“Hey.”
I startled from my position, my eyes flew open. “W-what . . .” I cleared my throat. “What are you doing here? In my room.” Technically, our room, but, hell, he left. So, I was claiming it.
“I forgot something in here.”
I narrowed my eyes. Everything was clear of Darren—I made sure of that—but I didn’t have the desire to call him on it. “Fine. I’ll go into another room while you look around.” I rolled out of the bed.
“Why do you keep running away from me?”
I paused at the door. “What?”
“You keep leaving.”
I turned around. “I’m giving you space.”
“You’re giving yourself space.”
“What if I am?” I bristled at his accusation. “You asked me for time. I’m giving it.” I sighed, looked at the ceiling. “How are you? You look good.”
“I’m doing well. Much better than before. I’m working through a lot of things.”
“Good.” I licked my lips. “I guess time away from me is a good thing.” I cleared my throat, gearing myself up for the next question. “So do you want a divorce? Is that why you’re here?”
He flinched as if I’d stuck him with a shank. Still, he didn’t answer.
Neither of us had hired an attorney. I’d been playing the waiting game, determined for him to make the first move to end our marriage. “Why haven’t you filed the papers yet?”
“Why haven’t you?” he parroted.
“I asked first.”
He sat on the bed and patted the space beside him. I shook my head. He was right, I needed space from him.
He took a deep breath and nodded, as if conceding to my decision.
“I don’t want to do this anymore.”
My body rocked from the verbal slap, and my stomach curled into itself. I knew it. We weren’t going to make it. “If you can’t do this,” I whispered, my throat suddenly raw, “then file the papers. Let me go so you can continue healing. You can find someone who can support you, someone you love.”
“Allow me to clarify.” He stood. “I can’t do this, be apart from you. I changed counselors. I realized he wasn’t any good, and I received a recommendation from one of my coworkers. They could tell I wasn’t myself, and Dr. Caine, she’s great.”
“You’re healed?”
“Working on it. I’m not there yet, but things are clearer now that the fog is gone.”
“Why are you here, Darren?”
“I’d like for you to come to one of my sessions with Dr. Caine. I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have, and Dr. Caine will provide some structure, make sure we have a constructive conversation.”
“I don’t know, Darren . . .”
“Please. Give me another chance. I love you, Kara. Always have and always will, but I was lost.”
He came closer until he backed me against the wall. It was everything I’d wanted to hear, but something fell flat. I couldn’t believe what he said. Maybe I needed to go with him for, at the very least, a resolution. Just like I’d told Raina she should do with her father.
“Fine. I’ll come to one session.”
“Thank you. I think this will be good for us,” he whispered. His breath grazed my cheek.
He stepped back, giving me much-needed space. “I’ll call Dr. Caine on Monday and send you the details.”
I nodded.
“Okay, I’ll give you some space.” He turned toward the door.
“Don’t forget your stuff.”
He turned around, eyes dancing. “Don’t worry. I got what I came here for.”
* * *
Darren’s new counselor’s office was different from Dr. Fuckboy’s. There was no fancy waiting room, just an entryway and open office. Behind a desk sat a white woman in her late fifties or early sixties with snow white hair, a pair of purple glasses perched on her nose.
Darren was already seated on an overstuffed brown sofa. He stood and wiped his palms on his jeans.
He met me halfway to the couch and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek. “Thanks for coming, Care Bear.”
I nearly flinched at the name. He hadn’t called me his Care Bear in years. “Hey,” I whispered to him.
“Hello, Kara.” Dr. Caine greeted me. “I’m so pleased you agreed to join us.” Her voice was soft and conversational. “Would you like some water, coffee, or tea?”
“Water would be nice.” I was usually a tea person, but I needed something cold for my parched throat.
Dr. Caine nodded and pulled out a bottle of water from the knee-high fridge near her desk.
I grabbed the bottle, then settled on the couch. My back hit the knitted rainbow-color throw on top of the sofa.
Dr. Caine gave me a motherly smile. “Comfortable?” “Yes,” I lied and nodded. I was as comfortable as wearing a pair of itchy wool pants. And who in their right mind could be at ease with a woman who planned to air out dirty laundry?
She reached for a pen and yellow legal pad. “I suggested that Darren invite you to counseling. Over the past few months, he’s come a long way. I think we’ll be able to have productive conversations that will lend context to Darren’s past and how it’s shaped his outlook on relationships.” She paused and waved to Darren. “Why don’t you get started?”
He nodded and turned to face me. “Kara?”
“Yes.” I smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from my chinos.
“I want to apologize for the pain and confusion I caused you. I never meant to hurt you. Through my therapy, I realized my unresolved issues impacted our marriage. I want to tell you about my past, if you’re open to it.”
I nodded. “You know that I am. What hurt me the most is that you didn’t feel you could trust me to share your burdens.”
Darren wiped his hands on his jean-clad thighs. He lowered his head and took a deep breath, as if centering himself. Tapping his feet against the hardwood floor, he hesitated a few more seconds, then focused on me.
“You know about my sexual abuse and a little about my upbringing. I grew up in a cold home. I knew my childhood wasn’t typical, so I was determined to find someone I could love and be loved in return. It sounds crazy, but even back then I knew what I wanted. I dreamed of and craved love. I just didn’t know how to do it. It wasn’t natural for me because I didn’t grow up in a loving environment. And to make matters worse, I never healed from my childhood scars.” Darren rubbed his thighs again.
After seven years together, I knew his tells. He was stalling, but this time, I wouldn’t rush him to speak his truth. I leaned back into the sofa, twirled the crocheted blanket that rested below my shoulder, and tried to stay in the present.
The past hurt, the future was hazy. Despite my sobering thoughts, somewhere in the deep recesses of my heart that I thought had gone cold, a flare of desire heated my chest.
Darren cleared his throat and gave me a strained, here-goes-nothing smile. “I married you too soon—I shouldn’t have done that, knowing that I hadn’t addressed the past.” He went on with more details and told me about a time when his grandmother left him in a car for hours when he was five years old. Another American Horror Story–esque anecdote about his grandfather locking him in a dark room when he didn’t do as he was told—usually something small, like not eating all his vegetables or not cleaning his room. As a result, he was afraid to confide and connect with others.