by Layne Harper
Colin has a rule—in place since before I moved in—that football is not allowed in his bedroom. Thankfully, there’s some separation, but his mistress is clearly consuming everything outside of our personal space.
I drop Colin’s pillow and grudgingly climb out of bed. If I don’t get security arranged, I’ll never get to Brad’s house, then, I’ll have to listen to him whine. I call Jenny, who’s about twelve feet outside of my bedroom door, and tell her that I’m running to Brad’s. She hangs up, and I assume notifies the Dallas security team that I want to go for a run. I remember the good old days when I’d crawl out of bed, use the restroom, throw on my running clothes, pile my hair in a ponytail, brush my teeth, and walk out my front door.
Those days are dead and gone. In fact, any semblance of my former life has been destroyed. Our interview with Allison Katz set off a media firestorm. The allegations of Colin being addicted to prescription painkillers have taken on a life of their own. If that’s not bad enough, we’ve been hounded by the paparazzi wanting details on our engagement. Security guards have become my appendages when Colin’s not with me, because news of Colin being engaged brought out all of his overzealous fans. I’ve had to quit visiting anything other than mainstream news sites on the Internet because the stories about us are ridiculous, mean-spirited or just plain wrong and sometimes all three.
There’s the fan camp, who can’t believe that Colin would have tossed aside the goddess Sasha Stone for an average, everyday girl. Then, there’s the fan camp that can’t believe that Colin’s not marrying them. The final fan camp is what I like to call the crazies. They either believe that Colin can’t marry me because he’s already married to them, or that Colin’s gay.
It doesn’t matter. Any way you slice it, my life is the complete polar opposite of what it was before Colin-fucking-McKinney hijacked it again, and there’s no going back. This is who I am now. Doctor Caroline Jane Collins has been completely redefined.
I drag myself into my walk-in closet that is larger than the bedroom I shared with Chelsea my entire childhood, and dust off my running shoes. I’ve lost my passion for early morning jogs. Colin lives inside a gated and guarded community. I completely understand why he has to live here. Not too long ago, he found a woman in his bedroom, and she had a knife in her car. She fell into the crazy “already married to Colin” camp. That forced Colin to move into the gilded cage. It’s so pretty behind the twelve-foot tall wrought-iron fence. All of the houses are on multiple acres, and back up to a man-made lake. Colin has the biggest house in the neighborhood, and the most land.
I can run without security inside of the gilded cage. Unfortunately, it’s only about a mile and a half loop. That means that I have to keep running in a circle, like a lab rat.
Colin has a gym in his house. I can run on the treadmill if I wish. Once again, refer to the statement about being a lab rat. If I want to run like I used to, and explore the neighborhood that surrounds the gilded cage, I have to take security with me. Lately, Colin’s mistress is keeping him too busy to run with me in the mornings.
There are usually one or two photographers camped outside the gilded cage’s gates. They’re not the same ones every day. I always wonder how they’re scheduled. Is there, like, an Excel spreadsheet that says which paparazzo goes where for the day?
Rationally, I know that the bodyguards are for my own good. Colin has done a nice job of sharing the security reports that he gets with me. I can see in black and white the threats against us/him/me. I’m sure that he shares them because he wants me to understand why I can’t go all “Charlie” on him which I’ve come to define as independent, spontaneous, and generally fabulous.
However, it doesn’t change the fact that I can no longer run alone like I used to. My days of going grocery shopping alone are in the past. I needed a few things from the drugstore a couple of weeks back — my monthly pill prescription, tampons, a sympathy card, and lotion. No big deal. I thought it would take me ten minutes, and I wouldn’t need security. Wrong! As I was standing in the stationary aisle, trying to choose an appropriate card, a lady approached me and spat in my face. She said, “You don’t deserve him. Look at you. You’re not even pretty.” She was in the “You’re not good enough for him” fan camp. That was the wake-up call I’d needed. If I have to leave the gilded cage, security tags along.
Today, I’m going to jog to Brad’s house, and security is just going to have to suck it up. I need to find my center again, some peace in my life. I need to feel happiness like I used to when Colin isn’t with me.
As I walk out of our bedroom—that’s really become what I think of as my home—into the rest of the house—that I think of as Colin’s office—I’m greeted by Jenny with a dismissive hand wave. She’s yelling at somebody on the other end of the phone. I wave as I walk past her office. I note that her hair is orange today.
When I enter the kitchen, there are four guys sitting at the breakfast bar talking football. Two of them are our temporary houseguests, and the other two are total and complete strangers, but I surmise that they either play for Dallas or hope to. This is ridiculous. I live in a home for wayward boys. No! That’s not correct. I live in a home for wayward football players.
Four sets of eyes track me like I’m a wild animal. “Morning boys,” I say, as chipper as possible. I open the refrigerator, and see that my special brand of milk has been drunk. I mumble to myself, “Guess I’ll have to start writing my name on my food.”
One of the wayward players says, “Aw…man. I’m sorry, Charlie. I didn’t mean to finish off your milk.”
I set my bowl on the counter, open the cabinet, and pull out my box of Raisin Bran. Once I’ve poured it into my bowl and put the box away, I pick up some flakes with my fingers. No need for a spoon when I don’t have any milk. “My name is Caroline, and don’t touch my milk again.” I realize that I sound like a shrew so I add, “Please.”
I know that I’m being a bitch, but I’m really reaching my breaking point. I need order in my life. I need space. I need my things to not be touched.
I grew up with three sisters, and shared a room with my oldest sister, Chelsea. The first time that I found order in my life was when I moved in with Rachael in college, and I had my own room. Having my own space and knowing where all my things are gives me the control that I crave in my life. It gives me the strength to fight my compulsion to purge or run until I collapse when I feel out of control. It’s my constant. I crave it. Right now, I have none, and I literally don’t know how much longer I can take it.
I grab my bowl of bran flakes and walk back toward my home when Jenny stops me. “Do you have any interest in helping to plan Colin’s annual golf tournament?”
I walk into her office and sit down in front of her desk while I finish picking at my dry cereal. “Who usually coordinates it?”
“I use an event planning company here in Dallas. They’ve managed it since it began,” she says, barely glancing away from her computer screen.
“Then, I guess not. Event planning is not my specialty. Hell, ask Colin. He’ll tell you that. I can’t even pick a date to get married.” I stand with my cereal bowl to continue making my way home.
“Colin’s worried about you,” Jenny says this without an ounce of concern in her voice. I get it. Jenny and I will probably never be friends. She has been the most important woman in Colin’s life, besides his mother, for a long time. She barely knew that I existed when Colin moved me into his home. Her toes have been stepped on. I get it. Plus, our personalities couldn’t be more different, but we should be on the same side because we both care about Colin.
“And?” I reply motioning for her to continue.
“Every time he calls me, he asks how you’re doing,” she states.
I continue to wait for her to get to the point. When I realize that that’s it, I turn back around and walk into my home. I love that I’m being checked on, like I’m a small child. The only thing that’s keeping me from packing the few belongings that I have he
re and moving back to Houston is my addiction/love for Colin and my loyalty to Brad, who relocated to Dallas for me.
There’s been no less than a handful of times I’ve regretted this move. The only thing that keeps me from slipping back into my illness is Colin. When he’s home, he’s mine. My degree of happiness is defined by the amount of time I get to be alone with him. I feel like a flower, kept in a dark closet. When Colin’s with me, I’m being carried into the warm sun. I drink up his energy and thrive. When Colin leaves, I’m gently placed back in the dark closet and left to wait for his return.
Sure, the sex is great, and I love that we can pleasure each other in lots of different ways. But I also love when we snuggle in bed, and talk about life. Or when he tells me about his day over dinner. I love showering with him, watching movies with him, and being in his presence. I, Caroline Jane Collins, love when just the two of us take Big Bertha out for a spin. If you’d ever told me I would volunteer to ride in that environment-killing hunk of metal, I would have checked you into a mental hospital.
Then, there’s Brad. He’s only been in Dallas for a short time, but he’s so happy. He has his house. He’s made some nice friends. I can tell that he’s thriving here, not like in Houston where he just seemed to be surviving. There might even be a boyfriend, but he’s playing coy with me.
As I finish my dry cereal, there’s a knock on the bedroom door. I walk across the soft carpet and open it to find Jenny standing there. “Security’s here.” I’m wondering why she didn’t call or text me, as I notice her peering around me into our bedroom.
“You can tell Colin that I’m not vomiting, and I ate my breakfast like a good girl. You can also report that I’m going for a run, but not too long of a run because I’ve got my babysitters with me,” I say as I brush past her, slamming my shoulder against hers. I immediately feel bad. I guess it’s not her fault Colin told her about my past struggles with my eating disorder.
Jenny says, in her same even, condescending voice, “There are women standing in line that would cut off their right tit to be cared for by that man.”
I turn and look at Jenny so I can make sure that she gets my point. “Well, there’s only one woman that that man wants, and it’s me. I get it Jenny. I’m not your favorite person. I’m sorry that Mark and Colin had a falling out. I’m sorry that I’ve moved in to Colin’s house and you feel replaced, but I’m here to stay.”
I don’t wait for her response, because I really don’t care. If this were the first spat that Jenny and I had, I would have stayed and talked it out. Jenny personally blames me for the prescription painkiller abuse allegations that are dogging Colin. She blames me for Colin firing Mark and Kenzie, who are her friends. I’ve added Jenny to the list of things that our relationship has seemed to ruin, because she’s made it abundantly clear how she feels about me.
When, I walk out the front door of the McMansion, I’m greeted by my running detail. I know Miguel from previous running excursions, and trips around town. He sometimes accompanies Colin and me when we’ve done our longer runs outside of the gilded cage.
He introduces me to the new guy. His name is Carter. I’m not sure if it’s his first or last name, but the guy is all kinds of fine. He looks like that he’s been carved out of chocolate. Hard, luscious chocolate. As I introduce myself to Carter, I find myself blushing. It’s been a long time since a boy besides my fiancé has made me blush.
Miguel speaks up, interrupting my improper thoughts about Carter. “We’re going to Brad’s?”
“Yeah. I’m hanging out at his house today. Y’all can just check it for bad guys and then come back here.”
“Mr. McKinney asked us to remind you to bring your phone.”
I roll my eyes. “Once I’ve been safely delivered to Brad’s, you can call Mr. McKinney and tell him that I already have it with me,” I say, as I point to my armband that holds my phone.
I turn and begin my run as I fiddle with my phone turning on my running playlist. Miguel and Carter are smart enough to stay about five steps behind me. Just because I’m in a foul mood, I decide to set a punishing pace today.
As we jog past the security guard shack, the guard tips his hat to me. The guy is seriously beyond nice. He’s always smiling and when he laughs he looks like Santa Claus. I actually wonder if he’s really all that much protection, or just gives the illusion of security. I smile back and give him a gentle hand wave.
The paparazzi are waiting outside the gate. They snap away as I run past them. I ignore them, and pretend that it’s normal to have strangers take my picture while I exercise.
Instead of turning left to go toward Brad’s house, I turn right. It feels so good to run right now that I’m not interested in a destination.
About two miles later, I’ve forgotten that Thing One and Thing Two are trailing me. I get lost in my own thoughts and my music. The longer I run, the less out of control my life feels. As each foot pounds against the pavement, I gain a little bit more of me back. I’ve quit checking my Garmin running watch. I haven’t got a clue how far that I’ve gone. It’s just me again, with my awesome running mix of songs that range from Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Want To Have Fun” to Disturbed’s whole album Down With The Sickness. My music is turned up loud and drowning out the bad, unhealthy thoughts in my head. I’ve forgotten about wayward football players, bitchy assistants, my dad, finding a new job, the godforsaken media, and Colin’s fans. It’s me, my music, and my running shoes. I’ve found my nirvana again.
No one is pretending to be my friend so they can sell insider gossip on Colin and me to the press. My phone isn’t ringing with reporters who are hoping to catch me off-guard. Colin’s not asking me for a wedding date. Brad’s not pressuring me to go through the stacks of job offers that have rolled in. My muscles and bones are pounding the pavement, driving the stress out of my body. I’m lost in my own world.
I don’t want to stop. Ever. I feel like Forrest Gump. I could just keep running and crisscross America, never slowing down. Never having to face the demons that are plaguing my life back at home.
When my playlist restarts itself, I know that I’ve run really far. I reluctantly start slowing my pace until I’m walking. I glance back at Miguel and Carter, who are in great shape, but they’re huffing and puffing, also. I pull my headphones out of my ears.
“Damn girl, we just ran eighteen miles,” Carter confirms.
The three of us begin a slow walking pace as our cool down. I finally take a look around, and realize I have no idea where we are. Miguel pulls out his iPhone and quickly finds us on the GPS. “Well, Caroline, it looks like that we’re about ten miles from Brad’s house. What would you like to do?” The look on his face says, “Please don’t make us run there.”
I take my phone off of airplane mode and ignore all the texts from Brad. I just hit reply and type.
Me: Come pick us up. I’m sending you our location.
Brad: Where have you been? You were supposed to be here an hour ago.
Me: Running.
I don’t bother to read the next text from him. It’s just going to be pissy.
I need some cold water and a hot bath, because my leg muscles are aching. I haven’t run like this in a really long time. Like, it’s been so long that I don’t want to remember the last time I did this. The three of us keep walking in silence. There’s a part of me that feels like I should apologize to the guys. But I can’t determine what I should say. “I’ve got issues with control, and I’m a recovering anorexic and bulimic” sounds a little like too much information.
Instead, I just pretend that this is normal for me. I drop a couple of statements about training for a marathon, hoping to diffuse the situation.
Carter laughs, and says that he will not need to go to the gym today. As I check out Carter’s physique, it’s obvious that he doesn’t miss many trips to the gym.
Brad pulls up in the Range Rover, and the three of us climb in. I get no greeting. Brad’s furious with me. “Where
to?” He’s dressed in blue jean cutoff shorts and a very well-worn vintage T-shirt. His outfit screams, “I like boys.”
“Back to my house. Let me get a shower, and then I’ll be your Tommy,” I reply trying to pacify him while taking in deep breaths.
“Tommy as in Sarah and Tommy? I love that show,” Carter replies.
Carter and Brad discuss their favorite episodes of Sarah’s House the rest of the way home. Carter asks Brad if he’s seen the HGTV Magazine where Sarah remodels a kitchen. Brad gushes about the new house that he’s fixing up. Carter asks if he can come see it when it’s finished. Miguel flashes me a questioning look, and I just smile. I couldn’t care less that Carter is flirting with Brad on the clock.
As we pull up to the gilded cage’s gate, Brad rolls down his window and tells the security guard, “I had to fetch the gingerbread man, and return her home to grandma’s oven.” That earns the best assistant in the world a punch to the arm.
Brad parks his car in Colin’s driveway. He’s in a better mood after his house discussion with Carter. I’m glad. I don’t like it when Brad’s mad at me.
As we walk into the house, the good feeling from my run evaporates. I don’t want to face Jenny and her tattling, or see how many more wayward players our house has accepted. My black cloud is thick over my head as I walk through the back door.
I leave Brad and the security guys in the kitchen, drinking water and eating bananas, and head toward the bedroom. Colin has a mini-refrigerator in the bathroom that he keeps stocked with bottled water. I’ll sip on a bottle or three while I relax in the tub.
As I walk past Jenny’s office, I glance over, hoping that she’s got her back turned so she won’t see me sneaking in. Instead, I see long, dark chestnut hair on a very petite frame sitting in a chair in front of Jenny’s desk. They’re laughing and gossiping like old school chums. I have a sinking feeling in my gut that I know who that brown hair belongs to, so I step into Jenny’s office to confirm my suspicions. When Jenny sees me, her face goes slack. “I thought you were at Brad’s today?”
