“You want to get something to eat?” I ask, hoping a subject change will keep her from bolting for a little while longer. I can’t put my finger on why, but leaving her in this moment doesn’t feel right.
She sighs and shrugs. “Sure.”
My dread retreats, and I breathe out slowly with relief. This girl seems so easy to please, which fascinates me because she looks like such a badass. But she obviously has something going on… Some insecurities, demons, or something causing her wayward behavior. And she’s married…
But rather than heading for the hills, I find myself wondering all about her.
What does she like? What has she seen?
Who is this dipshit husband who lets a masterpiece like her out of his sight?
I smile and take her by the arm, catching another pained wince. Puzzled by all her recoiling, I glance down at her bicep and that’s when I see them…
The bruises.
Chapter Two
Alex’s Journal
Let me start out by apologizing, Barnaby.
I know I used to write in you almost every day, and now it’s been six months. I’m really sorry… But I’ve been busy as hell!
Busy being in love.
Busy being a new wife.
Yes, that’s right, Barn. You heard it here first. Your little Al got hitched!
Let’s take it from the top.
So I told you about how I met the man of my dreams, right? Well Dr. Roger Glines is all that and then some.
True to his promise, he took me out after that first day. And we started seeing each other.
I know what you’re thinking… A thirty-one-year-old doctor dating a seventeen-year-old high school student isn’t normal. Well guess what? I don’t care about being normal. I don’t care about anything other than the fact that I met my soulmate and I’m so in love with him it sometimes hurts my heart. I actually get palpitations in my chest thinking about him, that’s how deep I’m in it.
Roger and I snuck around for four months until my eighteenth birthday. I didn’t tell anyone about him. Not my parents, not my friends. It was sort of isolating I guess, but I really didn’t care. I didn’t need anyone else because I had Roger. And he was perfect. He is.
Shortly after my birthday, and graduation, Roger started hinting that I should tell my parents about us. I wasn’t sure why he was suddenly harping on it. I told him I’ve never had a good relationship with them. That they just don’t get me, and they probably never will. But he was still insistent, and I was curious.
Well, that curiosity got killed real quick when we were taking a walk around his neighborhood one night (he lives on the Upper East Side in a ginormous co-op. Seriously, his place is so big and fancy I wouldn’t dare touch anything, even though he keeps assuring me I can touch whatever I want.)
But back to the walk. We were strolling around after dinner when he pulled me into him and gave me one of his staggering kisses. The ones that leave me so breathless I feel the need to reach for an inhaler I don’t have. Then when he was done tonguing me down good, he dropped onto one knee and took out a massive diamond ring.
Yes, a ring. No, I’m not lying.
He proposed. Proposed frickin marriage!
I was so stunned I couldn’t function. I began shaking violently and crying like such a girl. It was the first time I’d ever cried in front of him, which would have been super embarrassing if he weren’t laughing that soft, adorable chuckle.
And finally when I got it together enough to speak, I said yes.
I said yes because even though in my mind I knew it was fast, in my heart I knew I loved him.
I know he’s my soulmate, and my forever. I trust him, and I can see a life with him. A future.
So I said yes, and he slipped the ring on my finger, and we were engaged.
For all of two weeks.
After twelve days of engagement, neither of us could wait anymore. We were both just too excited, and we wanted to tie ourselves to one another for eternity.
So he flew us to Vegas and we got married.
I did it, Barnaby. I got married in Vegas! Remember how I told you I always wanted to? Well, I did.
It was so much fun. We held the quick ceremony at the Little Chapel, and spent the rest of our four-day trip in the honeymoon suite at the Bellagio. And I don’t mean that as a teasing newlywed joke. We literally didn’t leave the bedroom for days. I think the hotel staff was getting nervous.
But it was the best time of my entire life, Barn. My husband is so damn sexy, I can’t get enough.
I know I don’t have all that much experience to compare him with. But as you’ll recall, losing my virginity to Billy Hunters was two-minutes of my life I’ll never get back, and the four times that Keith and I did it weren’t much better. It was to be expected with boys like that. Selfish, immature high school boys don’t know what they’re doing. They don’t know how to treat a lady, and they most certainly don’t know how to give one an orgasm.
But Roger - my husband, cue the girly squeal - is like a professor. He’s taught me things about my body that I never would have learned with those twerps. He knows exactly where my clit is, doesn’t need help finding my G-spot, and at one point, he made me come so hard I had actual tears coming out of my eyes. His tongue works wonders, and his dick… Well, let’s just say my first time meeting it was significantly more painful than it was with Billy and Keith. But I didn’t mind. The pain was welcomed, maybe even appreciated. It made me feel alive.
I never used to feel alive. Not before Roger.
When we got home, I prepared myself to talk to Mom and Dad. I was going to tell them about Roger, about the wedding, and let them down easy about me not going to college. Over the course of our whirlwind romance, I decided not to go to SUNY. I was never excited about it anyway, and I just couldn’t stand the thought of being away from my man.
I’m an artist. I want to paint and draw, and take photographs for a living. I don’t need some silly degree to do that. Mom and Dad never understood these things.
But they would get it, because I would finally break it down in a way that they could hopefully accept.
To say that it didn’t go well would be more of an understatement than saying Superman is only meh about Kryptonite.
Here’s the rundown of the convo with the parental units. Or should I say, former parental units. Yes, it was that bad.
“So I’m in love, and we’re married, and I’m moving into his place on the Upper East Side where I’ll spend my days painting and living and loving, so you don’t need to be scared, or upset or angry, because I’m happy. And as my parents, you should want me to be happy… right?”
I held my breath, praying that they could find it in their hearts to accept what I was saying, and finally support me for the first time in eighteen years with more than food and a roof over my head.
The silence in the room was suffocating.
Dad spoke first. “I always knew she’d pull some bullshit like this.”
“She got it from you, Dan!” Mom shrieked. “You’re the starving artist who set the bar so low, she had nowhere to go but down.” She covered her face with a shaky hand.
“Mom, I’m not -”
“Alexandra, we wanted a better life for you!” Dad shouted at me. “That’s why we wanted you to go to college and get a decent education. So you could make a real career for yourself and learn from our mistakes!”