by J. S Ellis
‘Did you take your medication, darling?’
‘I’ll take them now,’ he said.
I threw my hands into the air. ‘Richard!’
‘I know, I know, Sophie don’t worry, I’ll take them now.’
25th January
Evening,
Diary,
This morning, Wendy barged in on me while taking a sip of Gin & Tonic in the ladies toilet. I almost died. I don’t know how long this can go on before I get caught and get sacked!
Every day, I fill a small, empty bottle of water, and take it in my bag with me to work. Canned tonic tastes better than bottled, and, yes, I’m well aware of how stupid this is. I must try to be good.
The bruises are slowly healing. Richard is growing suspicious, and I can’t avoid sex any longer. He’ll be home soon. I’ve brushed my teeth, gargled with mouthwash, and scrubbed my nails to remove the nicotine smell.
Later
I can hear the sax playing again. I’ve circled the living room several times, smoking a cigarette and drinking a bottle of Chablis, which has worked its magic - I can feel the room spinning. Shit. I have to cook dinner before he comes and finds me like this! I MUST be good this year. I don’t want Richard to drag me to rehab.
Where’s the chewing gum?
26th January
Morning
Diary,
Last night, dinner with Richard went okay. He took off his coat and left his briefcase by the door, as he always does.
‘Smells good,’ he said. ‘What’s for dinner?’
‘Shepherd’s pie.’
‘Mmm, a nice hearty meal,’ he said, and kissed me on the cheek.
‘Why don’t you go freshen up, I’ll call you when it’s ready.’
He left the room. I shut my eyes, in bliss, listening to the sound of the sax.
During dinner, Richard talked about a boy who crashed his car, and how the firm has to pay.
‘People die, we pay. People crash cars, we pay. People burn down their houses, we pay,’ he said.
I laughed, ‘You should add that into your brochure,’
Richard glared at me. ‘It’s not funny, Sophie. You should know better.’ He took a sip of water.
‘Yes, darling, you’re right, I’m sorry.’
I continued to laugh.
‘Oh for goodness' sake! I can’t have a discussion with my wife.’
‘Sometimes it’s better to laugh about it. Take me, for example,’ I said, pausing to eat a forkful of Shepherd’s pie. I washed it down with a mouthful of white wine, and continued, ‘my clients ask me how their business is going. You know what it’s like?’
‘Yes.’
‘I make their balance sheets, profit and loss, consult with them, and give them advice.’
‘I know your job pretty well, sweetheart.’
‘Do they appreciate what I do? No, they don’t, and they don’t pay on time either.’
He took my hand and kissed it. ‘They’re making you work too hard.’
‘I’m not complaining. Actually, I enjoy it.’
He poured me more wine. ‘You need to take days off too.’
‘I have to say the same for you,’ I said.
‘I am an important man with an important job.’
‘Isn’t my job important?’
‘Of course, it is, how about we take that vacation? Where do you want to go? Not a city please, I need somewhere quiet, not surrounded by noise.’
‘Oh Richard, we live in the most multicultural inspiring cities in the world.’
‘I need some peace... how about Tuscany or South of France?’
‘I don’t mind, we can go wherever you want.’
I rubbed Richard’s chest with essential oils to help him relax. I kissed the scar across his chest, then laid my head on him and listened to his heart beating. I almost lost him once. I HAVE to be good for his sake.
28th January
Evening
Diary,
I’ve just got back from the gynecologist. I had a few drinks before I went to see her, to build up my courage to face her. Dr. Williams is about my age. Her office was dull, with a desk and chairs, and an examination chair at the end of the room. No photographs. She had an iPad on her desk with a blue pen and a notepad. It was difficult to sit across from her and explain what happened. She must have thought here is a woman pushing forty behaving like a twenty-year-old. I had to tell her the truth. I asked her if she could run some tests.
‘What kind of tests?’ she asked.
I stared at the wall behind her, while I told her what I remembered. I didn’t tell her about the part where I woke up with aching thighs, and bruises all over my body. I couldn’t put it into the words.
‘Are you alright?’ she asked concerned.
‘If you run tests...’ I paused to clear my throat, ‘would you be able to tell if a person had been... sexually assaulted or not?’
She leaned forward. ‘Have you been sexually assaulted?’
‘I’m not sure, I can’t remember,’ I said, feeling my cheeks flush.
‘No need to be embarrassed, I can run some tests, to see if there are any tears or infections. Is that what you want?’ she asked.
I nodded.
‘Did you report any of this to the police?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘Since it happened some weeks ago, any evidence, such as sperm or DNA will now be destroyed. You should have gone to the police as soon as possible.’
‘I know, but I couldn’t remember anything at the time. I was in such shock, and I don’t want my husband to know.’
She ran some tests and told me to come back to see her in a week. It was such an uncomfortable and humiliating experience.
30th January
Afternoon,
Diary.
Back from the grocery store. I’m so ashamed, diary. I’m such a stupid, ridiculous woman. Everyone was looking at me. I knew what they were thinking - ‘Look at her, pretending to be posh. She’s just a drunk, so much for prim and proper.’ Their eyes burned a hole in me, whispering to one another. I think I heard laughter. Even the clerk was looking at me funnily. I left the store without picking up the change. Even in the street, eyes were on me. I was shaking and sweating. In the apartment, my heart hammered. I placed my hand on my chest. I had left my rubber gloves on, no wonder people were staring at me.
31st January
Afternoon,
Diary,
When I got back home, Richard glanced up from his newspaper.
‘I’ve made reservations at Marcus,’ he said.
‘For when?’
‘Tonight- I booked it two weeks ago, thought I’d surprise you, and spend an intimate evening with my queen.’
‘Oh, you did, did you?’ I said.
I don’t know why he thinks of it as a surprise when going out for meals is such a regular event.
‘Why? Do you have plans?’
‘No.’
If a man told his wife, he’s taking her to one of the most expensive restaurants in the city, she would be thrilled, but I can’t help but find this a drag. Posh restaurants are not my thing. Having to doll myself up is exhausting. I didn’t want to wear high heels that make my feet hate me, or do my hair and makeup. I wanted to stay home with my husband, order a pizza, watch a movie, or talk instead. Embrace the simple joys of the world that don’t come with a price tag.
‘How nice,’ I said, bending over, and kissed him on the lips, ‘What time is the reservation?’
‘Eight.’
I didn’t need much time to get ready, only forty-five minutes, so I finished off some work on my laptop first. I then carefully picked an outfit that symbolizes a date with my husband. If he said he was taking me to McDonald’s, and I could throw on some jeans and a top, it would be more exciting than this fancy fluffy stuff. Going to posh restaurants that serve lobster tail on a large plate is just a means to show off, to impress.
I leave hungry every time Richar
d takes me to those places. The host showed us to our table and handed us the menus. Richard ordered a bottle of 1989 Chateau Palmer. We ordered our food and some ketchup for me. I don’t care if it’s a posh restaurant, I love ketchup. I have it on everything, Richard raised his eyebrow at me.
‘Ah Sophie,’ he said taking my hand. ‘What I am going to do with you?’
Ever since Richard had his bypass, things changed even in the bedroom. He can’t get too excited because of his heart. I ate slowly and sipped my wine, being careful how much I drank. I admired the people in the restaurant, comparing the couples that are at the beginning of a relationship, to the ones who looked like they’d been together for years. The new couples barely touched their food. They focused on each other, both knowing the evening will end in bed. The other couples ate their food quietly. One or two seemed like they were having heated debates, and I wondered if their evenings would end up in bed, minus the sex, or not.
Richard and I met twelve years ago, at a dinner party, a friend of a friend was hosting. We sat next to each other. I thought he was handsome, intelligent, and well dressed. We talked about finance, history, and politics. He thought I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He loved my high cheekbones, my defined jawline, and my eyes. He fussed about the way I looked and told me I looked like a porcelain doll. We exchanged phone numbers and met again for dinner. We dated for about a year, and then he proposed while we were on holiday in Rome.
We ate and drank our wine quietly. We touched hands to show some kind of intimacy. When the waiter cleared away our plates, Richard took out a box from his breast pocket and placed it in front of me.
‘What is this?’ I asked.
‘Open it, and you’ll see,’ he said.
Another piece of jewelry, a bracelet judging from the size of the red velvet box. It was a pearl bracelet. Great. More things, I don’t care for. I want Richard, the man I married, not the man who buys me gifts. He is my investment, my asset, not things. I kissed him on the lips and told him the bracelet was beautiful.
After dinner, we went home to bed and made love. I do it as a form of obligation, a sense of duty as a wife, to keep my husband satisfied sexually. It’s quick and easy. We’re good at it because we’ve been doing for years. I guided and pushed his penis into me, and I lay under him, groaning softly until he came. I watched him empty himself out, and then roll off me, without allowing me to orgasm. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to have an orgasm. Sometimes, I fantasize about having the kind of sex where my head is banging against the headboard. Volcanic sex, as I like to call it. It’s not going to happen with Richard, or he’ll have a heart attack.
I passed him tissues to wipe himself and the sheets, and I cleaned myself up as he washed at the bathroom sink. Richard joined me back in bed, pleased with himself. We both read in silence, apart from the flup, flup of pages from time to time. I wasn’t reading, I was questioning myself. What have we become? Who are we? What have we done to each other? I closed the book, placed it on the bedside table, and switched off the lamp on my side.
‘Good night,’ I said.
‘Good night,’ he said.
‘Switch off the light when you’re done.’
‘Will do.’
‘Did you take your medication?’
‘Damn, I forgot...’
3rd February
Evening,
Diary,
Back from the gynecologist to discuss the results. The tests came back normal. No signs of tears or infections. But, although that’s great and exactly what I hoped for, I can’t help feeling uneasy, I can’t rest. Something happened that night, or I did something. One of the two. The bruises came from more than a fall in the club. Maybe I was assaulted. Nothing adds up. The smell. The blurry faces. The ripped and soiled dress. The note. Something happened, I know it!
5th February
Evening
Diary,
I don’t know what came over me today. I felt like a woman possessed. I went to a meeting with a client in Camden.
‘It’s better you prepare me the bank statements every month so I can keep track of everything.’ I said to the client in frustration.
I hope she didn’t notice, but I’m tired of chasing after clients.
At noon, I went to a nearby café, sat by the window, and ordered a half bottle of white wine and tuna salad. As I was about to pay the bill, I heard a squeak and then a bang. An Audi and Ford Fiesta had crashed outside the restaurant. The Audi driver stomped over to the young man and pushed him. Someone crossed the street to break them up. I paid the bill and left a generous tip. As I peered out through the window at the arguing drivers, I saw Michael watching them too from the roadside. He was dressed in a red teddy jacket, a black ruffled shirt, and jeans, which were so tight, I wondered how he got in them. I took the last gulp of wine and rushed out of the café.
By the time I got outside, he was walking up the street, so I followed him. I know it seems crazy, but I wanted to create an opportunity to speak with him and get any clues to what happened.
I kept my distance so he wouldn’t spot me. He stepped into a music store. I fiddled with my phone outside as I watched him talk to the salesman behind the counter. When he left the store, I spun around to face a display of leather jackets in the next door shop window. I could see his reflection as he strolled past with his hands in his jacket pockets. I realized it was almost 1:30pm. I should have been back in the office, not following Michael. I called Wendy and told her I would be a little late back from lunch, not taking my eyes off him. I followed him to a record store - does he still buy CDs? He came out a few moments later, empty-handed. He went into a jewelry store, again left empty-handed. My heels were killing my feet. What if he had noticed me and was browsing the stores on purpose? He met with a few friends, and at one point, his head turned to my direction. My heart dropped into my stomach.
‘Good afternoon,’ the sales assistant said, as I rushed into the store.
‘Good morn—I mean afternoon.’ I said.
I pretended to look at the punkish clothes. I hoofed to the window to see if he was still there. What if he did see me, what if he comes in here? My heart raced, and my feet ached.
‘May I help you?’ the sales assistant asked.
I’m sure she didn’t expect a woman dressed in smart plum dress to come in this store.
‘I’m just looking, thank you.’ I said.
I peered out of the window again. The sales assistant arched her penciled eyebrow at me. He wasn’t there, damn! I rushed out of the store and frantically scanned the street. He vanished. Did he see me?
8th February
Afternoon
Diary,
What if Richard finds this diary and reads it, what would he think? I have a monster in me that wants to come out. If it does, bad things will happen. Did the monster come out that night? Did my other persona take over, and I can’t remember? Was I raped? Was I drugged? Did I have too much to drink? What’s the smell and music I hear sometimes? Do they have a connection with that night? It’s killing me not knowing. Imagine Richard reading about all of this, the woman his wife turned out to be.
That’s why I need to keep you hidden, diary. Somewhere he won’t find you. What if one day I forget to hide you? What will happen then?
13th February
Evening,
Diary,
I saw Michael again today, this time in the neighborhood. What was he doing in Camden? I went to the laundry to pick up Richard’s suit, and there he was putting his arms around a girl, in a Mills and Boons sort of way, with a big fat smile on his face. They looked so happy. I wanted to punch them right in the face. Ah, young love. I’m sure he has high standards when it comes to women. He’s open to the world. It’s his oyster. To be at an age where nothing matters, to party, drink, smoke pot, and have lots of sex. I’m sure he fucks many women. At his age, I was already in a serious relationship for three years. I didn’t sleep around. I was in love, or at
least I thought I was. My life has always been dull- work hard, find a well-paying job, and steady relationships. What’s the point to study, work hard, and have stable relationships? When you’ve done nothing dangerous or exciting in your life? I wasted my youth on studying. He looked at me as though he could see through my soul. This time I let him see me, before walking away, questioning if he knew I had followed him the other day.
Later
I switched on my laptop, logged into Facebook, and searched for Michael Frisk. I didn’t find him. But what if I did, then what would I do? Send him a friend request? This is all too silly to comprehend, even writing about it makes my face bleed with shame.
15th February
Evening,
Diary,
On Valentine’s Day, we didn’t do anything special. We don’t believe in it. Cherished everyday love should be not just for one day. I cooked dinner for us. We watched a romantic comedy and Richard slept halfway through. I curled up on the sofa and drank a full bottle of wine. With each sip, the wine sent tingles through me.
Tonight, Richard went out for a business dinner. He wanted me to go along, but I didn’t feel like it. I didn’t want to sit in another expensive restaurant and talk to people. I can’t stand it.
I had a long bath, where I spent ages cleaning my nicotine-stained fingers. I’m ruining everything, including myself. At some point, I fell asleep, and my head slipped under the water. I could have drowned!
16th February
Morning,
Diary,
I felt troubled and unsettled all morning. I circled around the office, shifting in my seat as though I was sitting on pins.
I’ve been going over last night in my head.
I went out to the club on my own, the one Michael plays at. It wasn’t crowded. I even dressed up for the occasion - green dress, opaque tights, high heels and make up applied immaculately. I’m a grown woman but feel like I’m behaving like a teenage girl. As I entered the bar, the band was playing, but Michael wasn’t there. I ordered Bells, no ice. I watched the band, the drums, piano, and trumpet. The group is so good, I’m sure they could be famous one day, but then I wouldn’t be able to appreciate them like this. They wouldn’t perform at this little club anymore. The music would become an echo of the past. I drank the whiskey, ordered another, and drained it. When I ordered my third, the barman leaned over the counter. He was handsome with olive skin, and short, black, gelled back hair, brown eyes, and muscular arms.