The Perfect Husband

Resurrected

The mud was damp, and the grass was covered in dew, but Renata didn’t give a damn. For the past few weeks, tending to her garden was the only thing that could ease her mind and help with the sorrow that continued to fill her heart.

Sometimes, she would be outside from when the sun rose to the moment it fell below the horizon. It was soothing and relaxing; it was the only time her mind would be too busy to feel the loss that now occupied her heavy heart.

Still, on occasion, when there was nothing to pull or plant, she would find herself sitting on the ground and staring at her Chrysanthemums, Red Poppys, and Orchids. Renata’s head was full of memories of all the times she and her husband, Nazario, spent together all those summers before, tending to their small flower garden.

A small smile would form on her lips for a moment, and a tiny form of joy would inhabit the hole in her heart. A happiness that was always short-lived because even the most lighthearted flashbacks would soon bring her to tears.

Renata sat and watched as the sun disappeared, the sky turned to darkness, and she could no longer see the beautiful bright colors of her garden. Only then did she force herself to stand. She gripped onto her shovel tightly to steady her wobbly legs and began returning to the home she once shared with her husband.

Tears began to form on the corners of her eyes, and they would have fallen if she had not been startled by her nosey neighbor, Mrs. Darby. She clutched at her chest as a bright little light appeared from the other side of her fence.

“Renata, is that you again, dear?” Mrs. Darby’s small and wrinkled face peeked over the fence. Her small flashlight shone over where Renata stood.

“Who else would it be, Mrs. Darby?” Renata slowly released the air she held in her lungs, looking to the sky instead of the older woman.

“You never know, my dear. There are a lot of crazy people out here looking to harm others, especially a lonely young woman like yourself. Everyone knows that Nazario has….” She tightened her lips, realizing what she was about to say.

Renata’s body tensed, and the grip on her shovel only tightened. “I can assure you, Mrs. Darby, I can care for myself. With or without–my husband.”

“Oh, y-yes. Th-that’s not what I meant at all.” The older woman stuttered.

“It is, Mrs. Darby. It is precisely what you meant. Nazario might not be here anymore. God rest his soul, but I can still care for myself. He traveled a lot for his career. The only thing that has changed is that he won’t return from his last one.” Never having looked back, Renata made her way inside, ignoring the sputtering from her neighbor.

Renata set the soil-filled shovel next to her door, locked the bolts, and closed the blinds. She dragged her feet to the kitchen sink and washed away the dirt that desperately tried to cling to her fingers. It was a simple task, but it was enough to finally force her tears to fall and join the water in their adventure down the drain. Renata fell to her knees and sobbed as the strength to push the pain back was no longer there.

Her mournful cries echoed within the walls of a home she now considered a prison. A prison of mementos of a husband she no longer had. Her body curled onto the cold, hard marble floor as she desperately tried to hold herself together. Even though she knew it was impossible, she did not want to break into smaller pieces.

After a deep sleep, Renata awoke hours later, still lying on the floor she found comfort in. Her petite frame ached as she pulled herself up. Exhausted, Renata climbed the creaking stairs to her bathroom. Despite it being two in the morning, she drew a bath. Her frail and sluggish body climbed into the tub, letting the warm water hug her like Nazario used to. Softly and gently.

She loathed the idea that even a simple bath brought her pain when it used to bring her relaxation and serenity. Soon, she went to her bedroom, where her mourns would turn into moans. Renata needed to feel something more than the grief that had haunted her for the past few weeks. So, she let her mind drift into the memory of the night she and Nazario had eloped. The night she learned what true love and passion were. The night he would ruin her for all other men.

His lips lightly caressed the nape of her neck until they found their way to her lips, then slowly trailed their way further south. His calloused hands danced around her soft and supple breast and flesh.

A sweet and sorrowful moan rumbled in her throat as she remembered how his tongue pressed against her clit. The way his fingers dug into her thighs as he spread them further apart. The action made her feel vulnerable and shy, but Nazario made her feel safe. Her body writhed in reality as it did in her memory.

Renata’s fingers moved faster and harder like his tongue had all those years ago. Just as she reached the end, he stopped. Confused, she watched Nazario climb onto their bed with a mischievously flirty grin. His muscles flexed with every movement, and passion burned in his dark chocolate-colored eyes. Renata’s breath clung to her throat as the tall, tanned man crawled over her body.

“Not yet,” he had teased.

He pressed his lips to hers, slid his tongue in, and gave her a taste of her sweet nectar. The tip of his cock pressed lightly against her entrance, she squirmed as she tried to force more in, but he wouldn’t let her win. Not yet. Nazario wanted her to beg for it, so he thrust slightly but never fully. Renata remembered how she ached to be filled. It was the same ache she felt now.

“Please,” she begged out loud.

“Please, what, Renata? Use your words, mi amor (my love).” He had smiled.

“Fuck me, Nazario. Please, fuck me.” She pleaded.

“Good girl.” Delighted by her desperate request, he did as she had asked.

Nazario held her wrists above her head, nipped at her lips and jawline, and his thrusts came fast and hard. Their voices had gotten so loud that someone began to bang on the wall in the room next to them.

They yelled at them to quiet down, but neither Renata nor Nazario gave a damn. No, it made them hungry for more. Nazario lived to hear his new wife scream his name, to plead for more. To watch her body writhe underneath his.

Soon enough, the knot in Renata’s stomach returned and quickly grew, and her tears fell as she let herself go. Cries of pleasure and grief interlaced. Dancing amongst one another, bouncing from wall to wall. She lay on her side and wept into the pillow that was once his—inhaling the scent he left behind.

When she could no longer cry, her fatigue began to take control, and she welcomed the long slumber with open arms. The darkness had nearly consumed her when a sudden chill ran up her spine. The hairs on her arms stood, and her eyes had gone wide.

Too afraid to move, Renata lay in her bed, waiting. Praying that whoever was in her home would believe she was asleep, take what they wanted, and leave…. but they didn’t. They simply stood at her doorway and watched her.

If her heart had beat against her chest any harder, he would have been able to hear it. She flinched when she heard the floorboards creak under each step he took, and a lump formed in her throat when she heard a low, hungry moan rumble in a man’s chest.

“Renata, mi amor (my love), I haven’t caught you masturbating in quite some time.” The man said eagerly. “You know I like to watch, but why were you crying? Did you miss me that much?” He flirted.

Her brows knotted as confusion began to overtake her fear. His voice sounded familiar, but it was impossible to be the man she suspected because the man the voice belonged to was considered dead weeks ago.

Renata rose from her bed slowly and turned toward the man impersonating her now-dead husband. Her eyes tried to adjust to the darkness that swallowed her room, but all she could see was the slim figure of a man walking toward her.

It was only when he had knelt beside her to give her a kiss that Renata saw who it was, and to her astonishment… it was indeed her late husband, Nazario. She wanted to scream, but her vocal cords refused to make a sound; she attempted to run, but her body froze. Only her eyes moved as they bounced in all directions as Renata studied every feature. Her mind raced as she tried to make sense of what was happening.

Was this a dream? It was the only logical reasoning she could come up with, and it would have worked if his soft lips had not met hers, helping her expel the breath she was holding in. If his rough hands had not trailed their way from her hips to her jaw. It was him; it was all him. A blanket of warmth and dread hugged her delicate frame, and her mind raced as it tried to understand what was happening.

“Nazario, wh-what are you doing here? You-you were….” She stuttered.

“I know, I know. I wasn’t supposed to return for another two days, but we finished work early, and I wanted to surprise you. Honestly, to find you the way I did, you surprised me, querida (love).” He smirked. “Well, aren’t you going to welcome me home?” He smiled broadly now and opened his arms, waiting for her embrace.

“Right,” she faltered, “welcome home, Rio.”