Chapter 11 Distrust

• "Forget it," Zayla weakly smiled, her chapped lips twitching. "Perhaps it's better you don't say. Holding onto that sliver of hope might be futile." She crushed the withered yellow leaf with sudden determination until it crumbled and fell from her fingers to the ground.
• Zayla's eyes reflected a profound emptiness. They were devoid of any spark for life, a sight that deeply troubled Stellan. "Zayla, don't you have any dreams or aspirations?"
• "I do," Zayla replied, her gaze momentarily distant, her demeanor suddenly frosty. She covered her eyes with her hand, feeling the damp tears on her palm. "Stellan, other than my mom, I have everything in life. Wealth, power, even the person I've loved for so long is with me." Everything she longed for seemed within reach yet remained elusive.
• It was clear Zayla wished to end the conversation. She turned away and resumed working at her computer. Stellan's visit proved fruitless, as the Zayla before him had retreated into a dark, isolated space where no one could reach her.
• "Does Joaquin know about your illness?"
• "He doesn't, and I prefer to keep it that way," she asserted, unwavering in her stance as the proud Zayla who never sought pity for her affliction. Besides, Joaquin might not even offer her solace. Suppose he was aware of her terminal condition. In that case, his sentiments might solely revolve around the inconvenience of losing her as a blood source for Melanie.
• Stellan lapsed into silence, eventually emitting a soft sigh. He took two medication bottles from his bag and positioned them on the coffee table. One held potent pain relievers, and the other contained anti-cancer medications. "Stay away from coffee, take your medications, and maintain a proper diet..." After several reminders, Stellan drew in a deep breath and departed.
• As the door shut, Zayla lifted her gaze to the two medicine bottles on the coffee table, then glanced at her phone to find only a work-related text message.
• With Joaquin absent for another fortnight, Zayla gradually abandoned her customary routines. She ceased leaving the light on in anticipation of his return or preparing meals for his arrival. Yet, she succumbed to the urge to check her phone each late night.
• She had harbored hopes of leaving her feelings for Joaquin behind at one go. Still, those emotions proved resilient, akin to a toxic seed deeply embedded within her heart and soul. Their true potency only manifested when they took root, blossoming into a towering tree that shadowed all else. To eradicate them, she realized she must uproot them entirely, for they had entwined themselves within her heart, tugging at its most delicate fibers. The mere thought of it was agonizing.
• Opening her contacts, Zayla found only Joaquin's name. She dialed it consecutively three times but received no response. Though this was a common occurrence and nothing to be disappointed over, it left her numb, with a faint chill in her heart. Undeterred, Zayla persisted in her calls, a determination resurfacing within her that had lain dormant since their marriage.
• 'Beep... Beep...' The dial tone of the fourth call rang for a long time before Joaquin finally relented, his tone tinged with irritation at her persistence. "What's the matter?" Joaquin's icy voice filtered through the phone.
• There were certain benefits to radio silence for seventeen days. At least Zayla's emotions had steadied, sparing her the embarrassment of breaking down in front of Joaquin. Zayla's voice emerged slightly hoarse. "Can you come back this weekend?"
• "Why? I haven't slept with you in two weeks, and now you're suddenly eager for my return? Zayla, have you no sense of dignity?"
• Zayla's muscles tensed. It was often said that the one who fell in love first would have stronger feelings, fated to endure an inequity of emotions. Moreover, Joaquin had never truly loved her. She was as insignificant as dust to him.
• Zayla persisted patiently. "I need to discuss something significant with you, something you've always desired. Are you certain you won't return?"
• Joaquin offered no response. Instead, the line crackled with static, and if Zayla listened closely, she could discern Melanie's warm and melodic voice. Though Zayla couldn't make out the words, she caught snippets of Joaquin's magnetic voice reassuring Melanie. "Sleep tight. I'll be watching over you."
• The faint breeze hinted that the window was open. Otherwise, why would Zayla shiver so violently? Suddenly, a tightness gripped her chest, constricting her breath. She clutched at her chest, gasping for air, akin to a fish floundering on the shore, teetering on the edge of death. A muffled sound escaped her lips as her stomach convulsed, blood already clogging her throat.
• Gradually, it grew quiet on the other end of the phone, and Joaquin's voice cut through the silence. "What is it?"
• Swallowing the blood in her mouth, Zayla posed her question with an air of nonchalance, "Joaquin, if I were to tell you I was dying, would you feel even an ounce of pity for me?"
• "Heh." Joaquin's response dripped with derision, his tone icy, "Zayla, what game are you attempting to play now? Am I not familiar with your body? What ailment could possibly afflict you? Neurosis? Delusional disorder?"
• Zayla felt as though her heart was mercilessly cleaved open, a torrent of agony coursing through her. Does he really know my body well? Such an absurd assertion. Perhaps her haggard appearance was inconsequential to Joaquin, but her neurosis was undeniable. She had been consumed by hysteria because of him, hung up on him for sixteen long years.