TAINTED LOVE (Racer×CEO)

T W E N T Y F I V E

TWENTY FIVE: SUNDRESSES & BUNGEE JUMPING

I READ SOMEWHERE, crying isn't defined by science. Tears are only meant to lubricate our eyes and clear the unwanted debris and dirt. And I think that tear glands don't hold any right to overproduce at the time of a weak situation. 

My vision was blurred as I looked at the ceiling feeling drugged, my heavy head rested on the leather couch in the living room, where everything happened a few hours ago. My heavy eyelids dropped lazily and drops of tears tracked the millions which rolled before. 

I was over the crying, sobbing and hiccuping stage and now what was left were silent tears in the dim lit room. I wish I could control them just like I muffled my crying by burning my face into the couch, restraining my sobs by worrying the lip till I could feel the metallic tinge of blood on my tongue and hiccups by dominating my brain to think about something else. It was difficult initially but things came at bay eventually. 

My eyes burned with the tears still left and I shut them tightly till I fell into oblivion. 

The sunlight seeped through my eyelids, irritating them. I opened my eyes and closed them immediately at the pain that shot through the nerves of my eyes, burning them. My head felt heavy due to the emotional breakdown which triggered a side effect of pounding my head. 

The white veil, wrapped around my wrist had turned crimson red and there were blotches of dried blood all over the white wedding dress. 

Sitting up straight, still holding my head, I unwrapped the cloth along my hand. I inspected the wonderful closely and it was still bleeding and I came to the conclusion that the cut was too deep. 

I stood up with wobbly feet, which were still asleep and managed to get to my room up the stairs. 

Bathing and changing into a fresh pair of clothes I decided to head to the nearest clinic to mend my wounds. 

***

I slice the cucumber and tomatoes to make a sandwich for me. Honestly, that's all I can make. I literally, suck at cooking. Back at my own house, Starbucks was the next building to my residence. Taking out and washing the vegetables, I carefully peel the cucumber making sure not to hurt the stitches. Yes, I got three stitches and maybe it wasn't the most hurtful accident but it still hurt like a bitch. 

I wince when I start slicing the tomatoes and pressure is applied on my wrist. And the plaster just looks disgusting, makes me feel like a patient. 

I look around the kitchen, trying to find the rock salt. Perks of cooking for the first day in a new house! 

I scoffed internally. Finally, I settle with regular salt to prepare my sandwich. 

The door clicked open and he entered. My jaw clenched as I looked through my lashes. I wasn't gonna talk to him ever. I continued with whatever I was doing. He moved up the stairs, I know because I heard his loud footsteps. 

"We are leaving in two hours for Switzerland. Pack up." He said from above the stairs and I stopped the knife of its tracks.

I tried coming up with a retort and opened my mouth. I looked up to his eyes which were challenging me to proceed. I gulped back the words when I realized how I was the one who agreed with grandma that we'd go for a honeymoon to Switzerland. 

At my lack of words, he took it as a yes and disappeared. Sighing, I finished with my sandwich and took a bite from it, not bothering to fetch a plate. And moreover, I had to 'PACK'.

I just want to pack him in a jute bag and throw him in the garbage bin. But I think that I won't even touch him. He doesn't even deserve any emotion from my side, I loathe him.