Illusive Eden - He Pretends He's the Hero

Days fluttered in the countryside of Ziriri, startlingly swift. The chilly breeze lingers in the evening, at the end of the third week of February.

The sun swirling down the west of the horizon, painting the twilight sky violet, orange and red. The married couple in the little town of Enrena saunter round, in delight of such vibrant market of farmers.

Wednesday's and saturday's, where the farmer's ornament: booths, table, stalls, and stands, borrowing the earth of the town of Enrena.

Innumerable, gleaming brilliant flowers greets first the visitors.

The blooming winter heather, primrose, cornflower, violas, centaurea, gypsophila, nigella.

Then comes the fruits in season: raspberries, oranges, kiwis, grapefruits, apples, pears and further. Housewares, and home decors: mirrors, candles, lanterns, rugs, vases, art.

Jewelleries, shirts and pants, dresses and skirts, toys for children. The market portrayed such beautiful scenery.

People still engaged in vending and pursuing, their hearts in denial of purpose—vanishing from the while.

Hours drifted by, Neva had her share of a little shopping. In Rhett's hands, swings a heavy grocery and polythene bags with plastic flower pots, which Neva purposes of planting in the yard of their cottage.

In her own, she swings the remaining pots of blue cornflower and baby's-breath in a see-through polythene.

"Are you cold?" Rhett asks, perceiving her shivering faintly. She peers at him, swaying her head in refusal.

Her gaze swift's to the bakery store ahead, and he follows her eyes along.

"You want some bread?" He queries, in return she purses her lips, appearing to be in a deep thought.

"I want cream buns." Neva answers, and he nods. "Anything else?" Rhett glances down at the gleaming screen of his phone. The cab he booked would arrive in five minutes.

"No, but make it four cream buns."

"Alright, the cab's gonna be here. Wait for me by the cafe. I'll soon return back to you." He declares, and pecks her soft cheek. Smiling he dashes towards the bakery, leaving Neva, smiling, blushing red.

As he dissapears within the four beige walls of the bakery store, the corner of her lips arcs down. Walking ahead towards the east, the whirling moon, dimming evening, her long dress of lacy silver–pink and satin linen flatters along her free hair—sterred by the frosty breeze.

Warming her up is a dense knitted cardigan. Succumbed in nervousness she strides along the trail, facing across stands the cafe Rhett apprised her to wait for him.

Heart beats fast, she steps through the transparent door of the Pharmacy, and when the cashier welcomes her, she reveals a smile, which does not reach her eyes.

Through the stockpiles of medicines arranged in the tall racks, her orbs forages for a package she genuinely needs.

She swallows, her sharp incisors sinking into her cherry watercolor lips. She grabs the two blue rectangular packages.

As she heads outdoors, accross the street she sees Rhett before the cafe. Eyes wandering for her, along the dials of her number relentlessly.

She probes for her phone kept in the purse, a slip of her mind, she had kept the device on mute. Remorseful she courses towards him, for she had three missed calls from him.

His eyes discerns her, trudging towards him from the parallel store. He rushes towards her, his gaze heated and jaw clenched.

"Where were you?" He inquires, the elapsed haunting thoughts the reason for the anger in his eyes.

"Just accross the street." Meekly she murmers, his vision routes to the Pharmacy. He frowns, scanning her head to toe.

She squirms dizzily on her feet, swallowing hard, his gaze concerning her. She hopes, he does not read what she's anxious of.

"Are you ill?" His voice softening, he caresses her neck. She harshly forces away the hand grazing her, as if appalled by his touch. He frowns deep, disheartened.

She tangles her eyes with his, mirroring hurt from her rash gesture.

"I'm fine." Guilty, she whispers, gazing away.

He sighs, her mood swings could strike him in such tricky ways. He holds her hand, "I was just worried about you. Let's go, our cab must've arrived."

⑅ ⑅ ⑅

The starry night with the cold moon high in the sky. In the warmth of the little cottage, Neva in the relaxed room, stands before the full length victorian mirror.

Breaths hast and heavy, palms drizzled sweaty. She observes her fragile form in the mirror, gowned in a white cotton dress, down flowing to her ankles.

Curls waves her back, the luscious locks. The mirror reflects, her glittering eyes, burning in fright.

In her hardened fisted palm, she clenches the two pregnancy kits, where two distinct red lines—conceives positive.

Her lips wavers, she gulps down a sob from reverbing out her mouth. The door creaks open, there Rhett saunters towards Neva, a foolish smile painted in his features.

She panics, afraid he might see through her—clutching the two kits, compressing them hard.

She remain stiff, his hands vining around her waist. He thrusts her back closer to his chest.

"The dishes are done." His seducing, husky voice wafts in her ear, nibbling on the helix. Her breath trembles, head dizzy, heart cruelly rapid of the sudden divulgence.

In her womb, weaves a new life, and her husband adhered to her, knows not what she hides beyond those fearful eyes.

He dives for her neck, drawing a love mark on her mellow fair skin.

Rough hand floating up, he kneads her sore bosom.

A whimper glides out her agaped lips, she squirms, wishing to free from his caging arms; for he designs to make love to her, like every other night together.

"No!" She exclaims, her voice barely above a whisper. She twists her slender body to face him. His forehead creases, as he regards the sprinkled watery eyes of his Neva.

"What's wrong?" He asks, she had been greatly different this day.

Worried eyes scrutinizes her, and his vision unveils the hands on either side of her clammed tight, a hand clutching an object, crinkling her garment tight.

He takes her hand, and the petrified Neva shoves him away. "What are you hiding?" He inquires, as she hurriedly paces out their room.

He stills her, seizing her hands. She struggles to free from the fence of his grip, but the larger, stronger man in the end, earns the positive pregnancy kits from her grip.

She gasps, terrified of what the scene would unveil. His eyes squinting, he clearly perceives the red lines of the sticks. His heart skips a beat, eyes stunned, he glances at the wife abusing her lips, her orbs drizzled in tears.

She lowers her head, turning around, her strides in purpose of walking out through the door; for the cottage shrinks with each passing seconds. He trails her trudge along.

"Where are you going Angel?" He calls for her.

She hears not his anxious voice, and replies him not a word. For her mind is shunned and heart numbed.

The freezing wind stabs her flesh, arising goosebumps on the bare arms. She shivers, and Rhett angered drags her back inside the warmth of their cottage house.

"Do you want to get sick? You're pregnant!" He scolds her, and in a breath, regrets, as she begins sobbing wearily.

He swallows tight, embracing her close. She clutches on his shirt, the fabric in his chest moist from her tears.

"Shh... It's alright." He kisses her lovingly, on the top of her serried silky hair. She hiccups, crying hard. He wonders, if she's scared so much.

The calmed Neva breathes steadily, her cheeks stained in tears. She lay in the protective arms of her husband, cuddled up on the bed, beneath the heat and fervour of the soothing duvet.

He kisses her on the little head. Affirming sweet nothings. He's going to be a father. His heart warmed up like a daylight. He wishes to share his ecstasy with the mother of his child. Glimpsing down at her, her thoughtless eyes peers at nowhere. And he's pierced by an arrow straight to the chest. Will she not want to birth the baby?

"We'll have the baby. Right Angel?" Rhett asks. His throat wires in thorns of vines, as Neva raises her head up, and threads his eyes with the rueful ones of her own.