Chapter 6: I Can’t Touch You
1377 Words
The front door slams shut behind Roberta, the sound reverberating through the house like a gunshot. My heart races, a wild thing trapped in my chest, as Oliver’s footsteps pound up the stairs, growing louder, closer. I don’t need to turn around to know he’s coming for me. He saw the hurt in my eyes, the raw frustration I couldn’t hide when I caught him kissing her. There’s no way he’ll let that go.
I’m halfway through packing my suitcase, my fingers trembling as I fold clothes with frantic urgency. The bedroom feels too small, the air too thick, and I can’t bring myself to look up when the door creaks open. His presence fills the room, heavy and oppressive, like a storm about to break. My pulse hammers in my ears, drowning out the world, but I keep my eyes on the suitcase, willing myself to stay strong.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His voice is low, laced with fury, a dark edge that makes my breath catch. I can’t avoid him anymore.
I turn to face him, my eyes already brimming with tears I refuse to let fall. His jaw is clenched, his eyes flashing with something that looks like betrayal, but I know better than to mistake it for care. “I can’t do this anymore,” I say, my voice shaking but resolute. “I’m leaving.”
His eyes darken, and he crosses the room in two swift strides, his hand grabbing my arm with a force that makes me flinch. His fingers dig into my skin, a stinging heat that sends a shiver through me. “Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?” His grip tightens, his face inches from mine, his voice a growl. “You’re my wife, Anny. You don’t get to speak to me that way.”
I try to pull away, the burn of his touch lingering on my arm. “Let go of me,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, trembling with defiance and fear.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he hisses, his breath hot against my cheek. But beneath the anger in his eyes, I see something else—fear, buried deep, flickering like a shadow.
“To hell with this,” I mutter, more to myself than to him. His surprise is fleeting, a c***k in his cold facade, and it fuels me. “I can’t keep living like this, Oliver. I’m suffocating. Every day in this dead marriage feels like I’m drowning. I married you because I had no choice, because my father forced me into it, but I thought we could at least live—find some kind of normal. But this? It’s impossible. You don’t even touch me. You haven’t since our wedding day. And I’m supposed to act like everything’s fine? Like I’m not invisible? I’m done. I won’t stay in a marriage where I’m nothing.”
He stands there, silent, his gaze dropping to the floor as if my words are a weight he can’t carry. When he finally speaks, his voice is cold, distant, almost hollow. “You don’t understand,” he mutters.
I blink, confusion cutting through my anger. “What don’t I understand?” I snap, my voice sharp with frustration. “You can’t even look at me without turning away.”
He exhales, a sharp, ragged sound, his eyes avoiding mine. “I can’t touch you,” he says, the words so quiet they’re almost lost, but they carry a weight that makes the air feel thick, suffocating.
“What do you mean you can’t touch me?” I shake my head, a mix of disbelief and fury rising in my chest. “Are you serious? What kind of sick game is this?”
His gaze flickers to mine, then drops to his hands, clenched at his sides. “I signed a contract when I agreed to marry you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, each word heavy with something I can’t name. “It says I have to keep you… a virgin. For the rest of your life.”
I freeze, the world tilting beneath me. The air turns to molasses, thick and unbreathable. “What did you just say?” My voice breaks, disbelief seeping into every syllable.
He doesn’t look at me, his eyes fixed on the floor. “That’s what the agreement says.”
I can’t process it. The words are absurd, grotesque, like something out of a nightmare. “This is my father’s doing, isn’t it?” I say, a bitter laugh escaping my lips, sharp and jagged. “God, it’s so like him. Treating me like some prize to be locked away, untouched, preserved. That’s why you act like I’m nothing, isn’t it? Why you’re with Roberta—because I’m just a pawn in this twisted game. You’re no better than him.”
His face hardens, but he shrugs, as if my words don’t cut him. “Maybe,” he mutters. “Maybe that’s exactly why.”
I shake my head, my heart a chaotic mess of anger, betrayal, and disbelief. “I don’t even know why I’m still here, stuck in this ridiculous mess.”
I turn back to my suitcase, my hands moving faster now, desperate to escape. But his hands are on me again, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward him with a force that makes me stumble. I crash into his chest, his body hard and unyielding, and for a moment, I’m frozen. His breath is shallow, his chest rising and falling against mine, the heat of him overwhelming. Our faces are inches apart, and something twists inside me—a warmth, a pull I shouldn’t feel for the man who’s caused me so much pain.
His eyes soften, just for a second, and I see something raw, something human—regret, maybe, or guilt. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice so quiet it’s almost lost in the space between us.
For the first time in years, I see him not as the cold stranger I married, but as a man, broken in his own way, carrying a burden I don’t understand. It makes me wonder—could there have been something real between us, buried beneath all this? But before I can grasp the thought, he leans closer, his face dangerously near mine. The air hums with tension, a crackling energy that makes my skin prickle. His lips part, as if he’s about to say something, and my breath catches, my body betraying me with a flicker of longing.
A knock at the door shatters the moment. “Come in,” Oliver barks, stepping back just enough to break the spell.
Maria steps inside, her eyes darting nervously between us. “Mr. Adams,” she says, her voice timid, “your parents are waiting downstairs.”
I blink, my mind scrambling to catch up. “My parents?” My voice sounds distant, strange, like it belongs to someone else. I can’t make sense of anything anymore.
“Thank you, Maria,” Oliver says curtly, then turns to me. His expression is unreadable now, but his voice is low, urgent. “Please, Anny, don’t say a word about this to anyone. If your father finds out I told you, I’m in serious trouble. He’d kill me.”
The weight of his words hits me like a stone, the underlying threat chilling my blood. Is my father capable of that? The man who sold me into this marriage—what else is he capable of? Oliver’s fear feels real, and it shakes me. “Okay,” I whisper, my throat tight, turning away from him, my mind a whirlwind.
Everything is a mess—a twisted game where I’m just a pawn, and I don’t know the rules. I can’t escape, not yet, but I don’t know how much longer I can survive this. Agnes’s words echo in my head: Oliver’s carrying a secret, something that changed him. Now I know part of it, but it only deepens the mystery. What else is he hiding? And what does it mean for me, trapped in this prison of a marriage?
- Writer
