Mason


    I stepped out of the room, leaving Lydia seated on the bed, face red,


    Closing the door behind me, I leaned on it and ced one hand on my chest, which was beating rapidly against my che


    I tried to band link my desire away, but it was to no avail. Lydia still has an effect on me. It wasn’t like this was news.


    But this realization scared me.


    I shook my head, no, I can stand here forever, I pushed myself off the door and began walking. The hallway is lit by a bulb hanging on the ceiling, brightening the entire ce.


    I tookrge strides.


    My throat felt dry; I wanted something, anything to drink. I ced my hand on the rails as I hurried down the stairs, taking two at a


    time.


    I held her dress in my left hand, gripping it tightly.


    I pulled open the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. Uncapping it, I ced it on my lips, takingrge gulps.


    The bottle was empty in the next second.


    I ced my <b>back </b>on the table<b>, </b>resting on it.


    “Calm down, Mason. You have a girlfriend<b>; </b>you can’t have lustful thoughts over your ex–wife.” I thought.


    “But you care for her.” A part of <b>me </b>said.


    “No, that’s different,” I said out loud. I inhaled sharply, trying to ce all my emotions in check and quieting all my internal dialogue.


    I tried not to think about it as I closed the fridge and <b>walked </b><b>to </b>the <bundry </b>room with Lydia’s dress in my hand.


    By the time I walked out of theundry room, Lydia was down the stairs.


    Seeing her in that nightwear stirred something in me.


    Part of me wanted to rip it off her body. I swallowed, staring at her.


    She held herself with one hand on the other. I took her in with my eyes. Even though she had her back against me, she looked mesmerising.


    Her long, straight legs were all on disy, and I had to praise myself for picking the best nightwear.


    The truth is that I’ve had the nightwear in the closet for five years.


    I bought it the night before the incident, before she killed my stepfather<b>, </b>so she never got to wear it.


    I never thought a day woulde when I’d see her in it, but that day is today.


    <b>She </b>was about to turn when I walked up to her


    “Hey, you’re here,<b>” </b>she tucked some strands of hair behind her ear and nodded looking around.


    Her pale skin glows faintly under the low light, It’s smooth and soft and I want to trail ita


    “You said toe down.” The dining room could be seen from where she stood, and it was empty.


    “Yes.” I peeled my eyes away from her. “Let’s go to the kitchen.” I’m yet to begin cooking. When I left the room the first time, I hade down here and paced around.


    She had lost the pregnancy, and I didn’t know what to feel about her, losing my stepfather’s child.


    Well, one thing was sure: I was not as angry at her as used to be.


    “Wait, you’ve not started?” She questioned, raising a brow before making a face, scrunching her nose, and twisting her lips.


    Her signature look when she’s displeased.


    “Well, have…”


    “You were downstairs for over thirty minutes, Mason. Or…” she squinted her eyes and tilted her head, “were you waiting at the door for me to step out from the bathroom so you coulde in and-”


    “No,” I said sharply, cutting her shut. I waved one <b>hand </b>in front of me, “I would never. That was…” deep breath, “that was a mistake.”


    I didn’t mean to open the door when she <b>was </b>getting changed. Seeing her naked was not part of my ns.


    I didn’t even know she didn’t use the towel in the bathroom to cover herself.


    When I got tired of pacing, I figured it would be right to wash her dress so she could wear itfortably tomorrow when she leaves


    She gave <b>me </b>a suspicious look, and when her shoulders slumped down a bit, I knew the conversation was over.


    “Let’s go to the kitchen. I’ll make anything you want.” I offered.


    “Hmm.” Was her reply?


    I began to wonder just how deep the anger she had for <b>me </b>in her heart was. If I could take back the hand of time… I couldn’t help. but think…


    If only I could take back the hand of time, “would I have divorced her?”


    “Would I have chosen to side with my mom instead of her?”


    “You don’t have to do anything. You can sit and watch.”


    “I didn’t n to. You begged me to have dinner; I’m better off without it, so do what you have to do, Mr. Woods.”


    She sounded different from the girl I know.


    She sounded like the girl who knew exactly what she wanted, not like the Lydia of before, who was easily pu


    around.


    <b>2/3 </b>


    If she were the same girl, she would not have allowed me to be in the kitchen.


    Sure I did make food for her then, but it was after much argument.


    In the past, she never allowed me to do anything for her; she would always insist she did it as my wife, but now…


    I got to work as she asked me to.


    I’m not sure what I want to make, so I opened the fridge and brought out the vegetables I could find.


    Onion, tomato, cabbage, lettuce, and some carrots.


    She didn’t ask questions.


    She is seated on the stool which was in the kitchen, watching me.


    I tried to keep my gaze focused on chopping the onions.


    But I could feel her eyes on my back. The smell of onions hit me and I scrunch my nose. I never liked it. My eyes felt hot and soon became misty.


    She didn’t try to make small talk. The only sound between us was the knife’s chip–chop on the chopping board as it went through


    the onion.


    Just as I was about to look at my back, I felt the knife run through a part of my skin.


    “Ouch.” I cried, turning.


    AD