The Trap of Love Bockey Tengil

Meet ex-wife husband

"Milam's mother?" I was a little surprised when I met my husband's ex-wife.

"You're serious about wanting my husband too."

The glamorous woman smiled mockingly at me. He was twitching spoiled on the arm of the rotten brown-skinned man beside him. Maybe the man was also the one who had been the affair of Mbak Nilam.

In my heart I said with julid fashion.

'Bak Nilam left a guy as cool as Om Gibran for a guy with a plontos head who models like this ojeg? Fix, minus the eyes'

Om Gibran tightened my hand, then his movement seemed to say that he did not want to see the two lovebirds and wanted to leave immediately. Om Gibran also always focused his gaze to the right, not at all staring at the scene in front of the eyes that I think feels funny.

"Wait, Om!" My fists held Om Gibran's hand which pulled me over to pass Mbak Nilam.

"What is Nilam's sister doing here?"

"I was taking a leisurely walk with my new husband. And I'm proud to have her for not demanding her woman to be a mother." The last sentence Mbak Nilam pressed his words while glancing towards Om Gibran.

I saw Om Gibran screeching.

"Congratulations, Miss Nilam for her new marriage. I hope someday Mbak Nilam will not beg for the return of a good husband who has been wasted. And thank you also for making Om Gibran a widower until finally we can both get married and happy like today."

I leaned the head on Om Gibran's stocky arm.

It sniffed, and instantly closed its eyes.

"Hahaha .. will not! Instead, I am happy to be separated from the bond of a cold man who always numbered his work together."

"You should have glazed over before saying that, Nilam!"

"I didn't expect Mas Gibran to marry a boy who was the same age as your brother."

"It's none of your business!"

My body almost staggered when Om Gibran forcibly pulled my hand and walked hastily past Mbak Nilam who was still standing with his new husband.

"It wasn't hot, was it?" I asked when Om Gibran was already hanging on his fat motorcycle while wearing a helmet.

"Make what?"

"Yeah, that's it."

"He's just the past. Dah, hunt up, or I stay!"

"Eh, don't dong. What if someone were to kidnap? Want to lose this adorable little wife?"

I immediately went up, then wrapped both hands around Om Gibran's waist. It feels so good to be able to walk together with husband even if only for a moment. It was because I wanted to learn the bike.

Arriving home, I felt the shakes of the phone in the pocket of the joggers I was wearing.

Several times I rubbed my eyes, making sure that the name I saw on the phone screen was not wrong.

"Why did he call me, after all the full moon there was no news." I muttered as I stared at the screen of the phone that was still ringing because I never lifted up.

"Why?" Om Gibran asked after parking the bike and saw me still staring at the main door.

"No. Come on in first."

"Who will wait."

I took a long breath with my eyes twisting. "Always so."

"Hello?" sapaku decided to pick up a call from Sari. I turned over, then stepped onto the pillar of the house that stood firmly holding the terrace weatherman, then leaned over there.

"Nad, where are you, anyway?! Saying without news, without a trace. Graduation next week, woy!"

"Aren't you the one with no news?" I turned the question back to that satire.

"Gue's been coming back from the hospital since that night. My asthma is recurring, and it has to be treated. This is also new, only I immediately ask to go home. Not at home at the hospital, the smell of medicine." explained Sari who immediately made me feel bad because she thought that was not-no.

"Yeh .. ni child. Rani said, every time she comes to your house, you're always not there. Where else is he?"

"Gue ..." I hung in the air, confused as to where and how clear it was.

"Will be home I'll tell you a story." I'll finally.

I'm sure Father and Mother must have covered up the disgrace about this child. Until they don't tell my friends before I explain it in person.

"OKAY. Baydewey eniwey baswey, you know what Siti's doing?"

"About. Why the boy?"

"He's an MBA, and now a defression."

"What?! You mean, Siti's pregnant out of wedlock?"

"Yes. Long story too. That's why you hunted home. Napa is gini, anyway. Dizziness me same you guys. One saying, one slumped, another one mined. Si Rani if I ask her long bet konek."

"Gue take care of next week's return."

"Should have pokonya. Don't you want to be at our graduation? Sadistic bet you!" I just laughed in response to Sari's message.

"Yes, already. I'm closing, the phone. Bobo at noon. Your health in sono. Hye!"

I have not been able to answer his words, Sari had already turned off the connection unilaterally. I was dumbfounded for a while. Siti's MBA, and now she's defending. About the story at the club that night, was he okay?

And about me, I can't guess their expressions when I know my story is not far away or maybe the same as Siti. Married in an accident.

***

"Omm?"

I crawled on Om Gibran who was sitting leaning on the bed dashbord and looked busy with a laptop on his lap.

"Hm."

"Next week we're home, yeah. I miss Mom the same Dad. And again ..."

A few minutes I hung up my speech.

"And what else?" ask without diverting the view from the screen in front. His fingers moved agilely over the keyboard.

"Next week of my graduation. Besides wanting to attend, I also want to meet my besti-besti."

"okay."

"OK, home?"

"Yes. But maybe I can't come. The work in the office is really piling up. I'll have Vino make your anther come home."

Bugh!

Om Gibran crossed his arms when a bolster of ears popped into his head.

"What the hell are you, Nada!" he was surprised by what I just did.

"It's so selfish to be a man! It turned out that it was exactly what Nilam said that afternoon. Om Gibran it just wants work, work, and work. I don't care at all about me. I hate Om Gibran!" I shouted before finally drowning my entire body under the blanket with my back to the selfish man.

It's like being married to someone who doesn't love. Free to be a wife if not cared for. I should have refused Om Gibran's marriage proposal at that time. I am not pregnant yet. But, later who would want to be the same old woman like me. Aakkh! Stress I feel.

My love claps one hand. Love one-sidedly, and pain is only one-sided.

After a few minutes, I felt a heavy hand on my waist.

"I'm sorry ...," said Om Gibran as he peeped at my tubers many times.

I rubbed my hands still around my waist. Covering with the rest of the grain that continues to drip. Eh, wait! Me, saying? Tumben didn't use 'me-you.