”
“Take it to 10 miles Oak Street”
He types on his phone, anger blooms inside of me.
He didn't buy the painting for me. He bought it for her.
The painting that says so much about me, a piece of me. He's taking it to her.
I never expected him to be this cruel. I can't stand him sitting right beside me anymore. I don't think I can share the same air as him.
“Where are you going? The auction isn't even over. You invited me here and you're the first to leave” he grips my hand when I try making my way to the door.
No sign of remorse, was I expecting one probably in my grave.
“What do you care about? You literally don't care about my well-being. I shouldn't have trusted you in the first place”
I snatched my hand from him and walked away tears blurred my eyes. I ran as fast as I could.
It was raining all soaked and drained wet. That was the last before I fell to my knees and darkness slowly creeped in while fighting for my life.
I woke up on a hospital bed, Myra beside me looked so worried.
“Where am I ?” I asked confused how I managed to get to a hospital, the last I remembered was passing out.
“You passed out on the street but a stranger brought you to the hospital”
My best friend Myra says beside me.
“Probably you should stop” she takes my hand like it's going to knock some sense into my head but instead I shake my head.
“No”
Grabbing my phone from the side table. The light from my phone glowed. He hasn't even called or texted since that day.
It's been two days since I was knocked out yet my husband doesn't care if I die or not.
I called his number, he didn't pick on the first ring but later picked.
“I’m busy, Priscilla,” he reluctantly says over the phone.
“Do you still want this divorce?”
- Writer
