Broken words

A stiff breeze carried a quiver down Jackson's spinal cord. And outside the snow was thick on the footway. The snow had sheltered the trees and presented them sparkling at first sight. The delivery guy had a thick sweater concealing his uniform. His hair was messy from the snow.

"You are Mr. David, right?" He inquired while he shivered from the chill.

"That's correct, although I did not request flowers. I purchased mine this afternoon. Is there a possibility you got the order wrong?" Jackson answered while the delivery man laid the bouquet in his hands.

"I am certain that the order is accurate. A female called this evening requesting our flower shop to deliver a bouquet of daisies and present it to you, Mr. Jackson David." He responded in an anxious and furious tone.

From the record that Peter showed him. The delivery man's name tag on his sweater spells out Peter. The order was correct. So Jackson accepted the bouquet.

"Thanks, Pete." Jackson mumbles and tips the man for his service.

He intended to head indoors when he got stopped. "Mr. David, are you fine? That cut is deep, and it seems infected. You should visit the hospital." Peter stated, then he got on his motorbike and drove off.

"Thank you," Jackson responded.

He enters his home and shuts his door. Gazing at the flowers, he frowned at it. Although they were pleasant, he did not admire them. They attached a card to the bouquet. Jackson read the card and written within it was an apology from Jennie. She revealed the reasons she cannot be with him tonight. He stared at the yellow heart-shaped paper in his hand, squished it, and threw it on the floor.

At that moment Jackson suffered a weight on his heart. He experienced a piercing ache in his chest. The room appeared dim, and Jackson could not exhale. He suppressed the air in his lung to sedate himself. His heart burns, though Jackson knew the probability of Jennie being honest with her words was slim. He went inside the bathroom, got stripped, and stepped into the bathtub.

Jackson turned on the shower. He leaned his head against the glass, enabling the flow of water to squirt on his fatigued body. The water flowed from his eyebrow, towards his collar, and downward. He stood steady and too weak to move a muscle. Steam filled the room, and the air was hot. He felt his toes flinching on the warm slippery floor.

People believed that a man should never cry, and he agreed with those individuals. Still, his soul ached, comparable to a knife punching through his chest. Jackson sensed the agony ripping through his muscles and bones. He longed for the suffering to cease. It was challenging at this point to be a husband. He seemed vulnerable to his emotions. Jackson could not restrain himself from sobbing. Therefore, he began beating his injured hands against the mirror.

Jackson knew within that he needed to distract himself from the anguish he was enduring inside. Therefore, he suffered his physical wound to be his distraction. Fresh blood drains out of the cut. Jackson stared at his finger, and he realized that this was self-harm. Plus, inflicting pain against yourself is absurd. Yet, he could not refrain himself. Jackson wanted his heartache to stop and required a remedy to aid him. His phone in their bedroom started ringing. He tried to ignore it. But the phone kept vibrating and buzzing.

Jackson became exhausted from the noise and chose to answer. He left the shower and returned to the bedroom with a towel tie around his waist. Jackson left watery footprints behind him because his body was soaked. He tossed the wet towel on the bed and took two minutes to get dressed before accepting the call.

"Hello, hubby." A delicate voice uttered, it was soft like a whisper. But with a subdued melody to its tone.

"I crave you a lot. I regret calling this late, though my work could not permit me. You know I yearn to spend our anniversary with you since you complete me. And it hurts me not to be with you tonight. But, I will make it up to you when I get home tomorrow." Jennie spoke in an honest tone.

She kept talking, and Jackson kept listening without replying to her. Her words seemed to soften his heartache, and his mind remained at peace. She is the antidote he requires to feel at peace. Jennie is the only woman who can shift Jackson's spirit with just her expressions.

"Hubby, are you there? I have to hang up. I love you," she stated.

"It's all good, and I adore you too," Jackson told his wife before she cut the line off. He sat on his bed and settled his head in his hands.

"What a dull and exhausting night," he reflected.

The twilight was cold and quiet. The disordered dining table stood still, and the candles glowed. However, Jackson slept comfortably with the pain in his bones.

"My heart feels frightened. He has to be all right. Please don't be sitting in bed and sobbing. I need you to be stable. I despise outraging you and understand this is not what you deserve. You contribute more than I give you credit for. I am sorry!" She screamed, sobering out loud on the cold floor.

"Thou, you are not the only individual that is empty and pathetic. I am depressed without you here. And I ache to be beside you right this moment. Except, I don't have a choice. I could either hurt you today or lose you forever. My mistake will not enable me to narrate the reason I can not touch you tonight. Why do I have to be punished now? I have not even confessed to you, and my heart feels this broken!" She cried, drawing her legs closer to her chest and shutting her eyes, which were filled with tears.