Chapter 200 - MCIW [09] HE HATE HER
Instant regrets flooded inside me, filling every fiber, every corner of my being until I couldn't take it anymore and I wanted to scream and squeeze the truth out of him until he confessed that he lied so he could hurt me.
But the feral look upon those black onyx eyes radiating with hatred and immeasurable fury, spoke of undeniable truth and I possess no willpower to prove my innocence from all his accusations.
His menacing gaze continues to pierce mine, rendering me paralyze like a prey closely watched by a ravenous predator who would soon sink its teeth on the hopeless creature and tear it's frail body to shreds until it was satisfied.
What have I done? A frail voice inside me asked. It was filled with endless remorse, self pity, and disbelief. Wishing at the same time, the question didn't spill in my lips for it only gave birth to a mountain of confusion.
My mind was fuzzy and my body exhausted by forcing myself to recall some details about myself just to prove I wasn't the woman he was talking about. But there were no memories to recall, only a huge nagging emptiness inside my head and a disturbing hollowness in my chest.
He hadn't hit me but his revelation surpassed the pain and shock of a physical blow. I was robbed of air, even my breathing stopped.
I was devastated in a way I have never been before, wondering if I could escape the doom that was waiting for me the moment I woke up from an overwhelming sleep.
Defeated, I refused to look at him anymore for it will add more pain and I don't want to take anymore of which I know was past the limits of what I could bear.
Lowering my gaze to the floor and pulling my arms wide open, I let the weight of the truth sink within me as I waited for his punishing hands to slither on my throat and suspend my breathing. Perhaps it was the punishment I truly deserve. Or do I deserve worse than that?
But the blow I was waiting, didn't arrive. He suddenly set me free and I fell to the bed as if my touch was venom and it burned his skin.
"I'm sorry, Lucas…" I murmured, raising a tear stricken eyes to his. I could still feel the warmth of his fingers pressed to my cheeks and feel the heat of his furious gaze gliding over my face.
His jaw clenched tightly and his fist curled into a ball. He continued to watch me without saying a word and the silence lapsing inside the room was so overwhelming that I thought I would die from his stabbing glare. I would rather listen to his vile curses than deal with the layers of glaciers that seem to surround him while he deals with his thoughts.
Just when I thought he would come and execute the physical punishment I deserve he completely dissolved my expectations by marching to the door without a single backward glance and slamming it close.
The next few days in the hospital were no better. Even after two long weeks with Lucas hadn't helped improve our relationship.
My husband was more distant, more quiet than before, and had totally wrapped himself into an impenetrable wall. He continued to treat me with chilling civility as if he was talking to a wall or I'm one of the appliances inside the room. He was very good at making me feel as if he ceased to recognize my existence. In return I would pretend as if his presence inside my room didn't bother me even if every fiber in my body rattled with unease when he's near.
When the Doctor in charge of me delivered the news that I would be discharged, I was ecstatic and nearly jumped with relief. However my happiness was short-lived and my mood plummeted down the ocean floor by the thought of returning to the house—my husband's house.
Being in the same house with Lucas would be excessively vexing. I expect nothing from him except being treated like a house's furniture he has no care for. What's more frustrating is to be in the same house with him and feel as if I didn't exist.
That afternoon, the man who haunted my thoughts for straight two weeks came up to me, eased my body from the bed like a fragile doll, and lowered me to the swivel chair that would help me to the car waiting in the parking area.
The contact was short and swift but it left me shivering to my toes and swallowing hard even after he let me go.
Max was there to bid us goodbye but before we could leave he had a talk with me. He cast me a worried glance before he explained the extent of the damage on my ankles.
"You won't be able to use your feet to ballet again." He said in a way as if he just dropped a bomb and waited for me to react violently or even burst into tears but it shocked him when I looked up to him with a completely serene expression.
Behind the rim of his eyeglasses, soft, mellow eyes watch me intently, trying to see past my expression and discover if I was as calm as I appear.
My gaze landed into my left ankles which were still wrapped with bandages and ached a bit every time I forced myself to walk.
Max explained that the surgery to my heel will make it impossible for me to perform my passion again. Stretching my toes and my ankles would apply pressure to the damaged area and could be extremely painful. It would be better to give up dancing before it could lead to permanent damage. Permanent damage could mean I will never be able to walk again.
I gave him a smile, well aware that Lucas was watching but I paid him no heed. Max had been so good to me that I felt nothing for him except overflowing gratitude. The kindness and concern he showered me when I needed it the most kept me sane just when I thought I would go crazy for having been trapped in here with a cold statue.
"You have nothing to worry Doc Max. I have been thinking a lot and my two weeks stay here was enough to make me arrive at a decision—I'm giving up ballet!"
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