Pulling his hand from my face, I grimaced. “Ronin saw the bruises. What was I supposed to tell him? His mind immediately went to the idea that you’re abusing me, Graham.” Anger escalated my voice. “How does that make you feel? Because he sure as hell wasn’t going to keep that a secret from Evelyn. So do you have a better idea to explain what he saw? Had you been in my shoes, what would have been your explanation?”
“I’m not upset with you for telling him. I’m simply stating the facts.”
“I hate the facts,” I seethed, but my anger didn’t stop the tears. “Don’t you hate them too? Don’t you ask yourself how we got here? How our big dreams turned into this? When you see this…” I twisted my back to him, lifting my shirt to show him my colorful skin “…does it make you cringe? Does it break your heart? Do you seriously not ask yourself, how did we get here?” I dropped my shirt and faced him again. “Because this isn’t fair.” All my emotions rushed out into a wet, blubbering mess. “I didn’t ask for this life! I don’t want this life! So stop acting like this is my fault. Like I made my bed and now I have to lie in it.”
With quick steps, he backed me into the wall just outside of my bedroom. His arms stretched over my head, pressed to the wall to cage me in with his body. I held my breath as I’d come to do quite often in his presence.
“Look at me.”
I stared at his chest for a few more seconds before lifting my gaze to his cold eyes.
“I was in a good mood. I’d like to stay in a good mood. Can we forget about your issues for the night?” He sucked in a long breath and blew it out slowly. “Now, I’m going to get caught up on some work downstairs. Why don’t you take a bath and I’ll be up later and make everything better.”
I wouldn’t have sex with him. He couldn’t make everything okay by sticking his dick inside of me after using the term issues. He liked to ride the line. Blame me for things that weren’t my fault.
Twist reality.
Cast doubt.
Flaunt hope.
And slay dreams.
After he let me out of his body cage, I took a bath behind a locked bathroom door and settled into bed. I retrieved my journal from under my mattress and transcribed the events from the previous days. Graham liked to make me think everything that wasn’t perfect in his life was somehow my fault. So I put the words we said to each other in writing to reread them again and again, thinking that if I somehow had done something wrong, I might see it more clearly after my mind had a chance to settle. By the time I finished writing page after page of my miserable life, my eyes hurt and so did my hand. After securing the journal in its hiding place and double-checking the lock on the bedroom door, I shut off the light and prayed for dreams of a better life.
But the thing about dreams that really sucked was they were often interrupted by real life—a king who kept keys to all the rooms in his castle.
In spite of my intentions to hold strong, I didn’t say no—not aloud. In my head, I screamed it. In my head, I packed my bags and left. In my head, I never came back from Germany during my wanderer days after college. Evelyn never had the opportunity to convince me to give Graham a chance. In my head, I held on to a piece of dignity.
The next morning, I woke just after five in desperate need to pee. I eased out of bed, praying I didn’t wake the monster beside me. He rarely stayed the night in my room. He called the rare gift of his presence all-night love. I called it control. I wasn’t even sure when we split into two rooms. It started with him being up late and not wanting to wake me. We still shared the massive closet and bathroom—for a while. Then he took clothes and toiletries to his new room, again so he didn’t wake me early in the mornings.
I was always to blame, and Graham was the martyr.
Everything ached, right down to my bones. Leukemia had that effect. When I tiptoed back into the room to grab my robe and cover my naked body before escaping to another room, Graham switched on the sconce by his side of the bed.
The light burned my eyes. He twisted from side to side, stretching his back. When he noticed me, he paused. Weeks earlier, I would have called that same look apologetic and regretful. Not anymore.
He wasn’t my husband anymore. I didn’t care what vows we exchanged. I shared my bed with a stranger.
“Have you ever considered boxing? It’s a wonderful form of exercise.” He yawned.
Boxing.
I hadn’t turned on the light in the bathroom, but I suspected his reasoning for suggesting boxing had little to do with my need to get a good workout and a lot to do with the colorful shapes along my skin. Tying the sash to my robe, I padded to the door, turning at the last second.
“Do you like this? The way I look? Because I’ll let go if you will. I won’t have to unintentionally ruin your day anymore. You won’t have to call me Evelyn when you’re fucking me in the most impersonal way imaginable.”
“I’m sorry.” He ran both hands through his hair. “I was tired.”
Tired.
Tired people didn’t want sex. Tired people didn’t get erections. Tired people didn’t call their wives the wrong name.
“Did you ever really love me?” I whispered.
He glanced up, blinking slowly. Had he shown any sort of grimace, any sign at all that my question was absurd, I might have felt a flicker of regret, maybe even a spark of hope. “I loved you then. I love you now.”
Lies.
He couldn’t have said what he said and did what he did and still claim to love me. If that was love, then I hated love.
“I’m not giving up or letting go. ’Til death do us part. And no one’s dying today.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ronin
Lila was depressed.
I was depressed.
Depression didn’t care about the awesomeness of your life. Two spunky kids. And a wife who took up singing in the shower.
“That was my song.” I sipped my coffee while scrolling through the newsfeed on my phone—that was depressing too.
Embarrassing politics.
School shootings.
Reality TV updates.
“Well, if you’re not going to sing it, then someone should.” Evie kissed Franz on the head as he thumbed through a book.
My boy.
“Anya must be growing. She slept through my amazing concert.” Evie smirked, pouring a cup of coffee before dishing up a bowl of oatmeal.
“Why not sleep in? She doesn’t have preschool like big stuff over there.” I jerked my head toward Franz.
“Ugh … I can’t believe he’s starting preschool.” Evie leaned down to kiss me before sitting in the chair next to me. “Franz, did you brush your teeth?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Breakfast. Teeth. Lunch packed.” I shot her a smile.
It felt forced.
Everything felt forced.
Fucking depression.
Since July, I’d talked to Lila twice. I didn’t understand how she was going to go through cancer treatment and keeping it a secret from Evie. I didn’t understand how her mere touch in the Hamptons temporarily took away my pain.
Our two conversations did nothing to reassure me that the secret I kept from Evie wouldn’t destroy my marriage or their friendship. Lila said, “I’m taking care of it.” That was it. No elaboration. No time to talk. Each call ended in under two minutes with a quick, “I have to go. Give Evie and the kids a kiss from me.”