Chapter Thirty-Eight

We arrive back home late. It's nearly three in the morning, after being on television, speaking with multiple crowds, and answering vaguely to reporters as Inanis instructed, I'm more than just a little exhausted.

Inanis's energy has withered since this morning, and I can tell he's just as drained, if not more than I am. I follow him up the stairs, as he walks into the guest bedroom, and drops his coat to the floor. He sits on the bed and that is when I truly see him for the first time since the news of the president's execution. His stature, the way his head is bent, and the dull look in his eyes screams fatigue. The last couple of days he's been moving non-stop, in the spotlight more than anyone else, and I've done nothing but sit back and watch him go. Of course, I accompanied him with the live announcement earlier today, but other than that, I've only been watching Inanis, never moving with him.

"You look tired." I say, "It doesn't suit you."

"The faces of a man are free when he's alone in his bedroom. I have no need to look polished here."

I can't help but agree with him. Still, I said, "Last I checked this isn't your bedroom."

"It might as well be." He says with a sigh, "I give up forcing you to sleep with me in our bedroom, wherever you choose to lay, I will follow you." He paused before adding feeling the petty need to add, "Also if you speak technicalities, this is my bedroom as I do pay for this house."

"I'd prefer if you keep your technicalities to yourself." I shrug off my own coat and drape it neatly over a chair. "Also if you're going to sleep in bed with me, you better change your clothes."

"If that is what you want, but I prefer no clothes at all, in fact, you can go first. I'll watch."

I give him a flat look, and he casually leans back. "You are a pervert." I say, not failing to show my disgust.

"Only with you, love."

"And your flirting is terribly off-putting." I tell him, as I pull out a more comfortable shirt from the closet.

"Is it working?"

"I'd rather you just stab me."

"If that is what you want, I could make it happen."

I scoff, but say nothing as I pull off my shirt, and proceed to put on the other one. I can feel Inanis's eyes burning on my skin as I get dressed and I realize this is becoming a usual occurrence. I turn to him.

"Why don't you let me watch you get dressed for a change?" I say, obviously not meaning it, but curious as to what his response would be. He's only ever witty discussing sex, never so much on acting upon it. Part of me is convinced he doesn't think it'll ever happen between the two of us, so he jokes about it instead.

Or maybe, that is what I'm doing.

"Why on earth would you want to watch me get dressed, when you can take my clothes off yourself?"

"Don't be lazy." I say, ignoring his attempt to bother me, "You're perfectly capable of doing it yourself."

"Ah, yes, but perhaps I don't want to."

"Then bask in your filth I don't care."

"Then I will not be getting up, nor will I be changing my clothes tonight."

"I'll sleep in the other bedroom."

"And I'll follow."

I climb into the bed beside him, but definitely make sure to keep some space between us, "You smell like cigarettes."

"Yes, I may have shared a cigar with the president."

"You shared a cigar with a pedophile."

"It was a very nice cigar."

"I don't remember you being a smoker."

"I don't remember having to tell you."

"Secrets are boring." I remind him, "Your words."

"They're only boring when I'm not the one keeping the secret."

I roll my eyes and lay my head down on my pillow. The weight of the day felt as though it were pressing me against the mattress, and I wanted nothing more than to forget the last twelve hours and pray I'd never have to do it again.

Strangely enough, Inanis didn't look too spry either. I made sure to make space between us like I do every night that we sleep in the same bed together, but I was sure he'd fill in the gap and wrap his arm around me like he always does. In fact, I expected him too.

And yet, he didn't, and I was left cold.

I turn over and glance at him, my eyes were now fully adjusted to the dark, and I could see him laying still on his back, staring at the ceiling, pondering, waiting, I wasn't sure.

"Is something wrong?" I ask him, after a long, unusual moment of silence. Inanis isn't the type to be still and silent, I didn't even think he could be.

"Tomorrow we will be having a final dinner with the president and his wife before their execution."

I knew that, and I dreaded it. To eat beside the very couple who me and my husband will slaughter swipes my appetite quicker than anything else. "Is that what's bothering you?"

"We are also to attend a closed-door meeting with the vice president, as well as a public interview with him. Not to mention we will be attending a party at the white house full of the elites of the country, which really are vipers encased in human flesh."

"That's-"

"Then we will be fitted for outfits, which is as boring as listening to my mother talk. I will be taking you to skilled welder who will custom-make you a Harvester's knife. I will then have to teach you to make one clean cut with it, all before Thursday when we'll have to gather our dignity and smile doll-like for the cameras as we speak in front of a large crowd up at the Rose Gala in Detroit. Afterwards we are to fly back here to D.C. in preparation for the celebration at my mother's home, a specific requirement since many political affiliates will be attending, it's going to be such a tedious few hours. Saturday we are to have tea with the vice president and his wife, which is ridiculous because tea is for the Europeans, and I hate them almost as much as I hate Americans, all while pretending to be interested in their ideas for the country, which I don't give a damn about but I have to feign intrigue just enough to get some royal respect which I also don't care about but it's part of the job. Then we will be going to Massachusetts, Boston to be precise where we will begin planning the presidential funerals at Parity Cemetery, which will also be sickening because glamour is for the living, not for the dead. Again, we will have to fly back to D.C. and meet a few reporters at the White House, for a final interview before the execution which will be held the next day when we will have to fly to L.A. and stay at an expensive hotel just to kill a pedophile in Hollywood." My brain was swirling with it all, "That," He says with a final breath, "Is our next six days."

And suddenly the weight of today that was pressed against me had tripled, and I found it hard to breathe. "That's a lot." Is all I can manage to say.

"It is the worst of what our profession has to offer, but it is the majority of it too."

"Is all of it really so necessary?"

He shrugs, "To the public it is essential."

I'm silent as he turns on his side and stares at me, he says nothing and so I copy his movements, turning on my side, looking directly at him in the dark. We stare at each other, his face is unreadable, and I can't stand how strange he is acting tonight.

"Mirea." He says my name with a tone I rarely hear him with. His true self, a deep, honest tone of voice with no hidden joke or sarcasm, "This is a lot for me, us, to do. Even I have limits, and my focus is," He strained to continue, "not getting any better."

And I know what he's going to say, so I say it for him, because I know he doesn't want to,"You're going to have to take the medicine."

"There can be no childish nonsense going on for the next week." He tries to joke, but his disgust for the situation bleeds through, making his tone sounds resentful instead of sarcastic.

I hate that I pity him, but damn it I do. I shouldn't since he isn't the one that's going to be executed in front of the country. He's not the innocent woman who has done nothing wrong, and yet will proudly give her life for the sake of other people's satisfaction.

And yet.

I bite back a sigh, and slowly push myself up against him like he usually would with me. His warmth is comforting, as I huddle up against his chest, his heartbeat pounding in my ear.

He doesn't move for a moment, as though he doesn't know what to do. Finally, he grows used to the situation and takes initiative. His arm wraps around me like an unbreakable chain. "Do you pity me, wife?" I don't look up at his face, but I know he's smirking, and I can hear the amusement dripping off his tongue.

I'm aware that he is joking, but I don't know how to joke back, so of course I result in insulting him. "I pity everyone that will be around you for the next seven days, most importantly, I pity myself as I have to spend every moment with you."

"Cold." He says, "Heartless."

I lean into his chest, he does smell faintly like the rich scent of cigars, but it wasn't necessarily a bad smell. I allow myself to enjoy the next few moments before he inevitably opens his mouth again.

"This would be much better if you were naked."

I sigh deeply into his chest before responding, "You are a pig."

"I'm an honest gentleman who appreciates the woman's form."

"That's a fancy way of saying pig."

"Opinions."

"I'm baffled that only for a moment you managed to be serious."

"A moment is all I have to offer."

I wait for him to say something further, but he doesn't and so I close my eyes, and listen to his soft breathing and his pounding heartbeat until I drift to sleep.