This move still seems surreal in so many ways. Although this has been in the works for a few months, it’s like I’m having an out of body experience and all of this is really happening to someone else. I still can’t believe that all of this craziness is now my life. While I love my home town and can’t wait to see Pyper, since it has been a while, I have so many apprehensions about going back.
I didn’t ask to be cheated on, but I can’t help but feel like a failure. Thinking about returning home with my tail between my legs makes my stomach churn. I’ve been told my recurring feelings of inadequacy and defectiveness are all normal, and are not surprising, given the fact that my husband turned to another woman – likely several women. Excellent therapy has helped me to know the truth deep down, but sometimes that truth feels far removed.
Ok…repeat…what happened was not about my insufficiency, but about Deacon and his issues. He is accountable for his behavior. That is not something I should place on my shoulders. I may have ownership, but not for his actions. I didn’t do anything to warrant such behavior.
People say, of course, that a relationship takes two. And it does, but the fact is, I feel like the rug was pulled out from under me. Yes, the way Deacon behaved wasn’t always healthy, but it wasn’t like we fought a lot or argued about money or sex or careers or anything that should have mattered. But, what the hell was there to argue about? The man typically got his way. I avoided creating conflict, told myself that perhaps if he had what he wanted that he might change his behavior. And when that didn’t happen, I made up excuses and enabled him even more. Hoping, praying that it would change him, that he would inevitably behave differently. And why did I think I could change him? Why would I marry someone I wanted to change? How does one explain this to others?
What I dread most are the possible inquiries that could come my way. While many of my old friends moved away to go to college like I did, there are still a few that remained and I know at some point, I will run into them. Including, him, if he’s still there. I’m just not sure I can handle the judgmental looks, the insincerity wrapped in concern, the condemnation. I wish I didn’t care so much about what people think about me.
My therapist told me not to be so hard on myself. She reminded me that I’m emotionally vulnerable, everything feels intense right now. I’m being too harsh on myself and likely unable to appropriately interpret others – so it is silly to delve too deep into what I think others will think, and how and why it will likely bother me. How could anyone go through such an experience and feel any other way? I just need to remember these feelings are all part of this entire process. One thing I know for sure…there is no better friend than Pyper to help me get on the other side of this abyss.
Of course, I shouldn’t be surprised that I wasn’t able to leave my apartment without encountering one last piece of drama. My mind drifts to our last interaction. I was putting tape on the last packing box and making sure I had everything I needed in my overnight suitcase, when there was a knock on my apartment door. I felt a shiver of dread immediately run through me from head to toe. I knew who was on the other side of the door but I opened it anyway.
“How did I know it was going to be you Deacon?”
Given his personality, why would I expect anything less? Looking at him standing there, I still felt attraction and I hated it. After everything he put me through, the fact I still felt anything for this asshole is a mystery. He looked so dashing, standing there in his black dress pants and gray dress shirt, but considering my heart has been punched, crushed, stomped on and nearly eviscerated by him, the mere idea that a part of me still felt moved and alive just looking at him is infuriating. I know my reaction comes from my inner sex slut, because while my heartfelt stabs of pain, hurt, and intermittent rage, my libido stood up and gave him a lot more attention than he deserved. Stupid sexual urges. Granted, he doesn’t instill the same reaction in me that he used to, but the slight quickening of my pulse…the warmth in my panties…it was still there. Damn him.
“What are you doing here?” I spit.
Stalking into my apartment like he has every right to be there, looking around taking in the emptiness, his eyes met mine. “I’m here to tell you, again, that you are making a huge mistake and to give you one last opportunity to come to your senses. You’ve gone through with this divorce without any regard for how I feel, or the fact that I’ve told you over and over that my indiscretion was just a stupid mistake. Now you’re dumb enough to think you can go through with this stupid move. I’m telling you for the last time not to go.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if he was being serious. He’s fought me tooth and nail on our divorce, but I couldn’t have remained more resolute. Thank goodness the judge still granted the divorce despite all of his protests. He was unwilling to agree to an uncontested, irreconcilable difference-based divorce. Not guiltless, poor misunderstood Deacon. He was so confident he could stop the proceeding. Being required to go to court to hear his petitions and half-baked excuses and lies; not to mention having to relive my side of the story, was horrible-having to face the deceit and deception that had gone unknown for who knows how long. In the end, it was worth it, because it meant I could rid myself of a marriage I never should have entered. Hearing the sordid details bolstered by conviction. I refused to get caught in his melodrama. I lost myself once – never again. My libido may have been fooled by his good looks, but my heart and my head are not providing him access ever again.
“Excuse me, do you even hear yourself Deacon? I’m not about to go through this with you again, as we’ve been over this how many times already? Apparently you still aren’t getting it, so let me tell you one last time….we are officially divorced. Not married. Not a couple, not in a relationship. Not anything. Caput. Done. Over. That means you legally have absolutely no say in what I do, where I go, or how I live my life. You have no right to tell me anything. You have no jurisdiction here. I have no desire to hear your opinion, your thoughts, or desires. You have no influence, no impact, no…anything. Now leave. I don’t want you here, and you are not going to change my mind. Get out before I call the police and they make you get out.”
“Olivia, just listen to me. Please.”
Please. I was shocked, I admit it. I didn’t even know the word please was in his vocabulary. He typically just told me what to do. He never asked me to do anything. Never inquired about what I want, or what was best for me. What would please me. I recovered from the shock quickly, because it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. “No Deacon. I have nothing else to say to you. We are done. It is over. Now leave.”
Deacon walked toward me with a hard and menacing look on his face. He reached out and grabbed my shoulders hard, forcing me to look up into his eyes. “Ouch, Deacon. You’re hurting me. Stop!”
He didn’t let go, if anything his grip became firmer. “This is far from over, Olivia. It doesn’t matter how far away from me you run, princess. You can’t get rid of me that easily. I did not want the divorce, do not want this separation, and I know once you get the chance to think this over, you will realize that you don’t want a life without me either. If you need space, fine, I will give you some. For now.”
I’m stunned. Amazingly, my hands were not shaking with the unsteadiness and alarm, even near panic, that engulfed me. I don’t understand why he is making this so hard. I tried to shake his grasp off my shoulders but he didn’t budge.
“Hear me now Olivia, this isn’t over.”
“Are you threatening me, Deacon?” Infuriated, tears filled my eyes. It wasn’t only the physical pain that caused this hurt, but the continued dread and terror he can still invoke. I’m angry at myself for having a moment of pause and regret, for opening the stupid door, for all of it. I just want him to go, to be gone. I don’t want to waste any more tears or emotions on him. I promised myself right there, while looking in his intimidating, incensed eyes that, that would be the last time I cried over him.
Before he could answer there was
a knock at the door. “Olivia? It’s Mrs. Mooney from next door. Are you there honey?”
That time, when I pulled away from his grasp, he dropped his hands. I hastily turned to open the door for my neighbor, and so he could get the hell out. As he slipped by me, he whispered in my ear, “See you soon princess.”
The sound of Home by Philip Phillips loudly resonates through my car, snapping me back to the here and now and I shudder at the memory of Deacon’s last promise to me. Trying to brush off the disturbing feeling, I look down at my phone and I smile, seeing my best friend, the gorgeous, red-headed Pyper blowing me kisses in the picture, alerting me to her calls. I turn down my radio and happily answer her call. “Hey sexy lady!”
I hear her unrestrained laugh and it makes me smile. “Hey yourself, beautiful best friend of mine! I was just calling to make sure you got out on time and that your gorgeous ass is on its way home!”
She makes me laugh out loud. Her friendship and love is just the balm I need for my wounds. “My car is packed to the brim and I am already on my way. Homeward bound as we speak!”
“I’m so glad that you got off okay. I’m still angry that you wouldn’t let me fly out and make the drive with you, or let me ship your things so you could have jumped on a plane and been here already.”
“Pyper,” I sigh, “there was no need for you to do that. I’m more than capable of driving myself out there and the time to be, well, in transition and by myself, will be good for me.“
“It isn’t about being capable. You will have more than enough time to be by yourself while I’m at work. It’s about you letting me be there for you right now.”
“You will be…soon enough. And you are already doing plenty.”
Sighing at me so she knows I’m still aware of her displeasure, she decides to move the conversation along. “I am so excited to see you! I can’t wait for you to get here. I have so many things I want us to do. I can’t wait to get you all settled in and unpacked. The spare bedroom is all set and just waiting for you to make it your own. When you get here, I think we should start out with you visiting my spa, because I’m sure you are going to need a massage after that long drive.”
I can’t keep up with her; she is talking a mile a minute. I laugh and say, “Sure, a massage sounds great. I’m sure you’re right; I’m going to need it. I can’t wait to get there too. Thanks again for everything. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“Not another word. This is what friends do. And what you would do without me? Well, you will never have to find out.”
“Thank God for that.”
She laughs and asks, “How are you doing? Any problems before you left?”
I swear, it’s like she has a sixth sense about these things. Or maybe she just has Deacon’s personality down pat. I’m not sure if that makes her extremely intuitive, slightly scary, or a combination of the two. I don’t know how she does it, but I suppose that is one of the many reasons she’s my best friend. I don’t always have to say the words to her, she’s the other half of my brain, and she just knows. I proceed to tell her about Deacon’s last hurrah, how he basically tried to order me not to leave, and his comment that we aren’t over.
“Oh Olivia, I’m so sorry. What a jerk! Like you really needed one more round before you got out of there. Good thing is, you are on your way and you won’t have to deal with that anymore. You are coming back home where you belong and where you should have been all along. Just like we planned.”
I should have known she wouldn’t be able to resist slipping that in there. “I know. You are right, as always.” I smile.
“Don’t you forget it babe! Well, I’m going to let you go so you can concentrate on driving. Please call me if you have any trouble and call me when you take a break, and again when you stop for the night.”
“Okay, okay, calm down. I will call you, I promise.”
“Hey! I’m serious! You’d better. I want to know you are okay, alright? And Olivia, I really can’t wait to see you.”
“I can’t wait to see you too. I will call you soon. I promise. Love ya!”
“Love ya back, lady!”
When we hang up, my mind immediately goes back to the day Pyper and I first became friends. We were in the 2nd grade and assigned to the same class. Our teacher was Miss Montez, and bless her heart, she had the patience of a saint. One day, during recess, I was standing by the monkey bars, so excited to get on them because I had finally mastered swinging all the way across -a very huge deal when you are eight years old! I stepped up to the ladder and started to ascend to the step that would take me to the top rung, when Joey, a skinny kid with a severe booger problem, stepped in front of me, and exclaimed that I wasn’t allowed to get on the monkey bars because of the new rule that refused access to people with four eyes. It was my first day wearing the dark-rimmed, slightly cat-eyed glasses, and already being a bit nervous about my new look, felt the emotions I had suppressed all morning rising rapidly to the surface. Balling my hands into fists, tears gathering in my eyes and being too shy to speak or certainly to fight back, even to booger boy, I started to come back down the stairs. Suddenly, a red-headed spitfire, carrying all sixty or so pounds of herself, with authority that any child could see, marched up, kicked Joey in the shin, and told him to get lost! As Joey ran off crying to the teacher, Pyper turned to me without a care in the world, completely oblivious to the fact she was about to get yet another lecture on bullying, and said, “Well, go on; what are you waiting for?”
We’ve been inseparable ever since.
Pyper has been by my side through everything. First pimple, first bra, when I started my period, she started hers merely days after mine. We attended our first boy/girl party together and had our first kiss on the same night, in eighth grade when we played Spin The Bottle at a friend’s birthday party. She cheered me on when I took my driving test, and held my hand when I got my first eyebrow wax. She helped me get ready for my first date, giggled and swooned with me when I fell in love, and later, she was there for me to wipe my tears when that first love…the one I thought I would be with forever…broke my heart. Even after I moved away, and she opened Shimmer & Soothe, yet another gift from her Dad, after graduating from beauty school, she was still there for me. Always.
My parents are no different and I smile to myself thinking about them too. Now retired, as soon as they found out about Deacon and I divorcing, they told me I was more than welcome to move to Arizona and stay with them. But I just can’t do it. I need my independence and they also need theirs. I love them even more for offering me sanctuary and I know without a doubt they will always be available for–and supportive of me. I know how lucky I am, despite the fact that, at times, I feel like I’ve been nothing but a disappointment to them. Alright, perhaps that’s a bit dramatic, but still how I feel at times, nonetheless.
The only disappointing thing I did was marry quickly and had a wedding that they couldn’t attend. They supported my decision to go to Boston University, even though it was a last minute decision, having chosen not to attend journalism school at Loyola University in Chicago after months of planning. Getting your heart broken can change your plans quickly. It’s not like I settled for Boston. Both universities had always been my top two choices. While they were sad to see me go so far away, they understood my need to do so. They supported me all through school, even after I was married to Deacon and were confused and unsure about the decision I had made. While they would voice their concerns for me, and at rare times for our relationship, they never tried to run my life, and I love them for it. They are very happily married and their marriage has been a wonderful example to me of what it means to truly be soul mates. Given that, one might wonder why I made the Deacon mistake, but I think I was just so desperate to be loved again, that I jumped at the first guy – well, the first great looking guy - that showed me attention in college. Plus, I admit to being intrigued by the fact that he was a couple of years older than me. Not only was he good looking
, but he was an upper classman who was interested in me. At least, that’s what I think happened.
Even though my parents were concerned about the divorce and its impact on me, I think part of them couldn’t be more relieved. They met Deacon, of course, and he was always on his best behavior while they were around, but I think they had a feeling that things were not exactly as they appeared and that I wasn’t as happy as either they had hoped me to be or I had wanted to be.
Fortunately, as a journalist, I can work from anywhere, so relocating was a non-issue, as far as my job was concerned. I have a few style magazines that consistently print my fashion articles, and another one that has a “What’s Hot Now?” column to which I regularly contribute. I love my work, and it pays me well, which is crazy considering it started out as a crazy fluke. I’ve always wanted to be a journalist, but my success came quickly after I started a fashion blog for an assignment, and to my surprise, it completely took off. Hundreds of followers on my blog quickly became thousands, and to my utter astonishment, hundreds of thousands. As if that wasn’t crazy enough, businesses started contacting me about advertising opportunities. Then, magazines contacted me about interning for their companies and asking me to write articles for them based on my blog style. I couldn’t believe my good luck. To this day, I have no idea how my blog, “Pink Sugar Couture” became so popular, but it has been an amazing ride so far, and I love the flexibility freelance writing provides. One of the best parts is that I constantly get sent up-and-coming products or clothing to try out, in the hopes that I will feature them in my articles. It’s a definite bonus, even if I had to donate a lot of those awesome items before I left Boston so I could fit everything in my car. While I love writing, fashion is a second love, so being able to combine the two is complete nirvana. I am currently working on an article titled “What trend did you follow that you wish you hadn’t? Tell me about your fashion embarrassments!” We’ve all been there! What’s not to love about this so-called job?
Pretty Little Lies Page 2