birdcage | ongoing

thirty-nine| mistrust

November 2010
• • •

Harry wasn't taken aback that Winona had remained in the bathroom since the preceding day. He, likewise, positioned himself by the bathroom door, anticipating the instant when she might unlatch it, hopefully revealing herself. Yet, that moment never transpired.

Harry recognized patience as a valuable quality, crucial for progressing their relationship. At seven in the morning, he resolved to get her some food. Despite her current reluctance to communicate, he couldn't stand by and let her go hungry, aware of her potential to act maliciously. Walking away wouldn't be a simple resolution; it wasn't something he could let happen easily.

"Hey Winona, gonna grab you some food," he let her know, taking a step back from the bathroom door. His senses were on high alert, hoping for some sign of life inside. Then came those tiny footfalls on the bathroom tiles, only to suddenly cease. The silence hung heavy. "When I'm gone, you're good to come out, alright? No need for jitters."

Harry knew he shouldn't have hoped for a reply, but a tinge of letdown shadowed him as he stared at that plain door. "Time for me to hit the road, my love."

He peeled his eyes away and marched to the closet, grabbed the first flannel he saw, and put it on. Then he approached the bedside table, took his keys and wallet, and made for the front door. He opened it and lingered in the doorway for a minute, thinking that Winona would leave her safe haven and he would catch sight of her. But, of course, it didn't happen. So Harry wore his shoes and left the cabin.

In the town, he remembered spotting a quaint diner while they were driving to the cabin. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner could all be sorted from there. Venturing out again seemed like more trouble than it was worth; he couldn't leave Winona alone for too long. She, it must be acknowledged, bore a certain reliance upon him. While she might resist acknowledging it openly, this interdependence had woven itself into her very being. However, beyond this natural rapport, there lingered an unspoken rationale: the desire to thwart any prospect of Winona's escape from the cabin's confines. He harbored an awareness of her penchant for impulsive decisions, a propensity that surfaced in times of emotional turmoil.

But like everything else, this would all end in due time and they would go back to the way they were. He believed that wholeheartedly.

Casting a final glance toward the cabin's façade, Harry slid the key into his vehicle's door and settled into the driver's seat. The air carried the scent of impending rain, the moisture an omen of yet another impending storm. This served as an additional incentive for his timely return.

With his seatbelt secured, Harry ignited his pickup's engine and maneuvered it onto the road. A notion flickered—had he glimpsed her countenance fleetingly within the window as he accelerated away? But certainty was elusive; his mind, ever enigmatic, toyed with him, especially in matters concerning her.

His sole aspiration rested on safeguarding Winona. The affection he held for her was profound, anchoring him in his resolve to shield her, primarily from herself. She was so reckless. The memory of her being with Wes, bearing his child, fueled his anger to a simmer. It was supposed to be his child, not Wes's, she carried—a sentiment that rekindled his ire.

This was the reason behind his actions. He saw no alternative, and if her tenacious stubbornness could be set aside for a moment, he believed he could get her to see why he had been compelled to go to such extraordinary measures. She was his wife, and her safety held the utmost significance. If he had to resort to unsavory tactics to ensure that, he was prepared to do so. He'd bear the weight of his decisions, understanding it was all in the name of their love and her well-being.