When I have finished eating, I lie back on the lounger and close my eyes; after consuming all that food I’m feeling tired and sluggish. The Las Vegas sunshine is warm, and the feel of it touching my skin is comforting, but nonetheless my mind races with all the events of the last few days.
The shouting.
The slap.
The feeling of history repeating itself.
Oh god, this is one big clusterfuck.
I need to decide what’s going to happen long term. It would be much easier to leave, start afresh somewhere else with a new name and a new identity where no one knows anything about me. But I’m tired of running, I don’t want to leave my mom again. I don’t want to leave Lottie again, and I want somewhere to set down roots. I’m twenty-six years old. Time to face it head on and deal with it.
After a scorching hot shower, I’m feeling a little more human. I know where I need to start in order to put my life back together, and I’m not looking forward to it, but it has to be done. Delaying the inevitable won’t help.
I slip on a pink matching underwear set—nice underwear is essential in making you feel empowered—followed by a blackshift dress that hugs my figure and makes my long legs look even longer. A pair of black wedge heels completes the outfit.
I turn to look in the mirror. I’m not applying any makeup. The deep-purple bruising that has developed on my cheek only serves as a reminder of my past and I need to feel that anger and determination for the phone call I’m about to make.
I delve into my purse and take out my cell. No more missed calls from Aaron. Just a text from Lottie, asking about my plans for today. I’ll call her later.
I’m not sure if he’ll be awake yet, or even what state he’ll be in, but I dial the number and wait. My hands are shaking and the nails on my free hand have left indentations where they are digging into the palm. My heart rate picks up with every ring he doesn’t answer and I think it just about beats out of my chest when he eventually picks up.
“Nat?”
“Hello, Aaron.” My voice is flat, devoid of feeling, but it doesn’t take long for him to pull on my heartstrings and thaw my determination just a little.
“Natalie! Where the hell are you? I’ve been so worried. Come home. Please, come home.”
“Aaron—”
“Nat, I’m sorry, I love you. Please just—”
“Stop, Aaron.” I shake my head in frustration. “I’m not coming home. I’m not coming back,” I say softly.
“What? What do you mean you’re not coming home? We had an argument, all married couples have arguments. We can go to counseling, and I’ll get help, whatever you want. We can work it out…”
Just an argument? Is he crazy?
I pinch the bridge of my nose and screw my eyes tight shut in frustration. He doesn’t see it, but then he doesn’t know the fullstory so he wouldn’t have known how deeply something like this would have affected me.
“Will you just stop? Please, Aaron…come back to the real world. We didn’t just have an argument. You hit me…”
“I’m sorry.” His voice drops to a whisper. “It’ll never happen again. I don’t know why…I…I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, and—”
“You’re right, Aaron, it won’t happen again because I’m not coming back. I want a divorce.”
“You want a divorce?”
“Did you not hear me the first time? I’m not doing this, I’m not living a life going back and forth like this. If it means being on my own, then so be it, but I’m not going to be miserable any longer. Our marriage has been a disaster from the minute we said I do. And you hit me, Aaron. You hit me! You can’t come back from something like that. We can’t.”
The silence stretches out between us as I listen to his soft restricted breaths on the other end of the line.
“I really fucked up. Didn’t I, Nat?”
I sit on the edge of the bed and my heart constricts at the defeated tone in his voice. I know I should hate him, but I don’t. I certainly don’t love him, but I don’t hate him either. We shared some good times, and our honeymoon was one of the happiest weeks of my life, but it’s all tainted with the twelve weeks that followed.
“Yes, you did.” I swallow the lump that is forming in my throat and focus on the purpose of this phone call.
“Can you just come back so we can talk?”
