by Calia Read
Dr. Calloway starts to speed up the process. The pictures start to flip back and forth, over and over and over. I may remember the photo of me as a baby, but my memory latches on to the one of Sinclair and me. I feel the crisp air. I hear a car door slam. Voices trailing behind me.
Slowly, I’m sucked back into that memory.
I go willingly….
May 2014
A fresh new year of marriage should always come with arguments, tears, and frustrations. But a new batch of happiness, smiles, and laughter should always outweigh the bad. Always.
I tried to tell myself that, but as I sat across from Wes in the restaurant I knew it was all a farce. Gone were the days of making toasts and promises to each other and talking about what the future might hold.
There was this wall between us. It was transparent. Never noticeable to the public eye. Just to us. Sometimes I would forget it was there. Sometimes there were moments where I missed the Wes I fell in love with, reached out for him, only to be blocked.
This distance wasn’t instantaneous. We didn’t go from being in love with each other one second, to being virtual strangers the next. The more time passed and I wasn’t pregnant, the more resentful and frustrated I became. Making partner at the firm may have been Wes’s dream, but it wasn’t mine. Lately he’d been getting home later and later. I had more of a relationship with his voicemail than him. I kept trying to figure out how we got here, how we let it get to this point. Was it because of my desperation to start a family? Wes’s ability to go from zero to one hundred within seconds?
I didn’t know and it drove me crazy.
Our partnership that used to be so strong was now dismal. I remembered when we were engaged, how I would shake my head at the couples around us who were divorcing, separating, splitting. There were nasty spats. I would always think to myself: That will never be us. We will never let things get that bad.
But here we were.
Here we were.
Slowly, I moved my food around the plate and shot Wes a glance. His attention was on his food and it was as though today were an average day for him.
No happy anniversary. No nothing.
I didn’t expect a huge celebration, or any materialistic things. I just wanted an acknowledgment. A “Hey! We’ve made it through another year together. Next year will be even better!”
But we were almost done with dinner and I didn’t see that acknowledgment surfacing anytime soon.
He wiped his mouth and dropped his napkin on the table. There was a combative look in his eyes, as though I was his prey and he was the predator. It made me squirm in my seat. “Aren’t you going to finish?” he asked.
“I’m not hungry.”
He chuckled. “Victoria, Victoria…”
“What?”
He moved his arm away and stared at me. “What do you mean, ‘what’?” he said, his voice rising an octave. “Can’t I say your name?”
For a good second I looked him in the eye and tried to find a piece of the Wes that I loved. I couldn’t find even the smallest one.
“What?”
“God, we’re fucked-up.” I dropped my face into my hands.
His eyes flared up with anger and hurt. “That’s a shitty thing to say.”
“It’s the truth.” I lifted my head and stared into his emotionless eyes. “Do you even love me anymore?”
“Of course.”
“Can you tell me that you love me just as much as you did at the beginning?”
“No. I can tell you I love you more.” He said his words earnestly and with such apparent conviction that I almost believed him.
Almost.
Love is three-dimensional. So deep and vast. So powerful that you can’t say the word without the emotion splashed across your face and displayed in your eyes.
Wes’s eyes were dull and flat.
“I think our definitions of love are different,” I said quietly.
He barked out a laugh. “You live in a fucking garden. ‘Let me tend to this flower!’ ” He mimicked my voice. “ ‘Oh, this flower needs water.’ ‘And this one isn’t getting enough sunshine!’ ” One more mocking laugh. “If you get away from those flowers you might realize what love is.”
I shook my head.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked gruffly.
I wished I was mad. Mad was an emotion. An emotion that kick-starts your heart. I had nothing to give.
“You’re mad,” he announced.
He shifted. “I’m sorry. All right?” Wes’s voice lowered. It was gentle and imploring.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“Fine,” I said. I put my fork down across my still-full plate, trying to think of how I could tell him the next thing I had to say as gently as possible. Yet I didn’t see any easy way and this needed to be said. It had been a long time coming.
I took a drink of water and cleared my throat. “I was thinking about going back to work.”
Finally. I had told him.
His reply was instantaneous: “Why?”
“Well, do you see a baby crawling around?” I replied. “There’s no reason for me to stay home.”
“Of course there is.”
“Wes, I’m miserable.”
He blinked, staring at me with confusion and anger. “You’re miserable in your dream house. What else are you miserable about? Are your diamond shoes too tight?”
“There’s nothing for me to do! I’m going out of my mind.”
“You have your garden.”
“Which you just mocked me about.”
“I was joking. You seem happy enough to me.”
And therein lay the problem. Nothing about me was happy.
In public I was a good wife. I volunteered at a soup kitchen. I gave money to charity. I was in a book club that met the last Friday of each month. I hosted brunches where my friends would come over and we’d sit around my dining room table and gossip, all under the guise of concern. Wes and I would go to dinner with friends and family and he was the perfect gentleman.
The second we were alone, however, the varnish rubbed off and my sadness became visible. If he looked my way once he would notice.
“You’re not going back to work,” Wes said. His voice was firm. Final. Leaving no wiggle room for discussion.
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
“Um…I think I just did.”
I felt a hate so powerful it was overwhelming. It clouded my vision until everything was shrouded in a black haze. I wanted to kill him. At that moment there was nothing that would’ve made me happier than to watch him take his last breath, and know he could never hurt me again.
To be honest, it was scary to feel that much hatred for one person. I felt no remorse for wanting to hurt Wes. I just felt remorse for thinking those thoughts.
I wadded up my napkin and tossed it onto the table. “I’m going to the restroom,” I muttered as I walked away.
“Victoria. Wait!” he called out behind me. I made a quick right toward the restrooms. The hallway was narrow, with dim lighting. I stopped and turned around, knowing that I couldn’t avoid him forever even though I wanted to.
He moved toward me like a predator and didn’t stop until he had me caged between him and the wall. I stared up at him, while he stared down at me. “Why did you just run off?”
There was no change in his expression and his voice was deceptively soft, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“You can’t control me,” I repeated, my voice shaking.
“Don’t whisper it!” He slammed his palm against the wall behind me. “If you have something to say, you fucking say it,” Wes said viciously.
“You can’t control me!” All vestige of self-control disappeared.
It was the only time I had ever lost my temper. I have to admit, it felt good.
Wes stepped back from me. He laughed erratically and stared up at the ceiling. “You think I control you….That’s hysterical.” As W
es continued to laugh, I shifted to the left, trying to remove myself from his line of fire.
But his laugh died down and his attention instantly became locked on me. “I build you a beautiful home. I provide for you. I give you everything and you think I’m controlling? Any other woman would kill to have your life.”
“Yeah, they might want our first year of marriage. But not the one we have now.”
He shot a look at me filled with so much hatred, I flinched. Wes started to pace back and forth. He finally stopped walking and stared at me with determination, as though he had it all worked out. “I’m keeping you,” he announced.
At first I didn’t think I had heard him right. But he stood there, not cracking a smile, and I realized he was dead serious.
Now it was my turn to laugh erratically. “I’m not an object! You can’t own me.”
His head tilted to the side. “Isn’t that what love is? Owning someone?”
“No!” I said in disbelief.
“It is, though!” The wild, crazed look in his eyes was back. “Don’t look at me like I don’t get it. You’re the one who stares at the world with rose-colored glasses, Victoria!”
I couldn’t figure out which one of us was more fucked-up: me for staying or him for thinking love equals ownership.
I raised my hands in the air. “I give up. I give up, okay?” I had exhausted every option and there were no more left. I walked down the hall. I didn’t know where I was going but I knew I had to get away before things got worse. “I’m leaving.”
“Like hell,” Wes said behind me.
The next thing I knew, two hands were wrapped around my shoulders. I was spun around and backed up until my head slammed against the wall. My skull started to pound. I saw nothing but black spots dancing in front of my eyes. I went to push Wes away but it was like trying to push a boulder. There was a sadistic look in his eyes, as though he took pleasure in causing pain. His fingers curled around my wrists and held them between us.
I stood there scared, trying to figure out the quickest way to escape. A dark smile spread across his face as he removed his hands, only to curl them around my neck and start to choke me. All the air left my lungs. I wanted to collapse. I slapped at his hands, wheezing to take a breath. My actions just made him laugh. I wanted to curl up in a ball. Shocks of pain ran through my body. Desperately, I slapped at his hands.
He pressed harder, and the edges around my vision started to fade.
This isn’t happening.
It can’t.
Then he dropped his hands and took a step back.
My hands curled around my knees as I hunched over and sucked in all the air I could. My lungs felt like they were on fire. So much pain. I wanted to cry but no tears formed. My mouth opened. There were no words. Just small gasps.
My head lifted and I found Wes staring at me, a blank look on his face. “Find someone who can love you better than I do. Find him! Where is he?” he whispered urgently. His fingers curled around my biceps, digging into my skin.
The hallway was starting to grow dim. Wes was swaying, multiplying all around me. I thought I was going to pass out.
“He’s standing right in front of you, Victoria. I am him. I am the only man who will love you.”
His hand landed on the crown of my head. For a second, I thought he was going to slam it against the wall and kill me. Right then, a part of me didn’t care. But all he did was pat my head, like I was some unruly pet.
“I’m not letting you go.” His thumb and forefinger curled around my jaw, making me look up at him.
We stood there, looking at each other. I was fighting to breathe. He was fighting for control of me. The whole time I was bracing myself.
He held me for a moment longer and then I finally panted out: “You’re hurting me.”
“Good.” His hands lowered at the same time his forehead touched mine. “Now you can see how much you hurt me. I love you, Victoria.”
With a husband like mine, I’ll never need an enemy.
—
I woke up the next morning slightly disoriented. The sheets were stiff, and freshly washed. Sunlight was blaringly bright, shining on my face. That was all wrong; I always close the blinds at night. But then I realized that I was still in the guest bedroom. There was no way in hell I wanted to sleep in the same bed with Wes the night before. That was like sleeping with the devil.
Wes knocked on the door sometime around two this morning, but I never let him in.
I sat up. Across the room a mirror was mounted on the wall. Even from here I could see my eyes were puffy from shedding so many tears. Surprisingly, there were no bruises on my neck. If it weren’t for my sore muscles, I would have thought the entire horrific scene had never happened.
I dropped my face into my hands and groaned. What happened last night was grounds for leaving someone. I knew that. Yet I was petrified. Scared to live with him and scared to run away from him.
I didn’t know what he was capable of and that was the most terrifying thing of all.
I pulled back the covers and went to get up when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. On the pillow next to mine was a navy blue box with a small white bow on top. A note was folded up next to it. I opened the gift first. It was a beautiful diamond bracelet that I’d seen in a jewelry store a few months ago. I had mentioned to Wes that I thought it was stunning. He didn’t comment and I simply forgot about it. The happiness this thoughtful gift would have brought me just a year ago wasn’t there now. I felt nothing. I carefully put it back in the box and picked up the folded note. My name was written on the front in Wes’s hurried handwriting.
The note was simple:
V-
I’m sorry about last night. I love you.
—W.
I traced the loose scribble of his initial, wishing that I could capture the husband I once loved. But I could feel that part of him slowly fading away.
My tears dropped onto the note, slowly traveling down the paper, melding with the ink, smearing “sorry” and “love you.”
Rip it up! my mind chanted.
The urge to do just that was strong, but I found myself holding on to it.
I slammed the lid on the velvet box, got out of bed, and grabbed the photo album on the dresser. I sat on the edge of the bed and pored through my wedding pictures.
I was shocked to see the woman I once was. It seems impossible, but I vividly felt her happiness.
I continued to flip through the pages.
My body was here, keeping me alive, but my soul was somewhere far away from this house, this marriage, this life.
June 2014
I didn’t want to leave the house.
I didn’t want to do much of anything. I just wanted to lie in bed, draw the sheets above my head, and press REWIND on my life.
As Wes’s routine went, there were no more outbursts. No punches thrown. No pain. The only time he ever said he was sorry was in the card the day after our anniversary, but that was it. He pretended that everything was okay and we should move on with our lives. But it wasn’t that simple for me. I lived in a constant state of fight-or-flight.
I had quit my job for the sake of our future and what did I have to show for it? Nothing.
There was no baby. For the past few months, I’d resigned myself to the fact that there would never be one. Months ago, I had suggested to Wes that he and I see a fertility specialist. He shut that conversation down quickly. He said that there was no reason to force it. That we’ve hardly been trying. I didn’t tell him that if he really gave our marriage the attention he did at the beginning, he’d realize that we’d been “actively” trying for more than a year.
Maybe being childless was a blessing, though. The thought of bringing another life into the environment I lived in made me feel sick.
Lately, I found myself sucked into a bottomless black hole where I’d see the good moments with Wes. I’d see us sitting at a dinner table with friends and laughter all around
us. He’d look over at me, a gleam of happiness in his eyes, and it made me see that there was still a sliver of good left in him.
When Wes was at work, the house felt incredibly empty. I became a master gardener with the help of Renee. Our friendship seemed to get stronger as time went on. I had multiple friends in Falls Church but they were climber friends—the ones that latched on to you for a while but had no problem dropping you as they moved on up the ladder.
Renee was a forever friend and I was treating her dismally. She had texted and called me multiple times this week. I answered once and replied to two of the texts. She said that if she didn’t see me face-to-face she was going to knock on my door until I answered. I’d much rather go to her shop, say a quick hello, assure her I’m fine, and go.
I was afraid that if I stayed too long she’d see the residue of my angry fight with Wes. The abuse. The shame. And that was the very last thing I wanted.
Just stay home. It’s better to be alone, my mind whispered.
The desire to give in and hole myself away in my house was strong. But I’d been home for almost a week and knew that if I didn’t force myself to get out now, I never would.
It didn’t help that the weather forecast was dreary. Clouds had settled in, creating a silver sky. The heat was suffocating, making sweat form at my temples and my clothes cling to my skin. I found myself hoping that the sky would open up and let the rain fall.
I parked right across from Renee’s shop. At that time of day, it was pretty quiet. Most people were at work. As I slammed my door the sounds of children’s shrieks of laughter pierced the air. I slowly walked toward the park. It was one of the nicer ones in Falls Church, with new playground equipment, secure fencing, and a pavilion for picnics and parties. Large oak trees peppered the area, with benches directly beneath them shielding people from the bright sun.
I found myself stopping, staring wistfully at the moms sitting underneath the tree. They were all lost in their own world. Here and there they’d glance at their kids and then go straight back to their conversations. One mom had a stroller next to her. She moved it back and forth and every so often would pull the stroller close and smile at the toddler squealing and laughing inside it.
