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He runs a hand through his hair. “A lot.”
I sigh, hating that even now he still can’t give me what I want, hating that I almost don’t care, hating that I want him so much, regardless. I’m a slave to my desires where he’s concerned, and I hate it. I can’t let this continue, I decide. I have to move on with my life, the one that doesn’t include him.
“I want a divorce.” I say, surprising even myself as I speak the words out loud.
He seems to freeze. His eyes pierce me, almost glacial in their intensity, but he doesn’t say a word. The silence is heavy and oppressive. Immediately, I want to take the words back, to unsay them and wipe them from his memory, because I don’t really want a divorce, I want him to tell me that he can’t live without me, I want him to love me as much as I love him, helplessly, hopelessly and totally.
I watch his jaw tighten. When he finally speaks, his voice is harsh. “Why?” He asks, his eyes dark and furious, “because of that little boy who was trying to kiss you a moment ago? Does he know where you were last night?” He snaps. “What you were doing, with me? Or doesn’t he mind sharing as long as he gets a taste.”
I close my eyes against his taunting words. “Stop it.” I almost shout.
“Why should I?” he demands angrily. “Am I supposed to just disappear, make it easy for you to forget about me?”
“Well you had no problem disappearing before.” I accuse. “I heard nothing from you for two months.”
“Well that was because I listened to you when you told me to leave you alone, remember. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to make the same mistake twice, because we both know you didn’t really mean that,” he says, his voice cutting, “You don’t really want me to leave you alone, do you, Sophie.”
I hate his mocking tone, and more than that, I hate the fact that he’s right. “Why do you
always have to do this?” I cry angrily, “Why do you always have to be so hateful?”
“Because I love you, Sophie,” The words burst out of him, freezing me in place. He freezes too, and stares at me, his face panicked, looking as if he’s only just realized what he said. My heart starts to race expectantly. I feel as if I’ve been doused in water that’s both hot and cold, and my body is freezing and scalding at the same time. I step forward, towards him, my whole body attuned to the words that are now hanging in the air between us, heavy and full of meaning.
He takes a step back, and I watch, hope dying in my chest as his face shuts down, turning impassive as he retreats behind his wall. “I have to go.” He says, his voice suddenly clipped and impersonal.
I don’t try to stop him. My chest is aching strangely as I watch him stride to his car and drive away. I feel more confused than I’ve ever felt in my life.
I want to sit on the steps and cry my eyes out. I want to know why the thought that he could be in love with me is enough to make him shut down so totally. Sadly, I turn around and notice Bea standing just inside the door, her eyes wide open. She pushes the door open and steps out into the night.
“Who on earth was that hottie?” She asks incredulously, “and was I dreaming, or did I just hear him say that he’s in love with you?”
I sigh. “He’s my husband.” I hear myself say.
Bea’s eyes widen even more, looking as if they’re about to burst out of her head. For the first time since I met her, she seems to have nothing to say.
“And he either said it,” I continue wonderingly, “or we both just had the exact same dream.”
Chapter Six
BEA DOESN’T LEAVE MY APARTMENT until I tell her everything, from the beginning.
“Wow.” She keeps saying, over and over again.
“Sounds like you’ve both come a long way.” She says finally, when I finish.
“Have we?” I shake my head. “I think we’re still stuck in the same place, Bea. I love him so much, but he’s so... he’s so complicated.”
“He obviously wants you back.” She offers.
“Yes but…” I sigh. “I don’t know if I can trust him. For him, it’s all about sex.”
“Honey,” Bea chuckles, “A guy who looks like that doesn’t have to drive thirty minutes for sex.”
“So you think…” I don’t say the words, they mean too much.
“Yeah, I think he does love you, a guy who’s not interested forgets about you as soon as he’s out of the door.” She says with a sniff, “Trust me, I know.” She smiles reassuringly. “But give it some time, Sophie. Think about it, and maybe talk to him okay? Before you make any decisions.”
The next day, I finish early from work and take a cab to David’s office in Seattle. It occurs to me, as I stand on the sidewalk in front of the impressive building, that in the short time David and I were together, I never came here. I shake my head. On the surface, that’s another argument for the fact that our marriage wasn’t really a marriage at all, and even though I know now that the main reason why we never really went out together had to do with issues David was facing with his company at that time, it still feels odd.
