He glanced at his concubine, sprawled on the bed, revealing her milky body to him. She looked inviting and he was tantalized to spend the night with her in the little apartment. He did not care anymore, not of his wife or his children. He drowned himself in her sinful caresses and let her swallow him in her whimsical journey. He wanted to feel passion, raw passion that would make all the pain go away, just like that. How light it felt to not feel at all.
Somewhere, someplace filthy, his wife would be doing the same thing with another man. But why does the place have to be filthy? The thought comforted him in some way that she could not afford to hide her consort as luxuriously as he can. His blood boiled when he thought of her scandalously beautiful face pouting at the other mongrel.
His family was so broken that it was beyond redemption now. They had an unspoken agreement and somehow, they seemed to abide by it without any obstacles. The mutual understanding between the spouses was maddeningly peaceful. This should bother him, but he chose not to care, right? And yet here he is, wondering what she was doing with the other man. He hated her for that, because he could swear that she would not have second thoughts after jumping in bed with that bastard.
This post is a part of Three Word Wednesday.