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"Excuse me?"
"Are you kidding me right now? Why are you so afraid, James? What I can possibly remember that is so bad?"
"No, that's not...I'm trying to figure out why you collapsed on the kitchen floor."
Well, that was easy to identify.
"I...When you had that moment of rage and..." Ugh, why was this so hard? "I thought you were about to hit me."
He stepped back like I'd just slapped him, and his face was transfigured with disgust and shock.
"I would never..."
"I know." I cut in, aware of how stupid and irrational my reaction was.
"No, Rita, look at me," he grabbed me by my forearms, forcing us closer together. "It doesn't matter how furious I get; if I kick and scream…I would rather cut my arm off than ever lay a hand on you, ok?"
"James, I know."
"But I don't think you understand. You got scared, and that should never happen around me. I am sorry for my reaction. I was out of line, but never fear me, love. Never. I wouldn't hurt you in a million years, and I will never let anyone do it."
James was the most gentle man I'd ever known. I knew almost instinctually that he wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone beat me, but somehow, I was expecting him to whack me into tomorrow.
"You did hurt me, James, when you told me you don't give a shit if I remember our past years or not. Oh, no, I'm sorry, you said you'd prefer me to stay like this."
Again, he was struck, but I didn’t regret my acid tone because I felt the same when he said those words to me half an hour earlier.
"What I mean..."
"What you mean is that I've already fucked your life enough, and you don't want to put up with this shit anymore. Don't you think I know that? I wake up every day knowing at some point I vowed to be your partner and support you, but instead, I'm another burden on your shoulders. It's eating at me, and that's why I'm so desperate to go back." He tried to intervene, but I got up in his face and raised my hand to silence him. There was no stopping me now. "You expect me to live without knowing if we ever had anal before or if I told you the real reason of why I have a burn on my butt? How do you expect me to move over the fact that we have a daughter, but since I woke up on that fucking hospital bed, neither of us has ever said a simple I love you?"
I knew I had just dropped the fucking bomb. A bomb that was pressing on my chest for weeks, and now it might have taken us both out.
"Don't we, James?"
"Rita, listen..." he said, but no words follow, so maybe there was nothing good that I could listen to.
"It's fine, I get it. I'm a poor girl from Cuba, and the only thing I can do right are doodles. I know I should count my blessings as it is. I mean, look at me. At us. I barely fit at your side, and I can accept that, but I need to know..."
More than anything, I needed to know why he was with me because it didn’t matter what we did or did not say – I was in love with this man, and every day I walked on egg shells because I didn’t know what to give him so I could keep him. A wedding band on my finger didn’t feel reassuring enough when I didn’t know how the fuck it got there in the first place.
"Love, I don't even know where to start addressing this."
"Don't, I can't. Not tonight. It's too much for tonight." I was too drained to hear anymore. "I'm going to sleep."
What I didn’t say was that I'd burrow under the covers on the guest room bed and cry myself to sleep.
I was choking on my own agony.
After Rita fled the room and hid in a bedroom that was not ours - the same one she hated when I was trying to keep my distance - I poured myself a glass of whiskey. I had quite a collection of bottles, but it was a pleasure I rarely indulged. Zach gave me a twelve-year-old Andalusia Striker to celebrate signing my divorce papers, and I had never touched it until now. A smoked whiskey would normally be my favorite treat, with the rich and rough texture and the strong, refined aroma, but the liquor never tasted so bad. Right then, I felt like the drink was tainted with torment and disgust.
There were so many things that went wrong tonight. So many.
I spent twenty minutes on my driveway, alone, watching my house but too scared to come in. I knew that we'd have to talk about the run in with my friends, and I almost lost my shit. Since she left, I had this feeling of guilt building in my gut, pressing harder and harder, making it hard to breathe. What was I doing to her?
Once again, I was reminded that I was pushing a vulnerable woman in a game she most probably didn’t want to play. Placing her in my life, making her raise my daughter, the sex...I was way outside the ethical limit. I was pretty sure at this point, I was pushing the limits of some civil laws.
...But she had fit in right away, like she was made to sit at my arm and make jokes with my friends. She stood up to Zach and made him bow at her feet with a few words.
