He knocked on the door and waited, sliding his attention over to his beautiful wife who was shifting on her feet with intense anxiety. He stared at her like he always did. Like she was this drawing force that he felt compelled toward. It didn’t matter whether she was sobbing on the floor in a crumpled mess. Or complaining about life and her job until she was blue in the face. Or standing in front of him, like she was now, looking like she could rule the fucking universe. She was incredible. And every time he stared at her, she took his breath away. Not because of the way she looked but because of the way she held herself. Because even though he knew she was feeling insecure and anxiety-filled inside, she was trying her best to strut her stuff and be all that she could be and more. She was a warrior and she didn’t even know it.
She was quiet beside him, lost inside another world. One of those things that people called books. She sipped her tea with one hand and held her book in the other that was propped on top of her lap. Every now and again, he’d watch her, like he was doing now. He didn’t mean to intrude on her universe but he liked seeing her in her element. He wondered what sort of effect this book in particular would have on her when she finished it. Because every book rendered a different response. Would she cry? Smile? Let out a gasp for fresh air? Assume the fetal position? Throw the book? Have a look of indifference? Before he had met Eleana, he’d always thought that books had been harmless. Because what could words on a piece of paper really do to someone? But he knew better now, especially on those rare occasions where he himself would pick up a book and read it. Books were dangerous little things and while they seemed harmless, they were anything but. They were so much more than ink and paper. Reading a book was like meeting someone new for the first time. Sometimes you hit it off and became the best of friends. Sometimes they wrecked you in all the wrong ways. Sometimes in all the right ways. Sometimes they left you hollow. Sometimes they left you floating on a cloud. It was difficult to find that one book that completed you just as finding that one person was.
