“And all I could think was how duped I’d been. Because I hadn’t thought he was going to love me until he made me believe he would.” It was strange how mad I could still be about it, even after everything that followed. How hurt and abused. How raw. “He’d insinuated the only thing holding him back from me was my relationship with Dirk. And so I’d ended that! To be with him! I’d had real feelings for him, and me? I’d been nothing more than something to do. Nothing more than a game.”
It was over. I’d said it all. I’d told it the way it happened, in a way I’d never told anyone, and, yeah, I felt vulnerable. It was cathartic too. Cleansing.
Edward remained silent for long beats after, as he’d been through much of my wandering through the past, and while I’d never forgotten he was there, he had made it easier to feel like the telling was natural. My parents had always poo-pooed therapy, and I wondered if it was like this—sitting on a couch, uncomfortable, trapped. Waiting for the therapist to speak and declare you sane.
“That must have made you feel very betrayed,” he said eventually. Which would have been comforting if he hadn’t added more on. “Being someone else’s game.” His subtext was clear.
Shame pricked at my insides. Maybe this had been the wrong story to tell him after all.
No, it still could be the right story. If I told it to the very end.
I leaned forward. “So you know what I did? I left him at that stupid party and went back to his place. Then I fucked his father in the pool house for two hours. Did I feel betrayed? Yes. And then I got even.”
Edward held my stare for a long time. I could tell his thoughts were brewing, but his expression gave nothing away. My heart hammered in my chest as I waited for his response. I’d bared myself. Then I’d reminded him that I was vengeful, but I’d bared myself first.
Finally, after an eternity, he spoke. “This boy betrayed you, so you ruined both his parents’ marriage and your mother’s friendship by fucking his father. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”
I could feel the color drain from my face. That was what I was saying, but put like that, it sounded...well, it sounded reprehensible.
And it was reprehensible.
Even though I’d left out the fact that Jack already cheated on his wife all the time, and that it had been another decade before anyone found out about it, so my mother’s friendship had remained intact. Even with those details, what I’d done was fucked up.
Which was the most horrible part of the story, if I was honest with myself.
The pain that still lingered all this time later wasn’t from what Hudson had done to me, but what I’d done to Hudson. What kind of messed-up person did that shit? What kind of fucked-up human was I?
I turned my head, afraid that Edward would see that I understood what I was, what I’d done. Because if he saw that, I’d really be exposed.
I couldn’t bear being that vulnerable.
He rose then, and I could feel his anger rise with him like fanned flames. “This evening has been a waste of my time,” he said, his voice eerily controlled. “This isn’t breaking down. This is bragging.”
Without giving me another look, he pivoted and headed to the door. Before he disappeared beyond it, he said, “I’ll give you my response tomorrow. You’re free to do as you please until then.”
He shut the door behind him with an uncharacteristic slam.
I sat stunned. And mad. And hurt. And embarrassed. But mostly mad.
I’d done what he’d wanted. I’d given him his stupid-ass story. And now I was free to do as I pleased? Fuck him because that was a lie. I wasn’t free to leave the island.
And fuck him for thinking he knew anything about me, about what was and wasn’t breaking down. I’d opened up to him. What I’d said was horrible, but it was hard. Sharing what I’d shared had been hard.
I reached for my wine and chugged the rest down in an attempt to push down the emotions building up inside of me. When it was empty, and the feelings remained, I threw the glass against the wall.
Shattering items was becoming a habit.
If only it were just Edward’s antique vases and glassware being shattered and not also me.
Nine
As bitter as the night before had ended, I woke up with a tickle of excitement. He was here, on the island, and that meant that no matter what happened, the day would be different than they had been when he was away.
Plus, there was the added expectation of his response. I lay awake in bed for nearly half an hour wondering what it would be, imagining the ways his reaction to my tale could play out. Now that he’d made clear his sadism centered around the psychological rather than the physical, the boundaries of what might happen felt exponentially larger. The possibilities of what would happen next were titillating and unfathomable and frightening, and the dread I’d felt about what he’d do to me when I’d thought pain would be involved had been replaced by intrigue. I wanted to find out. I wanted to know.
Once out of bed, though, the thrill simmered down.
The house was quiet, Edward wasn’t around. It was exactly like every other Saturday on Amelie, when Joette and Tom and the staff had the day off and the meals were prepared beforehand and the day belonged to myself. There wasn’t even yoga on the weekends. Ideally, the privacy was a good setup for newlyweds who hadn’t seen each other in months.
Edward and I had never fit the notion of “ideally.”
With no interest in being the one to seek him out, I went about my routine in the ways I normally did, lounging by the pool, reading An American Marriage until the story of a black man’s twelve-year incarceration for a crime he didn’t commit began to diminish the terribleness of my own imprisonment, and I had to set it down. It was hard to complain about my situation in comparison. My jail was a paradise, sure. And it could be argued that I deserved it, since I was far from innocent. It could definitely be worse, was worse for other real people.
I saw that, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to believe I had it bad. I wanted to be angry. I wanted to be pissed. I wanted to be self-righteous and indignant and full of contempt.
The fact that those emotions weren’t as readily accessible as they’d once been was both surprising and surreal, and it was definitely discomforting.
Edward arrived back from wherever he’d been in the early afternoon. I didn’t see him come in, but I felt the atmosphere change, felt him, and, when I looked up, he was at his library window watching me. He saw me notice him and didn’t flinch, as though he had every right to be staring at me.
My pulse sped up and my cheeks flushed, and, especially perceptible because of all the weeks he’d been away, I realized how much I liked having someone around to look at me. How much I liked him looking at me.
Before I could help it, I smiled.
Immediately, I thought better and scowled, hating myself for getting caught up in his stupid gaze. Hating him for having a gaze worthy of being caught up in.
I’d turned away too quickly to find out his reaction to my mistake, but, imagined or not, I felt his smirk on my profile and hated him for that too.
When I finally came in an hour later, the house was buzzing with the makings of a big dinner, the kind we’d had regularly on our honeymoon, and that sent me fuming again, for no reason I could discern. Then, later, as I cleaned up and applied makeup in my bathroom, I realized the reason was because company for dinner very likely meant company after dinner. Which meant waiting another day for Edward’s response.