Tarian.
Later…
I march through the docks, my steps precise, cutting through the grit coated floor.
The smell of fish, wet earth, and saltwater stings my nose as I head toward the ship that just docked.
The entire air familiar to me as always.
When I reach the spot, men are already unloading crate after crate of prime fish.
The air is thick with noise, grunts, shouted orders, and the slap of boots against damp wood.
“Ah, Mr.
Sawyer.
Good morning to you, sir.”
Tim Barger, one of the foremen, greets me warmly.
The wind hits hard, cold and unforgiving.
“Good morning, Tim.” I offer a small nod, eyes still on the workers.
“How many men fell sick on this trip?”
“Five, sir.
And I’m told it wasn’t pretty.”
My jaw tightens.
“Weren’t they thoroughly checked before boarding?”
“They were.
But these five were new recruits.
Thought they could handle the sea.” He pauses, shaking his head.
“The waters were rough this time.”
I curse under my breath.
“More care should be taken.
I don’t need dead men on my conscience because someone was careless.”
Tim flinches.
“Understood, sir.
We’ll be more efficient next time.”
“See that you are.”
I turn on my heel and leave, my pulse hammering.
By the time I reach my car, anger’s burning through my skin.
I slam the door shut and exhale sharply.
My muscles are knots I can’t untangle.
I lean back against the headrest, eyes closed, the morning crashing over me.
Viola’s tears, our argument, the dock workers, everything.
I haven’t slept in the same room with my wife for three years.
I know I should.
But after the first few years of our marriage proved fruitless, I saw no point in sharing a bed.
The silence between us became its own kind of language.
So I moved out.
Last night, though, I hit a wall.
Despair.
The kind that makes breathing a burden.
Viola and I had attended the Sawyer Fishing Enterprise’s Halloween party.
Our parents’ grand attempt to parade us as a perfect couple.
I went as Mark Antony.
She went as Cleopatra.
Fitting, in a cruel way; two lovers destined for ruin.
It was agony pretending we were happy.
Pretending we were in love.
Pretending our smiles weren’t carved from pain.
The music was loud, laughter louder, and our parents glowed with pride as we stood there, hands interlocked, masks polished, lies intact.
They didn’t see the truth behind our costumes.
No one did.
No one ever does.
Every touch felt like fire.
Every glance between Viola and me was a war.
I could barely stand the brush of her fingers when we danced, yet I had to pretend it thrilled me.
“You two are so beautiful together, Tarian,” Mum said later, kissing my cheek as we danced.
Her costume shimmered, regal, queen like.
“I only hope you both have a son soon.”
I forced a smile, the one I’ve mastered for years.
“Why a son, Mum?”
Her gaze flickered.
“What if we have a daughter?” I pressed.
The color drained from her face.
Panic flashed behind her eyes before she masked it with another smile.
But I saw it.
I always see it.
“What are you and Dad hiding from me?” I asked quietly.
“Why is it always about a son?
If it’s about the inheritance, can’t a girl child Inherit?”
She froze, gaze darting away.
Then, without a word, she slipped her hand from mine and walked off the dance floor, vanishing through one of the exits.
That moment hasn’t left my mind since.
When Viola and I returned home, I went straight to the bar.
Poured brandy, drank deep.
The burn tasted like the ruin my life had become.
My failing marriage, my parents’ secrets, the endless pretense.
I grabbed the bottle, walked to my room, drank until the edges blurred.
Until I stopped feeling.
I remember sitting there, head heavy, mind gone.
I must have passed out because sometime in the night, I sensed Viola in my room.
Probably thought she could try again to have sex with me, after three years of sleeping seperately.
Maybe hoped I’d be too drunk to resist her touch.
But I wasn’t.
I resisted her touch.
I didn’t desire her.
The thought makes me groan now.
My phone rings.
I grab it.
It’s the office.
“Hello.” My tone’s clipped.
“Sir, just reminding you of your two o’clock meeting,” my secretary says.
“With who?” I mutter.
“A representative from Elianor Pearls.”
“Elianor Pearls?” The name hits something in me.
“The pearl company?”
“Yes, sir.”
I frown.
“Alright.
Get everything ready.
I’ll be there soon.”
I hang up and start the engine.
As the car hums to life, my thoughts circle back to the company’s name.
Elianor Pearls.
The renowned pearl producing company.
A company known for net breaking records in profit.
What could they possibly want with Sawyer Fishing Enterprise?
What would a fishing enterprise and a pearl producing company have in common?
I don’t know yet.
But i hope it’s good.