The Soulless Souls

the root of 4

Weeks passed by in a blur.

In Chicago, I found out many facts about Aryan, for example that he was 24 years old, he had studied English literature and now worked as a secretary in a lawyer's office. And he loved reading.

But not only that. I also found out that he was popular with the people in our neighborhood. I could understand why: unlike me, he had a way with words, he could be really kind, he was intelligent and handsome, and most importantly, you never felt excluded if you were with him. Aryan was attentive and everyone felt comfortable around him and that was why everyone liked him. Everyone except me, of course.

He didn't tell me why I had to marry him, yet. And I couldn't really see what my purpose here was.

Aryan left in the morning for work and came back late with takeaways. And I, I just sat on the couch staring at the ceiling, dozing off once in a while. Sometimes, I even watched TV.

In other words: It was awful, pure torture. Being left alone with my own thoughts the whole day did something to me and I didn't like it. Like totally.

I shouldn't be bored. It made me do stupid things that I would regret. But at the same time, I couldn't find it in me to get up from the couch and do something productive.

On a warm Friday evening, I laid in the couch, waiting for Aryan to come back with the food. Friday evenings were reserved for his therapist. He didn't tell me why he went there and I didn't ask, because to be honest, I didn't give a damn.

When I heard a key turn in the lock, I sat up, my stomach grumbling.

"Hello, Edith", Aryan greeted me with a tired smile. He always looked tired. His constant dark eye circles were the reason. But also the way he behaved. When he read, he yawned. When he sat, he dozed off. When he ate, he did it so slowly that his plate was barely touched when I was done.

Aryan was the embodiment of tiredness while I was the embodiment of failure. Miserable failure.

"Hi", I greeted back, noticing that his hands were empty. "You didn't buy anything to eat?"

"No. I thought maybe you could cook something today", he stated, sitting down next to me.

I stared at him appalled, but quickly looked away again when he started to unbutton his shirt. This was another one of his many weird habits: he started to undress in the middle of everything, even when I was sitting right next to him.

"Well, you thought wrong. I'm not going to cook."

"Why not?"

I scoffed. "Excuse me? Isn't it already enough that I'm here in the first place? Why should I do any chores? You are crazy if you think I'm going to cook for you."

"You can't just sit home all day doing nothing. Your mind won't endure it for a longer time."

I rolled my eyes. "How bad for my mind because I can't cook."

"You can learn it. It's not that difficult."

"Then, why don't you just cook?"

"Edith, it's not about the cooking itself. It's fir you to do something productive. Only one meal a day, alright? Just put something simple together."

I bit my lip to stop a possible emotional outburst of rage. There was so much that I wanted to say to him. For example, that I didn't choose this way of living. But I couldn't. I was a coward. A stupid chicken.

I managed to look up to meet his dark eyes, though from the corner of my eyes I could see parts of his bare chest and heat made its way to my face.

He leaned his head on his palm, his elbow rested on the couch. He smiled slightly, and I noticed that his eye circles seemed to be more prominent than normally.