To say your marriage with Aiden was strained was a massive understatement. He loved you, but it wasn’t the type of love that meant small cuddles before drifting off to sleep. It wasn’t sweet kisses before leaving for work. It wasn’t big hugs for comfort, nor was it holding hands and swinging them back and forth like a silly high school couple would in the hallways. It was much more different than that.

Cuddles from him were him spooning you from behind every night before you slept. Kisses from him was him devouring the taste of your lips until you could barely breathe. Hugs from were his arms around your body so you couldn’t try moving away from him. Holding hands with him was his hand gripping the part of your arm where your pulse was so he could get a read on your emotions, because you wouldn’t open up.

Aiden was pissed off by you in the worst and best way possible. Like for example, you had come home looking more exhausted than usual. You didn’t greet him, which made his jaw tick. You didn’t even acknowledge him. He watched you walk past him, and he watched your tired hands let go your purse, allowing it to drop on the floor instead of the closet where he usually kept all your purses he had bought for you.

He walks over to you and grabs your wrist, feeling the fast pulse underneath his calloused fingertips. Something was bothering you, but you just wouldn’t open up about it. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” He asks, his voice drenched in irritation as he snakes an arm around your waist and slams you into his side so you can’t even think about escaping his tight grasp on your throughly worn out body.