We’ve been skirting around the issue of our marriage for weeks and it’s time to be grown-up about it. Phil wouldn’t answer my confrontation the last time we argued. I won’t have that again.
Seb once told me to have courage, and now I feel that I need it more than ever. I grab my phone and call Phil but it goes to voicemail. I don’t leave a message but send a text.
Phil, I’m home. It’s time to talk.
I press send and wait. And wait. It strikes me that I’ve been at home since early Sunday morning and haven’t seen Phil. Surprise, surprise! I crawl back into bed and try to get some rest. Before I fall asleep, I send a text to Jess to fill her in. I need someone on my side at the moment.
When the alarm goes off the next morning, I decide to ignore it again. I doze before making myself call into work.
“Hi, Mark,” I mumble, my voice weak and tight with emotion.
“Hey, Izzy. Are you feeling better?”
“Um, no. I’m not doing very well and doubt I’ll be in for the next few days.”
“Okay, well, thanks for letting me know. I hope you feel better soon, and make sure you let me know when you’ll be back to work.”
“Thanks, I will.”
I seem to be able to sleep much more easily now, and I drift in and out for most of the day. I make it downstairs to cook some pasta. I take a few mouthfuls, but that’s all I can stomach.
The house is still quiet, and it makes me sad to see where I could end up at the end of all of this. Completely alone. Suddenly this is all so serious. I’m looking at leaving my husband with no guarantee of anything after it. But should that stop me? Seb and I never talked about being together. He said he would show me what submission and dominance can be like. That he’d give me what I’ve been pining after through my Tumblr blog and BDSM sites, not jump into a relationship with a married woman, or a married woman seeking a divorce.
Divorce. It doesn’t seem so distant now. Perhaps this is what I should have done weeks ago. Before Seb, I would never have thought this was a way out or even a possibility. Now… I should be proud that I’m making progress of some kind, but I’m not. It numbs me further.
It’s not only the house that is quiet, so is my phone. No calls or texts from Phil and nothing further from Seb. Not even Jess has gotten in touch. I’m desperate to speak to someone, to have someone reassure me about my life, but I’m on my own. I shouldn’t need anyone else. This is my life, and I have to take charge of it.
In the shower, I realise that I’m wallowing in self-pity and need to get over it. Quickly.
I always think better in the shower. The water clarifies my mind and calms me. I can think clearly for the first time in days. People get divorced all of the time. It doesn’t mean the end of the world or that I’ve failed. It shouldn’t. I climb back into bed, feeling a lot brighter. I am only thirty-two years old and I have a good job. My marriage or relationship should not define me as a person. It shouldn’t.
As I try to fall asleep, I can’t help but think of Seb and wonder what he’s been doing. Because of the text he sent, I know he hasn’t drunk himself into a coma. Seeing so many different sides to him hasn’t dulled my feelings for him. He’s shown me what having a real relationship can be like. I want to grab hold of it and work at giving Seb as much as he’s given me. I want our relationship to hold trust and understanding, give and take. Plus the freedom from submitting. It’s so much more than I thought it could be from sitting behind the computer screen and imagining. Even though the time I had with Seb was brief, not being with him, not having him as part of my life, makes my heart ache.
A bell rings in my ears, and it’s not my alarm. As I come round, the ringing turns to banging. I’m suddenly wide-awake and panicking. Could it be Seb at the door? I fly out of bed and into my dressing gown before I head downstairs. I don’t even care that I’ve not put a comb through my hair or brushed my teeth.
I pull the door open with my heart in my mouth, but it’s not Seb. Jess is standing on my doorstep with a huge bouquet of flowers in her arms. I look at her and I see her concern for me. I feel the lump in my throat and I step back to let her in.
Before I can say or do anything else, she thrusts a heavy cream envelope into my hand, followed by the flowers, and walks past me into the kitchen.
“I found these on your doorstep. I’m putting the kettle on for a cup of tea.”
The envelope has my name handwritten in black ink. It has to be a note from Seb. It is far too classy to be from Phil. My heart seizes in my throat. Is this a formal good-bye? Or is it an “I’m sorry. Let’s try again?” I don’t have the courage to look. The flowers, though, are beautiful. Purple hyacinths are surrounded by white roses, tuberoses, and tulips. It’s such an unusual arrangement.
“Thanks, Jess,” I venture tentatively.
“Are you going to stay in the hall all day, Iz?”
I bring the envelope and the flowers with me and place them gingerly on the table, not wanting to damage them. My heart races at the prospect of what the flowers mean or what words he’s written, but I will need to be alone to confront them. In my heart, I know it won’t be good news. How can it after the way I’ve treated him? I pick up the cup of tea waiting for me.
“So, are you going to tell me what is going on?” Jess sounds sad and a little bit resigned to the fact that this isn’t going to be a happy meeting.
“Oh Jess, things are a mess. But I need to talk to Phil. I can’t stay with him, Jess.” I say the words as confidently as I can, but my voice breaks and the words taste bitter in my mouth.
“Well, that’s a very positive start to the conversation. I’m proud of you, Iz. I thought I was going to have to talk you into it.” Jess is nearly smiling now, and for the first time in days, I manage a lacklustre smile in return. I sit down at the table and Jess joins me. “You know, you’ve made the right decision and I’m really pleased you made it on your own.”
“It doesn’t feel particularly positive. But I know what I should have done before getting involved with Seb. Phil and I… I’ve been in denial. I didn’t want to admit to failing.”
“You are not failing just because you have an asshole of a husband. Iz, you know he’s been staying at Jackson’s, but he’s been spending a lot of time with a blonde.”
Hearing that from Jess is little consolation.
“That’s not a surprise, Jess.”
“Well, I know you had your suspicions. I’m merely confirming them.”
“He won’t admit it to me.”
“I know. And he’s turning everything around to be your fault.”
“My fault? It’s not my fault!”
“Calm down, Iz. I’m just saying. Phil’s playing the confused, doting husband who doesn’t understand his wife anymore.”
“Well, he doesn’t understand me. That’s part of the problem. We hardly talk, and we don’t even know each other anymore. We haven’t done anything as a couple that we both wanted to do for years. Plus, he’s been having an affair.” My self-pity suddenly boils up as anger. How can I be having such a hard time trying to resolve my feelings over our marriage, yet he seems content with going to another woman rather than working things out with me? Hypocrite.
“I’m sorry, Iz.”
“I need to talk to Phil but he won’t call me. I want to do this right, for us to talk like adults.” Frustration builds at my lack of control over the situation.
“Oh, sweetie. I know, but if he won’t, what will you do?”
“I want to do this right, Jess. I need Phil to talk to me and admit that a divorce is the best option for us, that our marriage is over, and we’ve both moved on. He’s moved on with Sophie, it seems. I wasn’t even looking for a friend when I first met Seb. I was starved for any form of interest or affection and when Seb gave that to me…”
“And what about Seb? Have you seen him recently?”
“Not since the weekend.”
“What happened?”
I can’t
tell her everything. “We had a fight. I started crying and he got drunk. He asked me to go back to my marriage.”
“Oh, Iz.”
She moves towards me to offer a hug.
“Don’t. Please. I’ll start crying, and I’ve spent too much time crying. I need to make sure things are sorted with Phil before I can start to sort things with Seb. It’s not fair to Seb, otherwise.” I look down at my now-cold tea and take a moment.
“Look, I’m here for you, Iz, but I need to get to work and so do you.”
“No, I’m not going to work this week. I can’t. I’m a mess and need some time.”
“Okay, okay, I’m not your boss.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just… I can’t. I can’t.” I break down. I was doing so well. I sob onto Jess’s shoulder and cry it all out.
Jess leaves once I get my crying under control. Now, I’m left with the flowers and the envelope.
I arrange the flowers into a vase and I take the time to do it right. They are so fragrant. The perfume from the hyacinths is overpowering. I try to make it as pretty as possible but I can’t do them justice. I’ve not received flowers for such a long time and certainly never like these, an unexpectedly beautiful and unique gift.
I stare at the envelope in my hand. I want to hear from Seb. I would give anything to hear from him and be told that everything is okay. Now, knowing that he has committed his feelings to paper has me scared. It’s selfish. I’m a selfish, horrible woman, but I can’t help my feelings. I should be ashamed.
Jess has helped to brighten my dreary mood. She always has a positive influence over me, even with her giving me the tough love I deserve. Although I didn’t tell her too much, I know she’s there for me and is supporting me. It still hurts to think that Phil would rather be off with another woman than talking to me about our marriage. But how can I force it? I also need to hear Phil admit that we were broken before I can admit to my own actions. Our broken marriage was the catalyst for me. If he can’t admit we were in trouble… Two wrongs certainly don’t make a right, and I don’t think we’ll ever be right again.
The envelope is thick and feels heavy as I turn it over and over between my fingers. It reminds me of his business card when he first gave it to me. I peel open the letter and pull out the paper.
Dearest Isabel,
I’m deeply sorry about how things ended on Saturday. It was never my plan, nor my intention for the evening to be so challenging for you. You wanted to experience more and I’m confident that’s what I’ve given you, but I don’t think I can offer you that in the future.
I hope, in time, we can still be friends. Our friendship was precious to me.
Take care,
Sebastian
My blood runs cold as I read his words. He doesn’t want anything else from me but friendship. He certainly doesn’t love me, like I do him. My hands shake as I hold the letter and I can no longer see the words. My eyes blur and the letters swim in front of my eyes.
I can’t take this. I don’t want to go back to what my life was like before Seb. My heart feels as if it’s going to burst from my chest it’s beating so fast. No, this can’t happen. We had something that can’t be forgotten. Seb has taught me to feel more in the last few weeks than I ever have in my life. There was something between us. I felt it.
The tears flow down my face. I thought I’d cried myself dry already. Obviously I was wrong. I sob, howl, and cry until my body has nothing left.
I have nothing left.
Two weeks later
“I’m going out, Iz. I’ll be late so don’t wait up,” Phil shouts up the stairs to me before he slams the door behind him. I’m where I’ve spent most of the last few weeks—holed up in my bedroom.
After getting Seb’s card, I’ve completely shut down. I took the flowers up to my room and pretty much stopped living. Day by day, I watched the flowers fade and wither away, and with them, my hopes and dreams and all of my feelings.
I haven’t seen anyone or gone to work. I told Mark that I’ve had a family emergency and agreed to take some unpaid leave. I’ve sat, slept, and thought about all that I’ve done and how much my entire world has changed. Changed without actually changing.
Phil came home the day after the flowers arrived. I listened as he talked at me. Sure, he apologised for not listening to me, for arguing. He told me it was all because of stress. He wouldn’t admit to his affair. I told him that we couldn’t be together. That too much has happened and we can’t just pretend everything is alright. Resorting to form, Phil ignored me.
That’s how it was left. Phil talked at me, and I didn’t say the magic words, “I want a divorce.” I didn’t have the energy to fight it out with him. I too, have resorted to form, but with a few exceptions. I have insisted he sleep in the spare room and I have as little interaction as possible with him.
I have well and truly hit rock bottom and can’t think how to pull myself out of my misery. Not even a rather stern pep talk from Jess has helped.
The flowers are dead in the vase. I can’t even throw them away. It feels like if I do, I’ll be throwing away my last connection to Seb. Gone from my life. He hasn’t contacted me since sending the flowers, and I’ve resisted getting in touch with him. My marriage is over and I wonder what it will take for Phil to realise that for himself. Every time I see Phil, I mentally picture him with that girl, Sophie, and hate myself for not saying anything. Then I feel even worse for not coming clean about Seb. All Phil is doing is trying to placate me. Nothing has changed for him. Yet everything has for me.
There was a time, years ago, that I would have been outraged and heartbroken at the thought of Phil with someone else. Not now, though. I promised myself that I wouldn’t continue to see Seb without telling Phil. Perhaps if I tell him about Seb, Phil will see the futility of continuing as we are.
“Get up!” I’m woken by Jess screaming at me.
“How? What? How did you get in?” I’m half asleep, shocked and a little scared at the look on Jess’s face.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m sick of this shit from you. I’m not going to let you wallow any longer, so drag your sorry arse out of bed.” There is little room for argument in her tone and it’s not as if I’ve grown a spine overnight, so I sit myself up in bed. I stare at her, waiting for her to make the first move.
“I’ve let you sit and fall apart for long enough. No more. Up, shower, and you’re coming with me. No arguments.”
I don’t say anything. I just stare at her. She’s flipped. She’s never been this angry with me before.
“Move it!”
The scary look on her face encourages me to hurry along and climb out of bed and into the bathroom. I turn the shower on, avoiding the mirror, and ready myself to tackle the bird’s nest that is my hair.
Half an hour later, I creep out of the bathroom and see Jess drinking a cup of tea in my chair.
“Get dressed. We’re going out.” She stands expectantly as I wander to the wardrobe and look through my options.
“Where are we going?” I venture a simple question to test how angry she is.
“You’ll see. Now hurry up and get dressed.”
Focussing on the task, I’m stiff and awkward. I’ve barely moved in two weeks and my limbs are protesting.
When I’m finally ready, Jess marches downstairs and I dutifully follow. She stops only to put her mug in the kitchen before she heads to the door. Her intent is crystal-clear. She really does want me to leave the house. Grabbing my bag, I check for the essentials and shove my phone in as well. I peek at her, the pleading clear in my eyes. She doesn’t sympathise, and humphs as she heads out the door.
Twenty minutes later, we’re parked and she’s marching me towards the entrance of a swanky salon. She marches me through the door and goes to speak to the receptionist. As I loiter in the waiting area, it becomes apparent that she has organised this and has booked me in for who knows what. She walks back to me with a staff member in tow.
�
�Hello, Isabel. If you’d like to follow me?” The pretty member of the salon staff beckons me towards the back of the shop. I look towards Jess, who nods her head towards the back, so I follow. Reluctantly.
I’m seated at the basin and she washes my hair, which feels wonderful. Then she escorts me once more to a station in front of floor-to-ceiling mirrors.
“Andy will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you.” Jess has arranged for me to have my hair cut. As if this would shock me out of my funk.
“Hi, Isabel. I’m Andy,” says a very tall brunette, who appears to be the one doing the cutting. I try not to imagine what Jess has given them permission to do. I guess I don’t really have an incentive to keep it long anymore. Seb was the only one who ever said anything about my hair. Visions of him stroking my hair and tying it up flash before my eyes, and I try to suppress the lump forming in my throat. His hands were sure and comforting, and although every fibre of my body wants to feel that again, my rational head tries to tell me that it won’t happen. I close my eyes and squeeze to stop the tears. I would give anything to feel him wrap my hair around his wrist, to feel his skin on mine.
“Isabel, are you alright?”
“Yes, sure. Um, sorry. Just… whatever my friend said.”
“Okay, well, if you’re sure?”
“Yes.” I’m definitive and settle back into the chair. I try to force my melancholy thoughts away and let this very nice lady do whatever Jess wants with my hair.
An hour and a half later, I walk out of the salon with Jess, and she seems happy with her work. “Coffee?” she asks.
“Sure. Where?”
“Do you like it?”
“Like what?”
“Don’t be stupid, Isabel. Your hair? You haven’t said anything since we left the salon.”
The Izzy and Seb Collection: The Evermore Series Books 1, 2 and 2.5 Page 21