Trophy Wife

"FUCK YOU!", she screams at me from our darkened bedroom.

Heart pounding, blood boiling, my face heats with unspoken flame. 

Stomping with heavy, tired feet she closes upon me like prey. Stepping through the threshold, snake-like hiss and venom from fanged teeth escape her mouth agape. The walls surrounding me shake, or are my limbs quaking with emotional strain? Her eyes, wide with hate, absorb her surroundings. I lie unscathed it seems in our bed with my back to her the covers draped upon me exposing a structured brick and mortar wall to block the vibrations of her ever persistent rattling tail.

She retreats to the spare room, slithering away from her failure to demolish my exterior proven impenetrable. I slumber peacefully after my heart has steadied its pace and my lungs fill easily. 

When she wakes me the following morning she settles herself down on the foot of the bed. Words flow thick and sweet gently from her lips like honey pouring from a spoon. She hurts for her transgressions. Her love has again permeated her thickly scaled skin. Apprehensively she creeps toward me on this twin bed, her eyes prodding and pleading for forgiveness and reassurance. Climbing into my open arms she embraces me and I spread my love and energy into her very being. Nestling my head into the warmth of her neck and hair I breathe her. The sweet smell of honeysuckle and vanilla, the candy coated apologies from her tongue an ever raging river, and I smile.

Such abuse from my lover in the wee hours of the morning have again transformed into a golden promise of everlasting love. I have won again, and will continue to win, when she returns from work and in a fury throws her plastic plate of carefully constructed cuisine against a wall. (I have learnt to refrain from purchasing breakable table settings.) My heart will ache and I will ignore my misunderstandings as my slithering serpentess is again molded before my eyes into a high-demand candy crafter.