It was about six months ago… After the whole baby conversation fiasco.
I was smart enough not to bring up the baby thing again. But something had changed in Roger after that. He was distant. Quiet - well quieter than usual - and tense. He seemed to be pushing me away, and because I’m still hopelessly, pathetically in love with him, I kept trying to pull him back to me. And with every pull I tugged, he yanked himself further and further away.
He was working even longer days, staying out until all hours. He would come home smelling like booze, which seemed unlike him, but then how would I know? I was realizing I didn’t know him at all. Not even slightly.
I’m not stupid. I know once I tell you about all of this, you might think I am, but I promise you, I’m no fool. When your husband stays out all night getting drunk, it can only mean a handful of things.
I was wrecked with despair. I could barely paint or draw. I didn’t answer any of my so-called friends on social media, because I was too sullen to speak to anyone. But also because I was afraid Roger would react like he did last time.
One night, after calling his phone for the umpteenth time and getting his voicemail, he stumbled through the door, reeking of gin.
And perfume.
So there it was. My suspicions were confirmed. And I absolutely hated myself for being right.
But I was just so angry. The rage inside me was burning wild like an inferno. I couldn’t believe he had done this to me…
I jumped out of bed and followed him as he made a beeline for the bathroom, trying to get straight into the shower. As if that’s not the most obvious thing in the entire world.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” I shrilled, loathing myself for letting him turn me into this woman.
The woman in her billion-dollar Upper East Side mansion, whose husband comes home after fucking some skank, and forces her to yell at him like a desperate nag. He had made me someone I never ever wanted to be, and I was disgusted. All because I fell in love with his lying, cheating ass.
I stomped over the bathroom as he was shrugging out of his dress shirt. He tried to shut the door in my face but I pushed it open, storming in after him.
“Roger, look at me!” I snarled. “The least you could do is look into your wife’s eyes after fucking someone else.”
His head pivoted in my direction and he raised his brow in this lazy, unenthused way that stunned me for a moment. My husband is a fucking sociopath. Then he continued tossing his clothes, removing his belt, and going for his pants.
That he was trying to ignore me only served to enrage me further. I was seeing red. Hurt and angry and impotent… fucking devastated.
I wedged myself in front of him. My eyes widened and shot flames of hatred directly into his.
“You’re a fucking coward,” I hissed, projecting my voice. “You’re not even a man.”
I wished I could spit on him.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to think about that any further, because he back-handed me across the face so hard my body slammed against the vanity.
My hands flew to my face, holding my stinging cheek, which was already pounding in pain. Though my back felt raw and scraped, it didn’t stop me from throwing myself against the opposite wall behind me, in an effort to get away from him in case he wanted to do more.
My gaze stayed on my husband, who was watching me closely, after what he’d just done. I expected to see at least a little remorse. Maybe fifteen percent. But it just wasn’t there, and that hurt more than my aching face, or my bruised spine.
His eyes remained wide as he stood, stock-still, his broad chest heaving up and down. And then he took a small step toward me. And that was my cue to leave the room.
In that moment wanted nothing more than to get the fuck out of there and never look back. But realistically I knew I was stuck. I had nowhere to go.
I had no one, and nothing. Nothing but my cheating husband who had just hit me.
I darted into the bedroom and snuck into the walk-in closet. I curled up into a ball on the floor and began sobbing, rocking back and forth while I held my cheek, which was burning so hot I felt it might melt right off my face.
When I heard the shower turn on, I cried even harder.
My mind was flashing over everything that had led me to that moment. The fact that Roger was my whole world. That I had no friends or family outside of him, and he knew that. He had me right where he wanted me.
It was all so textbook, I wanted to retch. And then I did.
I gagged over and over, but nothing came up. I was gasping for air, struggling to breathe. The only solace I could find at the moment was him being preoccupied in the shower, likely scrubbing some other woman’s pussy off his dick.
I gagged again.
That body… It’s mine. He belongs to me. He’s my husband.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to go down like this.
My anger turned to sadness, turned to regret, turned to fear, then circled back to anger again.
I got up and began pacing around the closet, my mind unkempt and racing. I needed to do something. I couldn’t stay there with him. Not after that.
It was only a matter of time before he did it again. Either he would apologize; beg and plead for my forgiveness. Promise it would never happen again, and then some day down the road something would happen to trigger him and I’d get hit. Again.
Or maybe he wouldn’t apologize. Maybe he would just go on fucking women and beating me with no remorse. And what could I do?
I could divorce him. My cheek was already swelling up. I could go to the police and press charges. Stay in a hotel until I could get the divorce in order.
But my money is his money. He would always be able to find me. Plus, he’s a rich, powerful, respected member of Manhattan’s elite circle. He has connections I can’t even fathom. He knows the Police Commissioner. They golf together.
Fuck.
It didn’t matter. I just needed to leave. I could figure it all out. I’m resourceful, always have been.
I grabbed my suitcase and started whipping clothes into it as fast as possible. Then I heard the shower stop running and fear shot through every muscle in my body.
I rushed to pack everything else I could find, then snuck into the bedroom to get my purse. Roger crept around the corner from the bathroom and our eyes locked, but mine quickly fell away. I raced over to the dresser and got my purse, averting my gaze as I went back to my suitcase in the closet. He appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with only a towel wrapped around his waist.
“Where are you going?” He asked, his voice calm and collected.
Really?! I shouted in my mind. That’s the first fucking thing you have to say, you fucking piece of pure evil?!?!
I thought carefully about my words. “I’m going to stay in a hotel tonight.”
“Why?” His tone was so soft and inquisitive I couldn’t help but look up at him.
“Are you fucking serious?” I muttered, and then immediately cringed. I hadn’t thought that one out before I said it. I needed to try not to get him angry again. To stall him long enough to get the hell out of there.
“Alexandra, please don’t go,” he whispered.
I blinked. I was in some warped other dimension. None of this was making any sense.
“Roger…” My vocal chords gave out, and I cleared my throat. I could only imagine what I must have looked like at that moment. “I can’t be here. Not after what just happened. I’m just going for tonight…” I was lying through my teeth, but I needed to be smart about this. He was so much bigger than me. He could easily kill me right now if he wanted to.