Smile, Katy.
Looking down at my son, I try to draw strength in his expressive face.
I’m losing my fucking mind, and he thinks it’s funny. Maybe it is. I could use a good laugh, a dirty joke.
The urge to let the tears go bubbles up, and I stamp it down.
“It was loud, right?” I flash him my teeth, and he shakes his head.
“Nooo, it wasn’t.”
“I have supersonic ears,” I tell him, and the look on his face shows me he knows I’m full of it. My little man is perceptive, and instead of being proud of it, it scares me. I’m walking the line, with unmatched barbells on either side of me.
I rush Noah to the checkout because I can’t hide the sweat that covers me. My heart is pounding along with the incessant beep, beep, beep as we’re checked out. By the time I load Noah up and pile the groceries in the back, I’m exhausted.
I’m failing. I’m fucking failing. Catching my breath at the back of the Jeep, I see a woman eye me and realize I’m clutching my chest.
On the way home, I make one last stop—to the liquor store.
“Katy. Katy, wake up.” It takes me a moment to realize I’m not hearing my husband’s voice in a dream. That I’m not still chained in that underground cell. My arms pulse with remembrance at the feel of the shackles.
When I open my eyes, Gavin’s there, leaning over me, the tips of his fingers brushing my neck. “Hey,” I whisper, trying not to wake Noah, who’s passed out in my arms. “Can you help?” I motion down to where his head lies in the crook of my elbow where we’re cuddled up on the couch. “I’m stuck.”
Gavin flashes me a beautiful smile. “He went out early.”
“We had a busy day,” I tell him as he lifts Noah easily from my hands. I feel bare without him.
Stop hiding from your husband behind your son.
Afraid Gavin can hear my thoughts, I move toward the kitchen. “I’ll get the dishes done.”
“Already washed them,” he answers, giving me a heavy look. “Maybe we can spend a little time together tonight? Watch a movie or something?”
“Sounds good.”
Butterflies swarm in my belly—nervous butterflies. It’s been over a month since I threw myself at him. I’ve been physically cleared for weeks, and my cast is off. I feel like I’m running out of excuses to separate us and can hear a clock ticking every time he gives me a suggestive look. He’s not pressuring me, but I feel pressured.
Walking up the stairs, he gently slides an arm behind my back, rubbing the small of it, his favorite place to kiss. The wrong type of shiver shoots up my spine as we make our way to Noah’s room. Our footsteps seem so loud, like we’re stomping on tile in heels rather than padding on plush carpet in our bare feet.
Why’s the air conditioning so loud? I’ll have to remember to mention it to Gavin tomorrow. The hungry look he’s giving me tells me he doesn’t want to hear about that right now. He lays Noah down on his bed, and we close his door together. He guides me to our bedroom before he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to my lips.
“I ran you a bath.” His voice is raspy and so full of need, his eyes filled with such emotion that it causes my heart to tighten in my chest. “Picked up some of your favorite bubble bars at Lush last week.” Now I can smell it—the scent wafting into our room from the bathroom. I hear the jets on the tub churning.
Expectation paralyzes me.
“Come on, let me help you in.” He grabs hold of my hand and tugs, but my feet stay firmly rooted to the ground. My breaths quicken.
The thought of him undressing me beneath the bright bathroom lighting—of him seeing the changes my body has gone through—is mortifying.
My ribs are still protruding from beneath breasts that aren’t quite as full as they used to be, and the angry new scars are far from appealing.
“I’ve got it,” I insist. “Just wait here for me?” I add to soften the blow when his face falls. “I won’t be long.”
“Sure.” He sounds anything but sure.
I always loved it when Gavin would sit by the side of the tub while we rehashed our days. He’d either join me in the suds or rush me out and carry me to our bed. We’d make love. Sometimes it was quick. We couldn’t help ourselves—need taking over. Other times it was exquisitely slow. We’d kiss and touch for hours, till we could barely hold our eyes open, and only then would he enter my body, bringing us both to completion before passing out wrapped in each other’s arms, exhausted and happy and blissfully naive to anything but each other.
But I’m no longer unaware of the evil that exists in the world. My body is a physical reminder of my story, one he’s desperate to hear but that I can’t share, not with him. Not yet.
No, I can’t let him see me, I decide before giving him a nod and rushing off to the bathroom, alone. When I lock the door between us, it feels so significant. I feel so guilty.
By the time I’ve wrestled my clothes off, I’m furious with myself. I used to pride myself on being so strong, now I’m a shell. I still try to avoid the mirrors as I climb into the tub. They mock me, the reflection of a weak, scrawny, uglier version of myself haunting me from all angles.
Despite the bubbles and my favorite fruity scent, which should be relaxing, I can’t get out of there fast enough. I shut off the jacuzzi and wash as quickly as possible, paying close attention to my sex.
Just get it over with.
That’s how I feel when I think about being intimate with him, and I know that’s anything but okay.
I can’t keep shutting him out. Despite what my therapist says, nothing about my life anymore is my ‘normal routine.’
I lean back in the tub, arms on the sides, and submerge myself in the water. The world goes quiet, and I stay under as long as possible. There’s peace in the quiet. Almost every night I sit at my bay window when Gavin falls asleep. It’s my time to reflect. When he suggested therapy, I agreed with him wholeheartedly. I can’t go on like I’ve been, but faking it isn’t going to help a damn thing. It’s been so long since I’ve had any relief, and the last time I was intimate with anyone, it wasn’t my husband.
I brush my fingers over my sex while my body heats with shame because I’m instantly taken back to that room with him in Germany. To the feeling of Briggs’s warm fingers touching me. My breath quickens, and I rub harder, remembering the way I felt so alive when he kissed me. My body jerks as I relive every detail of that moment while shamefully bringing myself to orgasm.
Breathless, I hang over the side of the tub. The heat blowing down on me from above is a reminder of the fact that I’m going to hell, and it seems like life is just the first half.
The moment my thoughts stop scrambling, I’m overcome with the urge to vomit. My husband is waiting to be reunited after months apart, and I’ve just finger fucked myself thinking of Briggs.
Who have I become?
“Babe?” Gavin raps his knuckles on the bathroom door. “You okay?”
“Yeah—yes,” I shout, pulling the plug. “Getting out now.”
I hear a light chuckle from the other side of the door. “Just checking. Heard a lot of splashing in there. Take your time. Enjoy your bath. I’m not going anywhere.”
I grab the towel he’s laid out for me, quickly covering myself from view. Then, taking my clothes from the counter, I rush to the closet, where I can dress without having to see my own reflection.
The room is dark but for the dim glow of the candles my husband’s lit. He looks like a god, lying in just a pair of boxers in the center of our bed, his chiseled body on full display. He’s beautiful. I’m not.
“Katy?” Gavin’s voice interrupts my gawking. “You coming?”
“Yeah,” I rasp, rolling my tongue over my lips. “Just ummm…” I shift uncomfortably, tugging the bottom of my sleep shirt to hide my body, which pales in comparison to his. “Just taking a minute to enjoy the view.”
He rises to his knees. “Nothing has to happen, okay?”
“Jesus,” I say.
“What?” he asks.