It’s dawn again. Time to wake up. I’m so glad that my internal clock allows me to forego the use of an alarm clock. That shrill, shrieking noise jumping across the room at me makes my stomach drop just thinking about it. Even worse, though, is the thought of those eyes peering up at me from below the covers. Those eyes that are either filled with hatred or longing, sadness or disgust, but rarely, these days, with love. It’s not like when it first started. Not like the early days when I would wake up and offer her a gentle kiss on her forehead, and be rewarded with a back scratch and a hug around the waist, her exceedingly warm and sheet-marked breasts gently pressing against my back. Those days are sadly gone. After we got back from Costa Rica, after what happened those few days following our blessed nuptials, things just weren’t the same. Once that honeymoon was over, I never felt that warmth on my back, or anywhere else for that matter, again.
I crawled out of bed, careful to not wake her as I pulled on my long johns, suspenders, and flannel shirt. I knew that if she woke, even at this asscrack hour of dawn, she would want to talk, to air grievances, to discuss all of the things that were wrong with us. I certainly wasn’t sticking around for that. Shit, I had too much work to do. I had an ax to grind before I could even get started. Damn dull blade makes the cold seem like it wanted to rape me even more than it already did.
(to be continued)
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