Chapter 5: Poison & Wine

(THE CIVIL WARS)

Later that night, in the hotel’s bed, Blaire tosses and turns, tangled in memories. The smell of burning wood hangs in the air. There is no fire here, or close by. It’s a phantom smell, a ghost from the past.

Out of frustration she rises, opening the shower to full blast of cold water, hoping it would wash the past from this present. She longs for sleep, but knows it won’t come while her mind is diving into the toxic dumpster of the past.

“It’s because the anniversary is coming soon,” she whispers. “That’s all it is. A big one too. Ten years. Darkness Returns is looming.”

Twelve years ago, she left Arthur’s place with the evidence in her bag, not sure what to do. She continued being the wife Luka knew, or the broken version she had become during those preceding troubled months. She cooked and cleaned. Sat at the table across from him, thinking that she knew everything, and he had no idea that she did. Her sister used to be the one she’d talked to before, but now she was a part of the problem, not the solution.

She wondered what he’d say if he knew that she knew. Would he find some excuse? Would he deny it all? Blame it on her? Try to talk his way out of it?

She knew she should tell him, but couldn’t. How do you tell your husband that you know he is having an affair with your sister, of all people? Where do you start? How do you explain that you deliberately asked someone to go behind his back to find evidence? If he asks why she didn’t come to him with her doubts, what will she answer?

She had no answer.

So many unanswered questions flying around in her brain. She didn’t want to walk into the confrontation unprepared, but how does one prepare for such a conversation? The only thing she knew for sure at the time was this: she wasn’t nearly emotionally ready for what was going to happen. And while she had the knowledge of the sordid affair on her sleeve, she felt in control. Once the facts are out, there will be all kinds of repercussions she couldn’t predict or manage.

In the meantime, she listened to his voice, talking his way in and out of her heart. Sometimes spilling sweet words like wine over her abused heart. It was a salve, a healing. Other times, spitting poisonous words that pushed them even further and further apart. Blaire didn’t know which to believe. His mouth was a pendulum swinging over her, from darkness to light and back again. She never knew what would come next. Could not prepare for either attack or loving embrace.

The only sure thing she had to cling onto was that she loved him once. Loved him still. Despite everything that happened. Despite everything that might still happen, she loved him.

But everything changed. Even those pillars of their marriage fell away slowly. He suddenly wanted children. A new dream he constantly beat her down with. She wasn’t sure where it came from, because they had agreed to be childfree. For ever. Was it because he was looking for a sure way out of the marriage that will place the blame squarely on her shoulders, leaving him squeaky clean? He always hated carrying blame for anything. If she continued to refuse him a child, he could point at her and say confidently that he wanted more than she was willing to give. That she was the poison. That she was breaking an obvious expectation of marriage.

Only Red King understood her insistence to never procreate with Luka. He is the one who made her aware of how high-risk pregnancy between her and Luka would be. People from the Bird Clan didn’t fare well when they had children with others. His own grandparents and parents were a perfect example. Father from the Bull Tribe, mother from the weak Bird Clan. Seven pregnancies. Only Luka made it past puberty. After his mother’s death, his father married again to a woman from a prominent Bull Tribe family. Together, they had six healthy children. Luka was not Bull, even though his father was. He inherited his weak Bird mother’s genes. Small and weak. And beautiful. So beautiful.

That is why Red King gave her the first bottle of potion to prevent pregnancy, and the recipe to make her own in the future. She discussed this with Luka at length during their engagement, and he agreed. He didn’t feel the need to give his father grandchildren, since there were plenty of siblings to do so.

Plus, she wanted to travel, see the world before she took up leadership of the Snake Clan. Children would tie them down to a house and schools and medical services. She had the kind of work that she could take anywhere, earning a living while actually living. This, too, was something they both wanted. Or at least, what she wanted, and Luka said he wanted. Once she had gained recognition in her field, they’d start traveling. For years, they lived in this bubble of agreement, sharing a future that looked the same.

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Then it changed. He changed. Their dreams were no longer the same. She wanted to hate him, then. Longed for her heart to turn away from the pain that festered between them, the abyss that opened deeper every day. Her heart was a traitor. It kept dragging her back to him and what they used to have. Their good times chained her to him in a way that made no sense. Her heart held tight to the idea that one day, if she held on, everything will return to the way it was before.

Blaire closes the shower’s tap, grabbing the thick hotel towel from the rail. Slowly, with deliberate movements, she dries herself. She should stop drinking. It’s making everything worse. She can’t escape the darkness closing in while her mind dallies in the past.

Like recalling how she wished Luka would run after her. Those romantic novels and movies from her teenage years promised that the love of her life will always run after her when she walks away. That somehow they will always reconcile. That a broken relationship can be unbroken with a mere kiss, a flower, and the right song playing in the background.

Lies. All lies.

Luka didn’t run to make up every time. Didn’t run to fix them when he was the one that caused the pain. Didn’t respond to her trying to reconcile. Their make-ups became less and less. Forgiveness came slower, at a higher cost. Their fights got longer, more vicious. He moved his clothes to the spare bedroom and slept there most nights.

One, two, one, two, one, two, march.

She went out of her way to not fight. She craved his attention like a child longs for parental acknowledgement. Sometimes, when she could, she chose to walk away. Stayed away for hours, sometimes days. She slept in the office, or on warm nights under the open sky. Sometimes he’d be the one leaving. Their coming back together was less spectacular as the months dragged on. Their emotional connection diminished until it was about as thin as a summer sheet.

She stayed. When she should have left, she stayed. Hoping. Longing. Praying. A stupid teenager clinging to an empty promise of true love. The woman inside her remembers how Luka’s hands could awaken her, heal her, and calm her. How softly he touched her. How warmly. How he always wanted her within arm’s length.

In those last years she learned that those same hands, like his words, could hurt. Her arms, where he gripped her, pulling her close to scream right in her face, carried bruises that turned from blue to purple to yellow.

And she loved him, even then. She sat across the dinner table, in the shadow of his sin, unable to swallow the food she spent hours preparing. If he noticed, he didn’t discuss it. Days went by in this dark limbo. Until she could no longer keep it inside. Why should she be the one to carry the burden alone? It wasn’t her burden to carry in the first place. It was his. His and Catriona’s.

She rose from the meal, speed walked to her bag, took the photos out with a determination that carried her shaking legs back to the dining room. She stopped in the doorway, looking at him. For a moment, she almost turned away, but her feet wouldn’t move. Not forward or back. She stood there, stuck in the moment.

Something had to be done. Every time he left the house she wondered if it was to meet her sister. Every time she left the house, she wondered if Catriona would come to fuck her husband. The idea that they did it in her house, in the home they build together drove her crazy. Somewhere someone was burning wood. The smoke drifted in through the window. It accosted her nose and sense. She waved a hand in front of her face, but it was useless.

Luka must have noticed her absence from the table because his eyes searched for her then. He found her in the doorway, looked at her with a frown on his forehead and a fake smile on his lips. She shrugged at the thought that he wanted to trick her with a disguise. Her, who knew him better then he knew himself.

“What?” he asked.

She took one step toward him. Then another. She clutched the photos tightly, as if they would grow wings and fly away. Even then, she didn’t know what she was going to do once she got to the table. What she was going to say.

In the end, she placed the heap of photos next to his plate and spread them out with one finger like a deck of cards. Then she sat down in her usual place. She lifted a forkful of peas to her mouth before looking at him. He had the decency to look shocked, there was no shame in his eyes at all. He coughed behind a fist, stared at the wall behind her where that awful painting hung. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t make excuses. Didn’t blame anyone.

“I still love you,” she said, trying to sound strong. “I assume you know what to do?”

He coughed again, placing the serviette in front of his mouth. Without a word, he nodded at her. She cut her meat neatly, speared a piece with her fork and ate. It tasted perfect. Butter and garlic with rosemary and a little tough of honey. She reached for the wine, drank a little sip.

This was the first meal she enjoyed since Arthur gave her those photos. No, since she saw the two cars on the way home that day. She ate slowly, savouring every mouthful. He left the table moments later. He took the photos with him, but left her carefully prepared meal untouched. She didn’t care about that at all. The heavy load that dragged her down for weeks lifted off her shoulders. She felt like a bird, flying free.

They never spoke of it again, but it was like a shadow between them. No matter where they were, what they did, and whom they were with, they both knew this ugly truth. They lived with the knowledge of his sin. His and Catriona’s sin. It tainted every moment. It poisoned their love.

Nothing was ever the same again. She knew it. He knew it. People around them could see the holes in their relationship, but nobody knew what it was, or tried to fix it. The darkness grew. The wound festered. Their home became a toxic swamp filled with filth.

In her mind one though of hope sprung up. It grew from a seed to a fully-fledged tree. Strong and straight. Reaching from the dark soil to the clear blue sky like a bridge. One diamond that shone in the darkness. The solution to their trouble. The one thing she knew he wanted.

A child.