The Price of Love Is Death

KIM

I pushed open the big mahogany door that led to my husband's home office, and I sauntered in, taking small steps toward the big curved glass table.

I slammed a white A4 paper on the glass desk to get his attention, and I succeeded. He slowly raises his flawless face and looks at me with no emotion.

I stare back at him, but on my end, my emotions are written on my face.

Hatred, disgust, contempt, anger, you name every emotion you could give someone you hate.

Yes, someone I hate!

I hate Nathan Pearce to my bone marrow!

“Sign the paper”, I said, pointing at the paper I had slammed on his desk a while ago.

He looked at the paper and picked it up, making the pen I placed on it fall off and make a clattering sound on the glass table.

He read through the paper and adjusted his reading glasses before raising his head to look at me.

He gave me a look….. a look of….. fuck! I can't read him; his face is expressionless!

I can't even decipher what the hell he is thinking!

I hate that about him, I hate the fact that he could maintain his face without expression or show any emotion.

While I was fuming with anger over his emotionless face, his response to the paper he just read made my blood run cold.

“I won't sign this paper,” he said calmly and casually as he returned to typing on his keyboard.

I scoffed, feeling the temperature in the room increase a couple of degrees, making my blood warmer.

I closed my fingers into a fist and clenched my teeth in anger.

I slam my palm on the table, leaning in to get his attention once again, and this time, he didn't grant me the privilege. He ignored me and continued typing like I did not exist in that room.

Watching him ignore me intensified my anger. My palm began to sweat, and beads of sweat formed on my forehead.

The tempo of my heartbeat increases as my anger increases with each passing second, and before I could think of stopping myself, I swung my hand over the table, sending his keyboard and multiple folders placed on the table flying to the floor.

He looked up from the mess I created on the floor to me, and he glared at me.

Gotcha! He is angry; yes, he is mad at me.

I smiled sardonically, knowing that my little madness had stirred something I rarely see in him: an emotion!

But before I could glee over my triumph, the anger was gone and his face remained emotionless, as if the anger was never there in the first place.

Seeing him become stoic and cold once again, I decided to go all crazy. I stormed over to the pile of papers scattered all over the floor, and I frantically looked for the paper I asked him to sign earlier.

I pick up the paper, walk over to the other side of the table where he is sitting and slam the paper on the table once again.

“sign the divorce papers goddammit!” I said, bearing my teeth in anger.

But his face remains the same, emotionless and expressionless. His blue eyes remained bright and alluring, and his jet-black hair remained perfectly combed back with little strands sitting on his forehead.

“You Godforsaken bastard!” I blurted out, barely holding my emotions together.

“You will sign that damn papers or I'm going to—”

“Going to what?” he said calmly, cutting me off.

I chuckled as I ran my fingers through my hair in exasperation. A bitter smile tugged at my lips as I struggled to prevent my tears from falling.

“No, I cannot cry. You're not allowed to cry, Kim.” I said to myself in a whisper.

I turned to look at my husband, whose face looked stupidly calm despite the millions of emotions I was going through.

“Nathan” I called out, my voice barely a whisper.

“It's time to let go of this marriage. You can't continue to pretend you're happy in this marriage because you and I know—”

“I'm happy in this marriage, I never said I was not—”

“Well, I'm not happy!” I yelled, cutting him off the way he did to me.

“I'm not happy in this marriage, I'm not happy being your wife, I'm not happy living—” I stopped, trying to breathe.

I move away from him trying to create some distance between us. I could hear my heart beating rapidly and my feet grew cold. Yes, the temperature seems to have decreased again.

I cupped the back of my neck with one of my palms as I tried to steady my breathing, but his next word shattered my heart.

“You wanted this marriage, Kim. I did not plan this, you did. And now you think you can just leave the same way you planned this whole marriage? Like my own opinion did not—”

“Yes, I want to leave! I regret ever marrying you! I regret ever loving you! I regret the days I spent trying to make this marriage work, trying to make you love me! I regret everything, so please, let…me… go!” I yelled at the top of my voice, enunciating the last part so it would sink in.

“You never—” I stopped and swallowed my words as a strange emotion flashed across his face in an instant. I swear I saw that look, that hurting look. He looked as if he was deeply hurt by my words. The last time I saw that emotion was at his grandfather's burial.

My heart clenched in guilt when I realized that my words could have hurt him. Why the hell am I feeling guilty?

It should have been him who should feel guilty if he had any ounce of conscience in him at all. But the reality of that happening is close to zero.

Nathan Pearce will never feel guilty. And he is right; I had this whole marriage thing planned.

He was blackmailed into marrying me.

I turned to look at him; his face had become calm and emotionless again like what I saw earlier didn't exist. But I know what I saw, and I know behind that emotionless and expressionless stoic man is the real Nathan Pearce.

But somehow, I could reach him. It's been 2 years and 4 months since we married, and I still couldn't make him smile.

My marriage has been cold and loveless since the first day I entered this house.

And my husband has remained emotionless and cold as he has always been.

The realization that I might have been the reason why he was not happy made me crazy. At first, I wanted to divorce him because I wanted him to be happy, but as time went on, I wanted out, too.

I want to divorce him so I can be happy. I had nursed an emotionally dead man for 2 years and 4 months; I deserve a break!

I slowly dragged my feet out of his office, leaving him rooted in the same position he was in when I first entered the room. Unmoved, unfazed by my madness.

As soon as I was out of the office, a drop of tears escaped the corner of my eye as if it had been wanting freedom. I waddled across the small salon that connected to the spiral staircase feeling my knees struggling to hold my body.

I held the sculpted bronze railings, trying to support my weakened knee, but that did not work. My knees gave in, and I sank to the ground, letting loose all the pain.

I wailed silently, realizing that my attempt to make him sign the divorce papers had failed for the 12th time in four months.