Rosemary and Rue | Bounded in a Nutshell

It was my fault.

The red flags were everywhere, but I wanted him enough to choose not to see them.

Now they are playing out again and again in my mind - the missing hours, his secret addictions, that dirty trail of other women.

I had a life, and I chose to walk right into this chaos - out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Now, looking at the ruin of him and us, I don't even know how to untangle my name from his.

I'm scared, but I am even more sickened by my own naivety.

I don't know what to do now.

Perhaps time away from him can bleach these memories clean.

Or I can go back to my ordinary routine, bury the secrets, and pretend none of this ever happened.

Photo by Gamze on Unsplash

She disconnected herself from the outside world and did not set a foot outside for weeks just to avoid him. Stagnant in a moated grange her home had become a deserted island of her own making, but she knew this could not go on forever.

There was a life she needed to live and show up for. She still had to keep up with appearances in her domestic life

There was a long list of deferred realities that she had been putting off, not wanting to do anything at all, nor did she have the energy.

The stack of books had been sitting too long on her coffee table.

So one day, she managed to drag herself out of the bedroom after dressing herself up, ready to go to the library with the books. An old, heavy dictionary sat at the bottom of the pile, and the weight of them felt like a calling- like a silent howl that they were long overdue.

Stepping out, the air tasted completely brand new. It hit her then, how much she had missed the world.

The scent of blooming greens, the familiar comfort of walking down this path, and watching the town buzz with life - it had never felt more precious to breathe it all in than right now.

Right now, she just needed to move on and sink back into her ordinary routine; it was mundane, but it was safe. Keeping her mind occupied with chores was everything right now - resolutely shutting out any thought of him.

The library was just there, right around this corner. She just had to quickly make the return, browse around for a few books, and leave.

But he was standing right there after she turned the corner.

Every ounce of his usual perfect composure was gone. In its place, he stood disheveled and looking sorely broken. He was completely frayed. His sunken eyes were ringed with dark shadows.

He looked nothing like the man she knew- the Adonis whose statuesque visage always arrested the gaze of those around him. Nothing of that remained now. Like a ruined archangel, o'erthrown from paradise.

Turning around and walking away was all she could think of, hoping against hope that he hadn't seen her yet. Then she saw him look up; his gaze swept past her and then retraced its path to meet hers. She froze in her spot, not knowing what to do now.

He gave chase after her. She was struggling with her keys at the door before she finally got it in the keyhole. By the time he reached her porch, she had long slammed the door shut.

He rang the bell first and then pressed it over and over again before he started pounding on the wood, the violence of his fists shattering the peace of the neighborhood.

She couldn't ignore the dreadful demand from the heavy terror of his violent knocking.

It was a quiet street, and his banging was making too much noise, drawing too much attention. Terrified of the scandalous roar of judgment and whispers that would follow if she hesitated, she knew she had to make him stop immediately.

She threw the door open to yank him inside, out of sight of the neighborhood.

But it was worse behind the close door. The air inside was even tenser.

He paced, frantically - he was totally unhinged, tearing through the quiet of her home. Violent erraticism, splattering across the space without reason like a murder scene - that was his mood.

His eyes would lock on her in their cold, icy glare then instantly boil before her with a fierce, maddening passion.

It terrified her to look at him. He was entirely lost, a madman hopelessly stuck inside his own head - bounded in a nutshell of his own making.

He would shove her away with a bruising force. Then, just as quickly, he snatched her wrist and yanked her right back against him. His fingers dug into her skin as he grabbed her with deep desperation. It was as if that would meld them both together again.

It was a desperate display of passion - the frantic, bone-deep desperation of a man trying to force his subject of affection to reciprocate.

The stench of his instability was just too much to bear. It was suffocating.

One minute he screamed with the jagged edge of a possessive man. The next, he was down on his knees. Like a child, he was a sobbing mess of tears, mucus, and saliva, before his mind warped entirely.

Then came the shrieking - loud and frantic, like an animal caught in a trap.

It was a dizzying onslaught of emotion.

Daily Prompts for FreeWriters

©Britt H.

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