Love Is Louder

by Antoinette Candela

  Could it be happening? Can my wife be finally standing up to me, fighting?

  I feel the burn of her gaze, but she remains silent. The challenge literally makes my blood tingle, and my cock throbs.

  Why am I like this?

  She doesn’t deserve this. I should tell her and get it over with. I should suffer the consequences, but instead, when she tries to break away from my grasp, I grab her and kiss her with everything in me— passion, anger, and fear meshing into a chaotic mass of emotions. She immediately falls in, wanting to feel what we had before and what is slowly eroding away, all because of me.

  “Stop,” she whimpers after several intense seconds, keeping her sweet lips against mine. I fight the explosion of emotions her one word provokes inside me. To demand from her, to take what is mine, to overpower her like I can, and for her to surrender. But, this time I obey her breathless plea and break the kiss. I clench my eyes and lay my forehead against hers, inhale, and open my eyes. I keep my attention on her, not wanting to move, feeling her body tense against mine. She raises her brows, anticipating an answer. My throat suddenly shuts down on me.

  “Not now, James.” The way she whisks the words isn’t convincing.

  She hurries around me, and instinctively I catch her arms and jerk her to my body. She is brittle, barely keeping it together. It doesn’t have to be this way. Before she can protest, I hold her face firmly between my hands and kiss her again, taking more of her, stealing another piece of her, needing her to make me whole, but at the same time, tearing her down.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m tired, babe.” She slowly pushes me away, her eyes filled with determination. Something snaps violently inside me like an ax to the trunk of a tree. Splinters and jagged pieces of my heart explode into the air. My body wants to chase after her and wrap my arms around her to restrain her, but something bigger tells me I should let it go. I can’t even imagine what’s going on in her head. It has to be a million times worse than what I have circling in my mind, which I don’t have the fucking guts to express, because I don’t know if I can stop if I were to start. I’ll end up telling her everything because I’m not as strong as I think I am.

  Standing alone, the growing darkness covers me in haunting shadows like I hide the truth from my wife. My mind is reeling and ready for a fight. I want her to fight me for the things I’m doing. My marriage has become a game of deceit. It’s happening. No more words are spoken. I don’t have the courage to shatter her. I’m a coward. I let her go.

  “Dammit. What the hell did I do with my camera?” I mutter under my breath as I scurry from room to room, searching for it.

  In frustration, I call out for James to help me, but there is no answer. I check the pool to see if he’s swimming laps, but the cerulean water is lifeless as the sun glistens off it like diamonds. Nothing but One Republic’s “Secrets” floats from the stereo in the living room. Secrets. How ironic. I wish James would tell me what I want to hear. Just give away all his secrets and I would share mine. Do I even have a secret? Yes, I’m hiding a secret—hiding my secretly breaking heart.

  James was confounded when I walked away from him the other night. The defeat in his eyes was more than I could take. It hurt me to see him that way, but he was late again, and I wasn’t going to brush it aside like he brushes me aside. There’s a first time for everything, and I needed to show him and myself that I can deny him when he needs me.

  Later, when he found me on the couch with the bottle of wine I started alone—but we finished together—he apologized. That’s what we did. He apologized to me, again. Then we made love, had sex, fucked. I don’t know what to call it anymore. He was brooding, and his eyes never left my face, and mine never left his. I couldn’t stop the suspicion gnawing a gaping hole in my soul. It’s like he wanted to share something with me.

  What was it about him that night?

  I pad down the endless hallway in my bare feet and white bikini to James’ office located at the end. It’s his sanctuary, where he works and does his own thing. The door is slightly ajar, so I gingerly push it open, not wanting to disrupt him if he’s in the midst of something vital with a case. The blinds are drawn, and the room is bathed in a soft light emanating from his desk lamp where he’s seated behind his desk in a comfy black leather chair hunched over my camera. The smell of citrus and spice teases my senses, and the sight of my husband warms my body, causing the millions of goose bumps on my skin to fade away.

  “Honey, here you are.”

  Startled, James looks up, clears his throat, and cautiously sets the camera onto his desk. His demeanor changes like I just caught him doing something underhanded, as if handling my camera is something forbidden. His reaction is unsettling, making my heart rate climb with discomfort. He knows my camera is my prized possession, and he also knows I would never keep anything from him. That was before. This is now.

  “Hey, B,” he responds in a soft voice that cracks, almost imperceptibly.

  “I’ve been looking for that,” I say, pointing to the camera.

  “Come here.” He waves me over.”You never share your work with me anymore.” He pushes the camera farther away from him, like he’s trying to distance himself from the evidence and distract me.

  I cross the room and make my way around his desk to stand in front of him. “You never ask, baby. Work...you’re always working.” I tilt my head to the side, brushing my hand over his cheek. “I thought this weekend was for us to relax and do nothing. You agreed.”

  “Yes, we have plenty of time left. I’m done here.” Reaching for my waist, he pulls me onto his lap, causing my blood to rush to his touch. His silky palms slide up the pebbled skin of my arms before returning to my waist.

  “Well, what do you think of my work?”

  “Amazing as usual, baby. You know that. And so were the ones from the party. I didn’t know you were taking pictures all night.”

  There are the photos of Lisa among all the shots, but he doesn’t mention anything, yet his sharp blue eyes deceive him. He’s dying to ask questions. It’s in his nature. He’s trained to pry, to dissect, and to expose, but it seems like I’m the one doing more of that these days. I’m investigating my own husband, who can’t give me a concrete answer to any of my questions.

  “Thanks, babe. I got caught up in the moment,” I respond, picking up the camera to peruse my recent collection of photos. “Lily’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

  His hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed by me—the faint wobble of his Adams apple as he swallows and the way his fingers dig into my waist. He hates this topic. The forbidden four-letter words. Baby. Kids.

  “Yes, she is,” he says bluntly, allowing no room for further conversation, but I persist.

  “It’s heartbreaking what happened to her mother. Killed in a hit-and-run,” I say, setting the camera aside.

  “I know. I remember it happened four years ago. It’s really sad,” he declares, pulling me into his chest. “Don’t you remember?” He cups my cheek and turns me to look at him.

  The pause is profound.

  “I...I don’t think so.” Confused, I scrutinize him, the crease in his brow more pronounced.”Should I?”

  “I just thought...My mistake…” he trails off, kissing my shoulder.

  Four years ago. Why don’t I remember that? And why would he ask?

  “Did you know her?”

  “Meadow.”

  “That’s her name?”

  “Yes, I knew of her from high school, and I ran into her after college a couple of times.”

  “I can’t imagine what her family went through.”

  “I’m sure it was tough.” He presses his soft lips on the back of my shoulder. “I don’t want to talk about anything sad right now,” he says, his voice a low purr. I lean back against him.

  “So, what do you want to talk about?” I ask quietly as he takes a strand of my hair and twirls it around his finger.

  “I don’t want to talk at all rig
ht now,” he says as his hands wander over my naked skin. “I just want to be like this with you.”

  I turn so that my lips brush against his jaw. As my eyes find his and our gazes stick, a million things run through my mind. Avoiding the issues that are plaguing our marriage by making small talk or not talking at all is killing me. Are we both scared of what the truth will reveal? Are we both playing a stupid game of hide and seek, afraid to hurt one another? Rather than fulfilling the emotional need, we are replacing it with physical desire. It won’t last long. Why does it have to be this way? When did it start? Why can’t we just end it? They’re thoughts that shadow me, but I don’t do anything about them. Neither of us does. We just sidestep it all.

  “So, what could we possibly do instead?” I laugh softly.

  I’m guilty of doing it again, enabling the silence between us. Unspoken words. He gently rests his warm hand over my stomach.

  “God, I’ve missed your laugh.”

  “Is there anything else you’ve missed?” I prod, his eyes burning into me with neither one of us telling the other what we feel, that we could both possibly be hurting.

  “Your kisses. I want to kiss you so badly.”

  “What are you waiting for?” I whisper, leaning my body against his as I bite down on my lower lip. He places his hand on my cheek and brings my mouth down to his. I feel him smiling against my mouth, sweet and smug.

  I want to give him what he needs, for him to hold me, to touch me, and to fuck me. His lips are warm and firm against mine, and shivers rush over my skin as his hands travel down to seize my hips. I sigh, parting my lips and letting our tongues tangle together. He locks his teeth gently on my lower lip, releasing a delicious little pang that shortens my breath.

  I squirm, rubbing my ass against his erection. He tightens his grip on my hips before moving his hands down to my bikini bottoms. With agile fingers, he unties the strings, letting them fall away as an ache pools in my lower body.

  “I think...” I glance down at him, my blood heating at the sight of the desire brewing in his eyes. “I think I need more than kisses from you, baby.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  Lust curls through me as he runs his hands up to cup my breasts. I turn my thoughts over to other things—to him, to his body, and to what he wants to do to me. I’m determined to lose myself deeper in him this way, the only way we know how to reach each other since words are so hard to find.

  I focus on the road in front of me, eager to distract myself when I hear my phone ringing. I reach over and grab it, answering when I see that it’s Ava. I didn’t tell her I was closing the studio early and skipping yoga. Tonight, I have other plans by the pool with a glass of wine. Since my introduction to Lisa at the park and meeting her at the party, I’ve attempted to get her out of my head. More yoga, more clients, and more wine. Anything to fill the void I feel, but tonight, I want to be alone.

  “Hey,” I say, returning my attention to the road as I turn down the radio.

  “What’s with the depressing voice? Is it James again?”

  I stare straight ahead, turning down Destiny Lane with our empty mini mansion looming in front of me. “Just a long day,” I fib.

  “I saw him.”

  “What?”

  “Jimmy…James,” she states in sarcastic tone. “I had to give James a piece of my mind the other day when I ran into him at Starbucks.”

  “Ava, what are you talking about?”

  “I take it he didn’t say anything about our run-in.”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “Don’t worry. I didn’t make a scene. I just wanted to let him know that I have my eye on him.”

  “Ava, I know you mean well, I do. I mean, that’s why I share everything with you. I trust you.”

  “Good. I’m always here for you and I just…I want you to be happy.”

  “I know.”

  I pull up the driveway and put the car into park. Opening the door, I step out with my purse and camera and march up the walkway with a growing sense of restlessness.

  “You haven’t been entirely yourself lately. You used to tell me everything. It’s not good to keep things bottled up inside.”

  I am lost, trapped in my head for a moment that drags.

  “Right now, I just want James and me to…see if we can work through whatever it is,” I say, trying to sound positive.

  “I totally understand, hon. I will be better at restraining myself. It’s just after seeing Lisa I felt…I don’t know. Didn’t you feel weird about it?”

  A dull niggle pinches my heart. I did, but what can I do about it? It’s just me being insecure, but does it mean something more that Ava sensed something? I saw how Lisa was looking at James, but not once did I see James eyeing her. Attraction can be one sided, but Lisa is gorgeous, and the idea of her working with James so closely everyday twists my belly into a tight knot. I think about it until the images blur and swirl into a ball of blackness. I shake it all away.

  “I can’t be in this house alone,” I murmur, dropping my eyes to my hands, wishing I had stayed at the office or went to yoga class. I unlock the front door, remove my sunglasses, and throw my things onto the sofa. Moving through the shadows of the house, I stalk directly to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine.

  “Is James working late again?”

  “Yes, a new custody case, I guess.” I breathe with difficulty, taking a sip of wine as I slip off my heels and turn on the radio.

  “You believe him? Trust him?”

  Carrying my wine, I head upstairs to change into something more comfortable and possibly take a quick nap. I didn’t sleep well last night.

  “He’s the DA. He has a heavy workload and so much to prove,” I answer, using his reasons from our arguments over the last couple of weeks. Look at me, being the accommodating wife. Like always.

  “Have you ever been to his office?”

  I shake my head at what she’s insinuating. I know the scenarios rolling around in her head. Big private office, large desk, comfy leather chair, and dark blinds. Ava watches too much television. Revenge and Scandal have always been her guilty pleasures.

  “My life is not one of your soap operas or TV dramas.”

  “Come on, Brie! Where do you think they get their ideas from?” She chuckles. “Real life shit.”

  I don’t have to go to his office; isn’t it all out in the open for everyone to see?

  “I’m busy in the studio. You know that. I don’t have time to babysit or spy on my husband,” I counter, frowning at the pile of laundry strewn all over the bed. I usually stay on top of things, but with work, some things have fallen to the wayside.

  “Can I call you back? I need to pick up around here. It’s chaos. It feels like James doesn’t live here anymore.” I laugh as I start to pick up and fold his clothes.

  “Fine. Don’t work too hard. Let me know if you need some company later.”

  “No date tonight?” I ask, trying to lighten my mood. Listening to Ava’s latest dating escapades usually works.

  “Possibly. If you don’t call me, I can always put together something at the last minute and swing by the bar for a drink alone. You know me.”

  “That I do. Keep me posted, girl.”

  “I will.”

  I hang up with Ava, and for the next twenty minutes, I organize James’ clothes and hang his dry cleaning in his walk-in closet. I’ve only been in here a handful of times since we moved in. Like James, everything is organized logically and precisely. Shirts and jackets on top with slacks and jeans on the bottom. His expensive black leather Italian shoes are neatly aligned with the toes edging out from underneath like an army of ants. But, it’s not my husband’s organizing skills, clothes, or his shoes that hold my attention anymore. Nope. My eyes catch on the unlocked black metal security box peeking out from underneath his gym bag.

  This is so unlike him to forget, but he has been under an enormous amount of stress at work. With everything going on, I can’t h
elp myself and yank the box out from its hiding place.

  Was he hiding it? Or is this my overactive imagination?

  Swallowing back the anxiety that’s quickly rising in my throat, I sit crossed-legged on the floor and open the box. I feel like shit going through my husband’s things and guilty because a little part of me doesn’t trust him, but it doesn’t squelch my burning curiosity.

  I thumb through bank statements with numerous withdrawals of cash from a closed bank account, expired insurance policies, and his birth certificate. Nothing suspicious or deceitful. As I get closer to the bottom, I come across a yellow manila envelope the size of a paperback with Pics written across the front in James’ familiar sharp scroll. Inside, after I suffer a paper cut in my haste to open it, I find photos—photos I threw away and photos I took before we were married of the woman I saw him around town with every time we came to visit his family. My breath catches, my heart seizes, my hands tremble, and my eyes begin to blur.

  In each photo, I marked her face, scratched it, and defaced it somehow. I hated her, and I never met her, and that hate still echoes loudly in my chest, along with shock and confusion at finding the pictures. She may be a wonderful person, but I will never know because I haven’t seen her since right before James and I exchanged our wedding vows.

  James is smiling, touching her hand, and hugging her in several of the pictures. I had caught him just like I had caught him with Lisa. Under different circumstances, these pictures look like a couple in love, almost like engagement photos that I’ve taken in the past for clients. She’s not showing in this picture, but I can tell by the way she holds her hand over her stomach that she’s pregnant. There’s intensity in James’ eyes and gentleness in the way his hand rests on her forearm. My stomach burns. I want to take a match to every photo, but I can’t have James knowing I’ve been meddling around.

  Why didn’t he tell me he had salvaged these pictures or ask why I took them? Was it to avoid a confrontation? No talking. We never talk. I don’t talk.