It also hadn't escaped my notice that Collins and Nick were my only visitors. Not even my parents or Cal's siblings had made the effort to visit.
What did you do?
I pushed away the unsettling thoughts and picked up the violin, placing it just so on my shoulder. I’d discovered my violin on the top shelf of my closet under an inch of dust.
Yet another pleasure you gave up for some reason.
My fingers moved as I began my warm-up, the joints stiff and the notes stunted. Another reminder of a pleasure that had been brushed aside.
I practised for two hours, losing myself in the movement and sound, trying to recapture the magic that had once flowed so easily from my hands. At the end of the session, I felt simultaneously elated and overwhelmed. The piece was simple, but I'd stuttered through it, the notes coming a beat too slowly, the sound a fraction too pitched. It would be more days of this, likely taking hundreds of hours to reclaim the practised ease with which I used to play – the thought of which was daunting. And yet, I was proud of the effort, proud of my body and my mind for trying.
I dropped the bow on the stand and replaced the violin, taking a moment to stretch my protesting muscles.
The library, despite being the best room in the house acoustically, creeped me the fuck out. When Cal had first given me a tour and mentioned we had a library, I'd been thrilled, expecting thick carpets or perhaps rugs over warm wooden floors. I'd envisioned a heavy stone fireplace with comfortable seating or perhaps a light, airy room with window seats.
The room had defied and devastated all expectations. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with display books and knick-knacks that had been chosen not for reading enjoyment but for display. In fact, one whole shelving wall had every single book turned spine side in, the pages the only viewable part. Another was filled with books covered in white paper – a theme, I was told, that had been championed by celebrities. The final wall held a mishmash of encyclopaedias and law texts.
I loitered by the white wall fighting a tide of frustrated anger as I stared at the idiocy of the covered books. Without thinking, almost as if my hand was detached from my body, I reached for a book and ripped it from the shelf. In a violent action, I used myother hand to rip the stupid white jacket free, revealing a deep red cover of Neil Gaiman's American Gods.
The anger overpowered me, and I reached for another book, pulling it free and ripping the white off to reveal a beautiful peacock blue. I replaced it, reaching for the next and the next, ripping and replacing in a systematic, almost compulsive rhythm.
As I reached the end of the first shelf, a trail of white paper following in my wake, I pulled a book free, knocking it against a heavy metal art piece and sending it crashing to the floor. It hit one of the whitewashed wood floorboards with a crack, sending it bouncing up on one end and sliding out of place. I blinked for a moment, staring at the carnage before letting out a heavy sigh and dropping to my knees.
"Fuck," I muttered, reaching for the broken floorboard and pulling it away from the hole. "Great job, Emily. How you gonna explain this mess?"
It was only after I'd pulled it free and set it to the side that I realised I hadn't broken anything. Under the loose board, nestled in a void between the concrete slab, sat two items. One was a long airtight container, the other a large fireproof safe, the dial facing up toward me.
I reached first for the safe. Heaving and panting, I pulled it up by the case handle, ignoring the scraping sound as it dragged over the edge. I crouch before it, wracking my brain for a possible combination.
My birthday, Cal's birthday and our anniversary didn't work. I paused for a moment, then twisted a final combination, letting out a delighted squeal when it clicked open.
"God damn it, Cal. Our sex date? Really?" I muttered, pushing the lid back with a small smile. Our sex date had happened three weeks after our first official night together. I'dsurprised him with handcuffs and lingerie, he'd surprised me with three orgasms in half an hour.
The contents were fairly benign. Marriage and birth certificates, a USB labelled 'photos', passports which were sadly bereft of adventures. I replaced the documents, shut the safe then reached into the void, pulling the storage box free. Inside was an unexpected treasure trove.
"Diaries," I whispered, pulling the precious journals free. I opened one, catching on the date neatly printed at the top of the page.
19 July 2017
I sifted through the journals, finding them to be a patchwork of the years I'd lost. I found the earliest, starting January 1 2015, and immediately commenced reading, trying to digest the words on the page and translate them into memories locked deep inside me.
Today Cal woke me with kisses on my toes.
The entries were sporadic, some weeks apart, some hours after one another. I'd written of our engagement, of the pressure in the lead-up to the wedding. I'd documented in glorious detail our wedding day – ourrealwedding day, at town hall followed by the night at the cheap seaside BnB. Tears filled with regret and rueful longing flowed down my cheek as I turned each page.
I miss our wedding day. Our REAL wedding day. Today was awful. Mum and Dad fought in the car on the way to the church. Collins had to runinterference while trying desperately to catch Nick's attention. Nick spent most of it on the phone – I'm worried he's going to break her heart.
I brushed away tears, knowing that I'd predicted correctly. Collins had told me about their separation and only recent reconciliation. I hurt and rejoiced for my sister but mostly felt strangely disconnected from all that had happened. And that in itself was distressing.
I know I shouldn't write this, shouldn't give it head space or waste the words on the page. But I can't shake the words, and I need to get it out. I overheard Cal's cousins in the bathroom. They were complaining that I was an embarrassment to him. That I was uncouth and naïve and was only acceptable due to my parent's fortune. Someone joined them, then another, and before I knew it, I was trapped in a toilet cubicle listening to a flock of women pull everything about me apart.
I raised a hand to my mouth, absently biting on my fist as I turned the pages, picking up journal after journal and reading my descent into self-hate.
We went out for dinner with Cal's parents. His mother commented that I looked pregnant.
Cal surprised me with flowers and breakfast in bed. I love this beautiful man.
Cal’s mother hired me a personal trainer. She said I need to lose weight. I don’t think I do, but I don’t want to embarrass him. I want Cal to be proud of me.
