He is Different, Lately

Fearfully, I stood with one foot inside the house. Then I entered and carefully closed the door behind me. I knew if I asked him too much, he could shut down or become angry. Instead, we remained in awkward silence.

I grew impatient when he wouldn't speak, so I decided to take a shower. If he wasn't going to talk to me, I wouldn't wait. I was a sweating mess and sometimes, I just had to take care of myself., regardless of the contract.

As the water pelted my skin, I enjoyed the relief that rinsing the sweat residue brought. I washed myself repeatedly with a new mango-scented soap. Once finished, I pulled my towel from the nearby rod.

After I had my wet hair secured, I stepped out and onto the bathmat, wiping my feet. As I lifted my head, my eyes widened when I watched Bram enter the bathroom. I promptly removed the towel from my head and covered myself up. It was highly out of character for him to come in while I was showering.

As far as I knew, Bram hadn't seen me naked since our first night as husband and wife. Feeling uncomfortable, I eyed him with suspicion, my chestnut-brown stringy hair dripping, and my shoulders rewetted. I felt like a stranger had just seen me.

"Bram, what are you doing?" My voice felt weak from the fear in my throat. When he wouldn't answer me, I abruptly pushed past him to the door, snatched my fluffy white robe off the hook and wrapped myself in it, tying it tightly. Exiting the bathroom, I rushed up the stairs to my bureau in the loft bedroom.

Once I was dressed in dark jeans and a white tank top I turned around, half expecting him to be there, but he wasn't. When I came down the stairs, he was seated at the kitchen island wearing a casual black tank top with his fatigues. It wasn't like him to be out of work so soon.

I saw he had a shot glass and a bottle of scotch in front of him. My concern was growing. Although he did like to drink it was never this early. I stepped more deliberately as I finished my descent from the loft to the first floor. I walked by him quietly as though I were trying to refrain from waking a sleeping beast.

Feeling uneasy around him, I began to dust. Usually when I cleaned, he watched each step I took, always there to critique and direct me, but this time he said nothing. I almost wanted him to be his normal, nitpicking self. The behavior he was displaying now was unnerving me.

After a few minutes, I couldn't take the silence anymore. I set the duster down and walked over to him. He was midway through taking his next shot when I stood beside him. I could see beads of sweat crawling down his neck to his shredded pecs.

"Bram, what is going on?" I asked. He glanced at me from the corner of his eye.

"Why do you care?" he asked, sounding annoyed.

"Because I'm worried."

"Worried about what?"

"You. How you're acting. You don't seem like yourself."

"No, it's because you're scared … of me." He bowed his head. I was shocked. My heart began pounding as I sensed my pent-up anger rise to the surface. I wanted to be heard.

"Yes, sometimes I am," I confirmed. "Is that an accomplishment in and of itself or does hearing me say it also add to the thrill?" He glanced at me dismissively. I immediately regretted my flippant comment. He had opened the door for a real talk, but I let my resentment win.

He had his left elbow on the island, his palm covering his mouth for a second. Then he slid his hand to his cheek. I watched him fill the glass, then shoot the liquor.

"Is it something with work?" I asked with desperation in my voice. He glanced at me, his emerald-green eyes alight against his tanned face. I thought I saw a spark in them.

"What difference does it make?" he asked.

"Because you came home, then followed me into the bathroom and I'm now watching you saturate yourself with scotch. I know you want me for something. Please," I began. "You can trust me. I'll listen."

Without an answer, he stood with the half-empty bottle and went up the stairs. I followed him as he wandered into the computer room. I didn't want to spy on him, but he seemed to be in trouble. I could see him switch the PC on, log in, and drink, the golden liquid sloshing against the glass bottle leaving a slightly viscous trail inside.

When I was behind him, I noticed that he'd entered a chatroom for military members. It was labeled MChat at the top with brown, yellow, and black lettering. I had a vague memory of my mom going online to connect with fellow soldiers. Maybe this would be the way that I could talk to Bram.

I realized it was a sleazy thing to do, but I went downstairs, got on the laptop, and created my own profile. I tried to assuage my guilt, commencing internal arguments. Just because I made an account didn't mean I had to use it, right? For the rest of the night, I contemplated whether to go through with it.

We ate dinner in silence, as usual. I made sure to wash all the dishes and clean the place. When I went to bed, he was already asleep, hogging most of the bed. It didn't matter that I only had a little shelf of mattress to myself. Once I was in between the sheets, I fell asleep instantly.

***

That night I had several unnerving dreams. A few of them involved people coming after me. In one, Bram had been chasing me as my enemy, but then something unexpected happened.

I was running away from him when I realized there were two of him. One was evil and the other was good. As I sprinted toward the base housing from Bad Bram, the nice one came over and protected me, pulling me into an alley between two houses.

When he held onto me, I gazed into his eyes. He was smiling. It was one of the best feelings I'd ever had. It was like he'd been under a spell but now it was broken.

As Good Bram clung onto me, we began to kiss. The scrape of his ultra-short face stubble against my mouth was enticing. The way his tongue played over mine felt familiar, reminding me of our only night together. As he sucked on my bottom lip, it began to rain.

We both stared up at the sky watching the droplets turn black. He caught my eye and nodded at me. Somehow, I knew this to mean that the black rain was inevitable. Once this was acknowledged, Bad Bram magically disappeared from wherever he was and only his positive counterpart remained.

Good Bram kissed me again, then he ran his lips up my neck to my earlobe. When he laid me down on the grass, he climbed up over me, kissing all the way down to my breasts. His hands squeezed them after he lifted my shirt. I could see my erect nipples through my soaked, black bra.

I heard sounds of yearning spilling from his throat as he released my breasts from their silky prison and hungrily pressed his mouth against one, licking in slow circles. The feeling of his tongue upon my breasts was setting me on fire.

When he pressed himself to me, my love-starved body was immediately pushed to climax. I arched up as our chests pressed together, clutching him closely with my arms around his rain-soaked neck. With one final bit of friction brushed between my legs, I knew he was using my body to come. I remember smiling as I felt his erection through his wet jeans as his orgasm overtook him.

I came so hard that it woke me up. When I glanced over next to me, he was asleep. I gasped, disoriented at first but as soon as I had my bearings, the dream made me bashful though titillated. The person beside me was not who I had just been with in my dream, but it was nice to think about, nonetheless.

I wished more than anything that the "Good Bram" could be here instead.

***

Despite my knowledge of my husband's true character as "Bad Bram", I couldn't help but feel a spark for him the next day. And when he was home, whenever I was near him, I felt my stomach flutter. In the past, I'd forced myself not to look at him in great detail so I wouldn't feel too attracted to him. Today, I couldn't help it.

At one point when he caught me staring, he rolled his eyes at me and asked, "Why are you looking at me so much?"

"Uh," I began. I wasn't sure if I could come up with a good reason. He crossed his arms and gave me a smirk. My mind wouldn't properly function. "I was just wondering if you'd gained any weight. You look more ... muscular." The last word barely squeaked out.

"Go find something productive to do."

I wanted to tell him that I'd love to be productive in a different way but instead, I just got up and went for a jog. On the way out, I ran into a neighborhood kid, nicknamed Jeffy. He had freckles, medium brown hair, and sparkling blue eyes. I waved to him as he played outside with his sister Megan.

I followed the same route I had used previously to get to the lab. When I passed by the secure building, I could hear dogs barking inside. That was strange.

I was inspecting the sound when, all of a sudden, the doors flung open, scaring me so much I jumped. I watched as a young soldier hollered at one of the lab workers.

"You lied to me!"

"I told you, it's not for everyone yet. We're only doing trials right now," said the lab tech.

"That's bullshi*t! I know so many people who have been injected and--"

The tech walked out to the soldier and ushered him back inside. I watched as the heavy steel doors slammed shut, echoing off the cafeteria building behind me.

Out of nowhere, I heard a voice. When I turned around, I saw a young man shading his eyes. I didn't recognize him, at first.

"Hello, Alexandra."