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“Yes you do, Olivia. We can get through this together. I’m devastated too and I need you just as much as you need me.” I move closer and try to wrap my arms around her when she shrinks into herself pushing me away.
“Please, just don’t.”
My eyes furrow not out of anger, but out of worry. “Don’t wha
t? Touch you? You’re my wife, Olivia. We need this.”
“What? Sex? I am really not in the mood.”
“Not sex, Olivia. Intimacy. We’ve never not been able to connect that way.”
My eyes move to the woman in bed next to me, her chest moving up and down underneath the thin sheet. The room is quiet except for her gentle breathing and the pounding of my heart that I swear can be heard around New York.
“Olivia, please.” I knock on the locked door of our bathroom. She’s been in the bathtub for an hour crying. She ran the water for most of the time, trying to drown out the sound but I’ve been sitting next to the door, trying my best to give her space, but also trying to soothe her broken heart.
“Olivia, we need to talk.” I need my wife back. I can’t take it another second. I need her and I know without a doubt she needs me.
“About…what?” Her voice wobbles and I regret being so stern with her.
“I just…please?”
“I have nothing to say.”
“Well, I do, come out here.”
I expect her to ignore me, so I’m surprised when she opens the door and steps out into our bedroom in nothing more than a bathrobe. Her hair is pinned up in a bun to not get it wet and her eyes are glassy and hazy, with bags beneath them. Her skin is blotchy and ashen. Her usual honey glow is gone and the fire in her eyes has long since been extinguished.
“What, Clarke?”
“You have to snap out of this. I’ve had enough, Olivia. I need my wife back. I know it’s been a rocky few months—hell year, but if we’re going to get through this, I need you with me. I need you to fight with me. For us.”
“I can’t fight anymore. I’m tired.”
“Too tired for…us?”
“I’m just…hurting, Clarke.”
“And you think I’m not?” I snap, the frustrations of being shut out and ignored the last few months finally bubbling over. “Watching you going through that? Through this?” I point at her. “It’s destroying me, Olivia. To know that I can’t fix this. That I can’t help. Goddammit, Olivia, you’re my wife. Let me take care of you. Fuck. I need you to take care of me. I need you. I need us.” She doesn’t respond before I’m out the door, slamming it behind me. I hadn’t intended to take that tone with her, but her indifference, the vacant look in her eyes just set me completely off.
I’m tired of feeling like I’m in this marriage alone. I’m tired of feeling like I can’t grieve. That my feelings don’t matter.
I need a fucking drink.
A lot of them.
I need space.
I’m off the bed before I can think about what I did that night.
No no no, this cannot be happening.
I enter the bathroom, closing it behind me quietly to not disturb Olivia. I grip my hair, cursing my memory for choosing now to come back.
Just when I’d gotten Olivia back.
Just when she’d finally let me back in. I stare at my reflection, the heavy feeling in my chest making me feel like I’m having a heart attack.
I don’t know what’s more aggressive: the pounding in my temples or the nauseous feeling in my stomach. I rub my forehead and groan.
