“Because -” I said, and for the first time, I actually let it sink in. “You’re not unhappy. I am.”
The jeep sat on that dark, wooded road like some quiet Golem waiting for passersby.
Stellan stared at the radio, quiet. “I’m going to say something, dove, and I need you to promise me you won’t get upset.”
My chest tightened. ‘Faye, we can’t be friends anymore - I’m moving to Argentina, Faye – Faye, I hate your haircut; it looks stupid.’ I didn’t know what he was going to say, but his tone scared me so completely that I was almost willing to suffer the curiosity and never hear it.
“Okay,” I said, finally.
“You weren’t happy before, either.”
If words can hit like a right hook, these were the ones to do it.
My mind raced toward immediate defense, but he wasn’t done.
“When you were ‘the most successful woman in your graduating class,’ I never saw you. No one saw you. Then if I got lucky, you were exhausted and frustrated, complaining about one thing or another. You were miserable.” He paused. “And you dressed like a yuppy, which was the worst part, really.”
“Hey -” I said and realized my steam was gone. “- I dressed like a yuppy?”
“When you were all traumatized over losing your job, it was the hardest thing in the world to pretend I wasn’t happy. Yeah, I was happy that I’d get to see you for a change, but I was elated you were out of there.”
“It was a paycheck. I was successful, I was good at it -”
Stellan leaned back in his chair, propping his hands behind his head. He looked up at the roof, his face serene. “There’s a difference between being successful and being -”
He faltered a moment, and I pounced.
“Being what, oh all-knowing Guru?”
“Prosperous? I don’t know. I just don’t think success is what brings you peace when you’re on your death bed, babe. I’m just saying.”
I had trouble arguing this point, but it reminded me of the other piece of my puzzle that I’d recently lost. “No, but I thought I had that other part handled, too.”
Stellan breathed in softly, and I could hear the apology. Yet, he didn’t hide from the conversation.
“That’s another thing I haven’t really said.”
I waited, scared.
He shot me a sideways look, giving a sheepish eyebrow raise. “Good riddance.”
I bristled. “Why do you say that?”
“He was a douche bag from jump street, babe.”
“Don’t say that.” My tone was low and warning, but Stellan blew right through it like a fugitive heading for the border.
“No, let’s be real here, shall we? You’ve been with him since you lost your job, yeah?”
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and my mind raced. If this was a text from Cole, his timing was impeccable. I ignored it. “Yes.”
“Had he been to your mom’s place - even once?”
I paused. “No.”
“There you go. I could go on for hours on the guy, but I think that right there will cover it for now.”
He set his hands on the wheel and checked the rear view - still no lights in any direction. We had no reason to move.
“He wasn’t comfortable. And honestly, I wasn’t either. Spending time with your boyfriend while your mom is in the next room -”
“Has he even met your mom?”
“Yes!”
Once. He’d met her once. I didn’t inform Stellan of that fact.
“Look. He should have been banging down your door to meet your mom, not avoiding the prospect.”
“Not everyone is as comfortable in other peoples’ parents’ houses, Stell.”
“Watch it, babe. Don’t make it about me because I’m being honest.”
I slumped back into my seat, finding my reflection again in the window. My eyes had gone watery, and I hated myself for it. It’s so painful to hear your friends assassinate the character of the man you love. It’s exceptionally hard to hear it when they’re spewing what you knew and refused to say yourself. We didn’t speak again for a few minutes. I was sure Stellan could tell I was getting emotional.
“You deserve better, F-bomb. I just don’t think you realize that.”
And there we have it - start crying around Stellan time: number three. He rubbed the back of my neck with his right hand for a few moments, then put the car into gear. We drove down the dark roads for a few minutes, Simple Minds playing softly. I started to quietly sing along, half my notes coming through and the other half silent. I didn’t want to admit to him that I was afraid there was no better. I didn’t want to admit to him that I was sure all the men my age who were worth a damn were taken, as Meghan often complained, with prettier, daintier, more ‘successful’ women. These were details I share with my girlfriends, these were the details that scared me most. Stellan didn’t need to hear that; he didn’t need to listen to me cry about penis size and babies and fantasy wedding plans that were destroyed now.
I decided then that I needed Meghan and reached for my phone. The text alert startled me. I’d almost forgotten.
Bitch! I’m starving! Tell me you’re free!
Speak of the devil.
“Anybody good?” Stellan asked, shooting me a sideways glance.
I swallowed, unsure how well this proposal might go over. “Meghan says she’s hungry, too. Any chance -”
I didn’t even get the final words out before Stellan had a wicked grin on his face. “Oh, absolutely. But only if you agree to eat in public.”
I whined my protest. Why couldn’t we just pick up the pizza, bring it home, and never see people ever again? Meghan quickly texted her agreement, and my hands were tied. I was going out in public.
I wasn’t happy about it.
Stellan dropped me at the hippy pizza restaurant and shot down the street to ‘pick something up.’
“I’ll come find you guys! Go order, chill out, won’t be more than a few minutes!”
Meghan complained about work and life, being single and being underpaid, all the while looking like she stepped out of a department store catalog. I’d once asked her how long she took to get ready in the morning. The answer made me wonder if she ever slept - and that perhaps I was close friends with the walking undead. Vampires are supposed to be pretty, right?
The two of us were settled at a table by the massive oven, the heat of the flames within traveling throughout the room. She regaled me for some time. When she was done, she crossed her ankles and asked how I was.
It was like a cork from a champagne bottle – I practically exploded. I told her about my complete inability to even think about sex and despite the angry look I received when I mentioned his name, I told her I was afraid Cole was the closest I would ever come to getting it right.
“I don’t understand how you can say that, hon?”
“Why?” I asked, trying to keep my voice down.
“Because he wasn’t ‘right’ - in any sense of the word. Were you there? Did you miss that whole ordeal with the cell phone and the vagina and the -”
“No, I know. He sucks. He sucks beyond reason -”
“Do you really believe that? It almost sounds like you’re mourning his loss or something.”
“Well, I am sometimes. Is that so wrong?”
And she was off. “Faye! The guy is a scumbag! He cheated on you, and kept evidence of it!”
This was a mantra she’d been happy to repeat for over a month now.
“I know that!”
“When you lost your place, did he offer to let you stay with him? No. It ‘never came up,’ right?” I started to respond, but she was on a roll. “Did he not openly embarrass you in front of all his friends when you lost your job and couldn’t afford to pay for your own dinner one night?”
That one stung, and I’d nearly let myself forget it.
“Did you or did you not tell me you d
readed going out to eat with him long before then because the two of you sat in silence most nights because you had nothing to fucking talk about?” God damn it, she knew her shit. “Are you seriously missing him because sometimes he was good in bed?”
“It’s not just that,” I said, realizing I was about to – no let’s be honest – I’d already completely lost the helm of this conversation.
“No, Faye. Think about it. What is it that you really miss?”
She waited. I was surprised to see her slow down, as she usually didn’t take even a moment to breathe once she got going. I thought about Cole, looking into the eyes of a friend who actually heard all the troubles he and I were having long before I discovered his cell phone’s adventures. I couldn’t push aside the bad in order to dwell on the good with her. I remembered that night in the bar when the handsome bartender asked for my number. I remembered the night we first slept together and the days I spent reeling from it. Was there nothing else to dwell on?
Damn it, why do women have to actually feel when it comes to sex? Why can’t we just be like men and fuck our merry way to an orgasm, then forget it ever happened? Am I being sexist? I don’t fucking care! I wish it was easier. I wish I had a cock shot on my phone!
“The intimacy?” I finally said.
“Ah,” she said. When she turned to me, I expected another tirade. “Weren’t you the one complaining about a lack of just that a few months ago?”
Yes sir, she’d been a good friend for a long time, and she wasn’t going to let me forget it.
“I was.”
“And why was that? I know, but I think maybe you need to remind yourself.”
“What do you want me to say?”
She took a deep breath and tossed her hair with her hands. Her hair fell in perfect ringlets, as always.
“Faye, I’m going to quote you, alright?”
I nodded.
“It was good, yes? Cole was a sexual dynamo, right? Except for the fact that you told me yourself he didn’t always take the time to give you an orgasm, yes? Sometimes he just assumed and rolled over. And, then to top it off, he hardly ever put out, am I right?”
Zing. I was beginning to resent her for being a good listener. Didn’t she realize I just wanted to wallow in self-pity for a while? Christ.
“He was the best I’d ever been with -”
“Which isn’t saying much, hon. Even if he was the greatest lay on the planet, if he refuses to actually put out, it doesn’t do you much good, now does it? Especially if that’s all he’s got going for him.”
Fuck me. Hearing her say it brought a tumble of bad memories back to the fore. I remembered lying beside him at night wondering why he didn’t want me, feeling disgusting because I’d gained twenty pounds since we first met, and thinking it must be my fault that he didn’t find me attractive anymore. Somehow, I’d failed to acknowledge the nagging sense in the back of my mind that maybe I had been the cause of his meandering. If I’d just taken better care of myself, if I’d just gone to the gym more often, if… if only.
Meghan leaned toward me and gave me a hug, softly muttering expletives. Only then did I realize I was tearing up – yes, again. Fuck!
“I can’t help but feel like it is my fault.”
Her expression went stony and for a split second I thought she might punch me. Still, she let me speak. I began to hear her words in my own mind, and I let myself recite them. “Ok, I know. Don’t blame the victim.”
She rubbed my shoulder. She’d tried to get me to do this exercise over the past few weeks – remember the bad about the relationship so you can let go of it. Somehow, I’d found that chore impossible.
“He was mean. When we fought, he didn’t get agitated or excited, he just walked away like I meant nothing, and I would have to go find him to fix things, even when it was his fault –“
She nodded and gestured for me to go on.
“He never let me keep my stuff at his house. He never let me decide the restaurant when we went to dinner, and we really didn’t have anything to talk about when we did. It was like those miserable middle aged couples who should be divorced, but they don’t have the balls to admit it -”
“Right? Right?”
“He hated children. Said he’d rather die than be a father.”
She threw her hands up. “Thank Christ that prick isn’t going to procreate!”
“Whenever anyone made a comment about us getting married, he changed the subject, instantly. It was like he was offended by the prospect, I swear.”
Meghan scowled. This was the longest she’d ever let me speak in our entire friendship.
“He didn’t like my friends.” That comment inspired a raised eyebrow from Meghan, but still she didn’t speak. “He hated Stellan. We got into so many fights since I moved back home because I was spending time with Stell and – oh God.”
Meghan’s expression went stern. “What is it?”
I stared at the table, then at my hands. “I almost feel like a bad person for admitting this out loud -”
I stopped.
Meghan gestured for me to go on. “Honey, just say it. You’re not betraying the fuck bag, by any means.”
I took a deep breath. This memory needed lead in, but the lead in? How could I betray this knowledge to anyone. I felt like I’d somehow become a bad girlfriend, and he’d been the one to cheat and abandon me. “He couldn’t always get it up,” I said, and exhaled. It felt like release to say it out loud. “And I did everything I could to make him feel better about it, but he would just push me away, tell me I’m obsessed with sex. Then he goes and has no problem fucking some other girl?”
Meghan shook her head like a guest on the Maury Povich show. “Oh honey, no.”
“I mean - it makes me think, was it me?”
“No!”
Finally, I was ready. I’d built up to it, letting it out, piece by piece, but now I was ready.
“I was afraid to initiate sex. I was fucking afraid to ask for sex from my fucking boyfriend. I’m the most passionate person I know – no man has ever been able to keep up with me. I thought that made me a fucking treasure, but I would never even try because after we’d been together for just a few days, he decided he ‘wasn’t in the mood’ for the first time, and when I tried to get him in the mood, he pushed me away.”
“What a cunt.”
“He left bruises.”
Meghan straightened in her seat, rage so clearly etched on her face, I feared she’d catch fire. “What?!”
“I didn’t wear sleeveless shirts for a week after because I didn’t want anyone to ask how I got the bruises. It was fucking August.”
She stared at me. She hadn’t known this fact. No one had. It had embarrassed me so desperately when it happened that I never wanted anyone to know about it. Now, it felt imperative to admit it to someone else. To be made to feel that unwanted – I’d never wish it on anyone.
“You stayed with him.” Her tone was soft, almost disbelieving.
“I took it to be my fault.”
“I didn’t realize Cole was such a delicate flower.”
Letting myself rage a moment was fueling something. Words were coming that felt like fire on my tongue. “Stellan’s right, I deserve someone who can’t keep their hands off me -”
“Stellan’s right? What about me?”
“I deserve someone who can’t wait to meet my family, who doesn’t get angry at the prospect of potentially getting married, or having kids for that fucking matter. I want babies someday damn it!”
“Jesus, how are you two not suffocating from all the Estrogen in here?”
Meghan and I both startled at the voice.
He might be fucking huge, but the man can be light on his feet. Meghan and I turned to find Stellan as he came around the table.
“Fuck you, primate,” Meghan said.
“No thanks. I’m not a fan of crabs, oddly enough.”
T
his was their relationship. In private, if you were to ask either of them what their opinion was of the other, their words were only positive – affectionate even. Yet, put them in a room together and they were merciless.
“What do you mean? It would go perfectly with the ‘Head up your ass’ disease you’ve always suffered from.”
“Hey, I’ll take that over your Herpes, anyday.”
I hissed at both of them to shut up. I was too emotional to listen to the two of them banter, especially since I’d come so close to actually expunging all of my bull shit in one sitting. Being interrupted felt offensive and a part of me wanted to send Stellan away so I could finish my rant. Somehow, I felt as though I’d been close to some revelation, some epiphany that would have released me to sleep filled nights without the endless bouts of crying and the morning headaches. Now, I just felt deeper in it.
“I can come back later if the two of you want to cry and hug some more.”
“You’re a fucking asshole,” Meghan said and unlike her usual assaults, at that moment, she meant it.
“I know,” he said and reached down to rub my knee. I patted his hand and smiled up at him. There was something to his face that looked different, almost pained. I was suddenly mortified. He’d heard. Of all the people I’d considered telling those details too, Stellan was nowhere on the list. Somehow, admitting to him that my boyfriend was appalled by me enough to leave bruises – felt completely humiliating. I squeezed my eyes tight and willed Stellan’s sad look out of my mind.
Meghan went back to complaining about work. I was grateful for the noise. Despite her monopoly on the conversation, when Billy Idol’s “Flesh for Fantasy” came on over the speakers, she caught the lyrics and had an opinion.
“Wait, did he just say ‘You’ll see and feel my sex attack?’”
“Yes, yes he did,” Stellan said.
“Are you kidding me?”
“I don’t think Billy kids when it comes to sex attacks, Trotsky.”
She shook her head. “You’ll see and feel my sex attack? Really?”
Stellan started singing along, soulfully.
I forced a smile, despite my mood, and looked across the table to Stellan, who was leaning back in his chair, his hands behind his head. When he sat like that, his arms up and on display, the definition of his biceps was apparent. I’d always been curious about Stellan’s martial arts training, some part of me in awe. I’d never admit it to him, but I’d always wanted to see him get into a fight. My gaze caught his attention, and he glanced at me, winked, then returned his attention to the roaring oven fire.
Catch My Fall Page 6