“Just let me surprise you,” he answers.
“Okay,” I say shakily, still thinking of all of Yvette’s insults. I don’t know why he would even want someone like you. Take better photos for the next man, if you want to keep him. I guess Yvette is the expert at keeping her man. And I am definitely not. Maybe I should try to step out of my comfort zone to make Mike happy. “Why not?” I say, forcing a smile, pretending to be cool. “I guess I can try something new.”
“You’re amazing, Milla. We’re going to have so many fun experiences together.” He comes over to my side and wipes my arm clean with an alcohol swab. Then he carefully injects me with the substance in the needle. He finishes off by kissing my neck. “You’re going to love how it feels, I promise.”
“Okay,” I respond awkwardly. “What am I supposed to feel?”
“You’ll see. You’re going to feel so good.” He puts the needle away and guides me over to the bed again, kissing me and pushing me down onto the mattress. “I’m so happy that you’re my wife. I’ve wanted you for so long, Milla… I can’t believe you’re all mine.”
I am about to respond, when I feel his hand clamp around my neck. “Mike,” I say with surprise.
“You’re so hot,” he says breathily, tightening his grip. “Do you want me?”
I feel a bit afraid, but I realize that this might be normal sexy stuff that couples do. I remember all the exciting texts I saw on Yvette’s phone, and I feel very insecure about how vanilla and inexperienced I am. “I want you,” I tell my new husband, trying to fight past my fear.
“Good,” he says, kissing my lips. “How about a little roleplay?”
“Sure.”
“I want you to just lay there, and pretend you’re dead. Can you do that for me?”
I stare at him in surprise. There’s a tiny alarm bell ringing in my head. But I am now committed to being fun and sexy and doing whatever he asks. It’s a bit of a weird request, but sometimes I already feel dead inside, so why not.
I let Mike take control of having sex with me, and I close my eyes and don’t move or respond. It’s a very interesting sensation, he’s right about that. It’s not terrible. It kind of heightens my senses to focus more on what is being done to me, and not really respond. It’s very strange, and makes me realize how many experiences I haven’t had. Mike seems to enjoy experimenting and taking risks in the bedroom, which I did not expect from him at all.
I thought he was the safe and boring choice. I didn’t expect that he had all these secret proclivities and dark fetishes. Doctors, right? Some of the weirdest people. When Mike finishes, I am shocked at what a powerful orgasm he has. And the noises he makes. He seems super turned on by me… even though I’m doing nothing at all.
“You did so good, baby,” he says, kissing my cheek. “I loved that.”
“It was definitely different,” I tell him, opening my eyes.
But something feels wrong.
“Why don’t you give me a cute pet name?” he whispers into my ear.
I am confused. What is this odd feeling in my body? I try to ignore it and respond to his playful banter. “Something like… Mikey-poo?” I ask, and immediately cringe.
He laughs at this, standing up and pulling on his shirt. “No, silly. Something hot. Something naughty.”
“Uh, any suggestions?” I ask him. What is going on with my legs? I can’t quite figure it out.
“I have lots of suggestions. Magic Mike is almost too easy, right?”
“Oh, god,” I say with a groan.
“How about Man-candy Mike?” he offers.
“Well… if you really want me to say that out loud,” I answer, trying to be fun and teasing. But I’m feeling super weird.
“Muscles MD?”
“No way,” I answer. What am I feeling? Is this the effect of those drugs finally kicking in? What did he give me?
“You’re right, we should keep it simple,” he answers. “Just something classic and normal.”
My arms and legs are very heavy. I am having trouble moving them.
“Can I look at your phone?” Mike asks, picking it off the table where it’s sitting.
“Sure,” I say slowly, as I try to move my body. Did he give me… sedatives? Paralytics?
“I want to change my display name in your phone,” he declares.
“Okay,” I say softly. “Go ahead.”
I’ve already deleted the thousands of text messages and pictures from Gabriel, so there’s nothing too incriminating for a new husband to find there. I think. (I have them all backed up somewhere safe.)
“There we go,” he says, moving over to show me the phone. “What do you think?”
When I see the name, I have to blink. My mouth suddenly goes very dry.
Mike shrugs. “Not cute and charming enough? We’ll think of something better. But I’ll leave it like that for now.”
A sensation of dread crawls into my neck, like the dead, icy fingers of a corpse clawing at my skin. I can’t breathe. I can’t respond.
“Anyway, Milla, I’ve got to go to work now. Enjoy the drugs. The sensation should wear off soon. But I can always get you more drugs before that happens, if you like the feeling. We’re going to have so much fun.” With that, he kisses me and leaves.
I am left here, unable to move, staring at the ceiling, and hyperventilating.
Sexy Babe.
That was the nickname he entered on my phone. Sexy Babe.
Does that mean that he…? My blood runs cold as realization dawns on me.
“What the fuck?” I whisper.
It’s almost too horrible to process at first, as my mind connects the dots. All the blood has drained out of my face and hands. I struggle to move, but my body is paralyzed.
I’m not sure if I want to throw up or pass out… or some combination of both.
My world comes crashing down around me. The bruises on Yvette’s comatose body. They were identical to the shape of the bruises I saw on my own hip earlier. And I don’t even know how I got those bruises. What happened last night? The penis pictures on her phone. The texts asking to tie her up. The rush to sedate her. The refusal to put her on a plane to France for private medical care…
Do you know that her husband is rich or something? That’s some rich people shit.
The pregnancy.
The pregnancy that ended my relationship. When Gabriel promised he wouldn’t… and said that he didn’t.
“What the fuck!” I whisper, because it’s all I can do. I try to clench my hands into a fist, but my fingers barely move. I can’t lift my arm. My phone is too far away for me to use. My heart starts beating rapidly as I realize the gravity of the situation.
Fuck! I married him. I thought he was someone I knew and trusted. I thought he was safe.
I can’t breathe or move, and I’m starting to panic as the room starts spinning and my vision falters. Oh, god. Did he know that my father just died? That I received an inheritance? I really feel like I’m going to pass out. All the cups of coffee he made me—getting the best sleep of my life? Has he been drugging me this whole time? Roofies?
A few questions swirl in my mind, burning holes into my brain.
Did Yvette ever really need to be put on a ventilator?
What did he do to her?
What is he going to do to me?
My heart is beating out of my chest and I know I’m about to lose consciousness. I just hope that whatever mix of drugs he put in my system isn’t powerful enough to kill me. I try to turn my head to the side, and I am able to move it barely a few inches. I look at my phone with desperation. I wish I could call someone for help. But it’s so far away. The room is so large, and it almost looks like it’s getting larger and my phone is moving farther away.
I fight to bend my fingers, but I cannot make my arm budge. I can just about wiggle my toes, but I can do nothing with my whole leg. I fight so hard to move anything. Anything at all. I try to flail around like a fish out of water. Desp
erately. I scream, fighting with every ounce of strength in me.
But nothing. Fuck! I can’t believe I trusted him. I can’t believe I let him do this to me.
My chest is heaving with every gasping breath. I thought he was a good thing in my life. I really thought he was a good man. Weird images and memories pop into my mind. There’s a morgue in the hospital. A morgue that Mike used to visit very frequently…
I want you to just lay there, and pretend you’re dead.
Oh my god. I had unprotected sex with him.
“What the f—”
I can’t restrain it any longer. I throw up all the contents of my stomach. And then the room darkens rapidly, and I know I’m passing out.
Gracefully, in my own vomit. Let’s hope I don’t drown in it.
But maybe I deserve to die by drowning in my own vomit, for how stupid I’ve been when it comes to men…
I’ve become the sick wife, now.
Part II
Gabriel
Chapter 26
Gabriel, a few weeks before
Yvette has been having awful nightmares.
I wasn’t intending to sleep in the same bed with her. It felt wrong when I was in a relationship with someone else. But I couldn’t leave her alone and listen to her scream like that. I had to hold her and try to help calm her down. So that is what I am doing now—holding her all night so that she can sleep well.
The physical therapist informed us that many patients who required lengthy stays on a ventilator suffered from PTSD. That it was a traumatic experience for the mind, in addition to the body. That she would need constant care and assistance for months to recover to even a fraction of her previous health.
I am committed to doing all I can to help her feel better. I can’t stand hearing her yell at invisible demons and cry all night. So, I stay with her 24/7, as much as I can when I’m not working… and I put my phone aside. Even though I know I’m hurting Milla. I can feel how much I’m hurting her, and I’m afraid I’m going to lose her. But this is what I need to do.
I still can’t process all the recent changes in my life.
My beautiful wife is finally back home, here with me.
In the beautiful home I purchased to make her happy all those years ago. It only took a near-death experience for her to miss me, I guess. Thinking about everything makes me want a cigarette. But I don’t smoke anymore. I will not do that.
I love Evie so much—I always have. But we’re not good together. Maybe in a crisis, like this moment, we work well. Because we put aside all the petty crap that has always gotten between us. But I’m scared about what happens when she recovers. I have this sick feeling that once she’s better, once she no longer needs my love and support to survive… she will get up and pack her suitcase and leave me again. Like she always does.
And I will have already pushed Milla away, from barely speaking to her this whole time—I will lose both of the women I love. That’s what happens when you love two people at the same time, without being able to give 100% to either one—you can end up losing them both.
“Stop hurting me,” Yvette gasps suddenly, her body jerking in her sleep. “Stop it.”
“Shhh, it’s okay,” I tell her soothingly. I wrap my arm around her in a protective way. “It’s just a dream.”
“Gabe,” she says, crying softly.
“Who was hurting you?” I ask her.
She shudders. “It’s so awful. It’s just flashes of memories from when I was on the ventilator. I don’t know what’s real and what’s my imagination.”
“Maybe it would help if you told me about it.”
She stares into space for a few seconds. Then she seems to remember where she is, and remembers my question. She shakes her head in refusal. “Non. C’est trop horrible.”
“English, please,” I remind her gently.
“Oh, right. Sorry. I forgot that you’re going to be a fancy Harvard professor soon.” She smiles at me and plays with a button on my shirt. I know she is just happy that she can easily use her hands again—her physical strength has returned a lot since she’s been home. I hope she will only keep getting stronger.
In case you’re wondering why we’re speaking in English, and why my thoughts are all in English, it’s because it makes me feel closer to Milla when she is so far away. It makes me feel like I’m doing something to prepare for being beside her when I work on my English. Even if most of my outward actions seem like I’m choosing Yvette, or focusing all my time and energy on my current wife—I keep Milla secretly inside my mind at all times. Buried deep in the back of my thoughts.
I told Yvette that I am considering a job offer at Harvard, which is actually true—I’ve applied to work at a few Ivy League universities in America. I’ve asked my wife to help me practice my English, since she’s lived and worked in the U.S. for so long. Her language skills are way better than mine. My English is good—I don’t sound like a cat being skinned alive, but it’s not Harvard good. Or Columbia good. I am hoping to polish it up and add some refinement before I need ever need to live or work abroad.
I actually think it could be wonderful for my career. And for my future family…
When my phone rings, I already know who it is. Only one person would call me at this hour.
“Do you need to get that?” Yvette asks. But I see the look in her face that says she needs me to stay beside her. She looks terrified that I will leave, and she will be left alone with those nightmares again.
“No, it’s okay,” I tell her. I tighten my arms around her and kiss her forehead. Poor Evie has been through so much. I hope Milla will understand. My heart aches not to answer her phone call—but I’ve never seen Evie so unwell, both physically and emotionally.
I miss Milla. But I’ve made promises and vows to Yvette, and that matters to me.
That is important to my sense of identity, who I am as a man. I don’t like to leave or abandon someone I care about—even if she abandoned me. I know I wasn’t an easy person to deal with when I was young, and I know I put Yvette through hell. I know she had every reason to leave.
I said in sickness and in health, and I meant it.
But I also said until death do we part… and I’m not sure how I feel about that anymore.
Chapter 27
I’ve been pacing back and forth in the cold night air for what seems like hours. Texting Camilla with frozen hands. Arguing about all this. I’m not even supposed to be outside, because it’s after curfew, but I couldn’t stay in that house anymore. Yvette’s parents left to return to their home, and I’ve had to spend even more time taking care of her.
Camilla says she’s getting depressed, and she seems different lately. But I’m not able to be there for her at all. We barely get a chance to talk every day. It was hard enough before, with time zones, and being stuck on opposite sides of an ocean. But now that I’m basically married again? Living this double life is starting to become too difficult, and I’m failing at everything.
I’m failing at my work, because I can’t seem to focus. Writing a book requires a huge amount of time and dedication, and everything I try to write, when I can even try to write, is utter shit. All my time is spent nursing Yvette, or being there for her emotionally, and after hours of doing that and feeling completely exhausted, spending more hours texting Camilla to reassure her that I’m not letting go of her.
But sometimes, I think I should.
On some days, it does feel so comfortable and good to be close to Yvette again. She feels like family, like an old friend. Someone who knows me inside and out. The truth is that I have missed her a great deal while she’s been gone, and maybe she deserves a chance to try and reconcile. Some days, I really want to give our relationship another try. I hate seeing her so sick.
But even so unwell, she is still the woman I fell in love with. She is sharp and witty and funny, and has an incredible positive attitude even in the worst of times. I often wonder if I could be with her completely again,
if I could somehow love her back into perfect health.
It just hasn’t been possible, as much as I try. I’m not really capable of being here completely with Evie. There is some kind of boundary, a barrier. I feel like I’m torn in half, with my mind and heart playing a game of tug of war. It’s driving me a bit insane.
I don’t even know if we’re in a relationship anymore, Camilla is texting me. If I can’t even call you on a bad day… how am I supposed to ever trust you or rely on you for anything?
“Fuck,” I whisper out loud into the cold night air, my breath creating a fog. I’m so upset at everything. Lately, I’ve been sneaking a few more drinks here and there. Just as a way of escaping both of these women who are always disappointed in me.
I’m sorry, Camilla. I just can’t always pick up the phone! You know that Evie is right beside me. What am I supposed to do? I text her.
Then why don’t we just stop this? she writes. If you choose her and want her, just be with her. Get rid of me!
I can’t do that! I don’t want to do that. I love you. My fingers are frozen to the bone as I text her, and I feel desperate to make her understand.
Then why don’t you act like it anymore? I feel like you don’t care at all.
“Fuck!” I curse again. I have to go inside. I can’t stand here and text anymore. I’m sorry, I type to her. It’s all I can think of saying. I am tired of making excuses for myself… it’s a messed up situation and I’m starting to realize that I can’t do better. What if I keep telling Milla to wait for me, and I never feel brave enough to actually break things off with Yvette? How healthy does she need to be before I finally tell her?
“Yvette, I want a divorce,” I say to myself out loud, before going back inside. The words are so difficult to say, it’s physically painful. How could I hurt her like that? “Yvette, I’m sorry… this isn’t working. We’ve already been separated for so long. I can’t do this anymore—we’re just pretending. I think we should get a divorce. Fuck!”
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