Our days and nights had fallen into a routine of sorts. I slept during the day in the chill, windowless room off of his office, alone most of the time, with only dark thoughts and empty memories to keep me warm. On the rare occasions when he joined me, he would merely lie next to me. We shared no warmth, no love, and no sexual contact. I might have welcomed intimacy; it would at least have filled some of the empty moments, some of the dark void within my heart and my soul. But although he constantly referred to himself as my husband, he didn’t act as if he were. And I didn’t see him as my husband, that whole scenario just felt wrong. I couldn’t deny the fact that his face was the only one capable of lingering in my mind. Yet, I did not trust him. Something in my very core shivered with his touch, recoiled at his presence. What did that inner piece of me know that my mind could not fathom? When sleep would not come, I would read the books or view the videos stocked on the shelves.
