“Glad you are okay. Wish you would learn to call and not just text. Hope you’re being good to David.”
That was better than I expected even though she still managed to get a guilt trip in there. Great job, Mom!
I scroll to the next one from David.
“Hey Beth, hope you got some rest after I left. You seemed pretty worn out for some odd reason. I’m missing you like crazy! I’m about to head to dinner with some of the guys and then I’ll call you. Still hoping to get this wrapped up tomorrow so I can come home to you. I love you.”
Now that is a text message. Sigh. I realize I’m grinning at the phone screen as if he can see me. I type a quick reply back.
“Slept all afternoon, I wonder why I was so tired? I’m about to get a shower and then Lauren is bringing dinner at eight. I miss you too and cannot wait until I hear your voice again. I love you—more! Ha”
I turn the shower on to warm up and look for something to wear. I settle on a powder blue tank top and a pair of black cotton shorts. I go over to the mirror. What little make-up I was wearing is now long gone and I debate on whether or not to reapply. It’s girls’ night. Go au natural.
After I’ve showered, I dry my hair and work on taming it, eventually giving up and throwing it into a bun. I look ready for an evening in.
I take the iPod with me into the living room and plug it into the docking station. Eddie Vedder begins singing about hearing sirens in that throaty, raspy voice of his. Instead of straightening up the room, I sit and listen to the words, with tears streaming down my face —thank god I didn’t apply more makeup. I grab my phone and text David,
“Sitting here listening to Pearl Jam’s ‘Sirens’ and cannot stop thinking of you. Promise me you’ll listen to it tonight?”
His response is immediate, “I have it downloaded to my phone. It’s a perfect song for us. I’ll listen to it as soon as I leave dinner. Love you—most!” I smile and stand up to get my house straightened.
At eight o’clock on the dot, the doorbell rings. She’s prompt, as usual. I dry my hands on a dish towel and go over to let her in. I hope she brought spaghetti— my heart drops.
Standing on my front porch is Landon.
I try to keep the panic out of my voice, “What are you doing here, Landon? I’m expecting someone. You can’t be here.”
He ignores me and walks in closing the door behind him, “I didn’t think he was going to leave your side anytime soon. Let me guess, work needed him. And what the hell is going on with your face? Did that motherfucker do that you?” He looks concerned, but his voice is ice cold.
“It’s not important—Lauren is coming over and you cannot be here. We’re going to have dinner and then David, my husband, is going to be calling me.” I try enunciating every word to get my point across.
“Please tell me there’s a reason you’re acting like this right now. You knew you weren’t texting Lauren. It’s been our cover for the last year.”
My chest is starting to tighten. I can’t breathe. No. No. No. This is not happening.
“I don’t know why you’re here, but I am happily married. Maybe we had something a long time ago, but I love my husband. We’re trying to start a family.”
He shakes his head and laughs while I shiver involuntarily. “So, you’re getting off birth control then?” Seeing my horrified expression he continues. “You want a child, but not with a man who’s married to his job. You couldn’t let David know that so you got on the pill.”
I place my hands on his chest in an attempt to move him out of my house. The minute his back hits the door, I’m assaulted with an image of us in a very similar situation.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I was beyond intoxicated and my body was quaking with need. He was at my door within five minutes. Gone were the suit and tie I’d seen him in when we met, he now stood before me in a fitted gray t-shirt and jeans. His dimples were on full display even through his beard, he was grinning so widely.
He took in my flushed cheeks and disheveled appearance, “Hey, you alright there, Elizabeth?”
I took him by the hand and pulled him into the house, quickly shutting the door behind me. “I’m better than alright…now that you’re here.”
He was clearly confused, but as I pressed myself into him and up against the door I could tell that there was at least one part of him that knew exactly what I wanted.
He let out a frustrated sigh, “Fuck, Elizabeth, you’re married. We can’t—” I cut him off by reaching up and taking his bottom lip into my mouth, gently biting down.
A low growl escaped the back of his throat and he lifted me up, grinding me up against him. I broke free to whisper in his ear, “Bedroom. Now.”
I pulled my shirt off and tossed it aside as he laid me back on the bed. I sat up and began pulling his shirt free from his jeans and up over his head. The man worked out, it was obvious. Abercrombie models would be jealous of his chiseled chest and well-defined ab muscles. I ran my hands over him, my hands shaking as I worked on unbuttoning his jeans. His hands reached down to cover mine, effectively stopping me.
He let out a slow breath, “Slow down. Let’s talk for a minute. What’s going on here?”
I put on my best seductive pout and try to free my hands. “I’d rather not talk right now,” my words sound slurred, even to me, “I want you inside of me.”
Instead of pouncing on me, he steps back and runs his hands through his hair—his breathing ragged at this point. “God, you’re killing me right now. You know we can’t do this though. You’re married.”
Waves of nausea hit me, “Fuck him. He’s never here. He was supposed to come home for the weekend and he cancelled on me…again,” I whisper the words. I keep my eyes focused on the design of the comforter, unable to meet his gaze.
“That explains why you’re drunk right now, and I want you, but not like this. Hell, you’re not thinking straight.”
My cheeks burning with embarrassment, I manage to stand up and push past him into the bathroom where I begin splashing cold water onto my face. It’s not working. The nausea is only getting worse. Landon walks in just in time to see me vomit copious amounts of vodka into the toilet.
My stomach finally ends its revolt and I lay my face on the toilet seat, exhausted. I’m expecting him to walk out any second when I feel a cold washcloth against my neck. He sinks down to the cold tile floor next to me and rubs my back. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to stop the flow of tears, but it’s no use. I think of David and I feel the urge to vomit again. The tears increase into full-blown sobbing, but he doesn’t leave me.
I cry until there is nothing left within me and then he hands me my shirt and helps me to bed.
I sink down to the floor on my knees. “Oh my God—I think I’m having a heart attack. I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!” My breath is coming in short little gasps and I’m shaking uncontrollably. I am certain this is what dying feels like.
He sinks down next to me on the floor and takes my hands, “Calm down. You really didn’t know? You don’t remember?”
I try to taking deep breaths, but it’s not working and now I’m sweating. I try to explain as best I can, my teeth chattering, “I-hit-my-head. There was a c-c-car wreck a-a-and I c-c-couldn’t remember…” He stops me from elaborating by pulling me close to him. I want to pull away, but I feel so weak right now.
He cradles my head in his hands, “Elizabeth, you’re telling me you have amnesia?” He looks even scarier now that he’s serious.
My head is starting to swim, “Brain injury—married to you—just met David. I can’t—catch—my breath.” Landon is shaking me by the shoulders and asking me where my anxiety medication is, but it sounds like he’s a million miles away and it’s too hard to talk. Can’t he see I’m dying? Why won’t he leave me alone?
He stands up and goes into my bedroom to search for pills and I want to yell that he doesn’t belong in there, but it would require too much effort. This isn’t real. I’m
dreaming. This is my sub-conscious playing tricks on me. Any minute now I’m going to wake up on the patio at Nick’s, having just met David. My glimpse has become a nightmare and now it’s over. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. Maybe I should attempt to kick my feet together.
Landon is leaning over me again, “So, you cannot remember anything?” He rocks back on his heels and laughs bitterly, “Fuck, that works out just peachy for him doesn’t it? You cannot remember a goddamn thing he’s done to you and he looks like a fucking saint.”
I look at him puzzled, the pounding in my skull growing steadily worse.
I rub my temples in an attempt to ward off the pain, “What in the hell are you talking about?”
Maybe I should tell him none of this is real and that we just need to wait it out. It’s almost over. It can’t get any worse and just like that, the memory floodgates open and I’m so incredibly angry that it was Landon who held the key the entire time. Now I realize why Dr. White lied to me earlier today. This is too much for one person to deal with.
The brain is so complex and for whatever reason after the car wreck, mine decided to create an alternate reality. A reality where I was not the most disgusting, abhorrent creature to ever walk the face of this earth.
PART THREE:
REMEMBERING
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Memories come flowing out, but a lot of the details are still fuzzy. It’s like a movie you’ve seen one time. You can recall the highlights of it, not necessarily every scene. Let me start by saying that I’m not a serial killer. I feel that it’s important to get that out in the open. Perhaps, I should back up a bit and explain myself.
I grew up in a loving home, the only child to two wonderful parents. I was by no means spoiled—I didn’t get everything I wanted and I was expected to make my own way. While they didn’t support me financially, they were there for me emotionally as best they knew how to be.
I was twenty-one when I met Jess. I worked at the local grocery store close to campus almost every evening to pay my way through college. Normally, they let me do the book-keeping—which was perfect for me as I didn’t have to interact with anyone other than the manager on duty. I’d arrive at work and they’d lock me in a small room where I’d sit and reconcile every drawer used by the cashiers during the day, making sure that they all balanced out. I’d usually finish up close to midnight and head back to my dorm.
The night I met Jess I’d gotten caught up on counting the tills and Amanda, the manager, asked me to help back-stock as they were down a person. I ended up working next to Jess and we became best friends almost instantly.
I was the quiet to her loud and her personality was so infectious that I would’ve followed her anywhere. While I was most comfortable in a dark corner booth, being invisible, observing my surroundings, Jess was most comfortable doing shots while standing on top of the bar. She attracted a certain type of guy that way. I would tease her that those kinds of men were vampires—always gone before daylight. I’d always been a bit of an introvert—In all honesty, I didn’t put myself out there out of fear of certain rejection later. Being with Jess was like a glimpse into what my life could be like if I was more outgoing. She helped me come out of my shell and always went out of her way to ensure I felt included.
Our footloose and fancy free lifestyle lasted for two years and then she met Nate, a.k.a. “Tattoo Boy”. He and I didn’t hit it off—to say the least. He wanted her all to himself and I felt that he had a proverbial stick wedged up his ass.
I walked in on a conversation of theirs one time and overheard him ask Jess, “Do you think she’s ever going to find someone? I mean, the girl tags along with you constantly. Isn’t there anyone we could set her up with?” For a man who was literally covered in tattoos, he sure seemed hung up on appearances.
It did hurt to hear though because I’d often wondered the very same thing. I’d dated some, but it was never anything serious. I wasn’t a prude, by any stretch of the imagination. I just saw the relationship my parents had and I wanted something like that before diving in head over heels.
Jess chastised me for having standards that were too high while I worried that hers were non-existent. The thought of being intimate with someone was enough to drive me into a cleaning frenzy to calm myself down. Besides my parents, Jess was the only one to stick around and now it seemed that Nate was trying to talk her out of it. My anxiety issues were minor at this point, nothing that required therapy or medication.
One night in early 2009, they invited me out to dinner and begrudgingly I went as the third wheel. I wanted to prove to Nate that I was perfectly capable of finding a man, but before our dinner was even served, I’d already rearranged the sugar packets eight different times from nerves. I got up to get another drink and get some air outside—away from all the judgment.
My stiletto became caught in the decking and I fell right into my Daryl Dixon look-a-like, David, dowsing him with pineapple and rum. We didn’t actually have our Walking Dead conversation though until the show premiered a year later. All I knew was that he was devastatingly handsome and had actually noticed me.
Considering my affinity for risk and danger—sarcasm intended, it’s really a big surprise that I fell (literally) for David, with his many tattoos and confident air. He seemed like the ultimate bad boy.
He was thirty-three and I was twenty-five. There was this magnetism between the two of us, something I’d yet to find with any of the guys my own age. When we kissed, it was electric and I fell hard for him. He was a gentleman and didn’t ask me to go home with him that night, but he did get my number and he called me the next day at lunch. He stirred up feelings in me that were confusing and exhilarating at the same time.
We would stay up talking on the phone until the wee hours of the morning—quoting our favorite movie lines, discussing our plans for the future, anything to stay on the phone with each other. We were inseparable after that first meeting.
We went out for pizza one night, not long after we began dating, and we spent hours talking about our lives and how we grew up. Where I’d been shy before, he opened me up and I felt so comfortable in his presence. When they finally kicked us out at closing time, I knew he was the one.
When he took me to a local park with a small pond and got down on one knee a couple of months later, I didn’t hesitate for a second. Some might’ve said it was too soon, but he calmed the storm that raged in my head when doubt took over, and he made me feel so cherished. He was so patient and never seemed bothered by the dark sides of my personality.
I gave him my virginity that night. I just couldn’t imagine anyone being more worthy than he was and the two months of foreplay had left me walking around in a constant state of arousal. I’d just wanted everything to be perfect and in that moment, it was. Nate and Jess took to him immediately and Nate became more accepting of me. We weren’t close, but David’s sense of empathy seemed to be rubbing off on Nate.
David and I had a small wedding on the beach in Galveston, close to his parents. It was everything I wanted and my voice shook as I repeated my vows to him.
“I, Elizabeth, take you, David, to be my husband…to have and to hold…from this day forward…for better, for worse…for richer, for poorer…in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, forsaking all others, ‘til death do us part.”
He gripped my hands throughout our recitation of vows, keeping me steady, grounding me.
I’d love to tell you that we got married and he immediately stopped wooing me, but I’d be lying. It happened slowly. While we had our fair share of squabbles over money and household chores, we still shared the same bed every night—nobody ended up in the guest room or on the couch.
However, he was working on growing Greene Construction and there were a lot of late nights and weekends spent away from home. Money ran short and our fighting began to increase. I tried to be supportive and succeeded at first, but it began t
o feel like every penny was being sucked into his business. What little savings we did have built up began to dwindle under the stress.
By the time 2012 came to a close, I had become a ball of stress. I wanted to be his number one, not some business. Not only was I feeling neglected, but I was becoming increasingly worried about our financial future and what it was he did on those long nights spent away from home.
He said every dime funneled out of savings and into the business was to ensure that our family could live comfortably eventually so that I didn’t have to continue working at the dental office after we had children if I didn’t want to. It just felt like I was an afterthought to him at that time.
In March 2013, his dad, John, passed suddenly from a heart attack. He’d had rheumatic fever as a young child and it had taken a toll on his heart. Being a strong-willed southern man, he’d refused surgery to repair the damage. He’d always joked that there were going to be droves of devastated women at his funeral when his ticker finally gave out. It was a Saturday and we were sitting on the back patio, a rare weekend that he wasn’t trying to finish up a job and we were finally getting some much needed quality time together. When he got the call, I knew it was bad. He seemed robotic in the disconnected way he told me the news and then he went inside and ran a shower.
I was thrown by his reaction; I’d immediately broken down while he seemed to be on autopilot. When I tried to go into the bathroom to comfort him, I realized the door was locked. I could hear the gut-wrenching sobs as they echoed off the tiles of the shower and I’d never felt so powerless to help him. When he came out of the bathroom, his eyes were dark red and bloodshot. He muttered, “I’m sure going to miss him,” as he began packing to go back to his childhood home. As the only child, there was no one else to share his grief in losing a parent and I didn’t know how to help him when he insisted on shutting me out.
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