I was left blinking up at the ceiling in silence, completely in shock replaying what had just happened a few moments ago.

Okay so kind of a so-so argument with my husband occurred, we ended up having sex, lots of big, very big warning signs and changes in his actions occurred.

And then he had just left the room without so much as a second glance.

I blinked again, letting that process.

"Oh hell no." I said to myself, and it was as if some sort of alarm in my head rang 'get your man back in check' began to flash before my eyes as I sat myself up, quickly putting my clothes back on and angrily tying my robe closed as I rushed outside in a mad dash.

"Oh hell no, no, absolutely not." I muttered to myself in rage, entering our main bedroom thinking he had gone back to go and rest ever getting some, only to find it empty.

I was seething, like puffs of steam were coming out from my nostrils before I heard noise from the kitchen downstair, making me freeze at the doorway of our room before full on charging down the flight of stairs, my small legs most definitely a blur underneath my long robe.

"We most definitely need to talk Heath. You cannot just climb into bed with me then give me the best, rough, sex ever- allah forgive," I paused my rant to look up at the ceiling before returning back to my lecture.

"And then just leave like that thinking it will solve everything. No, we are talking about your emotions and what's going on and we are talking about them right- what are you doing?" I stopped in my tracks when I saw Heath violently rummaging through the kitchen cabinet and pantries, leaving the small doors open as he urgently opened each and everyone of them, searching for something.

"Heath?" My soft, cautious voice carried through the room as I wrapped my arms around myself, slowly nearing his bent form as he desperately searched through pantry, my eyes widening as I quickly ducked when he carelessly tossed a box of crackers behind him.

I looked over my shoulder at the discarded package of food with an offended frown.

"Hey- hey I like those crackers. What are- what are you doing." I demanded, turning back and trying to approach him only to stumble away at the unfamiliar, foreign tone and accent of his voice as he moved his haywire attention back to the open fridge.

"Jesus Christ lady, what kind of shit food do you keep in here." Heath ridiculed in an American accent, his voice deeper and raspier than usual, face hidden inside the fridge.

I scrunched my face.

Did he just call me lady?

His well built frame suddenly straightened.

"Oh now we're talkin'," He celebrated with a throaty chuckle of triumph, taking out a can of cheese whiz before grabbing an arm load of junk food and snacks from the pantry as I watched my delirious husband raid our own kitchen, boxes of poptarts and bags of chips slipping from his grasp which he chose to ignore before splaying them across the counter with wide, excited blue eyes as he licked his lips.

He flipped the can in his hand before shaking it vigorously, his tattooed biceps flexing involuntarily before he tipped his head back, sharp jaw slack as he opened his mouth and sprayed the foamy cheese into his mouth, letting out a groan that he would never have released before as he closed his eyes, keeping his head tilted up to the ceiling and running his tongue over his lips in appreciation.

Heath hated cheese.

I watched with squinted eyes as Heath grabbed and tore through bags of poptarts and jars of cheese puffs like a starved animal, stuffing his face with food, throwing occasional moans and groans here and there for good measure before I slowly neared him as if he were a wild beast, clutching to the front of my robe as I observed him.

"Fuck," He suddenly cursed, blinking and rubbing his eyes before his attention was caught by his reflection in one of the metal tins on the counter that held our large cooking spoons, whisks, and spatulas, making him raise a brow in interest and grab it, the utensils falling out of the cup and clanging onto the ground as he studied his appearance.

Heath was cursing, a lot.

This was way too out of character for him.

"Bastard made me look like goldilocks." He laughed, studying his reflection and touching his soft locks of bleached hair before he placed the tin down, for the first time actually observing his surroundings before his blue eyes met mine.

He snapped his fingers and pointed at me with an amused smirk.

"Hey you," Heath acknowledged in that gritty, foreign charismatic voice, grinning and leaning forward on the counter as his gaze flickered over my body, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

"So you're Heath's little wife, aren't you?" My husband said, making me blink at him in utter confusion.

Um, what.

"Um, what." I stupidly voiced out my bewildered thoughts as Heath stared at me with a teasing, dimpled, smirk, suddenly blinking rapidly again before he lowered his head and moved his hands over his eyes.

I couldn't have looked more stunned when he took off his blue contact lenses, revealing emerald green irisis that just held a sort of malicious purpose within them that was never there before as he studied the contacts on the pad of his thumb before placing them on the counter.

Now this, this was what Heath would never ever do.

I knew his real eye color was green, but ever since I met him he wore blue eye contacts.

Something about hating seeing the real color of his eyes, sometimes he would even wear them to bed which I would always push him not to do due to the health risks but he was absolutely fanatic about it.

But now, it was as if he was a whole different person.

I looked at Heath in speculation, just staring at him before something finally clicked.

Four months ago I was reading one of my psychology books that I bought.

"Hm, this is interesting.." I had said in awe, my brows creased in concentration as I leaned forward, practically face deep in the pages when Heath turned to face me in our bed, circling his arms around my waist and resting his face against the side of my arm.

"What is it honey..." He had asked in a tired voice, eyes still closed with exhaustion being it was almost midnight and I was still up reading.

"Have you ever heard of D.I.D, dissociative identity disorder?" I asked, readjusting the large book on my lap as he stayed silent.

Heath didn't answer and I assumed he had fallen asleep again yet I still continued my explanation, casually reaching out to run my hands through his blonde hair in a loving manner.

"It's a disorder where a person has two or more distinct personalities, it's fascinating." I breathed out to myself, eyes skimming over the page with excitement.

"Doesn't exist." Heath had suddenly said, which had surprised me since I had thought he was sleeping.

"Why of course it exists." I defended, although what did I know.

I didn't really know how the human mind works, I was just greatly interested in it.

The next day, I couldn't find my book.

I never misplaced my things and when I had asked Heath where it was he said he had no idea.

I knew he was lying though.

I could hear it in his voice and see it clear in his eyes.

A week later I had found my book in the blue trash bins outside.

"Who.. are you?" I worded my question out slowly, watching my possessed husband's every movements as he was doing with mine while we circled the kitchen island between us, staring at one another.

"Why," He began, that infamously conniving, dimpled grin on his face as his gaze quickly flickered to the set of knives on the counter.

"I'm Heath," He laughed in amusement, not even trying to sound the least bit convincing before he took one of the handles, lifting the knife and unsheathing the blade with a ringing zing in the air as the weapon gleamed under the light while he flipped it around, weighing it in his hand before nodding his head in approval.

"Your loving," He trailed the tip of the blade against the counter as we slowly circled one another.

"Perfect," He continued, his movements unrushed and his tone casual.

"Questionably gay," He said, pausing as if in thought, catching the look on my face before shrugging.

"Pusśy of a husband." In the last second he lurched forward across the counter to where I was and lodged the sleeve of my robe over the cutting board, keeping me pinned there as his dark, jade eyes gleamed with excitement while I stayed there and kept a sturdy expression, not even flinching.

"I swear Heath if this is some sort of sick, twisted joke I will hurt you." I narrowed my eyes as my husband simply smirked at my empty threat, keeping his large hand over the handle of the knife that had me pinned to the counter.

"Unfortunately, Heath's not really one for pain," He mused with a tilt of his head, dark gaze flickering over my face before he learned forward, so close that I could even see the light stubble growing over his sharp jawline before I locked my eyes with his.

"But Harry for one loves a little spanky spank." He clicked his tongue and winked at me, making me screw my face up as he laughed and approached me, reaching out with his free hand to trace the lining of my head scarf as my chest rose and fell at his close proximity.

"Harry?" I questioned under my breath, testing the name on my tongue in confusion.

"Who's Harry?" I began, mostly talking to myself, trying to process everything before my husband grabbed my jaw, firmly turning my head to look up at him as he towered over me with a carnal grin.

"You're looking at him pumpkin."

AN: I have such a bombass play list for this book. Sigh.