Page 67 of Ezekiel
The thought struck into my mind like a lightning bolt, halting my loving adoration of his body.
This was love.
That’s what this was.
That’s what we had.
Love.
I didn’t want to believe it. Amid all the chaos of everything I didn’t want to think about in this moment… could it really be true? Did I love this man?
My eyes roved over him as he turned the water off, stepping out of the shower to grab towels. He dried me off slowly, the thoughts still plaguing my mind as he took such time and care with the task he had given himself.
Aftercare was something he took very seriously, but this felt different from ever before. His lips kissed my skin softly, his own reverence showing so crystal clear. He was paying his own homage to me in return. I soaked up every moment. My hand threaded through his wet, curly locks.
Without a word, he guided me to our bed, laying me down on the sheets. My pillow would be soaked, but I did not care. All I cared about was this moment with this man. My husband. My love.
Because that’s what this was. Love.
I don’t know how long we slept, but the sun was high in the sky by the time a rough pounding at the door jolted us from our slumber.
“The fuck?” Zeke mumbled beside me, his face half in the pillow and his voice still rough with sleep.
He had held me long past the time when sleep had claimed me. We had talked late into the night about our scene. The highs and lows, and what happened after.
An emotional break, he had called it. Or, at least the start of one. I had no idea what that was, but he had explained that it could happen after intense scenes, when two people have a deep level of trust.
I trusted him. I truly did. He held me and guided me through each and every scene with such care and such assuredness.
Again, the pounding at the door sounded, rousing us fully from sleep. I sat up slowly, noting the grimace of distaste and frustration etched on my husband’s face.
“Who the fuck is pounding at the door at —” he stopped, picking up his phone from the bedside table to glance at the time. “Fuck me, it’s nearly ten in the morning. I missed work.” His grumbling was adorable, though I felt for him. Surely, they wouldn’t be mad that he overslept. They had denied us our month of honeymoon. These things happened, right?
I stood slowly as he raced down the stairs towards the door. My robe hung just inside the closet and I wrapped the soft material around my body, snuggling into its warmth. We had fallen asleep, still completely naked. A quick glance in the mirror showed the tangled bird’s nest my hair had become overnight. No more going to bed with wet hair for me. I vowed, then and there, to blow dry it before bed from here on out. Or at least to braid it. This was not a good look on me.
I pattered my way out of our bedroom and towards the stairs, but stopped when I heard the voices below.
“This is not becoming of a Temple, Son,” Zeke’s father’s voice came from the entryway, barely shy of a yell. They were standing just below, in the hallway by the door. His father had him cornered, and he was leaning into him, a finger pointed in his face in a scolding manner.
I made myself small there at the top of the stairs so as not to be seen. It was not becoming of a woman to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Father, it wasn’t intentional. We were denied our honeymoon and —” Zeke tried to explain, but his father would not let him continue.
“Enough!” The Elder Temple’s voice was as much a scream as it was a whisper. That tone.
That tone was…
No one had ever spoken to me like that before. My father would have hurt himself before he ever spoke to me that way.
The things Zeke had told me about his family rang in my head, playing like a silent movie. His parents were not like my parents. Was this what he and his brothers had faced every day?
“You disgrace the Temple name. Do you know the lengths I had to go to in order to even get you this job? Huh?! Answer me, boy!” He wasn’t whispering now. He was full on shouting, not caring a bit if I heard. Surely, he knew I was in the house. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, what I was seeing. This was cruel.
“Father,” Zeke tried again, but the slap that rang out, echoing through the hallway and up the stairwell, stopped his words short.
His father had slapped him.
I gasped out loud as I watched my husband’s face flip to the side with the force of it.
