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I drank down the wine without even tasting the flavor, and then I quickly refilled the glass. As I brought it to my lips, my gaze wandered down the darkened hallway, which led to our bedroom. After finishing the second glass just as fast as the first, I sat it down on the marble bar top and picked up the bottle. Drinking from it directly, I found myself heading toward the master bedroom. A room I hadn’t entered since I’d moved upstairs.
My hand shook when I placed it on the doorknob. I’d kept the door shut, hoping to keep the ghosts locked inside, but it didn’t work. They were always with me. He was always with me. I took another drink before turning the knob. The full moon illuminated the space thanks to the large floor-to-ceiling bay windows. I didn’t turn on the lights; I didn’t need to. I didn’t need to cast more light on the horrible memories contained within these walls.
The bed, like much of the room, remained untouched. Every decorative pillow was in place. It looked inviting, but it was a lie. Turning the bottle up, I took another drink as my legs carried me, seemingly of their own free will, farther into the room. I stood in front of his closet door. A door that had remained closed since I came back to this place. I opened it, and flipped the light switch. All of Seth’s clothes still hung neatly organized, just as he’d left them. I hadn’t touched a thing. My mind played tricks on me, because it smelled like him, as if he’d just been in there getting dressed for the day. Goosebumps popped up on my arms.
My fingers touched his shirts as I walked down the neatly color-coordinated rows, stopping in the white section. I placed the bottle of wine down on the built-in mahogany dresser that sat in the center of the space, and then I pulled out the shirt he’d worn the day we’d met. I put it on, brought the fabric to my nose, and inhaled deeply. It did smell like him, as if his essence was fused into each strand of the cotton. Wrapping the shirt tighter around my body, I grabbed the bottle and guzzled more of the wine.
I slid down to the floor, staring up at the color coordinated neatness. Everything always had to be perfect. Including me. I was the puppet, and he was the puppeteer. He controlled every aspect of my life with fear. The fear he’d hurt someone I loved and the fear he’d kill me.
I’d played my part well.
I took another drink. Mal was right about one thing: Seth remained in control. Fear never went away. It only changed and morphed into something new. Seth had me so well trained that I still played the part.
I laid down on the plush carpet and curled my body, hugging myself until I drifted off into what I hoped would be a dreamless sleep.
I awoke the next morning confused and with a pounding headache. I quickly covered my eyes to block out the light. As I attempted to get up, my leg hit something. Slowly, I lifted my fingers to see an empty wine bottle roll and come to rest against a black shoe—his shoe. Why did I come in here? My chest constricted and my breathing turned to rapid pants. I fought to get his shirt off, feeling suffocated with it on. I fled from the confined space, and slammed the door behind me.
I struggled to get air into my lungs. My heart pounded. The room spun. Dropping to my knees, I took deep, slow breaths, trying to stave off the impending panic attack. My limbs shook. Tears leaked from my eyes. I watched as one dropped from the path it had taken down the bridge of my nose, onto the plush carpet below.
My hands balled into fists as more tears followed that same path. The hot, pulsating throbbing of my head magnified the ringing in my ears. I swallowed hard, trying to fight against the growing urge to vomit. These things were supposed to be getting better. I was supposed to be getting better.
I am better. I am better. I am better. I repeated the mantra, willing myself to believe it. I’d been managing without the pills for nearly nine months now; I didn’t want to go back on them. I stayed on my hands and knees, trying to get control over my body.
Time ticked by slowly, but eventually my breathing slowed, my gag reflex dissipated, and my body no longer trembled. My heart rate lowered to a normal beat. I unclenched my fists, allowing my muscles to relax and oxygen to flow through me in a steady rhythm. Six months. It had been six months since my last panic attack. Mentally, I reset the counter, like one of those accident-free posters seen in workplaces. Using the doorknob for support, I pulled myself up, then stumbled from the master bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
After taking a shower, getting dressed, and taking a couple of aspirin, I called Dr. Carr. Once I got off the phone with her, I called my parents to check on Shawn and to see if they could keep him for a little while longer. My father made it a point to let me know that last question was never needed. They spoiled him rotten, especially since Dorian wasn’t going to be giving them grandchildren anytime soon.
Her marriage to Daniel was on the rocks and most likely headed for divorce. She now knew firsthand the pain of being cheated on. She knew how deep that sort of betrayal cut. Part of me felt sorry for her, but part of me, a small part of me, sort of enjoyed her pain. When I’d been cheated on by Paul, she’d had no sympathy. She’d loved to make snide comments about my inability to keep a man satisfied. Hell, she’d even invited him to her wedding.
He’d died that night. Ruled an accident, but now I knew better. It’d become another one of the memories that replayed in my head with the knowledge of who Seth really was. I shook my head and pushed away those thoughts.
Seth’s cars mocked me when I entered the garage. Just like his closet, they’d remained untouched. I needed to sell them, but I hadn’t. Instead, they sat under their custom-made car covers, serving as more reminders of a life forgotten. With a heavy sigh, I hit the button on the wall to open the garage door, climbed into my small SUV, and headed toward Dr. Carr’s Buckhead office.
“You knew!” I accused when I entered her office twenty minutes later.
She closed the door behind me. “Good morning to you as well, Calida,”
I dropped my bag into the chair in front of her desk and started pacing. The soothing blue colors and calming ocean décor were not having their desired effect. She’d told me yesterday that Malcolm had come to see her for advice. She knew I was walking into an ambush and yet she’d said nothing.
“Do you want to tell me what it is I knew about?” she asked in her annoyingly even tone.
I turned to glare at her. She always seemed to irritate me more than anything, and I found myself wondering why I hadn’t found a new therapist. Or why I even continued therapy at all.
“Malcolm! You knew he was planning that…that ambush, and you didn’t warn me. Or better yet, you didn’t tell him not to.” I dropped down into the club chair across from where she sat.
Dr. Carr pushed her square-rimmed glasses up on her nose. “I don’t tell my patients what to do or what not to do. I merely help them come to positive solutions on their own terms.”
“But he’s not your patient. I am.”
“He paid me for my time, as a…consultation. Which brings me to your first issue of me not telling you. I didn’t know what he had planned. He simply asked for the best way to deal with approaching a woman who had been through a traumatic relationship. Strictly in hypothetical terms. I could not tell you what he was or was not going to do because that would have been breaking privilege. I only told you he came because he asked me to before he left.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Since you like hypotheticals so much, why not tell me ‘hypothetically’ that he was going to propose, well not really propose, but sorta. UGH!” I balled my fists in my hair. “He even had our parents there. I couldn’t say no, not with them all looking so happy and expectantly at me. It wasn’t right. You weren’t right, and he wasn’t right.”
H
er head cocked to the side, and her voice raised an octave. “He asked you to marry him?”
Guess Malcolm didn’t give her the whole story. I looked down at the ring I now wore on my right hand instead of the left. I’d taken it off after I’d gotten dressed, but something made me put it back on. I was glad it wasn’t an engagement ring; that sort of pressure—commitment—I really wasn’t ready for. In another life, one before Seth, everything Malcolm had said to me yesterday would have made my heart sing. Years of playful flirting had fed into the pipe dream. I’d been young and naïve then, but hopeful. Now…now my world view was irrevocably jaded.
