It is now August 15 at 3:30AM EST and I've finally been able to log online! I was apart of the Northeast Blackout. I got stuck at the store for an hour with no lights or A\C in over 90'F. weather. We're finally allowed out of the store and I go home, driving on a main street where none of the traffic lights were working. What a riot.
Chapter Seven
Tension Mounting
Part One
Roxton stomped around the tree house. Marguerite ignored his existence. Challenger only sighed and went to hide himself in his lab. Malone felt awkward and spent most of his time coped in his room writing in his journal. Veronica pursed her lips tightly together and fought back the urge to scream. Yet, she – like the others – didn't want to mingle into the lovers' quarrel.
The evening sipped away into dusk until finally the sun's last rays dipped below the horizon. Roxton was slumped in a chair tossing an apple in the air; determined not to be the one to slink off to bed first. Occasionally he glanced over at Marguerite who was lounged out on the balcony's bench reading a book. She had distinct features, especially her large, luminous but – strangely – dark as well, hazel eyes. She was lovely and poised, ready to take on whatever the world threw her way. And the fates had just happened to fling him into her life. For that he was eternally grateful.
Roxton sighed, clasping the piece of fruit in his hand and stood up, strolling over to where his wife sat. "Marguerite, darling…"
"Shut up, Roxton. I don't want to hear it." She titled her back towards him, grasping the book more firmly.
"Well, I sure the bloody hell don't have to take that from you," he retorted. Roxton chucked the apple into the wilderness and marched off into their room. The nerve of that woman! He kicked the edge of the bed, grimacing when his toe caught the worst of it.
He yanked off his suspenders and violently unbuttoned his shirt, wrenched it off, and in a fury, balled it up and hurled it across the room. He kicked off his boots and allowed his body to drop like dead weight face first onto the mattress. God she's infuriating.
Part Two
The nerve of that man! Marguerite launched the book across the room; it crashed into a bookshelf, bouncing off of Moby Dick and landing on the floor with the cover open. She hadn't been reading it anyway, but staring at the aging paper, occasionally turning a page.
She leapt to her feet, glaring at the door to their bedroom. He was usually endearing and compassionate, but at times he drove her mad. She stormed into her old room where some of her stuff was still stored. She viciously tore off her outer clothing.
A joke was one thing, but putting mud into the shower was taking it too far, especially considering how much she savored in being clean and presentable.
She dropped her rear end to the mattress. Yet, as much as she was furious with him didn't compare to how much she loved him. And she blamed him for that, too. He is charming and likeable on purpose, she decided. She flopped back, staring up at the ceiling. God he's insufferable.
End Chapter Seven
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