Now, just four years after saying I do, I realize my life is nothing but a horrible cliché. I remember the day it all came crashing down and the reality of what my marriage had become was laid out before me, refusing to be ignored.
With the eagerness of a child returning home after their long anticipated first day of school, delighted to have gotten off of work early and excited to see my husband, I exited the car. Bottle of wine in my hand and a sack of just-purchased groceries in the other arm, I intended on making Deacon a pasta dinner by candlelight. I opened the door and walked into our apartment, immediately overcome with the stench of pot. As I walked to the kitchen and placed my packages on the counter, I saw a trail of clothing leading to the closed door of my bedroom. I froze. Doom and dread instantly ran through my body and I felt a burning from my neck to the top of my head making me feel dizzy; sick. I knew without a doubt what I was going to find. I slowly started walking into my bedroom…
“Olivia...? Olivia?”
Blinking quickly and shaking my head trying to rid myself of the awful picture in my mind I look up at my attorney and attempt a smile. “I’m sorry, Clive. My mind wandered. You were saying?”
“That’s okay, Olivia. I was just asking if you got everything signed? I am going to have my assistant make you a copy of the documents for your records.”
Clive, whom I’m guessing is in his early 60s, has a pot belly, receding hair line and rather large ears. His kind and gentle personality never made me uncomfortable or feel stupid during this entire nightmare of a process. Once, during our conversation, he divulged he’s been happily married for 30 years and has three grown children. I imagine seeing the ugly side of marriages and divorces up-close and personal has made him realize how lucky he is. I never doubted for a second that he would get my divorce done quickly and accurately.
“Thanks, Clive. That would be great.” I tell him as I hand him the documents I’ve signed for copying.
Clive leaves his office and I’m left there with nothing but my thoughts once again. My mind flashes back to my apartment six months ago.
I picked up the articles of clothing littering my apartment floor as I walked closer to my bedroom --- a man’s shirt with buttons missing, with lipstick in a shade I don’t wear, on the collar. A woman’s shirt in a very pale yellow, a color I didn’t own. Given my skin tone, it would wash me out; my complexion is too pale to pull off such colors. Dark haired women like me should stick to bold colors.
I took a couple more steps and picked up an orange bra that must be a double D, two sizes bigger than I wear and in a color I did not possess. An orange bra under a pale yellow shirt? Really?
I tentatively, but steadily moved closer to the door and I heard the moans coming from the other side of the door. Apparently they were much too involved… the sound of my arrival did not even phase their sexcapade in the slightest.
Opening my bedroom door, I saw more clothes trailing up to my bed, an empty wine bottle on the side table and all I could think is that it’s three o’clock in the afternoon, a bit early for wine. It took my mind a few moments to catch up before I fully comprehended the scene in front of me. A naked thin-bodied, extremely large busted peroxide blonde woman was in my bed, in our bed, riding the shit out of my husband. His head thrown back in apparent ecstasy, his eyes rolled back in his head. The bitch was fiercely slapping her body up and down against his. They had no idea I was standing there. None.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” I screamed dropping the clothing I was somehow still holding in my hands to the floor.
I stared, completely dumbfounded.
Deacon practically threw the whore off the top of him in reaction to my scream and she went tumbling off the side of the bed.
Our bed.
Our desecrated bed.
Deacon yelled, “Oh my God! Olivia!”
“That’s right you asshole! It’s Olivia, your wife!” Before I even knew what I was doing I stalked over to the side of the bed where I saw the blonde bitch fall and dragged her up by her hair and bitch slapped her across the face. Deacon was standing there staring at me with his mouth open, eyes wide and a horror-shocked expression on his face. Before he could even comprehend what I was about to do I kicked him in the freaking balls as hard as I could.
“You bastard!” I shouted “How could you?”
With fury coursing through my veins I was shocked at my reaction. I’m not a violent person, had never hit anyone in my life. I was completely taken over by absolute disbelief and rage at what I was seeing. In an instant, literally the span of three minutes, my life had completely changed. I was filled with absolute agony. I didn’t deserve this.
After my inner bitch did her thing, I stalked out of the room and headed to the couch, where I had thrown my purse when I came home. During that time, Deacon somehow miraculously recovered from the blow to his crotch and started screaming my name while holding his hand over himself and chased me into the living room. I snatched up my purse and headed to the front door. Before I could reach it, Deacon reached me, grabbed my shoulder and spun me around to face him.
“Olivia, wait… I can explain! It’s not what you think!”
I laughed. I have no doubt it was a super creepy clown circus kind of laugh but still I laughed in his asinine face. He is unbelievable. Of all the things he could have said to me.
“It’s not what I think? Are you KIDDING ME?! I think I just saw my husband jamming his dick into some bitch that isn’t his wife! Don’t even try to explain yourself Deacon, there is NO excuse. There is NOTHING that you can say that could make me not walk out of here right now.”
I shoved him as hard as I could and made my way to the door.
Recovering quickly, Deacon caught up to me, grabbed my arm. Hard. The real Deacon was about to make an appearance. The begging lasted all of thirty seconds. “Olivia, I said to fucking wait. You are overreacting like a damn baby. Stop being a bitch and listen to me.”
I looked at him and sneered, “Screw you Deacon.”
I ripped my arm out of his grasp knowing I would definitely have a bruise above my elbow where his fingers dug into me hard. I opened the door, ran out, and slammed it behind me …Deacon screaming my name behind me.
I started to wait for the elevator, but when I heard my apartment door open behind me, I made a dash for the stairwell door and threw myself through the threshold knowing that he wouldn’t follow me naked down the stairwell. I ran as fast as I could down two flights of stairs and then stopped, sat down on a stair and started to sob.
“Here you go Olivia. Your copies.”
I jump slightly, startled by Clive’s return.
“We will get these papers filed with the court and you can expect to get your divorce decree in the mail in about two weeks.”
Clive hands me my copies of the divorce documents in a manila envelope. Wow. My four year marriage reduced to a few papers in an envelope.
“Thank you Clive. For everything.”
“You’re welcome, Olivia, and if you stop and see Jessica on your way out, she will give you your final invoice and make sure she has your forwarding address in our system. Best of luck to you.”
I smile, give him a nod and step out of his office and walk to the reception desk to see Jessica.
After paying my bill, I take my manila envelope and walk out of the office.
The sun hits me in the face; I squint my eyes and start rooting around in my purse looking for my sunglasses. Popping them onto my face, I just stand there for a moment, take a deep breath and start walking to catch the next train. Pulling out my cell phone from the front pocket of my purse, I start dialing my best friend Pyper.
“Hi this is Pyper! I must be treating my clients like royalty at Shimmer & Soothe Salon and Spa! You should be jealous that you aren’t here yourself! Leave me a message and I will get back to you to schedule the appointment I’m sure you want to make!”
I laugh at my friend’s message as usual and wait for the beep.
&nb
sp; “Hi, it’s me. Well it’s done. I just signed the papers and left Clive’s office. Why do I feel…?” I stop talking and sigh. “Honestly, I don’t know how I feel. Part of me feels empty and part of me wants to host my own divorce party. With cake. A cake that has a bride on top holding a knife with the bloody groom in a pool of his own blood at the bottom. They really make those you know. Crazy right? Anyway, give me a call when you can! I’m headed home to do some more packing. Kisses!”
I press end on my phone and shove it back into the front pocket of my purse. I walk through the subway entrance, scan my link pass, and wait for the T to arrive. I start reflecting on my life here. Deacon moved out a while ago. I had to threaten to call the cops if he didn’t get his ass out. But I am leaving Boston for good. I still remember coming here seven years ago to attend the journalism program at Boston University. While it wasn’t my first college choice, I will always look back, and love having lived here. In fact, once I married Deacon, I always thought I would stay here forever. Instead, I’m packing up and moving my life back to Chicago, Illinois. I’m going to move in with Pyper.
The T finally arrives and I step in looking for a seat. I take a seat towards the back and sit next to the window. Leaning my head back on the seat, watching the subway walls as they fly by, Deacon’s handsome face comes to my mind. Willing to do anything to win me back, he brought me flowers over and over. He gave me sentimental cards pouring his feelings into them, telling me how sorry he was, that he made a mistake and of course he promised that it would never happen again. He bought me jewelry, offered to move away with me to start over, told me he couldn’t live without me.
One time, after I had kicked him out I came home from work to find he had let himself into our old apartment, filled it up with flowers, made me dinner and once again pleaded with me not to leave him. I was so close to relenting. I can still close my eyes and remember the good times, the laughs we shared, all the times he tenderly made love to me and I felt like I was the center of his universe. As crazy as it seems, I know in his own demented way he truly loved me. I know I loved him.
That night, I almost gave in; it wasn’t because of the flowers or the dinner, it was the pure anguish I saw in his eyes and the tears that trailed down his cheeks when he begged me not to leave him. I looked in his eyes, really looked and the sight astounded me. I had never seen him cry before; but it wasn’t only that. I could see the love there. I could see that he truly wanted to work things out and was pleading for me to stay. Part of me wanted to give into him. I could see myself jumping into his arms and telling him we could figure it out and try… really try to make it work. I wanted to be able to tell him that I forgave him but in the back of my mind I had realized something in our time apart. Our marriage was a sham to begin with. The fact that we had made it for four years was a freaking miracle and believe it or not, choosing to stay would have been the easy way out. Staying was easy. Choosing to move on, the hard part.
I shattered his heart that night. I looked him in the eyes and told him once again to get out of the apartment and that I didn’t want to see him again. I told him there was absolutely nothing he could do to make the situation right and that he needed to just stop. Stop trying. Stop buying me things. Stop coming over. Stop trying to fix “us,” because it couldn’t be done. We were broken. We were over; the marriage was over. When all of his efforts failed to work, and he felt desperate, he became mean.
Anger flashed across his face and he tried to hide it. His pleading ended up with him calling me names and storming out of the apartment. I had hurt his pride, set him off; a dangerous combination.
I know little miss blond slut wasn’t Deacon’s first betrayal; I just chose to ignore the signs that were right in front of my face. I chose to believe the pretty lies he told me. The excuses ranged from working late, to stopping at the gym or running into an old friend. When he realized the lies were becoming more frequent he tried to bury my questions and disappointments with flowers, shopping sprees or sex that was driven more by anger than passion. For a while, I desperately clung to the lies and the illusion that everything was fine. While his affairs mattered and of course they hurt, the simple truth was that they were only part of the problem. I didn’t want to be in a marriage that only works when I played dumb and pretended to believe the lies and allowed things to always be on his terms.
I want more.
I need more.
I deserve more.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I cannot thank the readers enough for the constant encouragement I receive daily. Interacting with each and every one of you has been such a blessing and I’m so thankful.
My brother, Ryan, isn’t here to see this story. A lot of Ryan Stone is who my brother was. Shy, awkward, very cute (yes I can say that as his sister) and loved by everyone.
The word thank you seems so small when it comes to my best friend, Yvette, but without her, my stories don’t work. She’s my constant and for that I’ll be in her debt forever.
There are plenty of people to thank that held my hand during Lost in You.
Miller & Cola – the late night chats and pre-reading helped me through that very rough patch.
Toni – I appreciate every encouraging word and most amazing help ever. I love knowing that I can just hand you a chapter.
Brandon – without your most spectacular images Ryan and Hadley would just be names. Thank you for the amazing promotions.
Jodie – thank you for taking the helms on this one. I owe you!
Sarah – your vision is one of the most amazing aspects of writing. You help create the story with what you make for the cover.
Tasha – thank you taking such an amazing photo and willing to let me put a story behind it. From the moment I saw it. I knew this was fate.
Fallon & Alyssa – good thing your red pen works wonders. Thank you both for the constant support and editing.
There are so many bloggers that I’ve become friends with, but my fear is that I’d forget someone. So… if we talk, text, email, tweet or Facebook – thank you for all your support. I can’t even begin to tell you how much it means to me.
To my family – thank you for being so supportive and hashtagging our conversations – they make me laugh, even when I’m rolling my eyes. Mom; Dad & Beth book two - I’m on a roll.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Heidi is the author of USA Today, Kobo, Digital Book World, Amazon and Barnes & Noble Bestselling novel, Forever My Girl.
Originally from the Pacific Northwest, she now lives in picturesque Vermont, with her husband and two daughters. Also renting space in their home is an over-hyper Beagle/Jack Russell and two Parakeets.
During the day Heidi is behind a desk talking about Land Use. At night, she's writing one of the many stories planned for release or sitting court-side during either daughter's basketball games.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
SNEAK PEEK OF PRETTY LITTLE LIES BY DEBUT AUTHOR JENNIFER MILLER
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lost in You Page 28
