Started as His Wife (ON HIATUS)

Dead Weight

Greg's POV

*****Warning: This chapter shortly explores some strong emotional themes*****

I was wondering why he was easygoing when I asked for a vacation. Usually, he would list a bunch of things on my schedule, some of which I feel he books just to keep me busy. Sometimes, he just tells me it's a bad time, and that he'll let me go next time. Of course, next time never comes. It's not like I have anywhere to go, and he probably knows it too.

I just wanted to escape, numb myself from it all. Maybe much worse, and he's probably thinks that—that I'll end it all. But it's not out of genuine concern, just a fear of losing property and profits. Isn't it funny how a person can be reduced to property and profits? Sometimes all I can do is laugh when I think about it. 

That's probably why my manager decided to send her with me. Some bullshit reason that we need to be convincing as a couple. He said we just need to keep it up until the sequel is filmed and released. I'm not surprised he did this, but I am surprised she agreed. It's probably because she's still starry-eyed about this whole thing. How many years will it be until the light in her eyes go out? 

"There's no price next to these drinks," she says leaning over the middle column of our plane seats. 

"Drinks are included with the ticket," I reply. 

"Really? Wow, first-class is the real deal," she grins. She doesn't sit back and instead continues looking through the menu with her elbows rested the column. "There's food too! Hmm..." she pauses, her eyes darting back and forth like a child in a candy store. She gets excited about the smallest things... just like Wendy. 

The flight attendant comes to check on us. 

"May I get you anything?" she asks, taking notice of Beatrice. 

"Ice cream, please," she politely smiles, "and root beer, thanks."

"And for you, sir?" 

"Whiskey—" I begin before Beatrice cuts me off. 

"Two ice creams and root beer. Nothing else," she corrects, smiling. 

The flight attendant looks back at me, checking and confused. I nod and she leaves as Beatrice thanks her again. I sink back, hoping the seat could swallow me whole. The flight attendant comes back soon after and places our snacks down. I shut my eyes for a moment before opening them to see Beatrice peeling the lid of the ice cream for me, resting the spoon carefully on the edge of the cup. She then opens hers and quickly scoops a bite. 

"If I can't drink, you can't either," she explains. 

"I didn't ask."

"You were wondering."

She gingerly pours the root beer into the divot of her ice cream, causing it to foam slightly. It turns a murky brown as she tips the cup to drink it. 

"That looks disgusting."

"What do you mean? You never had a root beer float?"

"No. I prefer my soda and ice cream separate."

"You're missing out. Try it," she encourages, sitting still and staring at me until I do so. 

Reluctantly, I scoop some ice cream and pop it into my mouth. Then, I take a swig of root beer. The mixture swishes in my mouth for a bit before I swallow. 

"That's barbaric, " she scrunches her nose, but smiles nonetheless. Satisfied, she relaxes in her seat and begins looking through the on-flight movie selections. I quickly finish the ice cream and chug down the root beer before sleeping through the rest of the flight. Really, I just closed my eyes and waited.