AN: Apologizes for the long pause in publishing, but I am back for chapter 5! Thank you again to SunFlowerFran for her wonderful and speedy beta reading skills, and for catching all my silly mistakes and just overall, making my writing even better. I hope you all will enjoy the drama that is to come and if you feel so inclined, I would love if you could leave a review and recommend this piece to your friends. Thanks again, and happy reading!
"You didn't wait for me to say come in." Jacob scolded without even looking up from his desk. He was hunched over one of his journals. It seemed like overnight he had taken to scribbling away in leather-bound notebooks. He told me he was going to become a writer but refused to share anything.
I don't think he is telling the truth.
"I'm sorry darling," I apologize, closing the study door behind me with a quiet thud and click of the latch. I wanted to shield the servants from whatever was about to happen, at least as much as I could. I cannot promise I will not raise my voice, and I know Jacob has no qualms with yelling either.
I take a few steps into the room, looking around at the books and other odds and ends decorating the space, stalling of course. Jacob still has not looked up to acknowledge my presence apart from his earlier scolding of my lack of manners.
"Well?" I see him lift his head infinitesimally in my direction, and his brown brows raise themselves sharply over his eyes. A quick glance to the left of his writing hand tells me everything I need to know. I see the cut, crystal tumbler of whiskey, along with a half-full decanter of amber liquid on the console table to his right. It's far enough away to avoid accidents but close enough for extra easy access. I wonder if the decanter was full when he started and hope it was not.
But I know better already.
"I was hoping that perhaps we could talk?" I offered nonchalantly as I moved closer to Jacob. The scent of whiskey perfumes the area. The scent is heady, and I could not tell if it came directly from him, or if the powerful odor of the amber alcohol had simply permeated the entire room.
"About what exactly?" he questions further, finally setting down his fountain pen and closing the leather journal that he had been writing in only a moment ago. I had his full attention now and I would try not to waste it.
I took a deep breath as I sat myself down in the armchair that sat facing his writing desk. I watched his brows lift further. Clearly, I had piqued his curiosity, which was both a good and a bad thing. It meant he would listen to me, but I knew he was not going to like what he was about to hear.
I always wondered if there something different about my husband. He was much the same as any other man I had ever met, but there was just something slightly off about him...something hard to explain..
My first indication that there was something not quite right came to me before we were married.
Like most of our friends before us, Jacob and I were introduced to each other at a party. I was just shy of nineteen and enjoying the life of a socialite along with my friends. I had suitors aplenty buzzing around me even then, the last of my generation to stay single.
A lovely young man named Michael Newton was my favored beau at the time. He was sweet, and baby-faced, and he seemed to be good husband material for me.
But when I met Jacob at that party, there was just something that drew me to him. Before his whiskey-downing days, he had been somewhat of an intellectual. Almost done with law school, I found him having a deep conversation with someone I would later learn was his best friend, Jared Cameron. His passion for whatever long-forgotten subject he debated about had attracted me instantly, and not soon after I gave poor Michael the slip.
Jacob seemed hesitant at first to court me, citing his desire to focus on continuing his law studies and beginning his work at the firm his father had helped him get hired at. But he was the most darling friend ever, and I was okay with that. The whole time, I secretly hoped he would eventually want more.
When his friend Jared became engaged to a lovely young woman named Angela, it seemed to change his tune and we came out shortly after as an official couple.
Of course, he still took things quite slowly. Most of my friends and even my mother admonished me over the amount of time it took for Jacob to finally propose to me. Jared and Angela were married before he even popped the question.
Something inside me still wonders if my relationship with Jacob was not influenced in some way by Jared's relationship with Angela.
More than once I have walked in on serious and sometimes angry conversations between the two men since we have been married. Every time it happens it leaves me with the strangest sense of dread. I still can't quite put my finger on what it is exactly that leaves me feeling that way, but perhaps it's the pleading look that always seems to be on Jacob's face when the pair are fighting. It's far too intimate for my liking.
"Well...I wanted to talk to you about, or rather ask you, when do you think we might start trying to have a family?" I asked him timidly. I was afraid to meet his intense whiskey stare, and instead trained my eyes on the smooth, metal grommets that affixed the leather pad to his desk. It seemed such a silly question to ask after nearly four years of marriage, but clearly, with four years and zero children, it needed to be asked.
I chanced a glance at him. Big mistake.
His eyes narrowed as he looked at me, an almost accusatory look suddenly painting his features. His face said, 'whatever your problem is, it's your fault.'
"If you don't have a child, that's not my problem Isabella," he all but spat the words at me.
I tried my absolute best to keep my cool and composure as I met his hostile expression with one of my own.
"You're not being fair Jacob," I used the same condescending tone that he had when saying my name. My fingers hardened into talons on the armrests of my chair, the velvet upholstering dipping beneath the pressure I was exerting while I attempted to keep myself in check. How dare he say our childless marriage was my fault!
I closed my eyes for a moment while I took another deep breath to help steel myself from all the unpleasantness I was sure to erupt.
"You're not being fair. At all," I repeated myself as I looked him dead in his eyes. I could see fire brewing behind his brown irises, and I hoped he could see the same in mine. "I cannot have a baby by myself, Jacob. I know you probably wish I could, but I cannot. I need you. You know that!"
I feel my anger continuing to bubble and boil inside me at his indignant attitude. If he keeps it up, I don't know if I will be able to contain myself. It feels like all the years I have simply bitten my tongue and shrugged off the neglect I have felt in our marriage is finally coming to a place where something big has to happen in order to settle it all.
All the doubts and questions about him and his proclivities are starting to surface in my mind. What if my husband is really not like other men?
Jacob continued his hard stare, but he was no longer looking at me. His gaze stared into the distance behind me, likely training on the door that would allow him to escape.
"I don't care what you need Isabella. All these years, it has always been about you, and what you need. But what about me?" he asked, his tone no longer aggressive, it was suddenly sad. I felt my stomach drop; I've never heard Jacob talk in such a manner.
My mouth went dry. He could not possibly mean what I thought he did. He was a married Christian man. I did not want to be right about what I thought.
"Jacob...please," I softened my tone considerably as I vacated my chair in order to be by his side. Through thick and thin, I still saw Jacob as my own best friend, since he had been, once upon a time. "You can talk to me," I told him, coming to kneel beside his chair, putting my hand on his arm to show my support.
I wished so much that he could air his demons and come back into the light with me. I want to help him do that in any way I that I can. Perhaps, if he can face what has bothered him for so many years, he will step away from the whiskey he has grown so dependent on and finally go back to being a productive member of society.
But Jacob shook his head and closed his eyes, leaning away from my touch on his arm. It broke my heart to see him so troubled and beyond my comfort.
"I can't, I can't Bella," he said, his voice trembled slightly as he used my nickname for the first time in forever.
"Jacob, tell me what has been bothering you for so many years," I implored him, standing to take his head in my hands. "I only want to help you, I love you," my fingers tried to release the tension he was holding in his face.
But he was having none of it. He pushed me away with enough force to knock me off my feet. I landed on my bottom, my back hitting the side table hard enough to cause the items sitting on top to wobbly haphazardly.
Ouch.
My husband did not even move to help me. His hands were too busy covering his face. I hope it is out of shame for what he has done, now and over the last four years of our marriage.
"I'm sorry Bella," he finally said as I began the slow process of extracting myself from the carpeted floor, not an easy task considering I've tangled my feet in the skirt of my day dress. His hands come back down to the desktop, and as I stand, I notice a letter sitting beside his closed journal.
The handwriting is relatively small and loopy, but I can make out a few words and phrases that jump out at me: 'it's over,' 'pregnant,' 'I'm sorry.' I hardly had to look further to see that it was signed J. Cameron.
I felt bile rise in my throat and have to tear my eyes away from the offending piece of paper. My shoulder throbs badly where it hit the sideboard, but my heart hurts more. I must take a step away from him because I feel as though I am no longer in control of myself.
"How could you?" my voice is hardly a whisper as I back myself up to one of the bookcases that line the walls. The glass door shudders softly as my sore shoulder butts against it. I cannot get far enough away from him, but I am frozen in my tracks.
He looks up at me, confusion on his features until his eyes follow my line of sight back to the letter, still sitting innocuously next to his now empty glass. His hands become a blur of activity as he is quick to pick up the letter and shove it unceremoniously into the drawer of his desk. Still, he has said nothing.
"I asked...how could you?" I shout, my anger now growing. I am livid at him for lying to me in every facet of our lives together, and angry at myself for not seeing it sooner.
Jacob's face says it all. Nothing needs to be explicitly said for him to know that I now know what has been going on behind my back the entire time we have been together. He looks like he wants to deny it, to talk me away from the edge I am currently planted on. But it would be futile.
My husband is that way, and has been acting on it behind my back.
"How could you?" I shout again, this time racing forward to slam the palms of my hands into his chest. I hardly move him with the effort, but it does flare his temper sharply.
As I suspect, he does not work to confirm or deny any of what I now know about him. Instead he stands, the chair falling with a clatter from the force of it. His arm comes out, pointing to the door.
"Get out. Right. Now," he instructs, his voice hard, his tone like an acid growl as it grates against my ears.
"No," I shake my head stubbornly, my hands shaking at my sides as I continue to stare at him. I wish he would just admit it all. Then I can at least have some closure.
"GET OUT!" he shouts, his voice so loud I fear the glass bookshelf doors may crack from the strain of it. I almost have to cover my ears from the shock of it.
It scares me enough to get my feet moving towards the door. I turn my back, intent now to get away from him, his treachery, and wrongs he has caused me.
As my hand begins to turn the knob, a sudden explosion stops me in my tracks as crystal shards rain down on my head and the strong odor of alcohol engulfs me. He's thrown his decanter, the sacrifice of his prized whiskey a show of just how upset he is.
I do not linger a moment more and quickly make my way out of the room, leaving him to stew with what he has done to me and to us.
Bree is waiting at the top of the stairs once I make my way to the second floor. I'm still coated in crystal shards, dust, and alcohol. I know I look like an absolute mess.
"Let's get you cleaned up Mrs. Black," she says softly as she opens the door to the bathroom and begins to run the tub. Thank God for modern conveniences. My grandparent's home still requires a maid to fetch hot water from the kitchen, while my bath has its own supply piped right in.
As the water runs and fills the bathtub, Bree helps me out of my dress and other layers of clothing until I'm down to my corset and chemise. When the tub is full, Bree begins the process of letting my corset out, and soon I am free of the alcohol-soaked article. I strip off my chemise and stand naked for a moment and instantly regret it.
A chill runs down my spine as I catch sight of my now bruised shoulder and upper back in the large mirror about the dual sinks.
I cannot help what happens next. My eyes blur and burn as they well with tears as I climb into the tub, the hot water doing nothing to persuade away the cold dread that has settled into every nook and cranny of my body.
Everything has gone wrong.
I started out trying to have a simple conversation with my husband about our lack of a family, and ended up learning of his unspeakable betrayal.
The tears fell faster until I was sobbing into my washcloth while Bree did her best to both comfort and clean me at the same time.
How could I ever come away from this treachery?