“Lauren,” he whispers in my ear, setting me back on the ground.
I’m in a haze. He can’t expect me to have a conversation with him right now. I need a minute to compose myself. Ugh, Lauren, let’s start thinking again, shall we? Way to show him your boundaries.
I look up at him, and he licks his lips, his palms on both sides of me. He leans down and rests his head on mine.
“I’m going to go, because if I stay here another minute, I am going to be trouble for you,” he says, his tone dangerously low. But his smile is so innocent it should belong to a Boy Scout.
I nod, unable to force any words out of my tight throat.
“Good night, gorgeous,” he says and kisses the skin beneath my earlobe, causing my heart to flutter. In a flash, he’s walking toward his bike, but stops midway and turns back toward me. “Oh, and I’m going to work on the asking thing. I promise.”
A smile spreads across my face. He gets on his bike, pauses, and leans on the handlebars.
“Are you going in, Ms. Brooks?” he asks, a hint of sarcasm in his voice and a glint in his eye that’s daring me. My body is screaming, Hell no, I’m going with you, and as if he can read my mind, he says, “Or are you coming with me?”
I contemplate the question. I’m actually contemplating it! But my mind wins out over my body’s insistence, almost as if recovering from a knockout punch. “No, you said yourself it’s a little late for a woman of my respectability to be out,” I tease him.
He laughs, relenting.
I take out my keys and open the door. “Good night.”
Before I shut it, I look back at him. He gives me a wave, a tickled grin on his face. I close the door, hoping I’m not wearing a big goofy grin.
My phone starts to ring again, and my heart beats rapidly, thinking of Cal. My heart sinks when I see that it’s only Michael. He’s probably steaming right about now over what Cal did, but so am I, for an entirely different reason of course, and in a very different way.
As I let myself into my apartment, I hear the roar of the motorcycle’s engine, and I run to the window. I catch a glimpse of Cal turning the corner, and for the rest of the night, I dream about what would have happened if I’d ridden away on it with him.
Chapter 3
May 5th, 2011
“Are you freakin’ kidding me, Cal?” I make sure the disbelief in my voice is apparent to him on the other end of the line. But coming from Cal, I should expect this.
“Calm down, babe,” he says steadily.
“Don’t fucking call me babe! You said you were coming home Monday. And it’s Thursday!” I yell, pacing the room.
“I know. Things came up,” he explains. He sounds distracted, which sets me off even further.
“Things came up, huh? What the hell has surfaced from out of nowhere that has kept you there almost a week?” I scream into the phone.
“You know what? I’m going to talk to you when you calm down.” He hangs up on me.
Again.
I growl and throw the phone on the bed in frustration. As usual, our conversation ends with me ready to punch a face that’s conveniently not here.
He hasn’t called at all, just sent a text that asked if I was behaving—whatever the hell that means—and telling me he’d be home today. I don’t know where he is or who he’s with, and when we do talk, he never grasps the severity of the situation and thinks hanging up is going to stop me. Oh, he’s wrong! I’m so not done. I snatch the phone back up, hit redial, and wait for him to answer.
“Yeah,” I hear him say shortly.
“Cal, you are such a selfish asshole!”
There’s no response, and I glance at the screen on my phone and see that the call’s ended. I direct a kick into the side of bed and throw my pillow across the room. He almost never argues with me! I can’t seem to get a human response from him. He ignores me, laughs at me, or when he is home, picks me up and takes me into another part of the house, which pisses me off even more. How do you argue with someone who won’t say anything? But considering that in order to argue, you have to communicate, it’s no surprise that he won’t do that with me either. He’s a brick wall, and I’m tired of trying to break through.
I never thought this would happen to us. I knew he could be closed off, but I never thought it would go this far. Sometimes, I want to go back to that first minute I saw him and scream to myself, “Run the other way!”
The phone in my hand rings again. It’s him. I push the answer button, but I don’t say anything.
“You done?”
I bite my tongue in a stubborn effort to not call him every foul name I can think of. “Cal, where are you?” I say as calmly as I can.
“I’ll be home tomorrow,” he says, ignoring my question. I hear music blaring in the background, and it almost sounds like…
“Are you at a club?” My voice almost squeaks on that last word because I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“Around two,” he continues, deliberately ignoring me.
“Cal, are you at a fucking club?” At this point, being calm and civil is out of the question.
He’s at a damn club, God knows where, when he told me he’d be home today. I take a deep breath. I’m so mad my hands are shaking, but I demand my tone to be calm.
“I’m so sick of your shit, Cal. I don’t give a shit when you get home, because I won’t be here.” And I extend the same courtesy to him as he’s shown me. I hang up.
I won’t keep doing this. I am not his doormat. He can’t do anything he wants then come home whenever he’s done without any repercussions. This is it. I won’t play these games with him anymore.
I’m a good—well, I was a good wife. I don’t know if he understands, but I do know he doesn’t appreciate how much I love him. Of all the men for me to fall for, why did it have to be him—a man who’s incapable of showing his love for anyone, especially his wife?
Before we were married, I knew he loved me. He made me feel as if I was the most important person in his world. Thinking back, maybe I was so in love with him that I didn’t even notice the person he’s in love with is himself. He says he loves me, but his actions show me he doesn’t give a flying fuck.
The house phone rings, breaking into my thoughts. I walk over to the wall and pull out the line. I’m done talking to him, or rather, I’m done with him talking at me. I walk into my closet to find my suitcase. Opening drawers, I pull out random things and throw them in. I ignore the dressers filled with nothing but lingerie, the things I wear only for him.
I watch what I eat and work out every day so my body is still attractive to him. But he doesn’t care. It’s not like he’s around often enough to see it. I pick out a few more shirts and pants and stuff them into the suitcase as well. I walk back into my room and put on my leather boots, then I glance at myself as I walk past the mirror. I’m wearing a black cashmere sweater and leggings; I spent two hours curling my hair. I look nice. Stupid me, actually believing he’d be home when he said he would, for waiting for him.
My cell phone starts to ring again. On impulse, I walk out onto the balcony and drop it off the side with satisfaction. That’ll stop it from ringing.