Page 13 of The Hand Surgeon's Housewife
Then I hear it—a muffled noise, almost like a groan of pain, coming from inside the room. "Hugo?" I call out, my voice tinged with concern and the groans abruptly stop.
"I'll be right out," comes his strained reply, breathless and hurried. "Just need a minute."
My heart skips a beat. "Are you hurt?" I press, worry seeping into my voice.
"Fuck no," he growls, his tone sharp and frustrated. "Said I'll be right out."
I wince at his response. Something doesn't feel right. I lean closer to the door, pressing my ear against the smooth wood, straining to hear more clearly.
There it is again—the strange noise, a low grunt followed by a stifled sound that could be pain or frustration. My hand hovers over the doorknob, unsure whether to demand he opens u or not
The silence stretches, broken only by occasional shuffling sounds from inside the room.Minutes feel like an eternity before the bedroom door finally creaks open.
Hugo emerges, his expression tight and guarded. I notice immediately that he's changed his pants, the ones he wore earlier now replaced with a darker pair. He tosses something—a crumpled bundle—into the laundry basket in the bathroom without a word.
”Is everything alright?" I ask, my voice trembling slightly with a mix of concern and confusion.
He glances at me briefly, irritation flickering across his features. "No," he mutters, avoiding my gaze as he moves past me towards the kitchen. ”But it will be. Fuck, I really hope it will be.”
I follow him. ”You seem... upset," I say cautiously, trying to tread lightly on the fragile ground between us.
He doesn't respond, his jaw clenched as he retrieves his keys from the counter. I reach out to touch his arm gently, hoping to break through the wall he's built up around himself. "Hugo, please talk to me," I urge, my voice pleading.
His reaction is immediate. He jerks his arm away from me when he catches my fingers lingering in the air, his eyes flashing with an emotion I can't quite place—anger, frustration, and an unwillingness to being tempted too much. "I'm fine. You don’t have to force yourself to touch me,” he clips, his tone cutting through the air like a knife. "I'm going to the grocery store. Be right back.”
Before I can say anything else, he turns abruptly and heads towards the front door. The slam echoes through the house, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.
I stand there, stunned and hurt, watching the door where he just disappeared. Questions whirl in my mind, unanswered and unresolved.
But there are no answers, only the lingering sense of unease settling in the pit of my stomach. With a sigh, I make my way back to the bathroom to turn on the laundry. The crumpled bundle Hugo discarded in the basket catches my eye. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I reach for it, unfolding the fabric carefully.
It's a pair of boxers—his boxers stained with white. The realization dawns on me and my face burns. Oh…so that’s what… That explains it and my fingers tremble when I drop the boxers. It’s not that I’m shocked. It’s just that I don’t know what turned him on so much to that degree that he had to leave what he started in the garden in order to go to his room and relieve himself.
Flustered, I rub my forehead. I can’t stay in the house anymore, I need to get my mind off of things. Besides Hugo’s not home. And I’m free to go wherever I please. I don’t have to be worry about getting lectured like I did when Raymond was alive. Then I always had to watch my back, always keep a low profile in case he’d accuse me of prancing around and acting like a…I shrug, myself and shake off the memories of him.
And what better way to that than some retail therapy?
The thought of doing something for myself feels like a small rebellion, a reclaiming of my autonomy. I decide I'm going to buy nail polish. Red! Bold, defiant, and a reminder to myself that I have the right to make my own choices now.
In town, the bustling streets and vibrant shop windows are a pretty good distraction from what just happened at home. After browsing through several stores, I emerge with a small shopping bag filled with ten nail polishes in various shades of red. An apron also finds its way into my bag to make Hugo happy. I think he’ll like the housewife attire.
Walking through the park, I watch the sun filter through the canopy of trees, enjoying the fresh air and I’m feeling perfectly fine.
But then everything changes.
A jogger runs by, his appearance startlingly familiar. My heart hammers in my chest as he reminds me of Raymond. I shrug off the unease, trying to focus on the present, on the freedom I felt earlier.
Suddenly, a shout pierces the tranquil park. "Get back here, you bitch!" The words send a jolt of fear through me, freezing me in my tracks. Cold sweat breaks out on my forehead, but then I see it's just two teenagers chasing each other, their laughter breaking the tension.
I brush my hair off my face, trying to shake off the lingering fear. I keep walking, but my mind plays tricks on me. I see Raymond everywhere—at the hot-dog stand, near the fountain. Each glimpse makes it harder to breathe, my chest tightening with panic.
My vision blurs, and the world tilts around me. I struggle to catch my breath, the ground feeling unsteady beneath my feet. The panic intensifies, and I go lightheaded, my legs giving way. I collapse onto the concrete, the shopping bag falling from my grasp.
The world above me seems to sway as I lie there, tree crowns rustling gently in the breeze. I hear a dog barking in the distance, a comforting sound amidst the chaos in my mind. Voices murmur around me, growing more urgent.
"Someone call for help!" The voice seems distant, echoing through the fog of my thoughts.
I stare up at the swaying branches, the sky a patchwork of blue and green. Strangers lean over me, their voices merging into a single, indistinguishable hum.