“Darius Williams, I’ve already died,” I thought. “I died right in front of you.”
After a long silence, he still didn’t hear me speak and let out a few heavy breaths.
It was his way of reacting when irritated, though he held it in for Althea’s sake.
He placed the warm milk on the nightstand and said, “I know you’re not asleep. Drink the milk later; it’ll help you sleep.”
He added, “And stop posting all that nonsense on social media. Do you want the whole world to see it and judge me? Would that make you happy?”
I knew him well.
When he said that, he held back his anger, which was almost laughable.
He remembered Althea was sick, remembered feeding Althea’s dog and even remembered telling me about the wedding ceremony with her.
But he forgot that today was our seventh anniversary.
He rushed back just to ask me not to post on social media so I wouldn’t embarrass him.
He came to inform me that he was having a wedding with another woman.
Darius hated dealing with cold wars. Whenever we fought, he stayed late at work or slept in the guest room.
He only returned once I had calmed down, leaning against my shoulder and acting spoiled.