Page 10 of Fractured
As many times as I go over this morning’s conversation in my head, it always ends up with the same conclusion I came up with this morning.
He has taken everything that ever meant anything to me and I have a feeling he does not intend to give it back. Not like it used to be. I don’t care about my phone. I don’t care about my laptop either. It’s all material things, a distraction.
What crushes my soul is the small things I let past throughthe walls around my heart to keep and hold safe. He fooled me into thinking I could keep working with his promise to drive me every morning. I worked hard for it and dedicated myself to overcoming the obstacles to obtain this position. In a matter of one phone call, he took that life’s dedication away.
I love Anna and Helen. My heart aches thinking about Helen, especially. He will never again let me go to that bookstore alone. My private time with her is over, as well as with Anna. The sanctuary I once relied on is now gone as of this morning.
I don’t love him, and if I’m honest with myself, I don’t even like him much. He is a beautiful man like his father. However, beauty is nothing when cruelty comes with the shining package.
The chills he gave me as he touched and caressed me. Well? That’s just the body responding to the affection I’ve never received or experienced before. It’s not genuine fondness, the lasting kind that grows into love and commitment.
I’m not a stupid woman. I can see the life ahead of me and only I can change the path they have laid out for me. When all your options are taken away from you, when you’re left with only one choice for freedom, I’d be stupid not to take it.
I agonize over the choice of going through with the marriage. I could end this right now. Stop it before it even starts.
Why haven’t I is the question?
What’s stopping me from taking the choice away from all of them?
I stroke my hair and the guilt washes over me every time that pathway crosses my mind.
I’m not them. I will never be like them.
That’s something they would do. A last fuck you, as Anna would call it. I don’t play games with people’s hearts. I’m honest enough with myself to know I could never do this withmalicious intent towards others, to hurt them as they have hurt me. This is for me and me alone.
A knock at the door has me moving to open it. Sasha hands me my tray of lunch, grabbing the breakfast tray off the table as she leaves. Setting it on the coffee table, lifting the silver lid, taking the plate with me to the window seat. I settle in, opening the window and looking out over the yard.
I take a bite of chicken and chew. It tastes like dust in my mouth, but I need some food in order to keep up my strength. I sigh as I watch the birds dive in and out of the cedar trees. The sun is out, and the breeze is warm.
Looking out over the beautiful yard once again I put another fork of chicken in my mouth and chew. Maybe tomorrow I can go sit in the garden. Alexander has a library; who knows I might find a good book there.
I want to take in all the small pleasures in life while I can.
Taking my empty plate to the tray on the coffee table, I pick it up and place it on the side table by the door for Sasha.
Looking around the room there is not much to do. There is no remote for the TV, the desk has a few sheets of paper and a pen, and there isn't even a clock on the wall so without my phone, I don't even know what time it is.
I huff out a breath and go back to the couch and sit down, bringing my hair over my shoulder and stroking the ends, tilting my head and studying the flowers. A leaf falls off, my gaze follows it as it makes a small tick sound as it lands on the coffee table.
Reaching over to pick it up, inspecting the dry and curled edges. I examine the leaf again, rubbing the dusty green between my fingers. The dying flower arrangement reminds me of an hourglass.
Each petal that falls slowly ticks off the minutes until thevitality and beauty of each stem have run their course, reminding me that nothing, especially beautiful things, ever lasts.
The door of-the-art room is open, and my art supply boxes are piled haphazardly in one corner. Getting up I sit on the floor and dig through the boxes, finding the bowl I made in a pottery class that I took at university.
I take it back to the coffee table and drop the drying leaf inside, collecting another pedal that fell off and placing it in the bowl beside the leaf. This bowl will be my hourglass, my way of collecting all the falling pieces of myself that they have slowly stripped away.
Hours pass and I sit, watching and collecting falling petals. Sasha comes and goes, replacing the lunch tray with the dinner tray. I eat at my window; take the empty tray back to the table by the door.
The sun has set, and it is late in the evening. Taking out my bunny pajamas, I go into the bathroom and run a bath. I pour a handful of lavender bath salts into the hot water. I inhale the scent and take off my clothes, tossing them in the laundry hamper.
I step in and the heat burns my cold feet. I settle back in the tub and close my eyes. Enjoy every second of this bathroom, Izzy.
I soak in the fragrant water until it becomes too cold. As I get out, I towel myself off before slipping into my favorite jammies. Towel-drying my hair, I put it in a braid for the night, then brushed my teeth and turned off the light in the bathroom.
A cold chill runs up my back when I look across the room at my bed.
I can’t sleep there, not tonight. It’s too soon to smell him on the sheets, lay in the same spot where he touched me and kissed me like I meant something to him.
