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Mikhail 🖋

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PART 1

~Mikhail~

What do they think of themselves?

Do they know me? No. So they don’t get to say shit about me.

Whatever I’m doing is ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

Then why do you think I’m doing it? For my dear wife.

Ah! My wife. My beautiful, innocent little wife.

It seems I’ve been turning aggressive on events these days. Her words. Usually, such remarks anger me. Especially if people use them to portray me.

What? I’m in no way a violent person. Um-maybe I am. A teeny-weeny bit. But I’m never like that in front of my wife. Really. I could never go violent on her.

The reason? Her. Her eyes. Her cute nose. Her ears. Her lips. Her face. Her entire existence is the sole reason for my calmness. Yet she denies it. She claims I’ve grown into someone else. Like she says, aggressive. Let me tell you again, I’m anything but that . . . for her.

To remain passive from it, she suggested, no - more like commanded me to visit a therapist. Me, like a lovestruck teenager I am, listened to her. But I’m proud of being whipped for her. Not many of the men around know to love their wives properly.

I do. I love her like the queen she is. My queen.

So taking her suggestion, I have not visited one but four different therapists. And none of them seem to mind their own business. All they do is pry into my life, asking me about the triggering incidents that bring on my fiery side. They don’t know when to stop asking. They’ve got no stop button for their mouths. Like seriously, dude! I’m there, in front of them only because my wife asks me to do so.

Neither do they know to mind their own shit nor do they know the line that crosses the client-therapist relationship. There were three women of the four, two of which were secretly trying to hit on me.

To be the least of being modest, I’m too attractive for my own good. People can’t move away without looking at me thrice. Yeah, I am admitting it shamelessly. Shameless is what I am. It’s one of the characteristics I was born with.

I never cared for their attention though. Well, that was before meeting my wife. Now, all I want is her attention, her assurance that I’m enough for her. Forever. I don’t know why but for a man who’s too confident of himself, I sure as hell am insecure in front of her. She’s just too beautiful to be real.

So about therapists. Yeah, those bitches. They never bothered asking me if I was a taken man or not. Either they don’t look for my fingers or remain clueless even if I have a thick wedding band around one of them. I’m a strict one-woman man. Not like the cheating assholes the world produces. When they would discreetly ask me out for a date or try flirting, I would tell them to bugger the fuck off. Respectfully like a gentleman would do. I try, for her.

So that was the ridiculous thing I was talking about previously.

Currently, I’m on my way to our home, walking.

And I’m so fucking happy.

Taking a turn around the end of the street, a spacious double-storeyed house comes into my view.

Our sweet home.

She must be sleeping now. My wife is a sleeping beauty. She sleeps every now and then. I don’t mind. I could watch her all the time she sleeps. Not a bother to me. Don’t take me for a creep. It’s the way I love her.

Punching the code, I enter in silently. I take off my footwear and slip into the casual ones she puts by the shoe rack. Today is a Saturday and I can have a good time with her. No one would dare bother us.

I walk upstairs to our bedroom. Making sure the door doesn’t creak, I move towards her dozing body. She has my shirt on and it instantly makes my chest swell with a feeling that I’m still not used to even after nearly two years of our marriage.

Love. It has always been a mystery to me. I did not receive it from my parents. Not from my family. If anytime I was welcomed from their side, it was my supposed deranged condition that stopped me from responding to them. They pity me. They see me like some animal which I’m not. I couldn’t bear them so I ran away from there and here I am. In the States and I don’t regret it at all because that brought me closer to an angel.

Why she loves and accepts me for who I depict as myself is beyond my filthy self’s comprehension. He only needs her and not the reasons behind it.

I smirk. Maybe I didn’t show my complete self to her.

I don’t plan to anytime in the future.

I pull a chair and sit beside her laying figure and look at her. Clearly. I run the tips of my fingers over her face, tracing her soft features.

Such a tempting woman. So pure, so beautiful. All mine. I admire her a lot. Sometimes I wonder if it’s healthy to worship someone so much. So much that I feel it is obsessive love.

Bending my head, I kiss her forehead with my tainted lips.

Бог (God)! Her skin is so soft.

Feeling me, her eyelids flutter open slowly and brown eyes look into my dark ones.

“Mikhail.” Her voice seeps into my bloodstream, pumping furiously against each active cell of my body.

“дорогой (Darling),” I say and run my hands through her long black hair. Pulling her face closer, I slowly suck onto her lower lip, swallowing it into my mouth. I kiss her deeply after releasing her lip. I could do it all day.

I don’t think anyone would know how much I love her. Not the God as well. I don’t know it myself. And it’s better not known.

***

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