I cannot wait to watch you live your private life, to see you in your most intimate form.
Until then, my dear.
Chapter Nineteen
Mara
I type a half ass text to Abbey telling her I’m bringing her lunch today.
She clearly has no clue. For a psychiatrist with all that schooling, she’s awfully dumb. She responds in mere seconds with, That would be so kind of you! Noon? I tell her that’s fine and we muse over where I should pick food up from, ultimately deciding on Panera because who doesn’t love carbs? Abbey, however, should be worried. She looks like she’s stress eating. She looks a bit bloated. More points for me, Abbey. I’ll bring you as many carbs as you can shove in your makeup-less face.
I don’t have any expectations about how far I’ll get with her today, things are tense after what happened with Simon. If only she knew what her husband is capable of. On my drive over, I think about all the ways I can make her pity me this time, how I can get under her skin, and what I need to say to continue weaving myself into her life with Simon.
I see her name on the signage and pull in. The office building is dingy and small. If I were depressed I wouldn’t want to come to this shit house. I make my way into the office, arms overflowing with bread and pasta.
Abbey’s waiting for me in the lobby and quickly takes some of the food off my hands. Our pleasantries are only fake one-sided this time; I can tell she’s happy to see me. We make our way down to what I assume is her private office and she apologizes for the mess.
“Abbey, you don’t have to apologize to me. How is everything going today, anything crazy happen so far?” I immediately regret the word choice.
“Crazy is always happening.” She laughs out loud. “I can’t escape the madness, it consumes me.” She breaks open her food and take a bite of her macaroni.
“I can’t imagine having your job,” I say. “I don’t think I could do it, listening to these people go on all day. I’m typically too consumed in my own problems to even notice anyone else’s.” I’m not really sure that I’m heading in the right direction but she’s probably shut her psychiatrist brain off for now, anyway.
“I do have a lot of hard days. More hard days than easy ones, really. It’s worth it though, helping people is my release. It’s the one thing I know I’m good at.” She looks like she really believes what she’s saying. “I take it a little too seriously sometimes. I forget Simon isn’t a patient and that he’s my husband.” She says it half-heartedly, in a joking manner, but I see this as my in. Bingo, Abbey.
“Ah. I think that might be one of the hardest parts for me, being a psychiatrist I mean. Knowing when to flip the off switch has to be a bit difficult. Have you ever overstepped?”
I hope it isn’t too forward but she smiles and shakes her head.
“Totally. Often, really. Only once really bad, though. We sometimes argue about me picking his brain apart, his every move, but there was only one time that I truly doctored him.”
She has to know I’m going to want to know more. I ask. There’s no harm in being curious.
“Oh, it was so long ago. I probably wouldn’t get the story right if I tried. It was after the incident with his family; we’d been dating a month or so. I was still in school and one of my classes was Developmental Psychology. I went off on a tirade, asking him a million questions about that day and trying to decipher how I could best help him. He wasn’t exactly ready to talk about it. He couldn’t, actually, without becoming a gigantic mess. He was hurt that I tried to “examine him” as he calls it.” It was like Abbey was dangling it in front of me on a string, willing me to get to the bottom of this mystery with his family.
“Abbey, I’m so sorry. What happened, can I ask? Are we close enough?” That’ll get her, I hope.
She looks surprised but she carries on. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind me telling you. He just doesn’t like talking about it. His mother and father had been married for twenty five years. Simon always thought they had a great relationship, that is until he followed his mother one night to a hotel. She was talking to someone all day on the phone, being really secretive, but it sounded flirty. Simon was home from college between freshman and sophomore year and he decided to see what she was up to. She met a man there. Simon was so upset that he sped off and called his dad. He didn’t know who else to tell. His brother wasn’t answering his phone and had just started dating a new girl so he knew that he wasn’t going to get in touch with him anytime soon. Simon never expected his dad to lose control the way he did. At first, his dad was oddly calm. He asked what hotel and Simon told him but begged him not to go.” She took a bite of her macaroni and I made sure to keep my eyes locked on hers, letting her know I was paying attention.
“Simon stayed up all night waiting for one or both of his parents to come home but neither did. The next morning he was in his room and his mom came home finally. He said soon after she came in, he heard another male voice that wasn’t his father’s, so he went out into the living room and she was standing there arguing with the man from the night before. She was yelling about why he showed up at her house, had he followed her, tons of questions. Simon ran back into his room and locked his door, he didn’t want anything to do with it. His room faced the front of the house and he saw his dad pull into the driveway. Simon ran out just as he was walking in the front door. Simon tried to stand between his dad and his mother’s lover but his dad yelled at him to get in his room and to not come out no matter what he heard. Simon did as his father said but he also called the cops, worried that his dad would beat the hell out of the dude. When Simon was telling me the story, he told me he wished his dad would have just beat the hell out of the guy.” Abbey looks like she’s going to cry so I make sure to turn up the waterworks too.
“Simon tried to take his mind off of things by turning up his music and something else I can’t remember. He said a few things but it’s been so long since we spoke about it. The music didn’t drown out the gunshots, though. His father had told him to stay in his room but he couldn’t, he had to see what happened. Just as he ran out of his room, a police officer ran toward him pushing him back inside and onto his bed. They wouldn’t let him out of there. Later on, Simon found out his father shot his mother’s lover and his mom, then turned the gun on himself. He had totally snapped.” Abbey seemed like she had lost her appetite by reliving the story.
“My god. Poor Simon. I’m so sorry Abbey. I am so, so sorry. He is so lucky to have you to help him, though. If there are any silver linings, you’re his,” I say, practically through gritted teeth but I have to keep up appearances. I wipe fake tears from my eyes and sniffle for added measure. “How has he coped with all of that? Did he ever go talk to someone or attend therapy to try and move past everything?”
“He tried talking to a therapist but he said it wasn’t for him. I was admittedly a bit offended but he made sure to explain how much he respected the profession and that he just couldn’t express his feelings enough. We used to talk about it, but it’s been years and years.” She shrugs. “I’ve noticed he’s had some delusions or hallucinations. He talks like his father is standing in front of him. Or he does things and doesn’t remember his actions or sometimes thinks he does something when he doesn’t. It’s not so strange to me because I deal with this often, but it’s hard seeing him go through it. Knowing there isn’t anything I can do.” Abbey looks like she’s finished talking about it and I decide to respect that. I have enough information to carry me on.
“Tell me about your day, Abs. I know most of its confidential but you have to unload a bit. You’ll end up in the opposite chair if you hold everything in all the time,” I say, trying to act like I care about her day.
“Ugh. I wish I could just tell you everything. It’s a fine line to teeter on. I can’t ever give out names, that’s a hard no. My patient from this morning breaks my heart. He takes so much out of me, it’s almost unbearable. He was molested at a young age by a family member. So
mething you wouldn’t wish on your absolute worst enemy.” Abbey looks at me like I should be sympathetic, and I’m caught off guard.
“Wow. You really see all types of people, huh?” No other words come to mind because I’m instantly a child again. Benjamin is lying next to me in my twin size bed and running his fingers over and into my pants. I’m brought back to the love, pain, tears, and false sense of security.
“People who undergo a trauma such as child abuse sometimes learn to disassociate as to cope with the abuse they’re forced to deal with. Not all children have the ability, though, to disassociate. Children who can’t do this tend to start justifying why they’re being abused, if they even know it’s abuse. They think there’s something wrong with them, that they’ve done something bad, so they keep it all inside until the abuser is caught or something tragic happens.”
Abbey’s professional switch has turned back on but she seems like this subject is near to her heart. I listen to her, intrigued.
“Fragmentation occurs, often. It affects and prevents the normal development process and this is why so many adults who experienced child abuse firsthand have problems with boundaries, empathy, and forming solid relationships. They would never let anyone know this, but they don’t feel like they deserve good things to happen to them.”
That last bit feels like a gut punch, a bullet to my heart. I understand what she’s saying. I feel what she’s saying. These are the kinds of people she helps. People like me.
“I feel so bad for those kids, those kids that turn into adults and have to carry that around with them,” I say, ready to switch subjects. Needing to talk about something else
“They’re why I originally got into this in the first place. I wanted to help the abused children, abused women, people who have suffered acts of violence. It was something I studied a lot in school. The lasting effects that emotional and physical trauma have on a person are real, and raw, and devastating. If I can help people through those feelings, I know I’m doing the right thing.” Abbey smiles at me and for the first time, I like her. It’s the first time I see her as just Abbey, and not Simon’s wife or some obstacle in my way. I see her for who she is and I respect the person she’s showing me. What she said hits me hard. I feel bad for her and Simon both. I feel even worse for James.
I feel kind of bad for myself, too. Not necessarily bad enough to stop pursuing Simon, but certainly enough to put more thought into it.
Abbey and I talk for the remainder of her lunch hour, changing the subject to lighter topics of conversation. She thanks me for lunch and offers to split payment with me, but I tell her lunch is on me today, she can repay me with a coffee date.
Chapter Twenty
Simon
We're back home, back to routine, with Monday looming like a rain cloud. I have mixed feelings about being in such close proximity to Mara again, but I have my secret weapons now.
I kissed Abbey goodbye when she left for work. She was flushed and glowy and finally wore a genuine smile. A sense of accomplishment budded inside of me, and I didn’t have to fake a smile back.
After lunch, I peek out the front room curtains and shift my eyes to Mara's house. I know she's home, but the house appears still, no sign of movement, no heartbeat. Let it be, Simon.
I wander my home pointlessly, wishing I hadn't called in to work sick. I feel like I'm dreaming, floating, unaware. I need to occupy my mind with something besides her if this is going to work. Flush my system. Meditation? No. How do you undo a person? I imagine pushing a button and restoring myself back to factory settings, a hard reset.
I go to my bathroom and pull out my bottle of Black Opium. I rub it, I smell it, I pretend I have her in my arms. Hello, my name is Simon and I'm an addict. Is there a twelve-step program for this? There should be. I toss the bottle back into its drawer and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I'm not the villain I expect to see. I'm a desperate, hopeless maniac. I try to find something in my face, an inkling that this will all disappear, but I don't.
My arms are shaking as I lean on the sink, trying to hold up my own weight, but I'm weak in every sense of the word. How did I fall this deeply this quickly? I know what might help, and I do it before I can convince myself not to. I take a deep breath and slam my head into the marble countertop so forcefully that blood instantly pools into my eyes.
~
I'm sitting in my living room, holding an ice pack over my bandaged forehead. I don't think I've given myself a concussion, but maybe I did knock some sense into myself. I grip my glass and swirl it a few times with my other hand and focus on breathing. I don't even care that it's still before five o’clock. If there was ever a time that warranted an early afternoon glass of barrel-proof bourbon, that time is now. I lay my head back and think of my dad. How disappointed in me he would be. “Shallow men believe in luck. Strong men believe in cause and effect.” He said that to me at least weekly, constantly reminding me that you reap what you sow. It's an Emerson quote. I wonder if that quote was running through his head when he did what he did.
I'm drifting into sleep when I hear a knock at the door, and the sound of it practically jolts me from the chair. I want to ignore it, but I think better of it. I don't care if it's Karen Fucking Longford coming over to pry, I could use a distraction. I stumble to the door and throw it open without even looking through the peephole, and instantly regret it. It's not Karen, it's Mara.
“What the shit, Simon? Are you okay?” She's reaching up to touch my throbbing forehead, but I swat her hand away, taking a hurried look at the Longfords’ house.
“I'm fine. I hit it while trying to fix a leaky pipe. What do you need, Mara?” Short, but I don't want to seem welcoming and I need to test the lie out before I use it on Abbey.
Mara looks down at her feet for a second before looking up at me again with those ice blue eyes. She's in another sundress, my favorite. Her hair is loose and wavy and I just want to grab it and kiss her.
“I just wanted to see you. I missed you while you two were gone. I'll go.”
“No! Please.” I grab her hand before she has a chance to turn around and leave, and it sends a shockwave through my body. Every time I touch her, I fall deeper into this pit and I know this won't end well, but self-sabotage seems to be my thing lately. How stupid I was to think that a bottle of perfume could take her place? That it would satisfy my cravings. How can you fault a junkie for taking the hit that's dangling in front of his face?
I lead her inside and she softens. She's almost smug as she looks about, as if she's come in first place in this life-ruining contest. It's hard to be annoyed with her. She makes it impossible to say no when everything inside of me is screaming to run far, far away.
She sits on one end of the couch and I sit at the other. I toss a few throw pillows between us and try to make it seem nonchalant.
“Did you guys have a good time? James and I had a pretty boring weekend. Oh! Besides Friday night. We kept the party going after you and Abbey left.” She says this with a bite in her tone and a wink. Is this what we're doing, Mara? Talking about our weekends with our spouses?
“I deleted the recording you sent me, if that's what you're getting at.” I kind of wish I hadn't, but it did exactly what it was intended to do and it pissed me the fuck off.
Mara laughs. “Oh, come on. Didn't you like hearing me like that? I thought about you the whole time.” She's leaning in, resting her elbows on the throw pillows and her chin in her hands. I can see directly down the front of her dress. No bra.
“You know exactly what you do to me.” I grab a pillow and set it on my lap for effect. My head is pounding harder because my heart is pumping faster. “Why me, huh? Why'd you pick me to sink your claws into?”
“I can't explain it, Simon. I see something I want and I have to take it. You're more than that to me, though. I really like Abbey, but even our friendship isn't enough to get me to quit. Just like your marriage to her isn't enough to get you to quit. This is different, th
is is something I haven't felt in a long, long time.”
I appreciate her honestly, I do, but that still leaves us in limbo. What are we going to do, run away with each other? Leave everything behind and just go? Go where? I could never leave Abbey behind but this thirst for Mara has me questioning everything I've ever known about myself. Everything I thought I knew at least.
“I've never seen the rest of your house,” Mara says, just above a whisper. Does she think I'm stupid? I didn't even want her to come in, and now she's trying to get me to the bedroom to fuck her. It's like she'll stop at nothing to keep this stronghold over me.
I look at her, really look at her for the first time and see that she's the real villain in this situation. She knows I'm vulnerable and she's exploiting my weakness to take advantage of me. But what does she gain? The satisfaction of knowing she's the one I'm willing to risk it all for? I'm becoming more irate by the second at the thought of Mara doing this to countless other men, making them believe she's the answer to their prayers and fucking up their marriages. I never did this. I never took things this far; I kept it innocent with those other women.
I resolve quickly. I need an outlet for the rage in my stomach and I know what to do.
“Get upstairs,” I order. “Go!”
Mara looks giddy. She's excited that she's finally getting what she came here for. I'm sure she thinks I'm so turned on that I can't contain myself, that I can't keep playing this cat and mouse game, but I'm not. I'm about to use her like a disposable napkin and throw her in the trash, just like she does.
Those We Trust Page 11
