Addictive

     My cheek felt sore still, a stinging pain lingering there behind the layer of makeup. I had to convince myself it was still well covered and no one would see it one more time so that I didn’t end up glancing at the silvery cutlery—yet once again—to catch my reflection. They would ask too many questions, and he would be mad.

     Did you see Mrs. Otrel’s cheek at the party? I bet something’s going on. I could already hear them gossiping if they were to find out…. It’d bring unnecessary problems, both to me and to him—especially him. Jail would be the least of his worries. If they found out what he was doing, he would probably be shot dead before he’d get a chance to be taken in for questioning.

     We both knew how it’d go down; that’s why I had to be a good wife.

     I had to shut up and do whatever he asked. Until death do us part.

     The distinctive set of footsteps came in through the kitchen’s door, allowing some of the violins’ melodies to flow in before getting cut out again when it shut. “Hey,” he said softly, anger not hinted in his voice—yet.

     “Hi,” I replied, keeping my hand on my cheek—the good one—where it had previously been before, and he walked over to the isle.

     “What are you doing here alone?” The scent of Belvedere clinging on to his Armani suit hit my nose as soon as he slouched next to me. “Some of my co-workers have been asking for you…. They wanted to meet you.”

     “I’m not in the mood. Sorry.”

     There was a small pause before he replied, and I was brave enough to look him in the eye as he began speaking—my eyes had been locked in one of the many empty wine bottles laying in the counter. “Is your cheek hurting a lot?”

     My eyes widened unconsciously, but I did my best to get my expression back to normal before he could notice. Had he just asked if it hurt? It must’ve been the whiskey talking, not him. It couldn’t be him, anyway. “No.”

     His hand moved up suddenly, triggering a flinch in me, but he laid it tenderly over my cheek. He pressed slightly, and I grunted. “It’s not that hard to say yes, Catherine. I’ll get you some ice.” Without waiting for a reply, he walked over to the fridge and came back with one of the blue cloths wrapped around the small, frozen bag. “Here.”

     “Thanks,” I said sheepishly, really confused on why his attitude appeared to be so derailed from the usual. The coldness of it began working its way into my cheek, unpleasant at first until it numbed the skin and muscles, and that’s when I gave my thoughts a chance to be spoken out loud. “Is everything all right, Phillip?”

     “Why do you ask?”

     “You just seem…off.” I bit my lip, hoping that hadn’t sounded too direct.

     He sighed, taking away the icepack and leaving just the cold memory of it lingering on my cheek. I hoped no makeup had gotten wiped away with it. “I think Don knows about what happened last week in Crystal Waters,” he deadpanned, a stoic expression plastered on his face. “He knows I killed George.”

     “It wasn’t just you,” I hissed, feeling how my chest tightened against such statement. If somebody knew…. If Don knew. Oh, God. This wouldn’t end well. “And how did he find out?”

     “I don’t know, but his wife hasn’t stopped glaring at me throughout the night. She was close to him.”

     Helena, I thought, her name rushing through my mind. “You’re basing your speculations on his wife’s glares?”

     “He spoke to me, too,” Phillip growled in a low voice, his teeth screeching a bit. “He went into details on how they believed the suspect was someone who had George’s complete trust. How long do you think they will take before they start pointing their fingers at his only partner in the project, who may or may not have had something to do with it?”

     “I can testify,” I blurted out, standing from the warm stool and taking a step closer. “Nobody has to know you were out that night.”

     His hand went up to his stubble and rubbed it—he’d only do that when he was drowning in frustration. “He asked me to swing by the precinct tomorrow just for some questions so that they can gather up some extra information.”

     “Maybe they don’t suspect yet, Phillip.” I could feel my stomach getting smaller with the accumulating nerves with every second that passed. “We’ll figure something out.” Before I could stop myself, or think of what I was doing, my hand reached for his cheek, but I froze right before they made contact. He never liked when I touched him without previous consent.

     It almost felt as if he let my hand linger there for a while, though it could’ve just been a couple of seconds until he took his hand to mine and pushed it to his face, letting it lay there delicately.

     I could see why everyone considered me the luckiest girl on Earth when I first started dating him. The few freckles he had accentuated his chiseled factions: sharp jaw, high cheekbone, and the slightly crooked nose that matched his plumped lips. But, most of all, I loved the green lanterns he had for eyes.

     “I have to tell you something, Catherine…” he began in a whisper, his eyelids shutting as if the words hurt. This close, I could definitely smell whiskey in his breath.

     “What?”

     “I think—” but he could get past that before the violins filtered into the kitchen again, someone coming through the door. I jumped involuntarily and Phillip turned around.

     “Phillip!” An old man—whom I recognized as Galen Loughery, George’s best friend—began laughing, causing his belly to flop with the movement. He was horribly drunk; it didn’t require rocket science to notice that. “C’mon! What are you doing here? You’re missing the party and Don’s looking for ya, buddy. Get out here. Be a good host!”

     And something else kicked in my stomach, Phillip’s eyes risking a quick glance at me.

     “Of course,” Phillip said, and, with a short nod, I saw him following the wavering Galen out the kitchen, leaving me completely alone again.

     What could Don possibly want now?