Facade of Love

Chapter 27 I Think I’m Sick

Idris held his phone as his dark eyes bored into me. He did not answer it. I had no clue what he was thinking, but Moore seemed determined to get through to him. If he did not pick up, she would

simply keep calling.

Finally, he could not resist any longer. He answered the call. I had no idea what was said on the other

end of the line.

He got out of bed, went to the closet, and emerged in different clothes. I lay in bed, silently watching him hurriedly grab his coat and head out.

I watched him leave in silence, all expectations in my heart crumbling. My heart was filled with bitterness and self–mockery.

As Idris reached the bedroom door, he seemed to remember that I was his wife. He paused, looked back at me, and said, “Moore’s scared of thunder. Sorry, I need to go to her. You should get some

rest.”

I did not respond. Anyway, he left too quickly to catch anything I might have wanted to say.

The thunder outside grew increasingly loud. I clutched the blanket tightly as the sound echoed through the empty bedroom, its reverberations lingering for a long time.

Moore was afraid of thunder, he said?

not bear to let her face them alone. He

her.

was not afraid of thunder? Ever since coming back from the border five years ago, I had never dared to close my eyes on a stormy night. The moment I did, all I would see were the severed limbs and mountains of corpses from my time in captivity. How could Idris not understand?

sleeping tonight. The cruel memories and my current heartache were too much. They made my entire b*dy ache. I reopened the previously–closed window and

found over the last five years to alleviate the

was sick.

open again, I had already been frozen stiff from the cold. Hearing the noise, I turned

was Idris. He had

changed drastically. He strode toward me, his handsome face dark and violent, looking almost as

me back from the balcony and almost

at him, my face frozen, unable to show any expression. I wanted to smile at him but could not muster the strength. I could

pulled me into the bathroom without answering me, and unceremoniously twisted the switch for the shower,

dodged him. My voice was hoarse as I said, “I can do

myself.”

He glared at me and sneered. “Is there anything of yours I haven’t

b*dy a little. I looked at him and said, “Can you

bath.”

His deep, cold eyes almost devoured me. I could tell that my earlier self–harm had angered him. Thankfully, he

when angry.

me a cold glance before finally

b*dy. I stepped out of the bathroom