Chapter 22

I quickly opened my eyes after hearing his voice in my dream and felt his hot hand on my shoulder, telling me to get up. "You should accompany me. Get ready to depart soon."

I was left after he stated that. His soft footsteps behind me were followed by the sound of running water in the restroom. I moaned and clung to the pillow even more. How did things get this way? Why was I remembering the night we spent together while laying on the bed covered by the blanket and feeling as though something inside of me was twitching? My explanation fell flat. I didn't recognize myself. Moreover, my body seemed to betray me in every way. I shut my eyes.

I saw myself standing naked in front of the windows, gasping for air from his powerful thrust. My hips, chest, and waist were all touched by his hands. I flinch as I feel my body aroused again. I immediately cowered as I felt a tickle on my nipples.

'No way do I enjoy things like that!' Fear filled my thoughts. 'It can't be real.'

But I could feel it. I could feel the thrill inside of me and my own body twitching.

"No..." I huddled my shoulders over myself and muttered.

But I could feel my chest itching. I was intermittently breathing. My thoughts was racing with last night's memories as I tried to settle myself down while lying on my tummy. My nipples rubbed across the bedsheet.

'Fuck... What the hell is that?' I had such intense bodily sensations, and I felt so dirty. 'When did I turn into this?'

The water stopped, and then I heard my husband leave the restroom. I hid beneath the cover and pretended to act normally, but I think it was the first time I saw him when he was in front of the closet. I mean, I'd seen his back before, just not in this way. Not with "that" feeling, I mean. I realized I was staring at him. But not simply staring. I was observing him as an omega for the first time. I was struck by how broad his shoulders and back were. When he had on a T-shirt, I could see his muscles tense up. I realized he was a man for the first time. And I realized I needed that man.

"Shit..." I muttered, barely audible, realizing that my body was responding to the man I saw in front of me with the moist grease between my buttocks.

Ranold walked into the kitchen and said, "Olivier. Quit staring at me while you're lying there. I can sense your gaze. As well as your fragrance. If you don't want me to repeat what we did last night, you should go to the bathroom."

I shuddered as I sat up in bed. I was bewildered, terrified, and angry. My body was shaking with desire, and I nearly rushed into the bathroom while barely breathing. The shower's tap was opened, but that didn't make a difference.

"What we did last night..." I shivered once more. "Fuck you, Ranold Hamilton."

I mentally yelled that, but I couldn't keep from jerking off. I was masturbating while I leaned against the wall. I had zero understanding of anything, including my body, myself, or anything else. We had sex constantly while I was living with him for about three months. I felt like everything at once: irritated, incensed, afraid, and puzzled. I felt as though those three months had just passed by in a dream, and it wasn't until then that I started to realize anything at all. But by that point, it was too late.

I wasn't myself that morning. Because it was a Sunday, fewer people were out and about. Ranold took the wheel of the car by himself that morning for the first time. Even when I sat in the Audi's passenger seat, I was unable to regain consciousness. I found out Ranold Hamilton was a man, and everything changed! Man, I mean it! Man that you can kiss, have sex, and hug in this manner with! And he was Ranold, motherfucker, Hamilton, not just another regular guy. He was a tall, good-looking man. He wasn't a young fellow. He possessed everything that a real man would have. And he had terrific size as well.

I looked out the window to cover up my embarrassment. I realised for the first time since our wedding that he had been fucking me for three months. He was! He penetrated me. He was there with me. He did a lot of things to me, like kissing me, hugging me, fondling me, and patting me. The unexpected revelation hit me like a bolt from the blue. I had been sharing a flat with the man for three months. I don't mean to merely act like you live next door or are roommates. Living like... husbands. Fuck, we were married. Only three months later did I really understand that. I had no idea how I was going to survive. The entire time I felt like I was dreaming.

I had the impression that I was about to drown in a very deep place when someone yanked me out of the water with a startling force.

I shivered as his hot palm touched my knee and heard him say, "Olivier."

"What?" I inquired while having an embarrassingly warm sensation travel from my hip to my crotch.

He said, "Look at me," and I shook my head.

I lost the ability to control my body. I didn't want to see him.

'He'll know if I look,' I worriedly thought. 'I cannot look.'

"Olivier," he raised up my chin, and I squinted.

'I shall die if he kisses me!' My lips were securely sealed as I thought.

I shuddered as goosebumps appeared on my back as he gave me a gentle lip kiss.

He muttered, "Open your eyes," as though I had taken everything away from him.

"M-m," I shook my head, threatening to cry.

All he did was kiss me again on the lips. I shivered once more, feeling a lump in my throat. Trying not to cry, I pursed my lips even more.

"You want to cry?" He mutely enquired.

I wailed, "Mhm."

He spoke softly, as if addressing a young child who was becoming lost in the crowd, "Okay, let it out."

I turned away from my husband and whimpered, saying, "Okay, but don't look."

The automobile began to move again. In order to keep Ranold from hearing me cry, I was laying on my side on the seat. I desperately wanted to cry because I was so miserable. It seemed as if I had gone from being a young child to an adult all at once. I had no idea why I was feeling that way, and I was unable to explain it. Maybe because I was no longer Olivier Garcin. Or perhaps it was because I was wed to a man I hardly knew. Or perhaps it's because I was doing the things I didn't want to do and then all of a sudden realized I enjoyed them. My heart was in pain. It appeared to be a profound resentment. And to whom?

My husband discreetly stopped the car and whispered, "We're here."

It went silent. I was unwilling to go anyplace or interact with anyone. But... I realized I didn't have a choice. I had obligations now and wasn't just a kid anymore. I had to move forward and live my life as I saw fit.

"How are you?" He asked gently.

I gave my OK while rubbing my eyes with the bottom of my t-shirt. "Do you... Do you have tissues?"

I had never questioned him before, so it was new to me.

He said, "Sure," and pulled out some paper tissues for me from the glove box.

I thanked him and took the tissues while still shedding a few tears but no longer crying.

I cleaned my eyes, cheeks, and chin before sighing and glancing at the white tissue in my hands. I had nothing on my mind. I was absolutely depleted. And I had no desire for anything to fill me.

After a while, my husband tenderly stroked my back and whispered, "It's time to go."

I muttered, "Yeah," and we both stepped out of the vehicle.

We were in a small village west of New Orleans. There were various detached and semi-detached homes, but we were near to a tiny square with a chapel. My husband gave me a gentle pat on the back and placed his hand on my lower back like he always had. I simply followed him to the chapel while crossing my hands over my chest. Except for the two elderly men sitting on separate benches, nobody else was present.

"Wait here for me, okay?" My husband spoke softly while lightly kissing my temple and caressing my hair with his fingers.

I sat down on the bench after giving a small nod. The chapel made me think of the day we got married. Several questions popped into my head at once. Why did it happen to me? Why should I be the one to marry him? Were there any other options? Should I comply with his rules, or would it be better if I refused? What if I say no? How would that affect my life? I was asking myself these and other questions, but I didn't know the answers. I attempted to figure out if there was any way I could avoid everything while thinking about when and how, but there was no solution. I had no response at the time.

"Who are you thinking of?" I felt a hand on my shoulder and a sudden chill come over me. I also realized I was missing my wedding ring.

It suddenly fell someplace on the floor while I was twirling it in my fingers.

I turned around and saw Anastasia handing me the ring, "Here, take it. If you lose it, Ranold will become upset. He detests it when people fail to keep their promises."

I said gently, "Thank you," and swiftly slipped the ring onto my finger.

She said, "You're welcome," as she watched the pulpit with the cross on it while leaning her arms on the back of my seat. "It reminds me of something. Returns to the days when Ranold and I were standing there in that very spot, promising to each other in eternal love."

I was astonished when she told me that. But I was also curious as to why she had his surname.

"You were married?" I asked, not looking at her and scrolling the ring on my finger.

She said, "Yes, we were," and I instantly felt like a part of me had broken.

Holy shit, I knew my husband wasn't a saint. I felt as though I knew nothing about him. And it was kind of upsetting to realize that.

She reminisced, "We were so young and so in love. I wish we could solve everything right away. But sometimes the cards are not in your favor."

I raised my gaze gently toward her as she turned to face me. She was grinning a little, but there was something about that smile that made me believe I was an extra. I didn't know how to respond to her. She seemed to outrun me by a wide margin. Not only did I lose her in the field, but also in life.

She straightened up and cocked her head toward my husband, saying, "Oh, here he comes. Hello, Ranold."

I heard him say, "Hello," and I noticed that the corners of his mouth raised a little in a kind smile.

Something deep within me tightened up so badly. I knew absolutely nothing about my husband. At all. I shifted my gaze to the pulpit. Ranold and Anastasia, young and lovely, with eyes full of love and devotion, were in my imagination standing there. I saw the two of them, full of love and hope, exchanging rings, grinning and laughing, and speaking the important keywords of their life.

"All people's life is formed of contracts." That's what he said to me that day. Our wedding day. "Marriage is the second-biggest one." What was the first, then? What was more significant than marriage?

When he said "Olivier," I turned to see him seated next to me holding the Bible. "Do you believe in God?"

"Nothing could stop it once the heavens were decided upon."

That was the kind of man Ranold Hamilton was. I turned to face Anastasia, who was seated on the other bench behind him. She smiled as though she knew what I was thinking. He ended up sitting next to me despite his smile and the sacrament between them because I was wearing his engagement ring. It was supposed to be my little victory, but all I felt was depressing and sorrowful sense.