Started as His Wife (ON HIATUS)

Those Who Hurt

Vincent's POV

"Did you see anything on the porch today?" Wendy asks me as soon as I walk into the kitchen. She turns around while still stirring the wooden in what smelled like cheddar-broccoli soup. 

"Nothing again," I reply. "You can be honest with me if you went online shopping out of boredom," I chuckle. 

"No, nothing like that."

"Then why do you keep expecting a package?" 

"It's just good to double-check," Wendy answers, though I'm not sure what to make of it.

"Guess what I got you?" I grin. 

"What is it?" Wendy gently smiles as she asks. 

I raise the bag from behind my back, the rectangular shape of the styrofoam box pressing again the thin, plastic revealing my surprise. 

"You should've told me you were buying food. I wouldn't have cooked then," Wendy gently scolds me while nevertheless smiling at the bag. 

"It's okay. You can dip the burrito in the soup. A burrito with broccoli dipped in broccoli."

"Sounds good."

"Only to you," I tease, handing her the bag. "Want to take it to the table? I'll finish the soup and I'll bring it out."

"Thank you. I was getting tired from standing."

After touching up the seasoning and letting the soup thicken slightly, I ladle two small bowls and bring them out to the dining table. Setting down the bowls, I see that Wendy hasn't even taken out the food like she usually does. Instead, she's sitting back against the chair, her hands resting on her stomach, fingers picking at one another. Eyes staring blankly at the window, she doesn't even notice me until the two spoons I'm holding clink against each other. 

"Is something wrong?" I ask her, pushing the bowl in front of her and handing her a spoon. 

"Nothing," Wendy pauses. "I'm just looking at the snow."

I glance to my side to see the white dusting. The snow is so light and soft, it almost seems like it wants to float up rather than fall down. As Wendy stirs the soup around, I undo the knot of the plastic bag and free the boxes from it. I open Wendy's box for her and slide it front of her. She looks up at it and then looks back down. Suddenly blinking, as if she just recalled what it is she is supposed to do with it, she tears a small piece of the tortilla and drops it in the soup. Scooping it up wit the slightest bit of soup, she finally takes a bite of the food. 

I stir the soup with a bundle of fries and pop in into my mouth, chewing as I look at Wendy go back to endlessly circling the bowl with her spoon. 

"Did I ruin the soup?" I ask.

"No, it tastes really good. You're getting better at cooking," Wendy reassures me, taking another bite, although tiny again, in an attempt to solidify her point. 

"You're barely touching your burrito. You love that burrito."

"I'm saving it for tomorrow."

"I'll buy you another one tomorrow."

Wendy goes quiet again. 

"Tell me what's wrong," I sigh. "You've been out of it lately."

"I don't know," Wendy sighs, biting her lips. An obvious lie. 

"Do you love me?" 

"Of course," Wendy answered with a bit more energy than lately. 

"I love you too, so I need to know what's wrong. I feel like you've been feeling down for weeks now, but you won't tell me the reason. It's making me anxious too."

"I'm sorry," she says quietly, her stirring slowing. 

"Will you please tell me?" I gently plead with her, moving my chair close enough for our knees to touch.

 I take her hand and loosen her grip on the spoon. Taking both of them in mine, I rub her knuckles gently until I feel her hands relax. She takes a silent but deep breath before looking up at me. The moment she looks directly at me, her eyes begin to water. I immediately get on my feet, knowing she can't bend over, and allow her to press her face into my shirt while I rub her from the top of her shoulders down to her elbows. I feel her tremble as she tries to stifle her cries. 

"I'm sorry," she says again, her voice weak and shaking. 

"Don't apologize. I'm sorry I didn't ask you sooner."

"It's just that I don't want to ruin your mood."

"But holding it in hurts you, and I think that hurts me more than anything you can say," I remind her.

She nods slowly, digesting my words. I let go of her momentarily and seat myself on the hardwood floor. Looking up at Wendy, I move the strands of hair plastered to her face with the wet tears and tuck them behind her ears. Meanwhile, she closes her eyes and take deep breaths, which are interrupted with tiny shakes and whimpers, until her breathing becomes steady and slow once again. 

I take her hands and run my thumbs over her knuckles, waiting until she's comfortable enough to tell me. 

"It's about Greg," she finally admits. 

I stop rubbing her hands and grab them tightly, looking up at Wendy to show her my full attention. 

"We fought the night before he left. I'm not sure how it started really, or why he was upset. It's just—just—" her voice weakens again. 

I bring her hands up and press them against my cheek. She sees this and takes another deep breath before continuing. 

"I don't want you to hate Greg."

"Why? Did he say something hurtful?" I ask, trying to conceal my impending anger from Wendy. 

She is hesitant to nod, but eventually does. 

"I won't hate him... What did he say?"

"That he's tired of me...What does that even mean?" Wendy asks, her tears running again. She pulls back her hands and hides her face with them, her hair falling around her like curtains. 

I want to hurt him.

Looking at Wendy, I could feel my heart breaking and my blood boiling. Yet, I sit helplessly, knowing I could not do much to calm the storm swirling inside of her. This issue was between her and Grayson, and I can't intervene. Still, I can sit with her in the storm until it passes, and make it less scarier than having her withstand it alone. 

As much as I want to antagonize Grayson for making Wendy this distraught, I can't because I don't understand why. It was hard to admit for a long time, but if anyone loves Wendy as much as I do, it was him. So, why? Why hurt someone he care so much for?

Seeing Wendy hurt makes me hurt, and in turn, want to inflict the same hurt on Grayson. But it was pointless, because he was already hurting. Those who are hurting the most are capable of  hurting others the most. Maybe I was reasoning for him, but it was the only way I could stop myself from hating him, and I already promised Wendy I wouldn't. 

*****

I know it's a short chapter but I've got another one coming your way soon. Being in quarantine makes summer feel so weird. It doesn't feel like summer. I'm going to try my best to finish up this book around the end of summer, because I know starting college is going to be rough and overwhelming for me, and I've made you guys wait long enough!

Honestly though, I couldn't have asked for a more supportive fanbase! Your girl's a mess but you guys still show me so much understanding and support. Love you all so much <3