40 Something - Safety

by Shannon Peel

I imagine I am alone in the suite. Cleaning up when Craig bursts in through the door, crazed anger on his face. He screams in my face asking where Sophie is.

  “I don’t know.” I say.

  He grabs me by the throat shoves me against the wall. I try to pry his fingers from my throat. I can feel them now, tightening, stopping my airway. Panic. I want to scream. I can’t there is no air. I feel his other hand ripping at my shirt feeling for my breast and when he finds it he twists it hard, leans in and whispers in my ear.

  “Where is my wife, you fucking whore.”

  I shake my head. I shrug. I pull at his fingers on my neck. I’m going to die here alone.

  “I’ll show you what I do to whores who don’t tell me what I want to know.”

  His free hand is ripping off my skirt. I hear the material give and can feel it fall to the floor. He’s going to rape me. I know this with every part of my being. Fear swells deep inside me bringing panic along with it. I’m pulling desperately at his fingers at my throat, kicking him and trying to squirm out of his grip. I’m failing and his grip on my neck tightens.

  “Unhand my wife.” I can hear Gary saying.

  Craig turns and I can see Gary standing there his fists balled up, his eyes full of rage. I’m saved. Gary grabs the man, pulls him off of me and then punches him in the face.

  “I’m going to kill you for touching my wife. She’s my woman. Mine.”

  His voice is filled with anger and hatred. He’s beating the man. I am balled up on the floor crying and trying to cover myself with what’s left of my clothes. I watch Gary defend my honour. He throws the broken man out the door, locking it and Craig outside.

  Gary has grabbed a blanket from somewhere, it doesn’t matter where, he wraps me in it, covering my nakedness. I gaze into his eyes and see only concern, tenderness and heat inside those orbs. He lifts me up, bringing my face to his and I kiss him. I can feel the rage bubbling inside him, below the surface, making his kisses hard. He bites my lip. I scream out and he kisses me harder.

  He throws me on the bed, pulls at what is left of my clothes.

  “The only one who is going to rape you, is me.” He says.

  “You can’t rape the willing.” I reply.

  He grabs my hair pulls my head back, exposing my neck.

  “That man will pay for these marks on your neck.”

  He kisses my neck with such tenderness I shutter. The force of his hand in my hair pulling it, exposing my neck to him and the gentleness of his lips on my skin, fuels a fire so deep inside me I am hot to the touch. I can’t breathe, this time passion has me by the throat and I want it to suffocate me. I need it. I crave it.

  “You are mine. No one else’s.” His voice is full of power, command.

  “Yes. I’m yours. All yours.”

  The fingers of his other hand lightly caress my body, finding their way expertly to the sensitive, ticklish spots driving the waves of desire up, up, up, until they crash over me and I’m screaming for him to take me, to touch me. To touch the furnace that rages inside me.

  Footsteps.

  Door opens.

  I freeze and then remove my fingers from my wet heat. Shame washes over me and I pull the covers up over my neck to my chin.

  “Hey hun. Sorry I didn’t mean to wake you.” He says.

  “Ah. Not asleep.”

  “I can’t believe Sophie was with that guy. I’m glad we could help her.”

  “Mmmm hmmm.”

  “I don’t understand how men can treat women like possessions. It’s not right.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “I can’t imagine treating you like that.”

  I watch him get undressed. His body is softer and a bit chubbier than it was ten years ago. The hairs on his chest are beginning to go grey, like the hairs at his temples.

  “I know.”

  I wish he would objectify me and be a bit more possessive. It wouldn’t hurt to know that he wants to protect me, to know that I am his in every sense of the word. That he wants all of me. That he desires me, needs me. Thinks I’m beautiful, sexy.

  “You know that Lindsay is a tough lady. Her exes have taken her kids away from her. Can you imagine? Having the kids taken away from you?”

  “No. You’d never do that.”

  “Never. I’d never hurt you.”

  He is handsome and I can see why so many women want to get their hands on him. Suddenly, I can’t wait to get my hands on him. I spring up from underneath the covers and pull him close to me, kissing his chest, touching his back.

  “Wow. Ah. What’s got you so worked up? Wait a sec OK. Just wait. I’ll be right back. Keep that thought though.”

  He goes into the bathroom and I lie down on the bed trying to look as sexy as I possibly can. He comes out after what seems forever, but the alarm clock says only 15 minutes have gone by. What the hell does a guy do in the bathroom for 15 minutes? Especially, when his wife is in the bed all hot to trot.

  I wait as his body moves towards mine. He kisses me. I kiss him back, trying to put all my feeling into it. He kisses me. A normal kiss. Nothing passionate about it. His hands wonder down my body, missing every spot. He’s not really touching me. It feels more like he’s just going through the motions to get the spot between my legs with his rough fingers. He isn’t interested in touching me, exploring me, building up my need.

  Then he’s on top of me. Inside me. Moving, breathing in my ear, heavier breaths, he’s getting hornier. The sound of it makes my skin crawl and I want him to finish up. He moves his hips up and down until it’s over and he rolls off.

  “Thanks hun I needed that.”

  I roll over onto my side, thinking yeah I needed something too. I lie here, hoping that he will hold me, bring me to him, protect me, and make me feel safe. That sounds wrong, I feel safe. I feel safe in bed next to my husband who will never hurt me. It’s not that kind of safe.

  I’ve read in a few novels about the character feeling safe in her man’s arms. Safe to open up to him and give all of herself to him. Safe to tell him what she needs, wants, desires. Safe from judgement. Even the dark secrets and pain she carries inside. I want to feel that. I want to feel something, some kind of spark.

  “Gary what if Craig had hurt me today?”

  His answer is a snore. I roll over. He’s fallen asleep on his back. I can’t sleep with his snoring in my ear. I get up. I’ll just go sleep in the guest room. I jump into the shower. I get dressed into some pajamas, light on, not even trying to be quiet.

  He sleeps through it all, snoring.

  Glad I could be of service.

  Charlie

  I pour a cup of coffee and put some bread in the toaster.

  At least today is starting off better than yesterday.

  After I’d left Mr. Jenner’s office I collected the Granger files, asked Kari to make an appointment with Mrs. Granger, and to call me when Sophie’s restraining order was served to her piece of crap ex. I then rushed to the school picked up Davie.

  He just needed some sleep. Once he’d had a couple hours, he was bouncing off the walls driving me nuts with demands and requests to go do something. Why don’t kids understand that work is important. I want Davie to get that. To know that working hard and staying focused on a goal will make him successful in life. I want him to understand that women work and men need to step up and help out.

  It’s not like when I was a kid and my mom stayed home taking care of us while my dad was at work. She took care of the house and he took care of the money. She was responsible for the kids and the housework. He was responsible for filling the bank account and the yard work. They had a system that generations before them had put into place and defined. We don’t.

  We really are the ones who ended up having to figure out what it meant to have it all, a career, a marriage, and children. We are a generation that doesn’t know what it means to be a woman and a man. Gender roles changed from the time I was born ‘til I got married. Now we are trying to teach are kids
and everyone has a different definition.

  Before we got married, David told me he was all for equality and women’s rights. Yeah, until he had to do housework and change diapers, then he was suddenly old fashioned. He wanted the wife with the amazing career bringing in the big bucks, who took care of the kids, took care of the house, and took care of him. I couldn’t do it all.

  I was too tired.

  I hired help, a nanny, a house cleaning service, and a lot of take out. Which made David complain about not having real meals like his mother used to make. So, when I could, I made dinner, cleaned it up while he played with Davie, then I got Davie ready for bed. I was too tired for anything else. I’d fall asleep before David got his pants off.

  Justine has it good. Gary does stuff with the kids. Cleans the house. Cooks. He helps out. They work together. Thinking of Gary makes my stomach flip. I can’t help it. I know I can never have him. I know he never would love me. I know in my head that it’s impossible. Still, in my heart, I hold onto some insane hope. Hope that he’ll leave Justine and fall madly in love with me. I fucking hate hope. It only brings disappointment in it’s wake.

  “Mom. You’re out of milk.”

  “Right. Sorry Davie. I meant to pick some up yesterday on the way home from aunty Rose’s.”

  “What’s for breakfast?”

  “Toast. Oatmeal. Coffee.”

  “Toast I guess.”

  Right then my toast popped.

  “You can have mine. There should be some peanut butter in the cupboard.”

  I sip on my coffee while making a list of things that I need to do today. The Granger case needs my immediate attention. The meeting with Doug can wait until I figure out what Shelly knows and I’ve met with the forensic accountant.

  Doug. What am I going to do about him? I really don’t want to work with that ambitious, womanizing jerk. Just being around him reminds me that I’m not pretty. I don’t like Doug. I don’t want to date him. He is a player. Shallow. It’s just. Damn. Good looking men never notice me. God. What’s wrong with me? A hollow pain inside grows. The pain of loneliness that is my constant companion, and it hurts.

  “Hey mom. What about my lunch?”

  Shit. I don’t have anything to make for lunch. The kid can’t take peanut butter to class because one of his classmates will fall dead. I open the fridge, not much there. I pull out a pudding cup, an applesauce cup and a bell pepper. I find a protein bar in the cupboard and a couple chocolate chip cookies. I can’t believe I left 2 cookies uneaten in the bag. I put it all in a plastic grocery bag.

  “Mom you know that I get in trouble for all the packaging and junk food.”

  “Bell peppers are healthy and we’re reusing the bag, should be points for that.”

  His teacher decided that the class needed a smaller environmental footprint or some such bullshit. She even made a game of it. The kids get points for bringing lunches that have zero garbage packaging and points if it’s healthy. They lose points when they bring a lunch like the one I just packed for him. She’s even gone so far as to send me a few notes to inform me that Davie needs healthier lunches and what packaging is appropriate.

  How about she makes the kid’s lunch if it’s so damn important.

  “You’re supposed to use reusable grocery bags when you shop, not plastic ones.”

  Like I can ever remember to bring the countless fabric bags I’ve bought when I go shopping. Isn’t that a great sales gimmick, sell us fabric bags and if we forget to bring them then they charge us for the plastic ones. There is no value added anymore. Not even grocery bags.

  “Whose the one who forgot his lunch bag and containers at school and still hasn’t brought them home?”

  “Me.”

  “Exactly. We’ll get healthy food tonight and another lunch bag with plastic re-useable containers. That way if you forget it, we have a spare. Does that work?” He nods.

  I sit back down and my coffee is cold. Great. I dump it and pour myself another mug. Back to my list, now where was I?

  Sophie.

  Should probably check up with Lindsay to find out how the two of them are getting along. We need to figure out where Sophie will go from here. We need a plan. I need to light a fire under the server and find out what the hold up is. Craig should have had the restraining order served to him before he was released. I knew he’d bee line it for Sophie once he was out.

  I got an earful last night from my mother about how I dragged my sister into this mess I tried to remind her that Sophie was Rose’s friend and I was the one being dragged into help. She didn’t buy that argument. It’s all my fault the Rose feels unsafe. Of course it is.

  “I forgot my science project at dad’s can we stop by there before school?” My son asks.

  “We don’t have time.”

  “It’s due today.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this last night?”

  “I forgot ‘til now.”

  “Well you’ll have to go get it after school or text your dad and see if he can drop it off.”

  If I was Rose I’d be driving to get it. If I was my mom I’d have had it all set out ready to go the next day. If I was the perfect mother, I’d have know he had a science project and that it was due today. I’m not Rose. I’m not my mother. I’m not perfect. How can I be? How can any career woman be both successful at work and the perfect mother? How do other women do it?

  “Maybe Debbie will drop it off.”

  “DAVIE. What did I tell you about saying that woman’s name in my house?”

  I can feel the sudden anger take control of me. Her name is like a knife, cutting at my very soul. It isn’t fair. She took everything from me. I hate her. I hate everything about that woman.

  “Ah. Sorry mom. Didn’t think.”

  “Of course you didn’t. How could you? I’m just the mom after all. I mean what do my feelings matter?”

  “Mom. I’m sorry.”

  I look at my son. I know he didn’t do it on purpose, it had slipped, how could it not? He lives with her half the time. She’s been his other mom for five years. Something sharp cuts me deeper and a hot pain radiates from it. I know it’s not Davie’s fault. It just hurts so damn much knowing that my son has another mother. A woman who stole my husband’s affections. A woman who moved into my life, seamlessly. A woman who seems to be able to do a better job of it than I ever did. It’s not Davie’s fault. It’s hers and that cheating piece of crap I call an ex-husband.

  “No Davie. I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t really like her.”

  I smile. I know he’s lying. At least he tries.

  Justine

  The house is a mess.

  I'm not exaggerating.

  There are piles of dirt up against the walls on the floor, food, dust, dirt. The kitchen is piled up with dishes and there is no food in the kitchen. I have laundry in various stages piled around me. It's been weeks since I really cleaned.

  I look at the piles of crap on the counter, on the desk, in the living room, family room and do you know what, I don't care. I just don't.

  Instead of cleaning and sorting through the mess I'm working. I create content. I market my client’s businesses to increase the traffic to their websites, so they can make money. I am a lead generator. It challenges me. It uses my mind. I have to analyze data. Figure out how people interact with content. I have to virtually engage others on my client's behalf. This all takes time. Lots and lots of time.

  I get lost in the work.

  You know how people have junk drawers? Well I have a junk room. When someone is coming over for a visit I'll run around the house at full speed, completely stressed out, in a panic of epic proportions. I'll grab everything that's lying around and throw it into the junk room, then I'll shut the door. Once that's done I'll do a quick superficial clean, so the house looks perfect. It's not. If someone looked close enough they'd see the dust, the dirt, the grim.

  My mother looks close and I've stopped even trying to get
the house perfect for her visits, she is coming over tomorrow and will yell at me. How could I live like this?

  "This is how your aunt Meridith started out, with a house cluttered and messy like yours. Now her place is so bad that she has stuff piled everywhere, there is no room in her house, no one will visit."

  My aunt Meridith is a first class hoarder, I don't think she's ever thrown out anything. I don't know how she got so bad, mom seems to think she's just lazy because there is no reason for it. I'm not so sure. There has to be more to why people end up like that. A deep sadness? Loneliness? Self hatred? A hole so deep that only stuff can fill it?

  I don't have stuff. I don't shop. I work.

  My mom will come tomorrow, muttering about this and that. She will start cleaning and I'll start feeling guilty because I didn't get it done. I will feel inadequate because I chose to work instead of clean the house. I will feel like a bad wife, a bad mother, a bad daughter.

  I will feel like the failure that I am. All because I couldn't keep the place clean.

  How does one keep a house perfect with a family running it amuck? When I do clean up, two minutes later the kids have gone through it and the place is a disaster again. What was the point? Where is the data that shows me I'm doing something right? The proof showing me that I'm getting somewhere? That each brick I put into place is building something?

  I have two kids. Do you think they can help out? Clean their rooms? Change over the dishwasher? Pick up their toys? Nope. No way. No how. They just add to the mess. When they make a mess after I clean, why bother?

  I give them a list of chores. When I raise my head up out of my work I yell at them to get it done. They never do. The place stays a disaster and I somehow just don't care enough to make them do it. How does one make a preteen and teenager do anything? When they were little I'd say do this, they'd either do it or went on time out. Now what?

  Friends and family tell me to take their phones away, their video games, anything they value. I just don't care enough to do it. I mean really. Is having a clean house so important that I have to punish them for not doing it?