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what have you become ?
-1-
Or was it?
The closet full of designer wardrobe, the chest which held priceless jewelry, the endless number of shoes that together could buy a manor, and most certainly all the smaller little gifts-- which added to the fortune of items owned by a single woman-- certainly would show for love, would it not?
Yet the woman-- whom owned all those things-- now contemplated that same wonderful diamond ring with a heavy heart.
The woman he wanted.
Where were all the pictures? Those taken in candid moment when they had been in love, or foolish, or ugly? How many mornings had she awaken with no make-up from the previous night of social gatherings, parties, events, charities? How many items that adorned her house which actually held a sentimental value rather than a hefty price tag?
How many memories captured?
Gifts came and went without purpose. She could not even remember how he had proposed to her.
Was it at a charity? Or at a business dinner? Perhaps on a flight from Paris to London? Or could it have been in bed-- the bed of whatever luxury suite they used in whatever country they happened to be in?
How long had she been wearing it now?
Three years? Perhaps five?
The wedding could not be planned in the midst of endless business deals, projects, or things to be completed. There simply was no time right now. Maybe next spring, perhaps in winter. Each season came and nothing happened. Each day passed and the day when she could proclaim to be Mrs. Alistair Bennett moved further and further from reach; like running on a treadmill in hopes to reach the finish line.
“Clarissa?”
He emerged from the bathroom, tying the knot of his tie, a slight scowl on his handsome features. Green eyes observed the robbed form of the woman he would buy the world for, he had told her, with slight annoyance.
“Have you not dressed yet?”
Clarissa's head rose slightly, eyes still captured by the shine of the ring. In all those years it still looked as though he had bought it only yesterday. It was just as much a traitor as the man before her.
“I'm not feeling well.”
“Those headaches again?”
She nodded, not feeling in the least inspired to argue or invent a new excuse. Most of the time, Alistair left it at that, but others he chose to push her buttons. Those rare times when both of them would fight left Clarissa feeling even more empty than she was.
“I have told you to see a doctor, but you do not listen.” He approached the bed, “I am tired of having to explain to everyone why my future wife is not with me- where she should be.”
She wanted to shout at him. A fiancée didn't nearly have as much responsibility as a wife. If he wanted a wife, then he should simply make time to finally marry her and not wave her around like some illegitimate trophy. Instead of making her thoughts known, she said, “I'm sorry, dear.”
“That is not enough.” He shook his head, “I need you tonight.”
“I really can't go.”
“Clarissa, really, you make efforts other times. You can make one now.” He chuckled, “If it were for something like a new design from Versace, you would be jumping despite a pounding migraine. Now please, get up.”
Clarissa wanted to remind him that every time some new design came out it was he whom dragged her to the fashion shows and bought what he thought would look well on her. She wanted to mention that it was him whom insisted her closets contained the ridiculous amounts of clothing it did, not the other way around. If it were up to her, she would burn more than half of everything.
“Must I really?”
He crouched to look at her. Long fingers curled under her chin, lifting her defeated head to level with his penetrating eyes. Black orbs stared into his emerald pair and full lips pouted slightly. Where had the man she had fallen in love with gone? That jovial, carefree, rebel that took her on long rides on his motorcycle?
Alistair had always come from money, but he had refused to follow in his father's footsteps. Yet when his father fell ill, he had no choice but to take over the family business since his younger sister had no intention or skill to make a worthy president. The young, philosophical, witty man she had loved so deeply had turned into a materialistic twit.
What mattered was the deals, the business partners; keeping the facade.
Where once she had been the center of his attention, now she was not even on the top ten list of matters in his life. She had become an accessory.
His perfect nose scrunched up, black tresses of hair falling over his forehead. With a groan he slapped his hair back in place. “What the hell will keep this hair in place?”
Her dubious hands reached for his cheek and inched up his hair, where with a swift motion, she ruffled it out of order. As though she had scalded his scalp, he jolted to stand and moaned in fury, stomping to the vanity to comb back the mess.
He growled, “Why did you do that?”
“You used to love it like that.”
“I was also twenty and stupid.” he chided.
“Was everything so bad before, Ali?”
“What have I told you about calling me that, Clarissa?” he whirled around, glare in place.
“Sorry. I forgot, I cannot call you anything else.” She stood up from bed, “I'm surprised you don't make me call you sir.”
With a furious sigh, he asked, “What is it with you lately? Headaches, refusals to participate in our businesses... I do not understand what your problem is.”
“When was the last time we made love?”
He loosened the tie at his neck, “Last night.”
Last night? No, last night he had taken her for his needs. He had not considered her desires, he had not even ensured that he had satisfied her. It was quick, like a deposit box where one slipped in checks and walked away. He did not even stay with her after. He had gotten up to finish some papers in his home office.
At the end of everything, Clarissa only stared at the ceiling- undressed, swollen, and hurt. It was like he had slept with her for charity.
Her eyes welled with tears, “Again, I ask, when was the last time we made love?”
Alistair stared at her, confusion crossing his expression. “Is your period nearby?”
At that, the bubble of patience burst. Clarissa's fists clenched at her side in anger as she took two steps closer to him. “I cannot even remember the last time we made love.”
She poked his chest, “The last time you actually took the time to look into my eyes when you took me. The last time you spent making sure that I too received any satisfaction--”
“If this is all about sex, we can discuss it later, darling.” he interrupted, kissing her forehead. “Right now, we must get going. I thought this was more serious.”
She stared at him with incredulous eyes. Alistair was giving priority to his stupid little business party than to her; his companion of eight years. Maybe tonight, Clarissa had enough of being unimportant to him. Maybe she got tired of waiting in line for a turn that never came.
“I'm not going to the party.” she insisted. “And if you think your little business is more important than our relationship, then perhaps I shouldn't even be here.”
“God, Clarissa. You are such a child!” he roared. “Here I am providing for you and you have to turn this into some sort of drama. Work is work.”
“If you walk out-- if you go-- I'm not going to be here when you return.”
He laughed. “You do not mean that.”
She pushed him away, “I am dead serious.”
His humorous smile faded. “I will not tolerate this kind of blackmail. We will settle this after the party, when I return.”
“I'm not going to be here when you return, sir.”
Alistair took a coat from his closet and with his hand on the doorknob of their bedroom, he turned to her, “Of course you will be.”
And with that, he walked out.
A/N:
Random idea that hit me.
I would like to know what you all think.
Not revised for errors.
If you've never read anything by me before, please look at my profile for my grammar/error "policy."