by Bree Dahlia
I definitely hate this.
“You’re scaring me, Jake, and I don’t like it.”
He strokes my cheek, his expression severely pained. It’s not only what he’s saying, it’s how he’s saying it. It’s like he’s going away for ten to twenty, and he’s drumming up the courage to ask me if I’ll wait for him.
“This is so hard.”
My skin feels sharp and spiky, reminiscent of another time. The crushing energy is similar too, shrouding us. And once again, he knows what’s going on and I don’t.
“Damn it. Just tell me.”
“She thinks she’s pregnant,” he blurts out.
“Reyna?” I say in my head. Until he nods and I realize I spoke out loud. Dizziness forces me to the floor.
He sits beside me, cradling me. “We can’t let this ruin us. We can survive this, Maddie. Tell me we can survive this.”
“So you’re not… going back to her? Even if she is?” It sounds insane. They’re not even divorced. Separated or not, he’s technically still with her. I want to sob out fat, toxic tears.
“No.” He strokes my hair, kissing the top of my head. Comforting me. “If she is, it’ll just delay the divorce, not cancel it. I’ll be there for my child every step of the way, but we can’t stay together. It’s not fair for him or her to be raised in a home where the parents don’t love each other. Not how it should be. Not how I love you.”
My mind is spinning all kinds of crazy. Jake and I want children of our own, but how would it work partly raising theirs as well? Blended families are nothing novel nowadays, a dime a baker’s dozen. But could I handle it?
I rest my forehead on my knee. This belongs in a melodramatic book, not my life.
“We just found each other again, and we can’t let go. We have to make this work.” He brushes back the hair that’s hanging without a care in the world. “Tell me we can do this. Tell me our love is strong enough to get through anything.”
I glance up. He looks so devastated that I push back my own. Blind fury is trying to claw its way out, but I have it on strict lockdown. We’re adults, and I can manage the news like one. The situations could’ve been reversed. I could be the one thinking I’m pregnant. Jake didn’t even come back into my life until three months ago. How would I feel if he abandoned me because of something that happened then?
Rationally, it makes sense. Emotionally, I abhor the idea that she’d give him a child before I did. Give him a child at all.
“Please, Maddie. Say something”
“And you’re sure it’s yours?”
“Yes. Unlike me, she hasn’t reunited with her soul mate.”
“But… you two continued sleeping together while separated?”
“Not often, but she’s still my wife until she’s not.”
Ugh. His response is a lump of tar in my gullet, but I move forward. “And you said she thinks she’s pregnant. She should know for sure by now. It’s not that hard to take a test.”
I tick back the weeks in my head. Jake and I made love for our second first time about nine weeks ago. Let’s say they had sex—ugh—cold, clinical intercourse—better—at the very latest the day before that. Even with super-long cycles, any healthy woman on the planet would know—
“It’s too early yet for a test. She’s waiting a few more days to be safe. But she’s never been late before.”
“Today’s tests are ultra sensitive. It’s not too early.” I can’t believe I’m acting so levelheaded and—
Wait a fucking minute. “Exactly how late is she?”
“Two days.”
I leap up. “Two days? Two days!”
He stands too, but I back into the wall. “Yes, what—”
“When was the last time you slept with her?” My chest…. Oh my God, I need a Valium.
“I….” His eyes flick up as if he’s figuring it out. What the fuck is there to figure out? “The Friday two weeks before last.”
“Excuse me?” Less than three weeks ago. Holy shit, I’m going to pass out. I press harder into the wall, and when that doesn’t help, I slide down it. “You’re telling me you had sex with her while you were having sex with me? We were talking about our destiny while you and Reyna were having family time?”
I don’t just hate Fridays. They also hate me back in an ‘I want to slit your throat’ kind of way. The latte thrashes in my stomach, swirling in an ocean of what-the-fucks.
“Please listen.” He tries putting his hand on me, but I whack it off. “I told her today that it’ll never happen again. That I love you. That you and I are getting married as soon as we’re able, if you’ll still have me, no matter what the outcome of this possible pregnancy.”
“And you’re telling me this why? Is it supposed to make me feel better?”
“You don’t understand. Declaring this to her is a big deal, considering she’s still legally my wife.”
“You’re right. I don’t understand. How can you do this to me again, Jake? Choose her again? You promised you wouldn’t hurt me. And you did it for what, straight-up fucking? You don’t even love her.” I have snot and tears running down my face, but I couldn’t care less. I hope I look as ugly as he’s making me feel.
He attempts another touch, but I twist my body around. “I didn’t choose her again. I would never choose her over you. She’s the one who initiated it. Every time.”
Oh my God. This man who’s supposed to be my first and last love, supposed to be my world, isn’t even living in the same one as me. “You’re really saying that? As if it fucking matters who started it?”
“Maddie, please.” He’s on his knees, bent over in forgiveness. I can barely look at him. “I need you to understand. Yes, it does matter. I’ve always had it drilled into me how to be a good husband. In a marriage, sex is more the woman’s right than the man’s. I was only trying to honor her needs. I never meant to hurt her either.”
“Honor her needs?” Am I hearing this correctly? “What about honoring my needs?”
“I am. Please believe me. She’s my wife, but I’m still going to break my vow to her. For you. Right or wrong, after the commitment we made this weekend, I can never be with her again.”
“And what do your teachings say about adultery?” He flinches. “Yeah, I thought so. It must be nice to pick and choose your beliefs in order to suit your purpose. How long until your next dilemma? But this time it’s all on you. Your mother didn’t make you do anything. Your religion didn’t make you do anything. You did something. You made the choice to stomp on my heart. Again.”
“No, it’s not like that. I love you. Not her. I want to spend my life with you. Not her.”
I’m avoiding his face, but I can hear the anguish in his choked-up voice. He’s crying too, and it’s not pretty.
“I never slept with Cain again after I started sleeping with you. Not even close. Not even that ‘oral sex doesn’t count as real sex’ bullshit either. Nothing. And I do love him. Times aren’t good with him right now, but not every single second was bad. There were opportunities. But even if they were perfect, I’d still reject him in order to honor you. Because we’re supposed to be soul mates.”
“We are.” He clutches to me, trying to pull me back down when I stand, but I’m stronger than him for once. “We belong together. My heart can’t beat without you.”
“And my heart will never survive a third chance with you.”
I walk away from my first love, letting him go. I hold it in until I’m out the door and down the stairs. Then I clutch the side of the building with one hand, my stomach with the other, and heave lavender all over the red bricks.
It’s the official end of our beginning.
Twenty-two
I squint at Jake sitting at the edge of the love seat. He’s leaning forward and staring straight ahead, his forearms resting on his thighs, fingers steepled as if he’s praying.
I must be hallucinating.
The side of my face is sore, and I rub it, feeling the pattern
embedded from the couch arm. The sun brightens the room, giving me no idea how long I dozed off. I barely remember driving home.
“I missed you, Maddie.”
I missed you too. My heart speaks the words as my head fights it. It remains internal, privy to me and me alone.
“I’ve been doing nothing but thinking this weekend.”
I raise my lids higher, allowing more light inside, and suck in a breath so fast I nearly choke. Cain. Not Jake.
After almost smacking to the floor, I sit up, hugging the cushion to my lap. He glances over.
“No ring? You leaving me again, for good this time?”
Why do you even care? I just want him to go away so I can go back to sleep. I think a slew of things I don’t say: Have you blocked out everything from these past few months? The way you feel about me, I’m surprised you’re the one who hasn’t asked for a divorce yet.
“I’ve fucked up badly.” And then, he’s crying. He’s crying. He must’ve taken my silence as an affirmative.
No, Cain. Do not do this to me. I cannot deal with your tears right now.
His moods have been shifting so much I should’ve hung the wind chime on him. I’d get more movement. And I’m in no position to understand any of it. I shouldn’t even be here. I don’t know where I belong anymore.
I woke up this morning intent on walking away from my marriage. Should any of that change just because I also walked away from Jake?
He faces me and the room tilts. I close my eyes, but that only screws up my equilibrium more. “Whatever I need to do, I’ll do it. I can’t lose you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you, and I’ll spend the rest of my days making it up to you. Just please don’t leave.”
I can only think about Jake and all the promises that never came into fruition.
“I made an appointment with Dr. Swanson.”
That snaps my vocal cords to action. “Dr. Swanson?”
He nods. “Tomorrow afternoon.”
“Oh.” I try really hard to scream, “You didn’t care before! What makes you care now?” But I’m not sure I can handle the answer. “How’d you even remember her name?”
“Even if I didn’t want to hear it, I still listened. I did a lot of soul searching while you were gone. I made a mistake, made a great deal of them. I hurt the one person I love most in this world. I need to make things right again.”
I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to do this. At least his tears have subsided, but I can barely look in his eyes. I can’t cope with this side of him anymore. I want the anger back. I want the iron shield over my emotions to remain crack-free.
“Will you go with me?”
“I don’t know….”
“Please, Maddie.”
My chest is tight, constricting my heart. I place my hand over it, hoping the steady beat will reassure me. It doesn’t. It aches so badly for everything I lost.
I grip the couch, positive the room is spinning. This day has floored me, proving how out of control life can be. It’s a runaway ride I can’t get off without serious harm.
“Please,” he repeats. “Will you go?”
I inhale but not without difficulty. Breathing really sucks right now. A necessary pain in the ass. It feels like a shovelful of dirt was dumped on my face.
“I’ll go.”
How much longer until the next one drops? How much longer until I’m smothered?
I can’t stop thinking about you, Maddie. Right or wrong, it’s how I feel.
I scroll through past texts, wishing to God I didn’t feel the same. I may have walked away from my first love, but I didn’t let him go. Not in my heart where it counts.
My legs are tucked underneath me, my phone in my lap. Cain’s been in there over an hour. I should’ve been using this time to delete Jake’s texts, not read through them like an emotional-pain slut.
“Madison, can I talk to you a few minutes?”
I look up to Dr. Swanson standing in the doorway. “Uh, sure.” I stick my phone back into my purse and stand.
Cain comes out and gives me a warm smile. Instead of returning it, I look between the two of them, trying to get a clue as to what she wants with me.
I enter the room, and she shuts the door behind us, waving me to a chair. “Have a seat.”
I feel more at ease with it being just the two of us. Barely. “So, how’d it go?”
“I’m optimistic we’ll get to the bottom of what’s troubling your husband.” I can only nod, wondering how much longer he’ll be my husband. “Are you aware of anything traumatic that happened during Cain’s childhood?”
“Traumatic? No.” I scan through what I do know, and it’s a refreshing break from what’s been plaguing me the past twenty-four hours. “Well, his uncle died in the house, but Cain was sleeping at the time. And they weren’t very close. He was actually kind of a jerk from what I’ve heard. My friend used to think he haunted the place.”
“That might not be too far off the mark.”
My mouth gapes. Seriously? Not her too. “You’re telling me Cain’s possessed by his dead uncle?”
She chuckles. “Not exactly. I’m speaking more figuratively. From what Cain’s said and what you told me over the phone, I’m confident we’re dealing with some form of repressed memories.”
“Memories about what?”
“That’s what we need to figure out.”
“Okay, so you’re saying Cain was abused as a child and he blocked it out?” That’s what I think of when I hear “repressed memories.”
“It’s not always rooted in abuse, but I do believe it’s something that occurred in the house. Either as a onetime event or a series of them. That’s why the difficulties only began after you moved in, and why they lessen when he’s away from home.”
I scrub my hands over my face. “But I don’t get it. Cain lived there until he was eighteen. Why wouldn’t these childhood memories come out then, when he was a little older?” Or maybe they did. Maybe he woke up in the middle of the night to smash walls and yell at his aunt. I wouldn’t know.
“At this point, I don’t know, but the brain has its reasons for doing what it does. If it receives information that has extreme emotional distress attached to it, it’ll store it away. Its primary concern is to protect us from harm. Some memories are so dangerous to our well-being they’re locked away, never intended to be opened. Unless we stumble upon a connected circumstance, then it can act as a key. Which might have been the case when you came home to Cain sobbing after he found his toy truck.”
“The breakdown was connected to his truck?” I had no idea. And what did I do? Plunked it right down on the counter in front of him. Way to go, Maddie. But… “He saw it again the day after and didn’t freak out.”
“There’s not a set way to release stored trauma. It can happen a little at a time or as one instance, like a time travel to the past. Those tend to be much more detrimental since the senses think it’s happening in the present. It can feel like a vicious attack.”
“So, you can help him?”
“I’ll do everything possible. As long as he’s willing to dig deep through the discomfort, that’s the main thing. It’s important you continue encouraging him to work at it, and it’d be helpful to keep track of anything that may trigger a memory.”
“Dr. Swanson?” I pick at my nails, unsure how to say this.
“Call me Andrea.”
“Okay, Andrea. You should probably know that while I really want him to deal with this, I’m not sure how long I’ll be around. I don’t think I can stay and help. Too much has happened. I’ve been considering… divorce.”
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry. Cain told me everything. Anger is fairly common in these cases. It’s a coping mechanism, a way to stop a painful memory from releasing. It’s a symptom, not the disease itself.”
“It sounds like you’re telling me to suck it up and stay.”
“I’m not telling you to do anyth
ing, Madison. That’s your decision, and it’s not an easy one. But think of it as an illness, one that has a high success rate of being cured. Remove the cause and everything else will follow.”
An illness. That was the wrong thing to say.
For better or for worse. In sickness and in health.
I think of my mom and what she went through. How my father abandoned her when she needed him most. How he spiraled her into a deep depression, then walked away. I think of Rowan’s words: “You’re no better than your father.”
Another heap of dirt falls.
The crunch of stone underneath the tires alerts me that we’re on the property, reminding me I’m back where I don’t belong. I open my eyes. The house resembles a pale shell, all the blood leaching from it. It’s dying.
“Thank you for coming with me.” Cain finally speaks after granting me silence the entire drive. He touches his hand to mine, then quickly pulls away.
“You’re welcome.”
“I’m sorry for rejecting the idea when you first mentioned it. It went better than expected, helped me understand a lot of things. She suggested I visit my aunt. It might fill in some gaps. What do you think?”
I think I already suggested that a while ago and he blew me off. I think I’m torn between being relieved and resentful as fuck for him finally getting help, for bringing me back into this. I think I’m both proud and disappointed in myself for conceding the reins to obligation. Doing the honorable thing never made me feel like such a fraud.
I know I miss Jake, and that’s the most demoralizing feeling of all.
“I think that wouldn’t be the worst idea.”
We walk up to the house and onto the porch. “I was also thinking,” he says, keying open the front door. “It’s not right for you to sleep on the couch every night.”
“I don’t mind.”
“You need a bed. You can have the master. I’ll take one of the spare rooms.”
“The spare rooms are a mess. They don’t even have furniture. That’s why I’m not in one.”