Diary of Amet... (One month back)

I don't like writing journals or diaries, whatever they call it. But someone told me that I should do it.

It takes the burden off our chest.

And it helps people who don't have anyone to share their thoughts with.

I laughed at myself; is it that obvious that I am alone? I don't have anyone to share my thoughts with?

I should ask the person who suggested me to write this diary.

I don't find it interesting, but I think I'll get used to it. It's like I can write anything and no one will judge me.

Unless someone reads it, because people believe everything which is written down. Grab any history book, and you will believe every bit of shit they have written down. Not putting your mind to it. All are lies. That's what my father used to say.

Anyways, I'll hide it somewhere where no one can find it.

Not like anyone would be interested in it. There are hardly any people here who care about my existence.

Including my husband.

Yesterday, I felt him entering the room at midnight; the room was dimly lit. Sleeping in complete darkness is horrifying. I was curled under the bedsheets when the door of the bedroom opened.

No one can enter my bedroom in the middle of the night except him.

Elijah Hawthorne!

My beloved husband.

I could feel myself tightening the sheets around myself at his presence. I kept my eyes closed.

His footsteps approached me; I could sense him standing close to me. His scent, mixed with leather and spices, always dominates the room and my mind. He was standing in front of my face; I could smell him strongly.

Maybe he was waiting for me to open my eyes. I didn't.

His footsteps faded behind the door of the washroom because I heard the shower running.

If he was taking a shower so late, then there was only a reason behind it, and I can't write it down.

After some time, the bed beside me dipped. He is too muscular not to make me feel his presence; I would have felt it even if I had been asleep.

He pulled the bedsheets on himself, making me feel the tug. Probably checking if I woke up or not.

I didn't respond.

Then he did what I have told him not to do every fucking night we sleep together. He switched off the light.

I fucking hate this. He knows that I am scared of darkness, yet he switches off the lights. Five years of marriage, and he still doesn't remember that I hate being in the dark. Sometimes I wonder if he really forgets about it or does it on purpose to show me who has the upper hand here.

I turned around, pretending to be asleep and held his arm under the bedsheets, which hardly fit in my palm. It makes me feel safe. He is huge, and sometimes I feel like he doesn't even have to put in any effort to kill me if he ever wants to.

Just one roll on the bed and he can crush me under his huge body.

His arm is ice cold; he must have showered with cold water. In bone chilling winter night, does he ever feel cold?

I was the first one to wake up in the morning; he was still asleep. I would have loved to admire his face while he was asleep, but who am I kidding?

Elijah never sleeps. Not even when he is sleeping. So don't do anything while he is asleep, thinking he won't know.

Ask me about it; I have learned it the hard way.

Yet I made that mistake; I went straight to the washroom and checked the laundry basket.

I dug into it and found his shirt; the evidence of his last night's sin should have been present on it.

And I finally found it!

The thing is, he doesn't even care to hide it anymore.

I stared at the crimson red spot on his shirt; the rustic smell almost made me throw up.

I want to ask him why there is blood on his shirt, but I shouldn't. It won't be good for me.

This is not the first time, and I am sure it wasn't the last either.

I gasped when the washroom door creaked. Quickly dropping the shirt in the laundry basket, I stood in front of the mirror and splashed the water on my face.

Fuck, it was cold.

I gasped while squeezing my eyes shut and tried to grab the towel, but couldn't reach it.

"Here!"

His rough morning voice rippled through the silence of the morning as he placed the towel in my palm.

I quickly dabbed it on my face.

I am sure my pale skin is red like a burn mark. People call it porcelain; I would call it ghostly white.

"Why would you wash your face with cold water?"

I can't recognise his voice, not after that night.

"Unless you were not thinking straight."

I gulped, holding tightly to the towel.

"What were you thinking, Amet?"

He tried to touch my arm, but I flinched.

His hand froze a few inches away from my arm before pulling back.

"Are you still thinking about that night?"

"I don't want to talk about it"

I breathed out, not meeting his manipulative amber eyes.

"Were you awake when I came last night?"

He asked, but why would he ask?

"No!"

This isn't the first time I've lied to him.

"Are you sure?"

Oh god! Am I in trouble?

I cleared my throat.

"Yes!"

"Good!"

He knows that I am lying. He knows, and I don't know what he is going to do with this in his mind.

"Where were you last night?"

And the night before that, and also before that. I have so many questions, but he would never answer.

"You want me to answer honestly or lie like you always do?"

He raised his eyebrows with a mocking smirk.

I finally looked into his eyes and mumbled.

"How do you know that I was lying?"

"Let's keep it a secret. I see, you are loving this game too much."

He patted my cheek and walked out.

I took a deep breath and freshened up. He was out of his night trousers and back in his black suit. He only wears black suits when he is going out. I have never seen anything other than black in his closet in five years of our marriage.

It's evening, and I am sitting with the stupid diary by the window. The smell of Jasmine flower is annoying me. I told Elijah to cut it down. I hate the Jasmine fragrance; it gives me a headache.

It's still there; Elijah never pays attention to this demand. Maybe because he loves the jasmine fragrance. I recall him planting it two years ago.

I haven't heard from him since morning. It's nothing new. Sometimes he is gone for days without informing me. I don't mind; after five years of marriage, it feels like peace of mind.

Don't get me wrong. Elijah is a good husband. He provides everything which I asks for except a few things which are inconvenient to him, of course.

He loves me, but if he ever gets his hands on this diary...

He will kill me!