Beta: paleseptember10

XII

May 2020

Christian dropped the thick manuscript onto the desk with a thump, shooting up from his chair as if it was a bomb about to explode. He glared at the pages scattered before him before scrambling to the title page of the book.

In the Ivory Tower
Anastasia Grey
Dedicated to my husband.

The rest of the book be damned, he needed to head home now if this was what had been going through his wife's head all this time.

It was the last day of May, and he had been back at the office for a few days now, even though he would have to wear a mask and sanitize everything including his hands like every twenty minutes. It sounded ridiculous but he still followed the rules, not wanting to be the health hazard at work or at home with his wife pregnant or not.

He knew that it must be grueling for her to be locked in confinement, despite how physically spacious their penthouse was. The title of the book was an exact reflection of her situation, and he wondered if she would be leaving town first thing the moment the travel bans were lifted.

There was no way that he would let that happen, because unlike the fictional him from the book, he would fight tooth and nail for their relationship not allowing it to end in any shape or form.

"Andrea, cancel everything, and do not call me."

He lobbed over his shoulder, his suit jacket flaunting in one hand and his briefcase dangling in the other. The elevator door opened just when he arrived, and Taylor stuck his hand in just before the door was about to close. Christian jabbed at the close door button forcefully and the elevator commenced its descent toward the garage.

Leaving the staff from the entire floor flabbergasted in his wake.

"Where is the fire?" Ros scoffed. "Sheesh. What did he say to you?" She turned to the dutiful assistant that had never shown any kind of irrelevant emotions before now, which triggered Ros and piqued her interest.

…

He stepped into the foyer and his confidence wavered. The matter suddenly didn't seem so urgent anymore, and he hesitated. He knew which room she would be in but he had no idea what exactly she was doing. He felt like he was an intruder in his own home, and he felt like a visitor now to his own wife, half expecting Sawyer to report his presence.

He wasn't able to wrap his mind around the book. It was beautifully written, well crafted, yet there had been a depressing atmosphere that had been shrouding the entire story from the start to end. He had no idea that if this was the true reflection of her feelings, or what the purpose of the book was, but if it was to get his attention so they could finally break their silent stalemate, then she had most definitely achieved her goal.

It was now left to him to ponder whether love was enough for them. In hindsight, it really was a chain reaction but everything always seemed to be much clearer when looking back reflectively. He only wished that they could move past the obstacle together.

His feet trudged toward the stairs where they led him to the room Ana had been occupying for the last few months when he was out for his therapy sessions. A surge of guilt rushed through him once more, and he was reminded of the particular scenes in her book where she confessed that her heart still belonged to him.

He could only hope that it was still the case in real life.

The door was left wide open, and for a brief second, his stomach dropped thinking that she was truly gone. His heart drummed against his ribcage as he tentatively put one foot in front of the other as he moved deeper into the en suite.

It was eerily quiet, so much that it spooked him when a robe slid off behind the bathroom door. His hair stood erect on his arms and on the nape of his neck. He had no idea where she was. Her bed was empty so he could only deduce that she was in the bathroom, assuming that she was in the room. Her clothes were piled neatly on the counter next to the sink, that much he could identify, and her cosmetic products were still proudly displayed on the vanity.

At least it was a reassurance that she hadn't been packing up. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not given how she ended her book with him having it all while she looked down from above. He didn't want her to believe in karma, he didn't want her to even think that karma would get to her because she was the victim here, and he was the son of a bitch that hurt her.

He inched into the bathroom and saw that the tub was filled, but the water was clear. He frowned, his heart beat louder in his chest cavity, so loud that he could hear it echoing and filling in the quietness of this physical space. His senses heightened as he approached the tub, his instinct told him that he had to check even though it wasn't like her to take a bath without all the bubbles.

He swore his heart stopped at the sight before him when he towered over the bathtub expecting to see nothing.

He had no idea that his eyes were filled with tears, or that his voice was panicky, shaky, and croaky, he just knew that he reacted; faster than a blink of an eye as he grabbed her by her armpits and hauled her out of the water.

"What in the fuck do you think you're doing, Anastasia?" He wanted to scream at her at the top of his lungs, but his breath couldn't catch up. He had no idea if he was having a panic attack or a seizure, he only knew that he felt like he couldn't breath because all of his strength had been used on keeping her upright and steady… and out of the water.

Her gasp when she emerged from the water went unnoticed by him as he would've shouted in her face before checking her state of consciousness. That was him letting his own fear out in plain sight, and subconsciously, it was also him trying to get a reaction out of her.

Her eyes snapped open at his tone. His words were harsh but the tone was agonizingly painful laced with incredulity and utter disbelief. The moment their eyes met, he crushed her to his chest. She was naked with dripping wet hair but he couldn't care less. He breathed into her drenched skin and somehow could still smell the natural scent that calmed him during his restless nights. His face was moist with tears that he didn't know had formed but his breathing was slowly getting back to normal, and he could still feel his heartbeat becoming steady.

"What are you doing, baby?" He whispered, his anger replaced by instant relief when he felt her melt into his hold and mold herself against his body. He missed this simple gesture that held so many sentiments to them, as well as the intimacy.

"Don't you sometimes just want a few minutes of utter peace and complete quietness?" She mumbled into his chest, her cheek still flushed again his shirt that was now stuck to his pecs. "There are always noises around, and it's messing with my head. It's too loud."

He couldn't understand her but that wasn't important at the moment. He just needed her to be alright and for her to be alive without the intention of ever trying to scare the living shit out of him like this again.

"I need to get dressed," her announcement broke him out of his thoughts and shoved him back into the reality where everything was fucked and his marriage was probably hopeless. He reluctantly let his arms fall back to his side as he watched her gingerly walk to her closet with a towel around her to pick out an outfit.

He missed watching her move around the house doing the most mundane chores because it was domestic, it meant that she was comfortable around him; comfortable with him in a place they shared. It meant that she felt at ease and at home.

The penthouse now felt so foreign to him, and judging by the way the room appeared—barely decorated with hardly any personal belongings scattered around—he couldn't tell which one of them was more like a guest here.

He followed her into the closet before his brain could register his own movement, when he caught himself, he stopped and casually leaned against the door as if it was his intention to move over when all he did was allow himself to be attracted to her like magnets with opposite poles.

"Can we talk, please?" He requested in a small voice, never having sounded so unconfident before.

"So it has to be on your terms, huh?" she mumbled in a monotone, but he was just glad that at least she responded.

He sighed, he hadn't thought of it that way but now that she had pointed it out, he could certainly see how it could be perceived. He opened his mouth ready to deny it but he knew that she wouldn't believe him, and frankly, he wasn't a hundred percent certain himself either. He knew that she got his attention by writing that book, so he came, and he thought this was her terms.

"No, but…" he lifted his eyes just in time to see her in her undergarments. A pouch on her stomach telling him that she still hadn't rid the baby weight, but also reminded him of the truth that there was no baby. He lowered his eyes unable to formulate a sentence while looking at her, knowing that he had been the main contributor to her current state.

He was supposed to be proud when he saw her like this because this was the evidence that she had given birth to their little girl, and he more than likely would've had her in his arms right now, but instead, he was staring at her wife's faint stretch marks and there was only melancholy.

"Why now, Christian? I've been trying to get you to talk to me for months," she raised her voice slightly to showcase her frustration.

He stared at his feet. He knew why now, and they both knew. His silence confirmed her suspicion that if she didn't give him some kind of ultimatum, he would be stalling and avoiding until they were both miserable to no end in this fucked up mess they called a marriage.

"Do you want a divorce?" He whispered, deciding to move on and just get started with the conversation that they were bound to have. Whether it was on her terms, or on his, they needed to have this talk.

She threw on a t-shirt that he recognized as one of the many that once belonged to him, and sat down on the couch in the middle of the closet. Her fingers fidgeted and her eyes followed their movements. Seeing her lost in thoughts unable to decide, he took the chance to inch closer to her until he had knelt down in between her knees, eyes levelled with hers.

"Look at me," he beseeched, and she gradually raised her head. The moment their eyes met, she began to shake her head slowly, and he had no idea if it was her answer to his question or for something else, so he continued to speak. "I will fight you on it, Ana. I might end up giving you everything but I don't want a divorce. I'm not going to sign the papers like you suggested because I won't let you go this easily. We're not parting… certainly not like this."

"You're fighting for the marriage but you're not fighting for me."

He tilted his head to the side, confused.

"I don't want a divorce, Christian, and I won't file one if you're going to fight me on it. I'm done fighting with you. I don't want to fight with you."

"Do you want to leave me?"

"I don't want to."

"I don't understand; I'm not comprehending any of it."

"You don't want this marriage to end," she stated the obvious, and he nodded waiting for her to elaborate more because he was failing to see the issue. "But you'll only end up feeling like you're stuck in this contractual relationship because you didn't fight for me. You're fighting for a piece of paper."

"I am fighting for you."

"If you're fighting for me, you wouldn't have jumped at the opportunity to head into the office. You wouldn't have neglected me for the entire duration of the quarantine period. You and I both know that we have to sort out our own shit because all the offices are closed and even if we are getting a divorce, there's no one to prosecute it. We will have to wait anyway."

He frowned, his mind going over the words she spoke. It was finally starting to make a little bit of sense to him.

"That book from me; that short story was just me trying to materialize my feelings, and writing it was somewhat cathartic and therapeutic. I showed it to you not because I am trying to get your attention but because I want to prove to you that I don't need you. I can live without you, but I don't want to."

He dropped onto his heels in perfect submission as he bowed his head at her. He stared at his hands and wondered how they ended up with a heart-to-heart. When he got back, and even until after he found her submerged under the water in the bathtub, he was still expecting an epic fight involving all kinds of shouting and screaming that would drain him not only emotionally but also exhaust him physically.

He hated arguing with her, he hated when they were at odds, but he knew that he wasn't doing a good job at showing that lately.

"I can't live without you," he confessed.

"You just did for the past three months. I have barely caught a glimpse of you since late February, and I most certainly had not seen you for the entire March and April, and now it's the end of May."

"That wasn't me living without you."

"You certainly weren't living with me. Christian. I'd like to think that I know you better than anyone, and I know what I'm getting myself into when you put this ring on my finger, and I would say that I understand your actions and behaviors but I can't say that they don't hurt."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize."

"I truly am…" he peeked through his lashes at her cautiously.

"You don't even know what you're apologizing for, Christian."

That exact same sentence coming out her mouth just brought so many shameful and regretful memories back to him. It wasn't his finest moment, and it was most definitely his darkest days, but there was no erasing it. He would have to find a way to live with it.

"You only know that you've caused me pain, and I know that you're sorry for that; but you're not sorry for sleeping with and confiding in another woman. You don't get to yell at me and persuade me to stay with you just because I made a decision for us for once in our lives!"

The silence was deafening, and that only emphasized the volume of her words as it resonated through the closet. She didn't raise her voice, she merely uttered those syllables clearer and firmer, but that was enough to garner more than his full attention.

"I have issues, Ana. I have baggage. A lot of them."

"I know that—we all know that—but that doesn't excuse your behavior nor was it a valid enough reason."

"I just have to ask, Ana," his eyes darted to the tub after a moment of silence where none of them said anything because none of them knew where to start. "I can't be sure anymore especially after reading your book. I didn't even get to the very end and I don't want to, I just want to make sure…"

"Am I suicidal?" She spelled the words out for him, saying what he refused to utter aloud, superstitiously fearing that it would come true if he did.

He nodded, swallowing thickly past the lump that was forming in his throat and seemingly lodged there.

"For a while, yes."

"When you wrote that?"

"No," she shook her head. "It was when I decided to give myself a fatal trauma. I'm merely showing the helplessness that I am feeling when I wrote the death scene."

"Are you depressed?"

"Clinically speaking, no."

He sighed, he knew that she had been talking to a shrink, and they would always get technical when it comes to diagnosis. He had been told more times than he could count that he wasn't a sadist because that concept didn't exist in psychology.

"What do you want to talk about, Christian? Really, because I don't see us resolving anything other than going in circles trying to justify ourselves and our actions. We're all going to blame something and someone for triggering our behaviors. It really is pointless to rehash them all, don't you think?"

He nodded in agreement. "Do you forgive me?"

"I'd like to say that I do but I can't let it go. Not at the moment, not this soon."

He flinched at her straightforwardness.

"So no, I don't forgive you, Christian. I can't right now; maybe I will eventually. I know I will but I do accept and appreciate your apology. I just hope that you know what exactly it is that you're sorry for."

"I forgive you, Ana…" he admitted. "I forgive you for terminating our daughter, and for throwing that in my face so spitefully. You were mean but I forgive you for it. I can move past that."

Anastasia really wanted to roll her eyes at that confession despite the sincerity behind his words. She knew that in a sense, there was something for him to forgive but looking at the bigger picture, his forgiveness really shouldn't be all that important. If he wanted to say this for his sake, then she'd accept it but the idea of him forgiving her really wasn't what she'd like to focus on. Perhaps that was just his way of trying to behave and think like a normal person.

"You're only pissed at me for the abortion because you didn't get a say in it. Perhaps you can forgive me right this moment, Christian, but I can't move past your betrayal."

That was a punch in the gut, and it took all the air out of his lungs. He knew that he deserved this but he was hoping that she would assure him that there was still hope for them.

"Are we getting a divorce?"

"There would be no point if you're going to fight me on it because we both know that it's a fight that I cannot win."

"I don't want to corner you…" his face fell. The events in the last few months really put things into perspective for him and maybe, just maybe, he was really beginning to see things from another point of view. "But I also don't want to let you go. Ana, what can I do? I don't want to leave you, and I don't want you to leave me but I also don't want you to feel like I'm forcing you."

She looked away from the intensity in his eyes. She knew he was conflicted, and that he wasn't just saying it because she could see it in his eyes that he was still hers. Her man, with all the extra emotional baggage.

And, more importantly, she didn't want to separate from him either, despite that was what everyone would assume she would do or what she should do after she found out that he had been cheating on her with another woman.

"I think we need help."

"What, like therapy?"

"Would you be opposed to the idea?"

"Will that give us a second chance at everything?"

"No, but it's a possibility."

"Ana, I want to work this through with you. I really do."

"I know," she nodded as she stood ready to leave, forcing him to move back in his spot. She was starting to get uncomfortable with the way he was begging her, and the intensity that was coming off of him in waves. It was overwhelming especially after the entire month of quietness. "Just… do it on my terms this time," she touched his shoulder and left after giving him a small smile that sparked hope inside him.

On her terms.

Perhaps that was how she had been feeling all these months waiting for him to come around, only by the time he did, it was too little too late. Not to mention the abominable adultery that he had committed.

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. He wanted to fix their relationship desperately, and he knew that now was not the time to steamroll her into doing what he wanted because that would only make matters worse. He would only drive her further away.

So all he could do now was wait.

And, he abhorred waiting.

Are you getting it now?

It's never a dream.

Note from my beta (Nadia/PaleSeptember10):

To all the vicious guest trolls please let me know how bitter your words taste now that you have to eat them :) - next time you lose your shit at a story, try being patient and trust in the author's vision and try not to lodge personal attacks on their mental health and/or person and if you're going to still do it, own up to it by actually logging in or at least leaving your name like others have had the decency to do.

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