FRAYING THREADS

Rain was pouring outside. The yard had gotten swampy and a sheet of white shrouded everything. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. If it wasn't for the rain, then everything would have been bathed in warm sunlight. Alice glanced at the clock on her crème walls. She sucked in a deep breath before sliding diced vegetables off a cutting board and into a waiting pot of water. The house was quiet. Deathly quiet. The only sound was that of the torrential rains outside.

Alice covered the pot and turned to stare out the window. Roscoe, her Alaskan Malamute padded to her side and snuggled her feet. A small smile crept on her face. During the past few weeks, Roscoe had become her main source of happiness. She knelt down and scratched his favourite spot. While she was on the floor with Roscoe, the front door swung open. Alice shot to her feet and gripped the edge of the granite countertop in shock. Roscoe sniffed the air and bounded towards the entrance.

There was no barking. Just the hushed sounds of someone removing wet clothing. Since she didn't hear Roscoe, Alice cautiously made her way around to the entrance as well. There stood her husband, stepping out of his shoes and removing socks and coat. His hazel eyes met her brown ones for a short moment before she looked away.

"You're home early," she forced out in dismay. It was raining so heavily that she didn't even hear when he drove in.

"Hn," he said, before walking past her, wet clothes in tow.

Alice hung her head low and wrung the folds of her sweater. Roscoe looked between his lady's dejected figure and his master's retreating one, trying to figure out which one to stay with.

The woman shuffled back into the kitchen to attend to her pot. She added the rest of her ingredients and sat down, grabbing a recipe book in the process. Roscoe crawled beneath her chair and licked her feet. As she flipped through the pages displaying pictures of tantalizing desserts, she caught sight of her wedding ring. The sparkling blue sapphire stone glistened from the desolate, isolated spot that she had cast it earlier that week. She just could not find it within herself to throw the contradictory object away.

A tear fell onto the page and soaked through the dark chocolate brownies that were printed on it. Alice covered her face with her hands and slammed the book shut. She clamped her mouth shut, smothering the sobs, determined that he would not allow him to hear her cry.

The rain continued to pour, and the house remained silent, though the family head had already entered. Warm cooking scents filled the cold place, and if it was another house, then no doubt the smell of beef stew with colcannon would have lifted people's spirits, but this household, the Kazami household, was different. A stifling gloom pervaded the air constantly, even when visitors were over. It was this that Alice Kazami was struggling to adjust to. This foreign dread. She dried her eyes and rose from her chair, heading towards the meal she was preparing. When she set the table, she did so for one. She could not bring herself to dine with him. Being in the same room as him was draining. Instead, she would place his meal neatly and elegantly on the dining table while she would simply fill her plate from the pot and retreat to a window seat well out of sight. So, that evening, as was the custom, she did the same.

He sat wordlessly, not even sparing her a glance.

He waited until she fled from his presence to begin eating. Very slowly. He savored every bite, though his face remained indifferent. Even though he thought the taste divine, as of late, he could barely manage to eat half of the meals he got. Roscoe was eating less too. It was as if sorrow seeped into the food, and bitterness into the water.

Rising from the table, he picked up his half full plate and discarded the remains. After washing what he used, he went upstairs to what used to be their bedroom. Meanwhile downstairs, Alice stored leftovers and cleaned. She lingered till she could find no further chore to be done. With Roscoe in tow, she mounted the stairs, the thought of a bath in the back of her mind. Bath time used to be a good time for her. One of certain relaxation and occasionally a time for bonding, but now, none of those existed. The only possibility that baths held for her now was death. More death. Just the thought was sickening. Although he had changed, Shun was still her husband and she still loved him dearly. Causing him more pain through suicide was not an option.

She undressed and submerged herself into the warm fluid. That was all she had to touch her now. To caress her. Water, air, clothes and Roscoe. She hadn't felt the touch of Shun's skin for what felt like ages. He hadn't even cared to look at her anymore. He had closed her out, just like he did when his mother died.

Alice whimpered at the memory and sank deeper into the water. He was acting much worse now than then, but that was to be expected. The circumstances were different. She washed, dried and dressed herself absently. To get to her room, she had to pass another bedroom. It was previously reserved for a special family member, but now, it was an ordinary guest room. As she passed, she peeked inside. It was dark and empty. Desolate. Abandoned.

Tears filled her eyes and a sharp pain ripped through her belly. Doubling over, she sank to the floor with a loud gasp. Roscoe came bounding down the hall towards her, barking worriedly. She grabbed him and pulled him into a hug once he was close enough. Burying her head into his fur, Alice cried hysterically. Roscoe whimpered as she tightened her hold . Memories began to flood her mind. She remembered how Shun had been so excited when they were decorating the room. He had wanted everything to be perfect and refused to let her lift a finger. She remembered how he used to rub her swollen stomach and talk to their child. She remembered how he used to kiss her tenderly and assure her that everything would be alright.

She did not hear the footsteps quickly coming closer. She only felt a hand on her shoulder and hair tickling the back of her neck. Slowly, she looked up. When she saw Shun kneeling down, looking at her with concern in her eyes, she shrank back into a corner and held her head down.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She whimpered apologies over and over again.

Shun swore softly then eased Roscoe out of her grip. The dog panted for breath and retreated from Alice a bit. He closed his eyes and pulled her close to him. She flinched and tried to stifle a series of coughs.

"Shh. You don't have anything to apologize for."

Alice buried her face into his shirt and shook her head. "No. I-If I had listened to you then I wouldn't have met in that accident. Alaya wouldn't have died. A-and I would still be able to g-give you more children. It's my fault. Please forgive me."

Shun held her closer. "There's nothing to apologize for. It was an accident."

Alice coughed some more but stopped talking.

"In fact, I should be the one apologizing. All I've done is make you feel worse when you've suffered so much more than I have. You've been really strong. Strong enough for the two of us. Let me do my part now."

"I-I thought you hated me."

He kissed her gently on the forehead. "Me hate you? No matter what happens, I don't think I'll ever be able to hate you." Leaning his back against a wall, he began to stroke her hair . "Bottling up emotions isn't good for anyone. I'm sorry that I haven't given you a chance to mourn. I'm sorry if I made myself another source of pain to you."

She looked up at him, tears still in her eyes. "But…"

Shun silenced her with a kiss; one filled with love and compassion.

So, this is just a bit of Alice and Shun drama for everyone out there with this pairing as a favourite. This story was also done with a reviewer by the name of Lucy that commented on my other Bakugan story, Utterly Unexpected, about a year ago in mind. I hope this is to your liking, Lucy.

Even though this story is complete, reviews, rates and private messages are very welcome.

Quote:

"Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad."
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Anne Callendar