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And then I snapped.
“Don’t you ever lay a goddamned hand on me in anger ever again! Keep your fucking hands to yourself, do you hear me!?” I caught her retreating hand by the wrist. “Never again!”
Abbie shrieked in surprise and cowered in fear as she watched me stand to my full height while I seethed with outrage. The pain that radiated from her palm streamlined to the inner workings of my chest, seeped and dripped like acid burning a hole straight through me.
I felt like the monster her eyes accused me of being. Anger blistered me from all sides as my love for her spilled over my face and the incredulity at what she’d just done. Salt dripped into the cut in my lip as my wrath came out, along with years of unchecked anger.
She stammered out an apology. “C-Cameron, I shouldn’t have done that,” she said as she looked up at me as if I were a stranger.
I shut my eyes tightly as she whimpered in fear. When I opened them, I was no more. Fist clenched at my sides, I lashed out. “Fuck it, fuck it! To hell with you! Believe whatever the fuck you want to believe about me. I’ve done nothing but love you since the minute I fucking met you!”
I stormed off, my eyes cloudy and my heart erased as she sobbed out my name behind me to . . . what . . . stop me? I would never know because I sealed the door on us the rest of the way, for her, for us both. I thought I was done with being miserable, but with one strike of her hand, I was done with it all.
Staring out the window I could pinpoint the street where she slept. The address where I’d made some of the best memories of my life. It was only fitting that I watched from afar. I welcomed the pitch black I stood in while I sipped the bottle and the burn crept in with the warmth that covered me.
But it was a false substitution.
I didn’t care. I wanted to be free of the gnawing in my chest.
I had four months of something bordering the perfection I swore didn’t exist with a woman who fit me. She was the epitome of everything I’d ever craved. And just as easily as she came in and stole the biggest part of me, she took it with her. All I wanted when I met her was a little bit of peace. I still wanted it, but I only seemed to find it with her.
With things as they were, I knew peace was lost. And my soul wasn’t going to rest without her. I’d never been so exhausted in my life. She’d unknowingly pushed me past what I was capable of. I had nothing left, where I had so much inside before. For her. Because she brought me back from the brink and made love beautiful and simple. And I jumped at the chance at something so pure with her.
Maybe we were better off as strangers. She should hate me. I was guilty in an unrepairable way. I hated so much of what I saw in my reflection off the glass I stared through. I could still feel the sting of her hand, but it wasn’t my face that ached.
On Christmas morning I woke up in her arms, her fingers on the back of my neck, her healing touch my new addiction, her smile erasing the
days I spent without her. The last few years of my life bearable by the minutes with her.
Why were the best fucking things in life always so short lived? Good one minute, and then stripped away in a blink. It always seemed the case, especially when it came to the women in my life.
My mother’s friendship and sudden absence, the truth of who my wife was, and the loss of the woman I was meant to love had the same type of effect. A common bond they all shared to let me know I wasn’t ever in control.
All I did was fight for the happiness I wanted to deserve. When the fuck was it going to be my time? And hadn’t I given enough flesh? I could have sworn I paid for my sins, apparently, I hadn’t shed enough. But life could take it all if I could have her back. The irony was, there was no deal to be made, no one to barter with and I knew the why.
This time, I did it to myself.
“Fuck you,” I muttered to the bastard that watched me swig the bottle. Posing was how I kept it together. It was in my posture, the way I dressed, the way I pretended not to care, not to need, when it was all I’d ever done. I was just as much of a hypocrite as my wife. She was the queen of liars, and I her loyal subject. No matter how much of her I’d thought I’d shaken off in the last year, she had mutated me to the point of keeping up appearances.
When my mom died, I kept busy, using small talk to tune out the pain. I did the same thing when Kat and I started having problems. It was easier to cope when you were busy asking questions about someone else’s life. A way to escape your own. I had a constant need to connect. Abbie had that same need. Nothing alike but hearts in common.
‘Sticks and stones’ was never my motto. The phrase had never been a part of my vocabulary. It meant nothing to me growing up. I’d never dealt with the kind of things I’d had to in the past few years with Kat. I was the golden boy, the poster child. I resembled a carefree man most of my life. I had no issue getting the vote, the friends, or the women.
But I only excelled because I worked hard for it, sometimes twice as hard. And I rewarded those who pushed me by pushing back and doing better. I made few enemies and I was never afraid of shadows because I cast my own.
I might have been labeled perfect, but I never fucking asked for it. I was the son of an unimpressed father and doting mother. Early on I accepted it and vied for her affection because she made up for the lack of his. Failure was my enemy. I excelled to spite him though I never hated him. I only wanted to save myself the embarrassment of failing in front of him. And now I could never admit where he truly succeeded, and I had failed.
My father had the unconditional and unwavering love of the woman I loved most in the world . . . until Abbie. But even at his worst, my mother remained loving and loyal. I foolishly thought I could have the same thing. I loved Abbie’s flaws, quirks, and her imperfections. More so, her willingness to admit them without disguising them in sex and perfume. It’s what drew me to her.
She’d let me need her. She’d let me love her, and it was reciprocated. I stopped caring who was watching with her. I needed her love over everything.
Maybe I didn’t deserve her as the man I was.
But I deserved her now.
Didn’t I?
I’d played her way, by her rules. I left my baggage at the door because it worked for me on the same level that it did for her.
