Pause.
“Jesus, Suzanne! It's not RAPE! We're married, okay? You don't understand. You never understand. I love you, that's why we should make love. That should be MY baby inside you because we love each other, and because we’re MARRIED!” He roars in my face.
Suddenly, Marcus jumps up from the bed and glares down at me. Grabbing my hair hard on both sides of my face, Marcus pins me to the pillow and growls in my face as I stare into his dark eyes.
“I took care of you because I've always loved you.”
Marcus suddenly pushes off my face with his hands while moving away from the bed. When he turns to me shaking and angry, we stare at each other yet there is nothing but agony in this moment between us. I feel the agony inside my soul, and I see the agony in Marcus' eyes.
This is the end.
When Marcus moves away from me, I turn my head to look at him. Marcus is still staring at me as the darkness washes over me. I am crying out but unable to move. I am tied down and restrained by the madness and chaos in my mind. I am a broken, shaking body that can. not. move, and Does. Not. Feel.
Turning my head I don't want to see Marcus and his red converse so still, watching me again from another doorway.
Moaning, and shaking my head no, I look back and watch his red shoes leave the guest-room as my world collapses around me.
Darkness.
I am gone...
*****
Waking to the chaos of Police and EMT's, I'm taken to the hospital again.
I don't know how they found me and I don't care. I never want to be in that guest-room again.
Opening my eyes in the ambulance, I look at the female as she continues touching me and the machines.
“Welcome back. You're doing much better. Can you tell me your name?” She questions.
Moving my hand slowly to my stomach, I ask without words.
“Your heart rate has stabilized, and your breathing is under control. Your baby's heart rate is a little low but they'll monitor it closely at the hospital. Otherwise, you're stable.”
Exhaling, I nod. The mask on my face is really annoying but I think I need it still to breathe.
“How did you find me?” I groan.
“Your husband called 911 and said you were in distress but he wasn't there with you to help you. So the police entered first, followed by us. We found you unconscious on the floor in the hallway. Can you tell me what happened?”
No. I don't think I can ever tell anyone way happened. I don't think I'll ever understand what happened. What happened to the Marcus I knew?
“Are you okay? Your heart rate is increasing again. Are you in distress?”
Nodding frantically, I am in distress. And I am so tired again.
God, I need a rest from my nightmares.
CHAPTER 32
9 hours later, I finally let Mack enter my hospital room to take me home. I know Mack, Chicago Kayla and Z have been waiting because the Doctors told me, but I wasn't ready for them. I just couldn’t face them and all this insanity, again.
No more tests are needed and I'm fine to leave. The baby is fine, but a follow up appointment was already made with my OBGYN for tomorrow, just in case.
The panic-attack is long gone. And the shock of today is buried deep within me right now, so I'm free to leave.
The police have been and left twice but we're through with each other, at least for tonight they said. There may be more follow-up questions tomorrow, however.
Watching as Mack throws open the door rushing to me, I feel dead inside.
Before he can even speak, I raise my hand in the classic Mack/Suzanne fashion of 'Do NOT speak. This is MY turn' and I beg, “Can you please take me home and stay with me tonight? Just for tonight, I promise.”
Nodding, Mack chokes up and hugs me silently. I see his upset and I feel his shaking body, but I feel nothing inside me for either of us in this moment.
“And I'm not talking tonight to you or anyone else. Not in the car and not at home. Just not tonight, Mack,” I cry.
“Okay, Suzanne,” he gives in with a tighter hug.
Walking quietly into my apartment I smell the vomit at once. Huh. I think I'm surprised no one has cleaned it up yet. Then again, who would’ve? Gagging again as I cover my face, I turn from the room and walk toward the balcony. Shit. Where can I go?
“I need to lie down, Mack. Can you please close the guest-room door.”
“Okay. Can I get you anything else? Are you hungry? Do you need a-”
“I need nothing. Just give me a minute alone, and then I'm going to sleep this nightmare away. That's what I want.”
And turning, I give Mack no chance to talk and no chance to corner me with his 'talk to me' face. I'm done today. This has been another horrible day.
Once I'm ready, I change into my favorite black maternity yoga pants and a huge T-shirt and I slowly make my way to bed. I've never felt this tired in my life. This is an exhaustion living within every single cell of my body. This is full, complete, mind-numbing exhaustion.
When I feel the bed dip beside me I don't even look over. I'm never afraid of Mack and I know there's no one else here anymore to hurt me.
So whispering, I give all I can in this exhaustion. “Thanks, Mack. I'll talk tomorrow. But not now, okay?”
“Just sleep, Suzanne. And I'll be here when you need me.”
“Thank you. Good night, Mack.”
And feeling Mack lean in, OVER the covers, he kisses the back of my head briefly and then I feel him move away slowly.
The end. Today is over.
I would cry if I could, but I can't. And I would talk if I could, but I have no words. The sense of betrayal and pain is too heavy on my chest to be spoken of just yet.
Getting comfortable, my last image as sleep claims me is of Red. Fucking. Converse.
*****
So Marty received the call I made because apparently I scrolled one too many on my phone. What a shock for him to come home late yesterday afternoon to hearing me talk on his machine. I've never called Marty before, and I only had his number because Mack programmed my iPhone. And though my words were mumbled and too quiet to actually hear clearly, Marty did pick up the name Marcus. Once he eventually figured it out with a call back to my number, he called Z and Mack.
After calling Mack, Mack called the Police as he was rushing to my apartment. But by then everything was over anyway. Marcus, my husband had already called 911 to help me with my ‘distress’.
The Police have heard the message Marty received which abruptly stops around the time I landed on the floor with Marcus. Maybe I landed ON my phone with my huge ass and that's why they can't hear anything else. Maybe my huge ass smothered the phone. Giggle. Shit.
Marcus is dead.
Marcus is dead from an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound to his right temple. And he left a note for me.
In my warped mind, I think I'm more surprised Marcus had a gun, then the fact that he actually killed himself with it.
After he testified yesterday Marcus left the courtroom normally, agreeing to be recalled to the stand should either the Defense or the D.A. need clarification of his statements.
Hours later, the Police waited to question him about what happened between us after they found out about the incident in my apartment. I guess he was in trouble for breaching the restraining order between us.
And that's when he was found. The front door to my old house was left wide open and the note to me was taped right on the opened door. The envelope even had 'come in' written on it. And so they entered.
Hearing they found Marcus in the shower was kind of funny to me. It's like he was so intent on not making a mess, he blew his brains out in the shower so it could be easily cleaned. Or at least knowing how anal-retentive the old Marcus was, that's what I have to assume.
In a weird way, I find it comforting that he was just as anal in the end as he had always been about cleanliness in life. I think I like to believe he was still the sa
me as before in the end, and not so totally screwed up that he wasn't the old Marcus anymore. Or maybe I just hope that’s the case so I can be angry at him instead of sad for him, which I really, really am right now. Actually, I'm devastated that a man who loved me killed himself because of anything to do with me.
So, Marcus is dead from an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound to his right temple. And he left a note for me.
I am now 'Marcus Anderson's pregnant by another man, scarred, sexually abused, emotionally unstable, teetering back into the depths of insanity, WIDOW’. Well, at least according to the news I watched on TV this morning.
Bursting out laughing again, I know Mack is listening for me in the hallway. I know he's still awesome. I know he's waiting for me to need him, and I know I will need him. Just not yet. Right now I'm totally in shock which is making me laugh and giggle at all this insanity.
I wonder if my mother cares Marcus is dead? She always did love him more- almost like a real child of her own. I bet if she was capable of feeling love for anyone but herself she would care Marcus is dead. I bet she wishes it was me instead. Giggle. Ugh... I'm still warped.
I still have the photocopy of the note from Marcus to read, which I don't want to do.
I still have a funeral to plan for Marcus, which I don't want to do.
I still have a baby inside me I have to care for, which is getting harder to do. But I will.
Leaning over, I flick on the lamp, drink a sip of orange juice, eat another Saltine, pick up the note, and sit up against my pillows preparing for this.
Unfolding the photocopied version the Police gave me with remarkably steady hands, I'm ready.
I have no tears still and I feel calm. I mean really, what else could he possibly say to me that he hasn’t already confessed?
Suzanne,
I'm sorry it came to this. I didn't mean to hurt you, and I know lying to you all these years hurt you, but I didn't know what else to do. If I hadn't lied to you, your parents were going to keep you away from me- they said they would take you away from me. So I didn't tell you what I knew, even though you didn't know I knew anyway.
I do want you to know I'm not mad at you anymore, and I'm sorry if I ever hurt you. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't like you having a hard life before. I liked when you were messed up because it meant you needed me, and I always liked you needing me. I took care of you for so long that I didn't know how to live without you needing me all the time once you became better.
So I'm doing this because I'm too embarrassed by you and our relationship to keep going. My co-workers all think I'm a pervert. They all wonder why I didn't know about the abuse over the years, and they all question me and accuse me behind my back all the time. Everyone thinks I'm a man who may have contributed to his wife's decline and I don't like that. So admitting now in court that I did know about some of the events will make this so much worse for me.
I love you, even if you don't believe me, but I do. I'm sorry if my death will upset you, but I'm just too embarrassed by all my involvement with you and your past to continue like this.
Marcus Anderson xo
Okay. Wow. Marcus Anderson? Like there was ever any doubt. What an idiot!
Huh. At least I don't feel so bad anymore about his death. Well, I mean I do, but not as much. What a fucking asshole! Even in his suicide letter he talks about HIS appearance and HIS embarrassment? Christ! His suicide note reads like a break-up with some woman who hurt and embarrassed him? Well... Fuck. HIM!
He knew about it all! He told me he knew! He knew and he played along and lied to ME so he could keep me, and I'VE embarrassed him? What a FUCKING ASSHOLE!
Bursting out laughing, Mack suddenly opens my door. Looking at him, I just laugh and shake my head.
“Well, Marcus was still a prick, Mack. Even in death. Read this crap!”
Walking to me, Mack sits on the side of my bed and takes the note from my shaking hand. Reading it, I actually see his breathing becoming harder, and I watch him flinch once. Ha! Mack sees it.
Refolding the note, Mack's about to speak but I cut him off.
“I'm not going to the funeral. I'm not even preparing the funeral. Could you please call his mother for me and tell her to take care of the arrangements. She can have his money and the house, and everything else she wants, because I really don't care about any of this anymore. I don't want anything to do with this.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you need a little closure?” He asks gently.
“I'm sure. I have my closure. That note is all the closure I will EVER need. I'm done. The Marcus/Suzanne facade is finally over. I feel nothing but disgust, and I'm okay with that. I'm sorry he's dead, but I don't care for him, or miss him, or love him or anything else. He's just gone to me. Would you please call his mother?”
“Of course, but-”
“Nothing Mack. There is nothing to say, and I want nothing from this. He knew! When this all came out last year he knew but he still didn't tell me. He let me think I was a sexual Psycho to him, which I guess I still was- but he knew why all along! He knew forever! He could have come forward then about Simmons but he didn't. He could’ve stopped Simmons years ago, but he didn’t. He let me go back to him and he let me believe he was the wonderful man I thought he was. He knew...”
“Marcus was desperate Suzanne and he made mis-”
“If you defend anything he did I'm going to absolutely lose it!”
“I would NEVER, Suzanne! I was just trying to explain that Marcus needed you to be weak so badly that he maintained the lie so you would continue to need him.”
“It doesn't matter why anymore, Mack. Please just make the call to his mother and leave me alone for a while. I have to go see the Doctor in 2 hours and I want to be alone until then. Please Mack?”
Sighing, he begs, “Would you please see or call Z? He's beside himself with worry for-”
“The baby is fine-”
“Worry for YOU, Suzanne. Do you understand what I'm saying? In this moment Z is worried about you and he wants to talk to YOU. He wants to help in any way he can. He is stunned by what happened, and he is dying to reach out to YOU. This is about you Suzanne, and nothing else.”
“No, thanks. Just tell him I'm fine and his baby is fine, and everything else is fine. But I need some time Mack.”
“Suzanne, I just want to sit with you and be here to comfort you when-”
“No. I appreciate it, but I'm fine. Please leave me alone until the appointment. That’s what I need.”
Exhaling a hard breath, I can see Mack is completely frustrated with me. I can see he's trying, but I just don't want it. Not about this. This is mine, and mine alone.
“Just give me a little time, Mack,” I whisper.
Muttering an 'okay', he rises from my bed as I reach out for his hand. I owe him something, I know I do.
“I love you forever, Mack, and I really am fine this time. I promise I'll talk to you later, okay?”
“Whenever you're ready, Suzanne,” he exhales. And with that, he smiles his beautiful Mack smile and leaves me alone in my room.
And I am fine. I'm angry and hurt, and betrayed and sad for Marcus, but I'm going to be okay.
Marcus is an asshole, and I'm glad I know the truth so I don't mourn him unnecessarily. I will mourn the man I thought he was, and I'll mourn the man who thought he had no choice but to do this. I'll mourn a man who was so ridiculous he thought his appearance as less than perfect was reason enough to put a gun to his temple, but I won't mourn my dead husband.
My husband was dead to me the minute he told me he knew about my past and didn’t tell me, whether he was actually dead hours later or not.
CHAPTER 33
SEPTEMBER 2
During the 2 months I've been living here alone, a few Reporters found me and my apartment and even made their way somehow past the Doorman to approach me. So when I hear the knock on my front door, I'm still a little frightened because I know Mack isn't expected here for anothe
r hour or so.
The last time someone found me, I was absolutely stunned when I opened the door expecting to see Mack. So like a moron, I stood dead still as the Reporter took photos of my face quickly before I could slam the door in HIS face just as quickly.
I remember being shocked by the encounter because I didn't know anyone kept tabs on me anymore. And though my mother's trial was still happening, and Marcus had just committed suicide I probably should have known I would become an interest for the papers again, I just didn’t. Mack was pretty pissed at himself as well for not thinking about it beforehand.
Afterward, when I calmed down and called Mack to help me, he went a little postal, and told me even Z went completely mental at the Police station. The Doorman was fired from the building, and security was put in place for me again for whenever I leave my apartment for Physio, or any other Doctors’ appointments. The whole thing is super dramatic, but Mack and Z both insisted.
And after that last confrontation, there I was on the front page of the Chicago Tribune again, and from what I understood the 4th page of the New York Times as well, because of the New York connection between me and Z, and Z's piece of shit father.
The Reporter told of my pregnancy, mentioned I was apparently single, and implied I was having difficulties adapting to my post-nuthouse life due to post-traumatic stress disorder. He told of my hideous burns from the crash, mentioned my nervous breakdown, and highlighted my suicide attempt because of all I had had to endure at the hands of my mother, Dr. Simmons and the men. He basically painted a picture of the most whacked-out, knocked-up, pathetic PTSD victim ever. What an asshole!
I remember just staring at the newspaper crying my eyes out because I was pretty gross in the picture, too. Seeing myself WITHOUT make-up was damaging to my mental health, for sure. I looked like the gross little victim the paper made me out to be. I became the young girl whose horrible life was a series of unfortunate events of trauma, looking like a traumatized unfortunate victim of the horrible events.
This Is Me... Page 24