He smiles, almost as if he’s amused. I guess I’d be amused too if I could reduce a college-educated woman to a bumbling idiot just by licking my lips.
“I’m Cal,” he replies.
Chapter 2
April 27th, 2011
I open my eyes and turn over to see Cal’s still asleep. I remember when I would watch him sleep; he seems like such a different person when he’s asleep. When he’s awake, he’s confident, cool, and in control of every situation. I think this is the only time he doesn’t have a wall up—when he’s not plotting and planning and his guard is down—the one he always has up, even with me.
I touch a lock of his hair and move it back into place. He starts to wake up, so I turn away and settle back on my pillow. He knows I’m awake, but he won’t say anything to acknowledge it.
He runs his fingers through my hair before tracing a soft line down my neck and momentarily resting them on the small of my back. He begins to trace his signature there, making me roll my eyes and get goose bumps simultaneously. This is his way of saying good morning, a tease. I feel him get out of bed. His footsteps grow faint as he enters our bathroom and the door shuts. I roll onto my back, entangling myself in our sheets.
A sigh escapes my mouth as my thoughts drift to last night. Tingles shoot through my body at the memory, and I try to shake the thought. He can make me feel wanted and be so in tune with me physically, but his mind will still be miles away in an emotional desert. He didn’t used be like this. I can’t pinpoint when he changed, but somewhere along the line, he started to grow resentful toward me, or maybe toward our marriage. I’m not sure which, or if there’s even a difference. We used to talk about it—or at least I tried to talk and he blew me off, telling me I was paranoid and overreacting. Now I don’t talk—I throw fits.
I didn’t used to be angry and vindictive all the time, but now it’s my defense mechanism. It’s about my only way to maintain my sanity. He has a barrier up that he won’t let me see behind. I only see what he wants me to see. I’ve known him for three years, and he’s still a puzzle I’m trying to solve. Sometimes I just get mad and want to throw the pieces at the wall and give up.
Unfortunately, I always come back, letting the mystery of the final project pull me in. It seems that’s what we’ve been reduced to—emotional mind games. We both play them. He’s forced me to play, and all I want is for it to be over and for us to be how we were before we were married. If it were up to me, I’d wake up every morning and tell him how much I love him.
Now, I just keep my feelings to myself until I have an emotional overload, like yesterday, aided by a bottle of wine—a bad habit I’ve developed after being left alone for days at a time.
His story is that he’s working. I do believe him—mostly—and for a while, I was content to share him with his job—or at least what he says is his job. I’ve never been privy to the specific details, other than that he works in a special division of Crestfield Corporation, a company that has its hand in nearly everything, from real estate to commercial retail and highly questionable financial investments.
Conveniently for Cal, he’s in a position that’s so confidential he can’t even tell his own wife where the hell he is half the time. When I complain, he says I knew this when I met him. And I did, but getting surprise visits from my boyfriend when we didn’t live together was exciting. The picture isn’t so rosy when you’re home alone most of the time and it seems as if your husband is just dropping by rather than living with you.
I look toward the window, where the sun is shining in. He must have opened the blinds. Two conclusions quickly come to mind: he’s either trying to wake me up, or he’s just trying to annoy the shit out of me. Whichever it is, I’m not happy about it.
I grab the remote that controls the blinds and close them again. I hate how the weather almost never matches my moods. Right now I would prefer it to be raining and dark out, that way I could linger in my depression, but as always, things never go as I plan.
I hear him come back into the room, and I look over as he opens the closet. His typical getup—a gray button-up and black slacks—will be, I’m sure, paired with one of his long black coats. He probably spends more money on clothes than I do. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him leave the room, so I return my attention to the ceiling. Suddenly I feel the sunlight on my back. He’s opened the damn blinds again. I was right. He’s trying to bug the shit out of me.
“What the hell is your problem?”
“It’s time to get up.” He glances at me while rifling through his drawer across the room.
“It’s morning. I’d like to sleep,” I growl before burying my head beneath the covers.
“Morning?” he asks, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “It’s one o’clock.” He laughs.
One? I roll over and maneuver myself to see the clock on his dresser. Damn. He’s right.
“I’m sorry I tired you out. I won’t keep you up so late tonight,” he says, smugness lacing his voice. He turns his attention to his cell phone.
I roll my eyes at him and start to get up, making sure the sheet covers my entire body. He notices.
“You have something I haven’t seen before now?” he asks deviously.
I don’t dignify him with an answer. I head to my closet, which he is now blocking.
“Excuse me,” I say sharply.
He just smiles at me. When he doesn’t move, I push past him, but he holds on to the sheet, so my choices are to either keep walking, bare as an egg, or to stay put and covered. I tug on it, but he won’t let go. In a battle of strength, he’ll win every time, so I do the only thing I can to save my dignity. I throw my hands up and twirl around in the birthday suit God gave me.
“Happy now?” I ask sarcastically.
“Well, you are wearing my favorite outfit on you,” he says with an amused grin. He points his phone at me, and the flash goes off on the camera.
“Real mature, Cal!” I chastise him before going into my walk-in closet and slamming the door.
I look around, see my robe hanging on a hook, and put it on. I go to my dresser and look for something to wear today. I need to get out of this house.
I sink deeper into the warm bath water, grab the remote beside me, and turn on the stereo, hoping to calm my senses. Twisting my hair into a braid and pinning it in place, I realize I should have done this before it became wet. I look at my nails. It’s time for a new manicure. Then I settle in and close my eyes, trying to relax.
I don’t really need a manicure. It isn’t a necessity; it’s just another example of how spoiled I’ve become since marrying Cal. The fact that it’s so high on my priority list is just one of the bad traits I’ve picked up since being with him, along with a long list of very bad words I use now that never used to escape my mouth. He brings out the worst in me sometimes, but when he wants to, he can bring out the best. Most times, that’s only when it’s to his benefit. I look up and notice he’s leaning in the doorway.
Damn him, sneaking up on me. I swear he has feet like a cat.