Quiet Lies

by R. L. Griffin

  “Your plan?” I’m dazed. The vodka is numbing my thoughts, like I wanted it to, but I should’ve known better, I need to be sharp. He’s up to something.

  “I need you to play a part for a month Rebecca. Play the part you were born to play, my adoring wife, grief stricken and emotional about the anticipated loss of the love of her life.”

  I dry heave. His stare penetrates me, accusing and bemused.

  He walks over to the bookshelf and pulls out two folders that are stuffed between leather bound copies of books I’ve never read. Leather bound books look so much better than regular books, you would be amazed at the comments we used to get during dinner parties.

  “These are your two options.” He throws the two folders on the coffee table in front of me. “I’ll let you peruse them and then we can chat.”

  His smugness is rubbing my nerves raw in a way that I can’t fully explain. I open the first folder.

  “That, my dearest is option A. That is where you stay with me until I have myself killed so that I don’t have to go through the painful death that I’m guaranteed. During this last month, you will go with me to any interviews I set up. You will hold my hand and act like you give a shit that I’m dying. You will give my eulogy that confirms your love for me….”

  I laugh and it bounces off the walls and the vaulted ceiling. I will do no such thing. I will leave. I left.

  “Oh Rebecca, you get away one time and you think you’ve won something, but guess what? You’re back and I’m not letting you go so easily. You should’ve known better than to come back.”

  A drop of cold sweat drips between my breasts and seeps into my tunic, it’s called Persian green. My tawny lips are shiny with lip gloss. He blinks at me, like he’s seeing me for the first time.

  “Option two you ask?” He smiles at me as he flips it open in front of me. “Option two is where I go to the press about my concerns that my crazy wife, who has been in a mental hospital for trying to kill herself right after she had our baby is threatening to do it again. I’m fearful of what she’ll do. I need to make sure my child is okay.” His voice breaks with faux emotion. His legs move slowly as he paces the length of the room in a manner meant to convey concern.

  My eyes squint.

  I can’t breathe.

  He’s so good at being evil, at pretending to be what he’s not.

  “When I tell the press you’ve already run off the with the child and I can’t find him, the authorities will be called and the last weeks of my life I will fight to make sure my child is taken care of when I’m gone. However, I have signed and notarized two wills. If you chose option two, all my life insurance, the house. ALL OF IT. Goes to Tiffany.”

  My spirit leaves me. Why did I think I could come back here again?

  “But, I have pictures. You gave someone’s mother herpes. You…”

  “Pictures?” he challenges. “Of what?” His face is curious.

  “I have photographs showing you beat me and…and I’ll release those.”

  “Oh honey, really? You have some doctored up pictures and think that will work against me? Come on babe, you know better than that.”

  “My hatred for you grows every day. How do you live with yourself?”

  “Quite nicely,” he answers.

  “Well, I’m glad God is killing you before I could.” This statement is out of my mouth before I can stop it and I reach out with both hands attempting to put it back in my mouth.

  His eyes turn cold and hard. “Rebecca, we’ve played for so long, who do you think you’re dealing with?”

  My eyes widen and I don’t want him to see my regret, so I look down at my chipped off nail polish.

  We’re both silent. The lack of sound grows so loud it pulses through the room and I think about Bash and all I’ve been through. I think about Rex. I think about me. I will finally be free of him, but to what end. Will Bash be taken from me? How does that even work?

  “Option?” Sebastian’s voice booms through the quiet shattering with one word.

  I shake my head.

  “Oh dear Rebecca, my fragile wife of thirteen years who could never really do anything without me, you must choose.”

  “I don’t want to choose.”

  A cloud of confusion hangs so low over my head it blinds me.

  “When did you start thinking what you wanted matters?” With that he turns on his heel and strides through the room leaving me frustrated and nervous.

  “You’d do this to Bash?” I call after him.

  His laughter is my answer.

  I wish I never met Sebastian. Allowing myself to dream of how different my life would be is a disaster. I push the idea of that possibility out of my mind, I can’t deal with fantasy right now only what is staring me in the face. There’s no reason to torture myself with what could’ve been.

  Instead of being anywhere else, I’m walking hand in hand with my husband into a doctor’s office because there are cameras outside. Sebastian waves at them with a smile, utterly confident in his decision to end his life before his condition gets too bad. It’s really funny how well I know my husband.

  My sunglasses cover most of my face, which is a mask of pain. Although my expression is due to the fact that I’m here and not the imminent death of my beloved husband, it’s still there and no one will know the difference when they see me. They will hypothesize about how hard it will be for me to go on without such a perfect father, because he’s good looking. I’ve already heard some of the stories, what a tragic thing to happen to a man that looks so…

  Looks can be deceiving. I know that lesson to the core. I’m a hoax. He made me that way. I deceive everyone, even myself.

  We sit in a waiting room next to each other and try not to show our mutual hatred of each other. Love ballads are playing softly and I want to cry at the belief I could possibly be at the precipice of being rid of him.

  I can no longer see what’s in front of me. Black walls surround me and I’m going blind. My breathing quickens and Sebastian puts his lips to my ear. “Don’t even think about making this about you,” he whispers.

  The cavern that used to hold my heart seizes in fear. I can do this. I pull out anxiety medication that I hadn’t taken in a while. I take it eagerly and his face is a mask, a small strained smile is on his face. I don’t know what he’s thinking. I gave up trying to figure him out years ago.

  He threads his hand through mine and strokes the top of my hand with his thumb. “What will you do without me?” he asks. I extricate my hand from his.

  There is a magazine next to me that tells me to look inside to organize my life. I pull it to my lap and flip through it.

  He grabs my hand back and squeezes it in a way that turns painful.

  I ignore it. He knows I like pain, I’d have to be a masochist being married to him.

  “Where will you go?” he demands.

  “Sebastian,” I whisper, refusing to answer, glancing around at the empty waiting room willing someone to walk in.

  “You won’t even know what to wear in the morning without me.” His words come through gritted teeth and he’s pissed it’s him dying and not me.

  “All the times you’ve won,” I murmur. His face burns with rage.

  I think he’s broken a knuckle when a popping sensation occurs in my hand and then spreads through my fingers and I sit there with my face expressionless, void of any emotion.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Controlling Me

  Sebastian and I pass the days quietly, I think he’s questioning why this is happening to him and I’m celebrating that at least something is going in my favor. I’m reading and drinking coffee when he comes back from shopping for the clothes he wants me to have him dressed in for the funeral. He lays the suit out in front of me on the couch.

  “It looks nice,” I confirm. He seems to need it, which is odd for him.

  “I just want everything to be perfect,” he comments almost to himself.

  “You�
�re dying and you still want to control everything. Have you ever thought about not being in control?” I tilt my head to the side and examine his profile, he hasn’t shaved in a few days and his scruff is getting thicker than I’ve ever seen it.

  “I just…” he starts, but his voice fades off and he sits down.

  “You are compelled to control everything, just like you’ve controlled me for years. How does it feel not to be in control of this?” I honestly want to know this. I want to know if this is unraveling him. I hope it is.

  “Oh, but I am in control. This cancer eats away at everything that makes me who I am and I decided…me…that I would control how I was going to die. I don’t let anything control me Rebecca, you should know that.”

  “You don’t want to be in the position where I would have to take care of you, do you?” This is the most honest conversation we’ve had in years and it’s because he’s going to die and I want to giggle and throw my fist in the air.

  “You know the answer to that.” He smoothes the pants on his funeral suit.

  “You have lived a sad life not knowing real love Sebastian. At least I’ve felt love and I’ve been stuck with you for so long that I have to reach very deep to know that I will be okay, but I love Bash and I’ll be without you and I will live again.”

  He chuckles at me. “You think you’ll ever be okay?”

  I blink.

  “I’ll never leave you Rebecca. When you close your eyes at night you will see me. When you drink your coffee you’ll feel me choking you. When you write a check out of the account you have only because of me you’ll still need me. You can’t live without me, you can’t breathe without me.”

  “Stop,” I demand.

  “When you look at our son’s face you will be reminded every day that you’re mine and you’re so fucked up now that no one will ever love you.”

  I drop my eyes to my coffee. I hear him moving and the rustling of him collecting his clothing. I don’t look up when his footsteps head toward the stairs.

  “Oh, by the way Tiffany is pregnant. It’s a girl.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Ashes in My Mouth

  Of course it matters what I want, it always has because that’s what he takes from me. Anytime I felt love or passion for something, he has decimated it. Besides Bash, I try not to love anything, anyone. It’s hard being broken, chunks of myself strewn about, and not know how to put myself back together.

  According to a lawyer friend of Christy’s they probably wouldn’t take Bash, but it’d be a fight. I’d probably win, eventually. She explained there seems to be two separate issues. One, the legal aspect, which she could help me with. However, the harder part would be the court of public opinion and Bash’s embarrassment at all of these things coming to light about his parents. The infidelity, abuse, suicide, financial problems, herpes, the baby and who knows what else Sebastian would throw out there, would be devastating to any kid. Could I afford to handle all of these issues legally and emotionally? I told her most of the truth, but not all. Does anyone tell all of the truth?

  I’m actually not sure I’m aware of the whole truth. Truth is a funny thing it’s what you believe until it’s not anymore. For example people thought the world was flat for a long time, that was the truth, until they didn’t, there was a new truth. I thought my husband loved me until I knew he was incapable. I thought my life would be amazing, until it knocked the legs out from under me at every turn.

  I have legal documents changing my and Bash’s name. I could take what I have, what Sebastian doesn’t know that I have and run. We couldn’t stay in South Carolina, he’d know we were there and if he is going to do an all out assault on me, media would find me as well. I’d have to start over, try to pay with things with what I have, which is not enough. I’d recently counted and I don’t have enough.

  I’m stuck to the ground with the water rising all around me. It batters me and I fall despite my fight. It slaps me in the face and I spit it back out. It begins to cover my nose and I push to my tiptoes. It’s in my hair, I’m holding my breath.

  I’m drowning.

  Water is everywhere and there is nothing I can do to stop it.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Such a Lovely Liar

  I’m sipping coffee when Sebastian pulls his car into the garage. He strides into the house and throws a folder at me. I don’t even try to catch it. It falls to the floor at the chair where I’m sitting, papers scatter all around me. I continue to sip my coffee uninterrupted.

  “Tomorrow night a local news channel will come to our house and we’ll have our first interview. They are paying me. Can you believe that?”

  I ignore him. What does he want with money now anyway?

  “Rebecca, we’ll be famous.”

  A sound escapes my lips inadvertently.

  “Wear that white dress that you have, your nude heels and get your hair done.” He stands there barking orders at me because he knows by me still being here, I’ve decided.

  I called Bash last week and told him his father was dying, even though my mother told me he saw it on the Internet. The only words he said were, “What should I wear to the funeral?”

  Sometimes failure slithers around your neck while you aren’t paying attention, but when you look down it tightens and crushes your windpipe.

  I’ve failed at so many things, so many times. I need to know if I can come back from this sort of failure. Have I failed too much?

  I close my eyes and picture my tree in the backyard and will myself to crawl out on my hands and knees.

  I have a hard time speaking all day. The words are on my tongue, but then dive back down my throat. My day consists of me getting my hair dyed back to blond and smoothed straight, just like Rebecca Pryor would have it. Melinda asked too many questions about things and I finally told her I wasn’t feeling well. She eventually stopped asking me questions.

  I apply a final coat of my favorite red lipstick. My image in the mirror smirks, mocking me. My royal blue heels pinch my toes as I walk down the stairs. The dress that used to fit is a tad loose around the middle. I don’t remember eating since my chili cheese fries at the diner.

  My head turns on its axis involuntarily when I hear his gravelly voice. I take in Sebastian chatting with a woman in the kitchen who looks like she’s the reporter. The woman looks so fake she may crack, her makeup so thick her mauve lipstick appears to have been applied with a paintbrush. There is a fissure in her coat of lacquer near her eyes as she smiles up at me oblivious to the anger radiating off my husband. He touches her on the shoulder and she nods. He walks over to me holding out his hand. He leans into my ear, a gesture that looks loving and thoughtful.

  “What the fuck are you wearing?” His hand closes around the back of my neck in a forceful way and I have to fight not to cry out.

  I turn and smile at him. “I’m mourning dear, everyone will assume I would wear black,” I answer sweetly and step out of his grasp making my way over to the crew to introduce myself. Little rebellious acts keep me afloat on the surface of this cesspool that’s my life.

  “Hi, I’m Rebecca,” I say over and over. Condolences and heartfelt apologies are given freely. I giggle in my mind. My face is blank and sad. I shake every single crew members’ hand while my back burns from his gaze.

  “Rebecca, I know this is such a hard time for your family, please let’s sit down and we’ll get started,” the reporter says and suddenly I can’t remember her name. I can’t remember anything. I close my eyes for a beat and exhale a slow breath. Sebastian takes my hand gently and walks me over to the couch and sits next to me.

  The lights blind me, my stomach turns and Sebastian squeezes my leg lovingly. I almost wretch in response, but smile instead. My lips turn up tightly.

  “Sebastian, Rebecca, thank you so much for agreeing to sit down with us today.”

  “Of course,” Sebastian smiles his winning smile.

  I nod curtly.

  “Sebastian
, tell us a little bit about how you got here?” There is a whirring sound in the room, or it might be in my mind. I can’t tell anymore.

  My husband’s voice fills the room, I feel it in my chest, but I have no idea what he’s saying. There is a medical diagnosis and a second opinion. The words blend together and stretch out again in front of me, I stare into the space to make sense of them.

  I feel a pinch on my hip. Startled, I jump.

  “Rebecca, do you need a minute?” the reporter asks.

  “Sandra, she’s okay.” Sebastian smiles his charming fucking smile.

  Sandra, her name is Sandra. I wring my hands and my eyes fix on my engagement ring above my wedding band. The only thing that symbolizes what I used to be that I’m allowed to have. I’ve honestly thought about buying a really expensive infinity band with diamonds all around it, just to make Sebastian pay for it. He’d love it though, he bought me a bigger engagement ring the minute he could. It doesn’t go with my rustic wedding band at all, but I pushed back on that one. I never push back. I sigh as I look at Sandra’s face it’s a mask of…

  “Rebecca, I asked how you are handling all of this?” she asks interrupting my thoughts.

  “I really don’t know,” I answer honestly. “It’s all so sudden and I’m so…” I look at Sebastian with a look that I know mimics adoration… “broken.” The word doesn’t fully escape my mouth, but simply falls out and gets hidden in my dress. It’s more truth than I want to give.

  “What?” Sandra is leaning toward me.

  I try to find the word in my dress, my hands search the fabric. I want to hide it from them both.

  “Rebecca,” prompts Sebastian.

  I clear my throat. “Broken. I’m broken.”

  Her pity for me is evident.

  “We’re still trying to wrap our brains around the entire situation. I know this has been hard on Rebecca.”

  “How about your son, Sebastian, Jr.?” she asks.