Perfect Little Plan

by Jennifer Miller

  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 can 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 to the floor.

  I stared, completely dumbfounded.

  Deacon practically threw the whore off 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, 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, 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. For everything.”

  “You’re welcome, 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.

  “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.

&nb
sp; 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 blonde 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.

  One

  FALLING TO FREEDOM

  Olivia

  I’M LYING IN bed with the man I hate. I wake up, and for a brief moment I am at peace. Then, as fast as fashion lovers rush to a sale at Bloomingdales, I remember. I’m painfully and vividly aware that the peace I momentarily feel is not real and that the man I’m lying next to is not the one my heart longs for.

  Another day in hell. I have no idea how many days it has now been. I don’t know how long I was out before I woke up and found myself bound and gagged lying on a bed. Deacon injected something in my body to knock me out initially, but I don’t know what. When I would arouse during our journey here, he would force me to drink a liquid – water, I think, laced with some kind of sedating drug. The drug would immediately impose a haze and then a deep fog would engulf me, until once again, I was oblivious to everything. Just as today, there was no rest or peace during that sleep, but rather a repeated, tormented struggle: at times a longing to find consciousness and formulate a plan for securing my freedom and, at other times, as fear suffocates me, a desire to sleep into eternity.

  I feel myself start to panic again, recalling those moments of pure hysteria when I finally woke up. I can’t go there. I can’t let myself feel what I really want to feel right now. Instead, I lock the fear in a box. If I don’t, it will consume me. I can’t let myself think of the unknown, of the what-ifs. When the fear starts to drag me into its dark abyss, I defy its grip and force my thoughts to focus on the people I love. Pyper. My parents. And then, with my heart twisting painfully in my chest, Luke. I roll onto my side in a slow, deliberate and cautious manner, as close to the bed’s edge as possible, careful not to wake the living, breathing, nightmare lying beside me. Putting my back to him provides me the illusion of placing even more distance between us than I actually can. I hate being in bed with him.

  My pulse starts racing as I give that too much thought, so I quickly lock my feelings and thoughts up in that box again, putting them away to pursue later. Effortlessly, Pyper again comes to my mind, and I could swear it’s like she’s standing before me waving her arms to get my attention. I smile at her image. I hope she’s okay. The last thing I remember before Deacon took me is my best friend tied up, helpless, echoing the wide-eyed fear I also felt. As our eyes met, I tried to convey to her how much I loved her. We both knew what was going to happen. I begged Deacon to leave her, to not hurt her. Whether he listened to me or not, I have no idea. I only know from asking him over and over again about Pyper that he left her tied up on the couch, but in what condition, I do not know, and he refuses to say. He only states that his major objective was to take me. And he was willing to do so at any cost. I can only hope he did not hurt her, that he merely left her as he said. But honesty is not one of his strengths. Regardless, I pray to God that someone found her quickly. I hope she’s alive and well and not worrying too much. I hope she was able to tell Luke what happened.

  Luke. During my darkest times when I’m most afraid, thoughts of him are constant. He’s my happy place. I daydream frequently about him holding me, whispering to me, kissing me. Sometimes, I even let my thoughts venture to the life I wish to have with him some day. My favorite is when I picture us in a home. Our home. Not an apartment or townhouse, but a house. I know without a doubt that it will have to be a house, because Luke will want something that is ours. In my daydream, our house looks like one of those old plantation estates in Georgia. It has a wraparound porch, with his and hers rocking chairs in front; our favorite spot. Luke and I sit in the chairs, sipping iced tea on a warm summer day. Our chairs face each other and my feet are in his lap. I smile, listening to him tell me about the new night club he is excited about opening, while he rubs my feet, his enthusiasm evident. His voice, combined with the breeze blowing through the trees brings me contentment. A dog, a golden retriever named Dakota, is lying next to our chairs. While we talk, I drop my hand down to scratch the top of his head. I think even the dog smiles with contentment. I don’t know if dogs actually smile or why we have one, I just know there is one in my perfect day dream; the daydream and the life I hope and wish to have with Luke. I miss him so much that the ache in my heart nearly crushes me, takes my breath away and I find myself gasping for air. The pain is incredible. It’s worse than a punch in the gut, the unfairness of it all. After seven long years, we have finally reconciled, and then Deacon comes and ruins our plans. Ruins our dreams.

  I still thank God that we found each other again. After hearing him tell his mom I meant nothing, when I took off and married Deacon, I really never thought I would see him again. Thoughts of Luke would venture into my mind often, but I always stubbornly pushed them away. While painful, the best thing that could have happened for me and Luke was the time I caught Deacon cheating and finally took a stand against him and his abusive ways by divorcing him. Moving back to Chicago was the right choice because eventually, surprisingly, and unexpectedly, it brought me back to Luke. And I was finally happy again.

  I confess that at some level, I am still in denial. I had no idea that Deacon would do something like this. I knew he was angry and has been obsessive and borderline crazy over my leaving him, but I never thought he would go this far. I never thought he would take me - kidnap me - from my own home. I’ve tried to reason with him, to ask him what he’s thinking, to make him feel guilty, and to try to scare him. I’ve begged him to just let me go. I’ve promised him that I won’t tell anyone, that it will be our secret. I’ve told him to just leave me here and save himself before it’s too late. He refuses. He shakes his head, laughs. Instead, he makes me do things I don’t want to do, and makes it clear that I am f
ar from being in charge here.

  My thoughts are suddenly interrupted as I feel Deacon moving next to me, his fingers touch my back, and I stiffen, acutely aware that he’s awake. He asks me the same thing each morning, “Have you come to your senses yet? I’m tired of your refusal, no more games.”

  Jaw clenched so tight my teeth grind together, I roll over and bravely stare into his eyes, “Let me go, Deacon. Each day you keep me here, you’re only digging yourself deeper and deeper. There’s still time for you to do the right thing.” I respond the same each time too.

  “I have plans for us tonight.” Ignoring my comment, Deacon rises from the bed, completely naked. I avert my eyes from his body.

  “Plans? What kind of plans?”

  “We are going to have a nice dinner together, for starters.”

  I scoff, “I don’t want to have dinner with you.”

  “Too bad, you don’t have a choice.”

  The room I’m being kept in isn’t bad. We are in some house in the middle of nowhere, as far as I can tell. I’m in a room that has the bare necessities. A large bed and a dresser, there is also an attached bathroom, but it too has the bare minimum. There isn’t even a mirror. I can, however, see where the wall paint changes color, indicating that at one time, a large one had hung above the sink. I wonder if Deacon removed it, and if so, when that was. How long had he been planning this? Each time Deacon leaves me alone, which isn’t often, he locks me inside the bedroom. Sometimes I hear him talking to someone through the door. There was a time when I wasn’t sure if he had someone helping him or if he was talking on the phone. I think back to the time when I found out the answer to that question.

  Rolling out of bed, Deacon pulls on a pair of pants. “I will be back. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

  “Be back? What do you mean? Where are you going?”