I fill up a mug, dunking a bag of cinnamon spice into the steaming liquid. I walk over to the patio, and the falling snow outside mesmerizes me. The yellow streetlight glowing in a bulb right outside our patio is almost eerie, but I find it beautiful, quiet, serene. It illuminates the snow, and I find myself walking out onto the patio to be closer.
The light shines brighter, and I’m suddenly drawn to it. I set my tea down on the banister. It’s freezing out, but I’m not cold. I look up and smile as the snow falls on my face. I stick out my tongue and twirl around—air this cold is so clean. It feels so good to be back in snow. I swear, most people are water, earth, or fire—but I’m snow. Down to my very bones, I am snow.
The dizziness comes back, worse this time, and I grip the banister tightly so I don’t fall over. I grab the mug, and it no longer feels hot—I can’t feel boiling water. I can’t feel snow.
This life is slipping away from me, one sense at a time. The first one to go is touch.
I go back inside, latching the door behind me. What will happen to Sebastian when I go? To Emma? To our house? To the baby? I bring the mug up to my nose and inhale.
Nothing. My sense of smell is gone. That’s two.
I set the mug down and make my way into the bedroom, fumbling around. Sebastian doesn’t stir, but I don’t want to miss any more of him while he’s still here.
I take all of my clothes off and crawl into bed with him, but I can’t feel him, can’t smell him. He stirs, ever so slightly, and the rustle of the sheets doesn’t meet my ears.
Hearing—gone.
I whimper, but I can’t hear myself. I hold on to Sebastian, though I can’t feel him.
I bite my tongue—I don’t taste blood. I don’t taste saliva. All senses but sight are gone.
This might just be the strangest and most heartbreaking thing that’s ever happened to me.
I don’t close my eyes, for I want to prolong this for as long as I can—the sight of Sebastian’s back, the caramel color of his skin, the small mole in the center of his back. The tufts of brown hair curled at the base of his neck, the muscles of his shoulder, the sharp angle of his elbow. I can’t taste him, smell him, touch him, or hear him, but I study that back for what seems like hours. I’ve memorized it.
And then, eventually, my sight slips away into nothingness.
Chapter Twelve
YESTERDAY
I probably shouldn’t be teaching a class titled “Relaxation Flow,” since relaxed is the last thing I feel, but they needed a teacher last minute. Gwen is sick, which is code for hungover. I try to act nonchalant as the man from earlier this week sits front row center, watching my every move like a good, diligent student. I hate myself already when his smirk causes me to blush, and I’m grateful that the nighttime yoga class is dimly lit.
“All right, when you’re in this position, you need to be sure your back is arched completely.” I’m on all fours, a compromising position, and I feel my body heat under his stare. Why am I having this reaction?
“Like this?” he asks, watching me raptly.
“Very good.” I look away, and too soon, class is over. I guide them through a quick sun salutation and then a tadasana. “Namaste,” I chant peacefully.
“Namaste,” the guy says, directly to me.
I quickly turn and walk towards the door. It’s a small class today, and I don’t want to be stuck with Mr. Flirt.
“Hey, Marlin?” he calls, jogging over to me. “I’m Nate.”
“Hi, Nate.” I grab my purse from the locker by the door, not even bothering to slip on my sandals.
“I was wondering, if you’re free, do you want to grab a cup of coffee?” I turn towards him, and he looks so hopeful. I’m sure he’ll be crestfallen when I decline. Just as I’m about to utter an apology, he continues. “I know you said you have a boyfriend,” he says cautiously. “It’s just a cup of coffee. That’s all. I promise.”
I laugh. “Why? Why me?”
“You’re interesting,” he says, shrugging. He looks down at his shoes and shoves his hands in his pockets. I remember Dr. Kostas’s words from yesterday. Do one thing every day that scares you.
“Okay. One coffee. Thirty minutes. I can guarantee you won’t find me the least bit interesting afterwards.”
He nods, and we leave the studio. I don’t glance back at Sia. I’m sure her eyebrows are as tall as mountains, and I’m sure she’ll want every detail tomorrow. Except there won’t be any juicy details. There can’t be.
“What about Peet’s? It’s just down the street. I can drive you, and then I’ll take you back to your car.”
I shrug. “Sure. Sounds good. Anything but Starbucks.”
He laughs, though I’m not sure why. Everyone hates Starbucks now—being anti-Starbucks is not unique or trendy. I follow him to a generic-looking silver Honda. He comes around and opens my door for me, and all of a sudden I’m worried about smelling like sweat. Teaching a flow class is harder than taking a flow class. There’s a reason yoga-teacher training is so intense—you have to do the poses perfectly, and you have to speak while you do them. This leads to a countless number of sweaty clothes, and when Nate closes the door and walks around to his side, a sneak a sniff under my arms.
Thank god for deodorant.
Besides, it doesn’t matter how I smell. We’re just two yogis getting coffee.
“Lived here long?” Nate asks as he starts the car. I’m surprised to see him shift. You almost never see anyone driving manual around here.
“Um, five years,” I say. “I grew up in Wyoming and went to San Diego State College. Then my boyfriend and I moved here. He grew up in Newport.”
Nate lets out a low whistle. “Ah, Newport.” He looks at me, and his face gives everything away. He laughs, and so do I. Everyone knows the types of people who are “from Newport.”
“No, but in all seriousness, Charlie is great.” I want to make that very clear.
“I’m sure he is.”
I change the subject. “What about you?”
Nate hesitates, and he strokes his chin thoughtfully. I’m aware, by studying his profile, that he’s very conventionally handsome. He looks like a young Ashton Kutcher, which I can appreciate.
Ugh. I will not be appreciating anything tonight, Marlin.
“I’ve lived here for three months. Company transfer,” he says, giving me a wink. I wonder what he does. “I lived in San Francisco for the last ten years. Grew up in Central California.”
“I love San Francisco,” I say wistfully. I visited once with Charlie, and I fell in love with the hilly streets and all of the Japanese cherry trees.
“You should go back. I always tell people they could live there for ten years and not see everything the city has to offer.”
“I should go back,” I agree.
Nate doesn’t say anything else on our short drive over to Peet’s Coffee. The whole way, I wonder what the hell I’m doing. Am I cheating? Is this what it’s like to cheat? No, I don’t think so. Nate and I are acquaintances. Friends, even. When we pull up to the fake Spanish promenade, Nate parks and comes around to open my door. Do men open doors for friends? I’m not sure. I don’t have any male friends. Well, other than Stuart, but I’d hardly call him a friend. Especially not after the other night.
We walk inside and both order decaf coffees with milk. Even though it’s dark, Nate suggests we sit outside. I’m glad I’m wearing a sweater. We chat for a few minutes, and I’m surprised to find myself relaxing, little by little. My guard is down, and it feels nice to be connecting with another human being. I can’t remember the last time I had a meaningful conversation.
“Do you want kids?” Nate asks, and though our questions have gotten more and more forward, this throws me off. Up until recently, I was sure I never wanted kids. But over the last few months, which, ironically, have been some of the worst months of my life, I’ve had that classic yearning to become a mother.
“I think so,” I say carefully, looking
down at the table. “And not for the usual narcissistic or obligatory reasons. I have this dream sometimes, where I have two kids running around, and the house is messy and my hair is greasy, and it seems like such chaos. But then I close my eyes, and I’m happy. I’m not saying having kids will make me happy automatically, but raising decent children has become a high priority for me. The world needs more decent people, so I think it’s a win-win.”
“You don’t think the world has enough children?” Nate asks, and though his question could be insulting, I know he’s coming from a place of inquisitiveness.
“Of course the world has enough children. Of course adoption should be considered whenever possible. In fact, I would love to adopt. But it’s not a good enough reason for me not to have children,” I finish, and I sip the last of my coffee.
“Whoa, our conversation got pretty serious, pretty fast,” Nate says, laughing and finishing his cup of coffee as well. “You’re easy to talk to, Marlin.”
“Thanks. You are too.” I look up at him, and he’s watching me, his face a mix of confusion and awe.
“I know this is forward, but would you want to come back to my apartment?”
My head screams no. Of course that would be wrong. Charlie is expecting me; in fact, he’s probably wondering where I am right now. I will stay loyal. I have to. If I lose my fidelity, I lose everything.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say, giving him a stern look. He’s teasing me, testing the water, wondering if I’ll be unfaithful.
“Okay,” he says, his voice disappointed. “I understand. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Maybe we can stay friends,” I suggest, and he smiles.
“I’d like that.”
It’s raining again. We drive back to my car in awkward silence. When he pulls up next to it, he doesn’t look at me. Instead, he looks at his hand, which is placed on his steering wheel. I can tell he wants to say something. He opens his mouth and inhales, only to close it again. Finally, he faces me.
“Look, I’m not going to mask my intentions here. I like you. I like you more than a friend. I know you’re happy with your boyfriend, but something about you is compelling. You fascinate me. I only wish you weren’t already taken.”
I blush at his words. In all of the seven years I’ve been dating Charlie, no guy has ever been that forward with me. A very small part of me wants to scream, I’m not happy! But I have integrity, and integrity means I will stay faithful, even if my body doesn’t want to. If nothing else, I’m flattered.
“Thank you,” I say quietly as the rain pounds on the windshield. It’s disturbingly romantic, being in here with a handsome man, feeling things, knowing he thinks I’m beautiful. Knowing he’s different. Knowing he would cherish me, just like Henry from the bar. Just as I turn to say goodbye, he leans in.
I have about two seconds to decide what to do. I can pull away and leave, or I can meet him halfway and kiss another man.
I choose the latter.
Our lips touch, and I immediately feel guilty. I know I’m only doing this because I’m curious about how it will feel, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. The fire in my belly starts to burn, and I pull away. I’m breathing heavily, and I look down, avoiding his gaze. His green eyes are so enrapturing. I can’t be swindled into repeating my offense.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” I say, and then I exit the car. I get into my car, and the rain pelts my car from above. Once my door is closed, I look over at Nate. He’s watching me, his beautiful eyes sad, and then he reverses.
He’s gone.
I’m left alone with my guilt. And it suffocates me. I get sick into a spare plastic bag I keep for sweaty yoga clothes.
*
I fidget with my hands, idling in front of our townhouse. I have to tell Charlie. I have to be honest. Healthy relationships are built on honesty. It’s still raining, and I can’t tell if Charlie is home or not. I slowly get out of my car, not caring if my hair gets wet from the downpour. If I thought I hit rock bottom yesterday, today I feel like I’m in the center of the earth. I can’t possibly feel any lower.
I unlock the door, calling out for Charlie. He answers from the living room. Football and beer: I should’ve known.
“Hi,” I say, my voice morose. He turns around.
“Hey baby, what’s wrong?” I want him to hug me. I need human contact right now. I need to feel his warm skin against mine. But he stays put. He probably thinks I’m on my period or something. That’s always his first question.
I don’t want to skirt around it. I need to tell him. “I kissed someone.” His body goes rigid, and a small thread of fear works its way into me, starting in my belly and sliding down my legs. I can’t see his face right now—his back is to me—but I can tell what I just admitted did not please him from the stiffness of his back.
“You kissed someone?” he hisses, standing and turning to me. I’m thankful that there’s a couch between us. “Explain.” He slams his beer down on the coffee table. I wonder how many he’s had.
“A student. He’s been asking me out after every class, and today I decided to get coffee with him. Afterwards, he kissed me.” I shrug my shoulders. “Nothing else happened. I just wanted to let you know.” I turn and start to head up the stairs, but Charlie is by my side in half a second. He grips my upper arm and spins me back around. His face is red, and I wait for it.
“I want to hit you so bad right now,” he growls. His face contorts, and then it softens. He lets my arm go, and I feel my lip trembling. The thing is, he’s never actually hit me. He threatens to sometimes, and every once in awhile, he’ll roughly grab me, but he’s never actually hit me.
“I’d deserve it,” I whisper.
“Yes, you would,” he agrees, glaring at me. He rubs his lips with his fat fingers, and I can’t help but start to cry. “I thought we had a deal.”
I cry harder. “I know. We did—we do.”
“Repeat it to me.”
“You’ll pay for everything. You’ll give me a good life.”
“And?”
“And… I just have to promise to stay faithful. I have to promise to stay with you.”
“I would die without you,” he says, sighing heavily and looking at me.
I feel the familiar sting of shame. He needs me. “I know.”
“I give you everything, Marlin. And what do I get in return?”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Go take a bath. You stink,” he says, walking past me to the kitchen. I hover between wanting to cry and wanting to walk out the front door.
I’ve considered it, much more this past week than any other. But he’s right. He’s the reason I don’t need a real job. He’s the reason I have nice things. He’s the reason I have even a miniscule speck of happiness. If I were alone, I’d be worse off. He’d be worse off. He’s made that very clear.
I’m stuck, and I think that’s the most terrifying thought I’ve had all night.
I take my clothes off and start to run the bath. I hear Charlie banging around, and every noise makes me flinch, because I know he’d rather be inflicting pain on me. The water fills quickly, and I watch it for a while before shutting it off.
It’s too hot at first, but then my skin turns pink and I get used to it, like I do everything. I’m strong, right? I stick it out because he needs me, and I think I need him. Besides, every once in a while, I’m reminded of why I fell in love with Charlie. Tonight is just an anomaly.
I clean my body and put my head under the water to rinse my hair. When I emerge, I hear Charlie coming up the stairs. A flicker of fear passes over me, but then I shake it off. He would never hurt me. I’m being ridiculous. I pull my legs into my chest and brace myself.
He slowly opens the door, and when he sees me, his face grimaces. “You betrayed me,” he says simply. He starts to pace. “I’ve honestly never wanted to hit you more than tonight.”
“Then do it,” I say quietly. I stand,
the water splashing all around me. I’m facing him, totally vulnerable, totally bare, totally stripped of any and all emotion. I feel nothing and everything all at once.
“Sit the fuck back down, Marlin,” Charlie snarls. His eyes scan my body. “I can’t believe another man touched you. You’re tainted now. Tarnished. Ruined.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I screech. “Hit me. Just do it, Charlie!” I feel the tears run down my face. My breathing is heavy and labored.
He takes a step forward and pulls his hand back, readying himself. “I just want you to know how you’re making me feel,” he whispers, and then his hand flies forward, smacking me on the cheek.
I cry out and stagger backwards, splashing water onto the floor, clutching the place where his hand made contact with my skin. The tears come quicker now, and I see one of them drop into the pool of water in the bath.
“You’re disgusting to me right now,” he says under his breath. His cruelty shocks me. This whole incident really sent him over the edge. “I’m going downstairs. I can’t look at you anymore, knowing another man’s lips were on yours. After everything I’ve done for you…” He leaves the bathroom, and I’m left standing, my hand on my cheek, my breathing tortured.
Never mind what I said earlier—this is rock bottom.
I sit down and sob into my knees. I feel restless. The pain is too much, and I need to do something about it. I need to feel numb. I need to feel nothing. I reach over to the small inlet where I store my razor, the one I use on my legs and armpits, and occasionally my wrists. How did I get here? I suppose it doesn’t matter. There’s only one way out.
I finger the razor, and I feel overwhelming, unbearable, emotional pain. I’ve heard people say that when they end their lives, it’s methodical, numb, unfeeling, and systematic. No one commits suicide in the throes of emotional pain. I want to feel nothing, but I feel everything. I slide the razor up, fileting my flesh, vertical instead of horizontal. Blood spurts out, pulsing. My mind is racing, yet I slice methodically. It’s instantaneous relief. I draw another line. More blood. The water around me starts to turn pink. And then red. I don’t care. I can feel everything draining out of me. My feelings, my blood, my life…
The Realm of You: A Novel Page 10