Dark Circles of Mascara rimmed her eyes as she cut the incoming call once more.

The man in the driver's seat threw her a glance as her screen lit up again.

"You should probably get that. I'm sure he's simply worried about you"

She nodded, markedly looking out the closed window, cutting the call yet again.

He sighed and threw the car into third gear, rushing home.

He cursed himself for leaving her side for those few moments. He had assumed that the people around were sober enough. He had thought no one would misbehave.

He hadn't even considered that someone would pull at her skirt so hard. 

Hadn't considered just how much it would upset her.

He glanced sideways again, taking in her appearance. 

Her makeup was smudged, lipstick removed by her teeth relentlessly chewing at her lips, mascara and eyeliner a mess and hair wild.

A sudden sound disturbed the peace and he traced it to his phone.

Unable to get through to her, the caller had called him instead.

"It's just your brother,” he pleaded, trying to get her to answer.

Her eyes went so wild with fear that he sighed once more and cut the annoying tone off.

He would call him later.

They were almost home anyway.

That night, sleep eluded him completely.

As soon as they had gotten hone, she had locked herself in her room and refused to come out. He had spoken to her across the closed door. All further interactions were through their housekeeper.

He wondered if she was fine.

------------------------------

The next morning, there was no trace of her panic attack.

He had honestly thought it best to leave it up to her to bring up. It had clearly hurt her quite a bit.

He tried his best to cheer her up by making breakfast every morning. He'd always been a good cook. 

Not that she wasn't. 

Also, she seemed genuinely happy at that.

In hindsight, it was easy to make her smile.

He had learnt very early in his three month old marriage that it took just a few attempts to make her give you a 1000 watt smile.

His three month old contract marriage.

He sighed. It made sense...in a way.

He was alone, she was alone. At least this way, they could be lonely together.

That was why he was coming home early.

There was no other reason.

It wasn't that he hadn't grown fond of their interactions.

Or of her smile for that matter.

He had simply felt sorry for the old woman selling roses by the street.

That's what the roses were for.

Feeling a blush creep up his neck, he quietly opened the front door, scouring the room for her, still trying to convince himself that he wasn't the least bit interested in this relationship.

She wasn't in the hall.

Toeing off his shoes, he tiptoed to her bedroom and counted to three before flinging the door open, a wide smile on his face.

Never had his face drained of blood so quickly.

As his eyes took in the scene, deathly quiet had descended on them.

She had frozen too. Her hand still held in position above her bare thigh.

He took a step back.

Then another.

Then another, until he was out of her sight completely.

Head in his hands, he tried to get his breathing under control.

In the room, there was a clatter as she dropped what she was holding, circling her hands around her knees and hiding her face.

This was the end.

She had ruined it all.

She always did.

Always her fault.

Always.

Unbidden the tears came to her eyes.

But she never let them fall.

Never.

It was the only thing she was good at.

Keeping up a façade.

Her calves stung unfamiliarly, a weird smell reaching her nose, and she peeked to see what it was.

In a split second, the tears that she had never let fall, fell. 

She howled and wailed, letting it all out. 

He quietly continued. 

Beside the fallen razor, the open bottle of antiseptic seemed to smile kindly at the scene.

As he softly cleaned up her wounds, in utter silence broken only by her sobs, she understood was love felt like.

Acceptance.