While she’s most likely to be mistaken for a celebrity, I’m most likely to be mistaken for a librarian with my blonde hair pulled up into a bun and astigmatism that requires glasses on days I’m too lazy for contacts (almost every day). With her looks she could’ve had anyone, but Jess only goes after the “bad boys”. You know the type; they show up late at night and leave before the sun comes up. They’re never seen during the daytime (very similar to vampires).
While I find Jess’s personality absolutely delightful, I am fairly certain that is not the reason they pay her visits late at night. However unlikely a pair we make, it works for us and I would trust her with my life.
She’s there within an hour with the champagne I’ve requested. I don’t know why, but champagne is really the only thing I like to drink. I adore it—the way the bubbles pop against your lips as you take a drink, it’s like a little tickle—not that I would ever admit that to anyone. It’s really the only highlight of attending weddings and showers, in my opinion.
She settles onto the loveseat as I sink back onto the floor. I’m feeling much more relaxed (buzzed) after a couple of glasses—it’s a lot easier than I thought it would be to bring Jess up to speed on what’s happened (thanks alcohol!). She sits with wide eyes and her hand clapped over her mouth, completely in shock.
“Oh…oh Lizzie—I’m so sorry! I know that I’m going to break the friend code by saying this, but you know that I have never liked him. I’m not a bit surprised that the shit was cheating on you.”
This was not news to me. The feelings of dislike were mutual between the two of them. Landon despised her lifestyle (“Is there anyone in this town Jess hasn’t slept with?”) and she frequently complained that he was too rigid and uptight (“Does he literally have a stick up his ass?”). They’ve both got such strong personalities that I sometimes wonder how I fit in with either of them.
She gets up and goes through the entertainment center DVDs. “Let’s find something funny to watch and take your mind off of everything and then later we’ll find some of his stuff to destroy, okay? First things first though, wanna order a pizza?” I tell her I’m not really hungry. “When’s the last time you ate something?”
I try to remember—“Maybe yesterday?”
Yeah, I’m pretty sure it was yesterday—unless wine counts as a meal. In that case, I’m getting five square meals a day.
“Geez, Lizzie. That’s really unhealthy. You’re eating tonight—end of discussion.” She’s so pushy.
We order a veggie pizza and crack open the second bottle of champagne while narrowing down our movie choices, eventually deciding on Bridesmaids (it’s one of our favorites).
Towards the end, my phone chirps. I glance down and my heart skips, it’s from Landon. Jess hits the pause button and leans over to see who it’s from. “Do you want me to read it for you?”
“No, I’m good. Just give me a minute.” I get up and go into the bedroom to read it. I sit down on the bed. Maybe he realizes this whole thing was a mistake.
“Hey— I wanted to let you know that I’ll be by tomorrow evening to get some of my things. I’ll call before I stop by. How are you?” —Maybe not. I focus on deep even breaths as I re-read every word. I don’t even know how to respond. “How are you?” What kind of question is that? What am I supposed to say to that? I’m fine—thanks for wasting four years of my life? I’m really not so sure that I’m the only one who needs therapy.
There’s a knock at the door, “Lizzie, you okay? What’d he say?” I tell Jess to come in and hand my phone over. Her mouth moves silently as she reads the text, “What a tool! Why would he want to know how you’re doing?—so that he and the home-wrecker can have a laugh at your expense? He’s sick, sick I tell you!”
I shakily stand up and go into the bathroom where I begin splashing cold water on my face. Jess follows me in—“You don’t look so good, girl. Why don’t you sit for a second?” I shut off the water and sink to my knees in front of the toilet before emptying my stomach of alcohol and pizza. Jess grabs a washcloth and runs it under the faucet before placing it on the back of my neck as my stomach continues its revolt.
CHAPTER THREE
Afterward, completely exhausted (mentally, physically, emotionally), I lay my face on the toilet seat and weep while Jess tries to comfort me. She insists upon staying the night and once she’s made up her mind there’s no use arguing. She puts the movie on in the bedroom and we lay next to each other—side by side, not saying a word as we finish it.
She’s gone before I wake up the next morning, but she’s left a note by the Keurig, “Gone to the gym and then I’m gonna run home to change before work. I’ll be back tonight—I have a work thing so it might be late. Text me when you’re up. –J” My head is pounding and my stomach is still uneasy so work is again out of the question.
I make myself a cup of strong black coffee and pick up my phone to text Lauren.
“Lauren—I’m still not feeling well so I won’t be in today.” Within a minute she replies.
“Okay, I’m coming over there at lunch and you’re going to tell me what’s really going on.” I sigh before tossing my phone down. She’ll probably fire me for this. A couple of years ago, she had appendicitis but refused to leave for the hospital until we saw all of our morning patients. She had the surgery and was back three days later. Girls like Lauren are machines; they don’t let anything weaken or slow them down. Girls like her despise girls like me.
Lauren shows up right after noon with chicken noodle soup from a nearby deli. She takes one look at my face before dropping the deli bag on the counter and grabbing me in a rough hug. “Did someone die?”
I’ve never seen Lauren show any form of affection—you could knock me over with a feather right now.
I laugh bitterly before answering, “—Just my marriage.”
Her eyes fill with tears and I’m taken aback because it’s so not like her, “Elizabeth, please tell me what’s going on. You’re my friend. Let me help you.”
I recount the story while she gets our soup ready and I find it’s even easier to talk about it the second time. I manage to get through it without crying (I feel as though I’m telling a story about someone else’s life) and she doesn’t say anything at first. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lauren shocked speechless in all the years I’ve known her.
I brace myself for the harsh speech I’m bound to get at any moment though for shirking my work responsibilities, but it doesn’t come and instead she whispers, “What are you going to do?”
“I-I don’t know, Lauren. I really don’t. I’m sorry I’ve left you stranded at work, but I can barely function.”
“Stop—don’t even think about work right now. I’m giving you the rest of the week off. You need to sort this out. I’ll cover for you.” She reaches across the table to grip my hand. I try to fight back the lump in my throat to no avail.
“Why are you doing this? I didn’t think you liked me.”
“I do like you, Elizabeth. I know I’m hard on you, but truth be told—you’re my only friend. I know what is said about me behind my back and in spite of all of it you’ve always been so nice to me—even when I don’t deserve it.”
Lauren was a bit of a “ball-buster” around the office. When everyone reports to you, friends are in short supply. With the exception of me, no one wanted a close relationship with someone who had the power to fire them.
I try to let her words sink in. Besides Jess, I thought I was alone in this vast sea of people. Lauren is throwing me a lifeline and I grab on, just completely overwhelmed by it all.
She has to leave soon after to get back to work for the afternoon, but she promises to check in on me again after work. I hug her, feeling like it’s such an inadequate way of expressing how I feel. “Lauren…Thank you for all of this—and for considering yourself my friend. I have a feeling I’m going to need as many of them as I can get if I want to get through this.”
I spend the rest of the afte
rnoon in bed (drinking the contents of yet another bottle of wine as the champagne is gone) and looking through our wedding photo album. I’m not reminiscing as much as looking for evidence of something I’d missed over the years. Katie is in nearly every photo and it’s so glaringly obvious to me right now. There’s a photo of her standing next to Landon at the bar, he’s staring straight at the camera and she’s staring at him (with what?—Lust? Longing?). In fact, she’s got her eyes on him in nearly every photo. There’s one of our first dance and she’s in the background, glaring. How did I miss it? I guess I had blinders on and I truly thought Landon would never hurt me.
I wake up to a pounding on the front door and find that it’s pitch black in the bedroom. How long have I been asleep? I stumble out of bed and realize belatedly that I am very intoxicated. How much did I drink? I make my way to the front door (using the walls for support) and throw it open to see—“Landon?”
“I’ve been calling you for the last two hours. I sent you several texts and you never responded. When you didn’t answer, I thought you might be hurt.” I look up in his eyes and it’s obvious he’s been drinking—quite heavily too judging from the smell of him.
“I’m sorry. I fell asleep.” I notice that his eyes are no longer on mine and are instead roving downward over my body, taking me in. I look down and realize that I changed into another one of his shirts at some point, but I didn’t bother buttoning it this time so my bra and panties are on full display in front of him (thank God I actually put on matching underwear today). He’s staring at me, taking every inch in, and there’s a hunger there. Take that, Katie! Men love curves! Before I can form a coherent response, he’s kicking the door shut behind him and stalking towards me like I’m his prey.
I’m actually a little afraid of him right now, but desire is racing through me like a wildfire. Even in my addled state I know I need to kick him out, but I want him so badly. I want—no, I need him to comfort me. I should be asking him why he’s here, but I don’t know if I want to know the answer. I’m backing up away from him (albeit unsteadily), trying to gather my bearings when I realize my body is betraying me. I’m frightened, yet turned on by the man in front of me. My therapist is going to have a field day with this one.
He doesn’t ask—in fact he doesn’t say anything, just picks me up and carries me into the bedroom while taking my bottom lip into his mouth. I can feel how hard he is as my legs wrap around his waist and I moan, bringing my hands up to cup his face. He tosses me onto the bed and rips my lace panties off with one hand while the other takes a fistful of my hair in a death grip and I know that this isn’t going to be sweet or slow. I open my mouth to stop him and he releases my lip long enough to slip his tongue inside, effectively silencing any argument from me. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or him that’s got me perched precariously on the edge, but I feel I am very close to falling off with him. He pauses for a second as he works to get his clothes off and I know that I can speak up and stop this before it goes too far. I remain silent.
I hear his belt buckle jingle as his pants fall to the floor. Then he opens the top drawer of his nightstand and gets a condom before his mouth is on me again as he picks me up and pushes me up against the bedroom wall, my legs wrapped around his waist. He stops his assault on my mouth and bites me on the neck before furiously entering me. His hands on my shoulders force him deeper inside me and then all coherent thought ceases and I let myself fall.
We sink down to the bedroom floor. I’m nestled against his chest, feathering kisses across his throat and listening to his heart race. There’s my husband, I knew he’d come back to me. The anxiety has been banished back to its cave and I breathe easily. I’m beginning to drift off when he abruptly stands up and lays me back on the bed. He strips the condom off and sets it aside.
I stupidly think he wants to go for round two when he switches the bedside lamp on and I see his face. “Elizabeth,—God, Elizabeth—I’m sorry. I don’t know what that was—I just saw you standing there half naked in my shirt and I didn’t think.” I sit up and wrap his shirt around me like a robe, suddenly feeling very exposed and raw as he begins putting his clothes back on. I manage to stutter, “I-I-I thought you were back. You wanted me. You can’t deny what we are together. I’m your wife.”
He puts his jeans back on and gives me such a look of pity that I want to claw his eyes out. “You think that was making love? Let’s call it what it was—an itch that needed to be scratched. I’m still a man—you can’t stick a barely dressed woman in front of me and expect me not to react. It shouldn’t have happened and I’m sorry to confuse you, but I still love Katie.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. I’m such a fool. “You u-us-used me—why?” I’m stumbling over my words in my fury and I can feel the tears forming—the anxiety perks its head up and makes its way out of the cave again. Landon backs up and sinks down to the floor next to the very same wall he just had me up against.
He has his head in his hands and even before he opens his mouth, I know what’s going to come out. My gut churns from the stress. Like the pieces of a puzzle fitting together—now, I know why he’s here and why he’s drunk and I didn’t think it was possible to hate him more than I did even just an hour ago—I was wrong. I’ve reached the threshold of hell.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Elizabeth,” He can barely get the words out, “Katie’s pregnant. She told me tonight and I’ll be the first to admit that I freaked out. I had a few drinks—it was irresponsible of me to come here. You’ve already been through—” I don’t even let him finish before I launch myself at him, screaming. I’m kicking, hitting, and scratching him as if my life depends on it—I want him to look on the outside like I feel on the inside. Of course, he stands a foot taller and outweighs me by a hundred pounds so my assault is short-lived before he has me pinned against the bedroom carpet. “Get off of me! Get your damn hands off of me.” My screams have turned to sobs.
“What the hell is going on here?” Jess is standing in the doorway and I realize how this must look—me pinned again the carpet in just my bra and Landon’s shirt with him on top of me. She turns to me, “The front door was unlocked. I heard you screaming,” Then she unleashes her fury at him. “Get off of her before I call the cops and have you thrown in jail where you belong!”
He immediately releases me and backs up. I’ve managed to scratch the right side of his face, drawing blood. He looks wretched and I should feel some sense of victory, but I can tell by my labored breathing that I am spiraling down into an anxiety attack (I’ve lost). I sit up and lean against the bed, hugging myself as Jess comes over to me. The sobs wrack my entire body—I didn’t think he could hurt me worse than he already had, but I’ve been cut open to the bone with this latest revelation. Jess is squeezing me so tight and I know she thinks she’s helping, but she’s making it harder to breathe.
I push her away and stand up. Landon is still there, leaning against the wall for support and he moves to come toward me. “Don’t,” I manage to choke out while holding my hands up, “—please don’t touch me. You-you- promised me! You said we just needed to wait another month!”
There’s a look in his eyes, disgust—Disappointment? But he knows what I’m referring to. We’d spent the last year talking about starting a family and every time it felt right, he pushed us back a month with various excuses.
“Landon, what did you promise her?” Jess is up on her feet and alert.
“Fuck, I just messed up. I screwed up everything. I never wanted to hurt you, Elizabeth. I swear to God I didn’t!”
Landon’s phone chirps at that point and he glances down at it before putting it back in his pocket. I know that it’s Katie, I can tell by the expression on his face.
I turn to Jess, who is completely lost at this point, “Katie’s pregnant, Jess.” I stare at the carpet, willing it to swallow me whole. I sound so calm—completely the opposite of how I’m feeling. It’s utterly silent in the room and I glance up to see
her reaction; her eyes have widened and her mouth is hanging open. She closes it and I can see her jaw tighten. Yeah, she’s going to kill him.
While she’s laying into him, I slowly walk towards Landon’s closet. I doubt they’ll even notice I’m gone before it’s too late. I know it’s not rational, but the anxiety is roaring in my head and I can’t take it anymore. I need some peace.
CHAPTER FIVE
I’m sitting on the couch in my therapist’s office, while she sits across from me in her plush red velvet armchair, her legs tucked underneath her. Dr. White is in her mid-forties, but could pass for thirty-something easily. Her blonde hair, cut into a short bob, is always immaculate and her clothes are so trendy. I’ve dreamed of raiding her closet on more than one occasion. She takes a sip of hot tea before placing her mug on the small table next to her. She consults her notes before beginning,
“Elizabeth, we’ve been seeing each other for five years and in that time we’ve dealt with your anxiety, but your issues have always been manageable. We’ve made such progress and we both agreed that we could push our visits to once a month. So, I need you to walk me through this. What’s changed? Why are we meeting three weeks early?”
I pick up a decorative pillow and hug it to my chest, my hands twisting the purple fringe. Dr. White sees that I’m using the pillow as a shield and notes it.
“Landon left me—I’m sorry, I thought by the third telling of this story that it would easier to talk about,” She passes me the tissues and I dab furiously at my eyes before continuing. “He’s been having an affair with his best friend’s wife, Katie—the same Katie that I’ve been trying to convince to like me for four years. I found out when he left his phone in the living room with me and she sent him a text.”
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