Chapter 9

9 – Mia Lauren Hudson

Why are you here? How is it possible for you to bring me down even more? What else can you take from me?

- The Incredibles

I crossed the doors of the house, and the cold that had been absent until then hit me once again. I tried not to get nervous or scared as soon as I saw the empty, dimly lit living room.

“Duart?” I called out, not raising my voice much because deep down, I didn't want Bradley to notice my presence.

Our maid quickly stood in front of me.

“Yes, Mrs. Hudson,” she began.

My body stiffened instantly at the reminder of…

No, no. I refused to think about that... That annoying person.

“Where is Bradley?” I asked, finally.

Duart paused for a moment, her dark eyes looking at me as she replied:

“He left an hour after you. But he didn’t give me any explanation that I could pass on to you.” Her face was embarrassed, and I disguised the lump forming in my throat.

“He must have gone to take care of something at Starlight,” I said, trying to convince myself of a huge lie.

It was obvious that Bradley hadn't gone to work on a Sunday, and it was also obvious that it still bothered me.

“I’m going upstairs, Duart,” I informed the maid. “You’re dismissed. Have a good night.” I started to move away because I needed a place to rest my pain.

“Don’t you want to eat something?” Duart called out again. “I prepared…”

“You can put it away,” I said without looking at her because I didn’t want anyone to see how I was feeling. “I’ll eat something tomorrow.” Then I quickly climbed the stairs.

I went straight to the bedroom, the sound of my footsteps echoing softly down the empty hallway. The silence of the house turned into an overwhelming presence, filling every corner with a sense of emptiness. I swallowed hard when I entered the bedroom and faced the inevitable reality: I would be alone that night. The loneliness seemed to cling to me like a shadow, and I felt a tightness in my chest as I realized how much I hated that feeling.

I didn’t want to be alone; I hated not having company. There was something about the quiet that made my thoughts louder, harder to ignore. All I wanted at that moment was someone to share the small victories and anxieties of the day, someone I could talk to about how my day had been, about my dream that would soon finally come true. The realization of this dream was something that should fill my heart with joy, but, paradoxically, the lack of someone to share that joy with made it feel incomplete.

In truth, I had found someone for that. Someone who, in the last few hours, had started to occupy a significant space in my thoughts. Someone with whom I felt I could share the small, simple moments that make life special. However, as this thought arose, I felt divided, as if I were standing on the edge of an abyss.

I didn’t allow myself to think about it. I didn’t want to admit how much this person was already in my thoughts. I couldn’t let myself be distracted, not now, not when everything seemed about to happen. The feelings that were starting to emerge were too complicated, even dangerous. I knew myself well enough to know that once I allowed these thoughts to take over, there would be no turning back.

No, no! I repeated to myself, almost like a mantra, trying to push those ideas away before they took root. I couldn’t let myself be carried away by this; I couldn’t allow my heart to make decisions that should be guided by reason. The loneliness I felt was intense, but maybe it was better this way. Better to face the quiet alone than to open up space for something that, deep down, I knew could hurt me.

I exhaled and searched for a warm nightgown before heading to the bathroom to take a hot shower. A masculine, woody perfume with a peppery scent lingered on my clothes and skin. I needed to get rid of it!

Because the truth was that, despite all my efforts, a part of me, a small but insistent part, continued to think about him. And that, more than anything else, scared me.

Fighting against my own thoughts, I finished my shower, and after drying my hair, I turned off all the lights but opened the curtains so the moonlight could illuminate the room. Illuminate the darkness where my feelings and thoughts dwelled.

I was so scared of the future version of Bradley as a consequence of having defied him, so tormented by the uncertainty of where he was and with whom, that every thought felt like a thorn stuck in my chest. The hurt coursed through my veins, mixing with the overwhelming longing for my mom and dad. A longing that only intensified the emptiness and the sense of abandonment. All I wanted was some comfort, a safe place where I could feel loved and protected, but that seemed as distant as the stars in the sky.

Without realizing it, I found myself crying once again, the tears flowing like a torrent I no longer had the strength to hold back. And this time, I didn’t need to stifle my sobs into the pillow as I had so many other times. The room was silent, dark, and my sobs echoed through the empty space, filling it with the sound of my pain. Each emotion felt like it was tearing my heart into pieces, and in the midst of all that turmoil, exhaustion finally overcame me. I felt sleep approaching like a relief, a promise of oblivion, and I let it pull me into unconsciousness.

During those short and restless two hours of sleep, my mind clung to a single image: a pair of blue eyes that I had avoided so much. Those eyes haunted me, invading my dreams and thoughts, as if they were the only thing capable of bringing me some kind of peace. I didn’t want to think about them, but at that moment, it seemed impossible not to.

But then, the sound of a noise at the bedroom door brought my consciousness back to the cold, harsh reality. My body reacted before my mind even processed it, muscles tense, breathing quickened. It was Bradley. I knew, even before seeing him, that it was him. I watched his silhouette move through the room, the immense shadow he cast seemed suffocating. His hair was tousled, giving him an even more imposing appearance as he approached the bed and lay down beside me.

I swallowed hard as I smelled the sweet perfume emanating from his body, a perfume that I knew was not mine. That hurt more than I wanted to admit, as if a knife were slowly twisting in my heart. I forced myself not to let the jealousy show, not to let the love I still felt for him make me forget all the reasons I should keep my distance. But it was beyond me. He was my husband, and even with all the flaws and the pain he caused me, I still longed for something that, in reality, we never had: a real connection, a true love.

Still lying on my side, my body feeling as heavy as lead, I raised my eyes to look at him. The darkness of the room seemed to reflect in his dark hair, which fell over his forehead. His breathing was getting heavier, and I realized he had laid down on the bed still wearing his shoes, as if he was so exhausted that he didn’t even care to take them off. I held back, fighting against the almost unbearable urge to hug him, to seek some kind of comfort in his touch, but at the same time, something inside me insisted on speaking to him.

I didn’t know if I was seeking a confrontation or a desperate attempt at reconnection. Perhaps it was a bit of both. The words were stuck in my throat, but I knew I needed to say them, needed to know what was going on in his mind, even if the answer could shatter me even more.

“Bradley?” My voice was incredibly low. “Where have you been? Aren’t you going to...”

“Shut up!” his shout scared me, and I swallowed hard. His voice was incredibly louder than mine. “I don’t want to hear your voice.” He turned to the other side of the bed.

I took a deep breath, trying to control the turmoil inside me. I held back the tears that threatened to spill, as if they were the last line of defense against the avalanche of emotions crushing me. The thoughts I had been running from for so long, the ones I tried to hide in the darkest corners of my mind, began to clear, as if a curtain was being drawn, revealing everything I feared to face.

And every thought, every memory that surfaced, had a name: Apollo.

Apollo, with his attentive manner and gaze that seemed to see into my soul. Apollo, who cared about me in a way Bradley never did. It was impossible not to compare the two, impossible not to see the stark difference between Apollo’s genuine kindness and Bradley’s cruel indifference. Where Apollo cared about the details, Bradley didn’t even notice the obvious.

Apollo opened the car doors for me in the middle of a storm, a simple gesture, but one that meant so much to me. Bradley was never so kind, never showed a gesture of courtesy that wasn’t motivated by some selfish need. While the memories of Apollo became my refuge, helping me endure the dark and cold night, the memories of Bradley only intensified the pain. Bradley never asked how my day was, never cared to know what was going on in my life. He barely noticed me, his attention always focused on himself.

Apollo, on the other hand, made a point to ask. He wanted to know how I was, wanted to know about the little things that made me happy. He didn’t demand explanations when I asked for his phone, trusting me in a way that Bradley never would. Bradley always controlled me, always made me feel as if I were chained, unable to take a step without his permission.

Apollo wanted to know about my favorite singer, interested in discovering what touched me, what moved me. Bradley, in contrast, never cared about the music I listened to, never wanted to know what made my heart race. Apollo called me beautiful, with a sincerity that made me believe, even if just for a brief moment, that I was. Bradley, on the other hand, always made me feel small, as if I were the lowest of women, as if nothing about me was worthy of admiration.

Apollo liked my lipstick, a detail that made a difference to him, that he noticed. Bradley, hours earlier, had hated it, as if any attempt I made to express myself was an inconvenience to him. The memories of Apollo—the smiles, the soft voice, the kindness with which he treated me—became the foundation that allowed me to endure that night. A night that could have broken me but instead gave me the strength to see what I truly deserved.

While Bradley's voice still echoed in my mind, repeating the cruel words, "I don’t want to hear your voice," another voice, deeper, sweeter, began to take its place. Apollo’s voice, which with simplicity and sincerity, said to me, "I like hearing your voice." That phrase, which could have gone unnoticed, became a beacon in the darkness. It was as if, for the first time, someone genuinely wanted to listen to me, to know who I really was.

And that day, as the hours dragged on and I fought against the pain that Bradley always inflicted on me, I allowed myself to dream again. To dream of what could be, of what should be. To dream of the most beautiful pair of blue eyes I had ever seen. And, for the first time in a long while, I felt a spark of hope, the sweetest devotion I could ever have.