“Talk to me, Natalie.”
“Not right now, James. I…I need to sleep. It’s late.”
“Yes, it’s late.” Vindication is so loud in his voice, it almost hurts to listen to. “So why are you turning up on people’s doorsteps? I was worried about you. And from the state of you, I had every right to be.”
I’ve mirrored James’s stance, my own arms crossed. I suppose I want to look as grown-up and sure of myself as he does, but I suddenly notice my right hand is shaking. I cup my rib cage with it to hide the tremor.
“I need to sleep,” I say.
“Baby…”
He reaches for me and I want to recoil, but I can’t. He pulls me into his arms and I want to push him away, but I can’t. He pulls my chin up, kisses my mouth, and I want to bite him like he bit me when we first kissed outside that bar, want to taste his blood, and I can’t. I shouldn’t. But I could. Actually, I can, can’t I? So I do. I can’t help myself. It’s instinctive. A little revenge that pales against everything he’s done to me, but it feels good. Incredible, even.
He lets go, steps back.
“Ow, Nat. What the fuck?”
And I slip away from him while his mind is distracted, finger dabbing at his lip. His eyes are transfixed by the blood and I’m doubly glad for these necessary moments. With the gift of a few seconds’ time, I’m into the guest room, door pushed shut.
“Nat?”
But I’m already shoving the chest of drawers in front of the door. The door opens a fraction before colliding with the solid wood. Still, I know that if my weak arms could move the chest into place, James will be able to push the door open with a meaningful shove. And it’s with this in mind that I’m already shunting the bed frame across the floor. It groans as it scrapes against the wood.
“Jesus, Nat. What are you doing in there?”
He tries the door again, but he’s been too slow. The bed is already firmly against the chest of drawers, which is now more snugly against the doorframe.
“I need some space tonight, James.”
“Nat, this isn’t normal.”
“I need some space,” I say, already heaving the bedside table on top of the bed. It takes some effort, but I’m eventually able to get it on top of the chest of drawers. I bounce off the mattress and back to the floor.
“Nat, please…”
“Just…just give me the night, okay?”
One night to safety pin myself together. And then…And then…
I’m loath to lure myself back into the trap of thinking without foresight, but it’s all I can manage right now. If five minutes is too dangerously narrow a field of vision, then perhaps I can take things hour by hour for the time being.
A confused James acquiesces. “Okay, Natalie.” I can still hear him breathing on the other side of the door. “Are you going to sleep in there tonight?”
I nod and then realize he can’t see my nodding. “Yeah. I am.”
“Oh, Nat…”
And he sounds so sad that I can almost believe that he loves me, that this part of our relationship hasn’t been a lie. And maybe it hasn’t. But I can’t trust that feeling, and I can’t trust him, not when he’s made sport of misleading me.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” I manage to whisper.
The sound of footsteps against wood strike up and fade away. I hear our bedroom door click shut. Our bedroom. Soft sobs stretch from there to here, and it makes me want to cry, too. And I do, the wood smooth and cold beneath my feet.
I’m tired. So tired.
And I think of drawing the furniture away, of running to our marital bed and burying my face in his chest. I think of us holding each other, sobbing together, and it feels good. Better than crying alone.Better than letting fear and distrust divide us. Because after all, what do I really know for sure? How far might I be letting Will manipulate me? James has been so consistently kind, loving, and patient. Can’t I just trust that? Can’t I just let him hold me, make everything okay?
Then I think of the lies he’s told about his dating history, the finsta, the convincing shock on Will’s face when he learned of my innocence, and it feels better to stay where I am. I’m sure James is crying due more to his house of cards collapsing than our relationship being on the fritz. Better than letting him get close to me again. Better than risking my safety in his suspicion.
