Because if he’s such a good fucking actor, making me buy into the passion between us when he clearly has had his mind on someone else, what else is he lying to me about?
Every date we’ve had has been two steps forward, three steps back.
For every bit of my armor he peels away, every vein of mine that he infiltrates under my skin, injecting himself, soaking his very essence into my bloodstream, reminding me of where he used to belong, where we used to thrive together, I’m blindsided after it’s over by the one image I just can’t shake.
As a woman, a wife, a mother, to see the man I’ve given my everything to pant and lust after someone else…it’s changed me on a molecular level. Affected the way I see him from every angle.
Even worse, it’s damaged how I seemyself. Possibly irreparably, if these last months are any indication.
Worried if I’m unfit, not worthy of being loved, or wanted.
I hate that he has that power over me, independence and self-confidence have always been infallible parts of my core identity. But he’s stripped me of them in one night.
He’ll stoke my confidence back to life when it’s just me and him, reliving some of our best moments together, and I’ll forget. At least for a while. The protests in my head eventually die down, there’s this period of blissful reprieve where the beauty of the present outweighs the pain of the past and I give in to his looks, his words, his fucking touch. I’ve never stopped wanting those things. And I shouldn’t feel bad for that, right?
But the next morning, it inevitably feels like betrayal. From him, from myself.
Ashamed to have given in to the man who chose some random chick on the Internet over me. The woman he pledged his every day, each waking breath, to. In sickness and in health. For richer or poorer. For better or worse. To have and to hold. At least that’s what he told the priest. Seems like there was a clause when he said “I do.”
“I do, except when she’s not the hot piece of ass I’m craving.”
“I do, until she can’t lose the last of the baby weight.”
“I do, unless I’m horny and she’s asleep after working and raising four kids all day.”
And Ican’tdo this to myself anymore.
I need to keep the space between us there, for my own sanity.
I’d constructed walls, barriers, an entire fucking castle of defenses to protect what’s left of my heart, my ego, my mental health.
Every time he gets me alone, he tears the stone down, gets me back to a place where it’s just the two of us, on our own level, where we’re all each other needs.
I’ve got to stop giving him the chance.
Because I’mnotall he needs. That was proven when my body wasn’t enough for him, and he went for a picture of someone else’s instead. Not to mention the months and months of drifting apart, of letting our marriage rot from the inside out. Not even from some good reason either. After our big heart-to-heart, I realize he let us fall apart through nothing but neglect and lack of effort.
I know he’s working on rebuilding intimacy between us, prioritizing our relationship, proving that he still wants me, but how fast I cave to my own need for him scares me. I’m not ready to let him cross the moat, pass the keep and into the bastions of my heart.
And I know what you’re thinking. Talk to him about it, Christina. Tell him what you saw, tell him how you feel. Frankly? You sound like Ellie, and I don’t needtwoof her in my life, thank you.
You’re not me, you don’t know how dangerous giving him that ammo to destroy what’s left of me would be. Because thatiswhat that conversation would be. Him finding out how much that affected me, the things it did to my psyche, the way it still haunts me after all this time…it’s everything he would need to obliterate the last of my defenses. And I’ll be damned if I’m the one who caves, sends him straight to the armory and gives him a fucking map to my own destruction.
So I drop the portcullis, add reinforcements to the watch, and convince myself I’m strong enough to keep him out, stay standing all on my own.
I’m not showing my weakness to him again.
The sound of footsteps and floorboards creaking break my train of thought.
“You okay?” The concern is a nice touch, but I don’t scoff outside of the voice in my head.
“Yeah.” I offer no details.
“Did I hear you throwing up?” He steps into the bathroom, closer still, and rubs my back, watching my face in the mirror above the double sinks.
“I’m fine.”
He presses a kiss to my temple and steps back, giving me space.
