It wasn’t often that Henry remembered to kiss his wife goodbye before he left for work. This might have disturbed any other woman, but Hannah was quite used to it by this time, and seldom thought much of the indiscretion. Perhaps if she were more candid or harsh something like that would have charged her inner battery, and forced her into a state of bitterness, but this was not the case.
As it was, Hannah usually never spoke to her husband unless spoken to. She would arise every morning, wake Henry, kiss him on the forehead, and then precede to the rest of her days tasks without a second thought of him. It was not that she did not love him, for she did. But Hannah was tired of him, and the same could be said regarding Henry’s emotions towards his wife.
They lived in a state of complex movements each had to struggle with to stay a good distance apart from each other, without in fact, arousing the others suspicion. This was most difficult in the morning, when Henry was not yet at work. Of course, Hannah would kiss him, and he would smile up at her, as if thankful for the stirring. He was not thankful at all, in truth. Henry possessed quite a few more aggressive emotions then his wife possessed, it seemed. When she had finished waking him, she would leave him to himself, so he could get dressed and so forth. This was one of the only times Hannah had to walk about the house in constant fear. She knew he would never lay a hand on her, and she was not afraid at all of physical damage. But it was during those silent mornings that she felt as a ghost might feel, lingering around a past lover. It was true that she still carried around with her a tiny flame of her love of Henry. It was that love that she hated most.
It was on their one year anniversary that Hannah discovered Henry did not love her anymore. He was still very young in spirit, and had a quality of constant gaiety. Constant that is, except when he was alone with his wife. Hannah had grown much older than the span of a year can be accounted for. Her glowing tan skin had faded into a shallow kind of pale. Her shining blond hair had dulled somehow. She had taken on all the duties required by a wife to perform, but in doing so, she lost herself. Hannah would cook a massive dinner instead of spend time with Henry when he came home from his work. She would go grocery shopping instead of pine over her husband, whom so many young, beautiful girls had sought to attain .She had attained him, and that was enough for Hannah. In truth, she did not know what to do any longer. Before, she had to manipulate situations, and steal Henry’s attentions. She contrived ways for herself to be with him constantly. Finally, she had won him over completely with the shining, glowing eyes of a tiger. But what was she to do with him now? So she did what she thought a wife was supposed to do, and hoped that things would come along naturally.
They spent their first anniversary in the Bahamas. The scenery was enchanting. The content smile of tourists like themselves was a constant comfort. But Henry was not holding Hannah close to him, letting her delicate flesh press against his own. He was not telling her how much he loved her, and always would. Instead, he was making conversation with another man on vacation. He had left Hannah at their table for two to go and converse with this complete stranger. Of course, back then Hannah was delightfully curious. She thought everything was flowing correctly, and in perfect order. So she stood up, and sauntered over to the bar, close to where Henry was standing. She kept her back turned to him so that she could overhear his praises of her, or something else equally as delightful. What she heard was not praise.
“So you’ve come here from Michigan?” she heard her husband ask in a sort of forced politeness she knew all too well.
The man must have nodded his head, for she did not hear an adequate response. “I’m celebrating my engagement,” the man said. His voice was thick, and he said ‘engagement’ in such a way that it sounded like something he was ashamed of. Hannah imaged that perhaps the man rolled his eyes as he said it.
“A word of advice friend,” began Henry, talking loudly over the triumphant music, “end it while you still can. This way, when you find someone better, you won’t hate yourself for marrying a mistake.”
Well, you can certainly guess how much Hannah liked that piece of advice. She knew Henry was speaking from experience. He never would have said such a thing if he wasn’t. Hannah did not cry. She just stood there, limp as a dish rag. If someone were to bump into her, she would surely fall down dead.
“I can’t!” remarked the man, exasperated. Then he muttered under his breath “Family obligations.”
Hannah wanted to jump to life and scream to the stranger, “Do leave her now! Don’t let her suffer!” but she could not speak. She was relieving her short marriage in her mind, searching, however futile, for any signs of malice on his part. She could not, for the life of her, recall a single instance in which Henry displayed any sadness or anger towards or about her. It was nerve wracking really.
“Well then, good luck to you,” Henry replied with a sideways smirk. “I hope I’m wrong, for your sake,” he added seriously.
Hannah turned around slightly and dared a glance at Henry’s acquaintance. He seemed stricken by the conversation, and was darting his eyes around for any way to escape. Luckily, the man caught the eyes of his fiancé.
“Gabriel!” he cried loudly, waving his arms frantically in the air, as if he were drowning. His face was even a little red; his eyes were bulged out slightly.
As if she knew the woman, Hannah caught her before she reached her husband, and made acquaintances with her. Hannah had to intervene somehow, but decided she could not do it alone. Her movements were frantic and she chatted with this woman Gabriel oddly, as if it were a play she had forgotten the lines to.
“Hello!” she cried, her voice a pitch higher than usual.
“Hello,” said Gabriel, her voice low and sultry, as if each letter was twined together with deep red satin. This woman was shockingly beautiful. Her long red hair flowed down to cover her chest. Her eyes were a deep brown, like the oak of an old tree. Her skin was caramel, and seemed as smooth as lotion. Hannah had to take a step back at first, shielding her from the impossible threat this woman could have represented in the past. For you see, Hannah had spent five years in the arduous pursuit of Henry. He had many admirers, most of them equally, or even more beautiful than Hannah herself. Each one of them had to be fought underhandedly, or the battle would have been lost to them. Hannah knew what kind of a woman Gabriel was instantly.
"You're on vacation I assume," Hannah added obviously, not making it a question, but a bland statement that really meant, "I don't really care why you're here."
"You assume correctly," said the woman with a sneer, equally as enthusiastic as Hannah.
Gabriel looked as bored as a person could be, rolling her eyes at Hannah as she swiveled her wine. "Excuse me," she said while moving past Hannah. The woman's purse smacked Hannah's arm as she strolled past, towards her fiance. Hannah followed.
Henry was still engaged in a conversation Gabriel's partner, and neither man looked pleased with the other. The man seemed completely perturbed at Henry, but had decided to keep listening until Gabriel saved him. His back was pushed up against a chair, but the man ignored it, pretending that he was not uncomfortable, but relaxed. Henry seemed to be ranting about something, his eyes wild and glowing with intense passion. When both women arrived, Henry stopped speaking entirely, and made a silly king of gasping noise, as if all the air in his lungs had been sucked out.
"How do you do?" asked Gabriel, her hand outstretched for Henry to take. He did, and with force.
"Darling!" proclaimed the man, as if he had not believed she would ever arrive.
Henry made an agitated face at Hannah, and immediately left once she had arrived. She would have none of that.
"Henry!" she called after him, her high heeled shoes making a terrible pounding sound on the pavement.
He turned around, seemingly by chance, as if he had not noticed her presence at all. His face gave away his slight confusion. He was looking at her as if he had never seen her before in his life. His expression seemed to show that he should know her, but did not.
"Yes?" he said uncertainly, finally acknowledging her call.
"Dear, why did you walk away from me?" she asked briskly. She exhaled deeply, exhausted by the slight run she had just taken in the garden of the restaurant in the hopes of catching up with him.
"I didn't walk away from you," Henry said, showing he was offended by the tone of his voice. "In fact, I didn't notice you at all," he added with vigor. There was disgust on his face.
"Yes, I realize that," Hannah agreed. She could not fathom why he was treating her this way. "Are you upset at me darling?" she asked slowly.
It took a few moments for Henry to fully comprehend the extent of what she said, and how he could answer her. Hannah could detect him thinking, but about what, she did not know. In fact, he was thinking about telling her the truth. He wanted to let her know at that moment that he did not love her anymore, and in all probability, never would again. He held up his right hand to his eyes, covering his face from her. He could not risk the detection of his feelings being inadvertently portrayed on his face, and thus read.
Finally, when he knew something had to be said, he reported "No, I'm not upset at you." But the way he said it immediately indicated that it was untrue. After sneering at her, he gazed at her with a bored expression. Even his passionate disliking of her was gone. He felt...nothing for her. Hannah knew it.
This having been said, we return to the grim mornings of Hannah and Henry. Actually, there is one particular morning that outdoes all other mornings in the Savage household. It was a day common to all others in its monotony, yet uncommon in its outcome.
Hannah woke her husband with the usual kiss on his forehead, and smiled down at him as he opened his eyes. He grinned up at her like child to his mother. Then he casually pushed her off the bed to indicate that he was to dress and so on, and that she should exit the room forthwith. She did so, with a smile still planted on her vacuous face.
The moment she left the bedroom, she took a walk downstairs to fix Henry's breakfast. It would be eggs over medium this morning with a side of bacon. She hummed to herself as she poured Henry his orange juice.
While this was occurring downstairs, upstairs, Henry was holding a love letter from his mistress. Incidentally, it was old Gabriel, the woman from the Bahamas. He had taken the mans number that day, and had called a few months back, but it was she who answered.
After a few moments of reflection on the letter, he threw on his shirt and tie haphazardly, and proceeded to make his way to the kitchen, where a smiling Hannah was placing his orange juice on the table. He sat down and ate quickly. He was to meet with Gabriel today. As he finished eating, Hannah crept upstairs and retrieved the letter. To think she didn't know of it's existence! Then she crept back downstairs, letter in hand, and watched Henry guzzle down the last of his juice. Then she watched him carefully for the next few minutes. He did not even notice that she wad there. But after a few moments he did notice a strange feeling in his stomach. Henry fell to the floor, gasping and clawing at anything he could. Hannah just stood there, smiling down at him. When he breathed his last breath and closed his eyes , Hannah kissed him on the forehead, and walked out of the room, leaving him to himself. She loved him no longer.
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