Page 81 of Give Me Strength

I’ve tried to keep myself busy, throwing myself into my daily routine, the same ones that used to ground me before Gilbert came into my life, but even that feels hollow. I go through the motions because I have to, but my heart isn’t in it. And every night, I cry myself to sleep in his empty bed, enveloped by his scent. I’ve had two therapy sessions at Aspen Groove with Dr. Jenkins, but Gilbert wasn’t there each time — even though he owns the place, and I know for a fact that he now has a small rooster of patients. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s avoiding me. Or going out of his way to respect my desire for space. It’s infuriating, either way.

What’s even more infuriating, is that Aunt Bonnie knows where he is. I’m pretty sure Melissa and Russ do too, but neither of them would tell me. It’s like they’ve all rehearsed and coordinated their responses, and it’s creepy. Like, what am I going to do, hurt him more than I already have? But I’m not so self-absorbed to not notice that they’re all trying other things to try and cheer me up, but nothing seems to help.

So I did something I never did before. I canceled one of my private ballet lessons with Mrs Janice. Then a second. Melissa called in to cancel a third, Mrs Janice came to the house, as it was a monumental moment that just had to be documented.

More often than not, I find myself in our living room, curled up on the couch with his favorite throw blanket wrapped tightly around me. The TV is on, but I’m not really watching it. Like a glutton for punishment — or rather, for him — my mind keeps drifting back to that fateful night, particularly to the drained look of guilt and pain etched on Gilbert’s face before he walked out.

My phone buzzes, pulling me from my thoughts. It’s a message from Aunt Bonnie, asking if I’m feeling up for some company tonight. I stare at the screen for a moment before typing a quick reply.

Me: Not tonight. Thanks, though.

Aunt Bonnie: I’m already on my way, and I got you that salad you like.

As if sustenance will fill the ache. Nothing can fill this fucking ache, except him.

Me: Then put it in the fridge. The guest room’s there for you, should you decide to stay over. Again. But I want to be left alone.

I set the phone down and bury my face in the blanket, breathing in his scent. It’s not that I don’t appreciate her efforts; I do. But nothing seems to lift the fog that’s settled over my heart.

After what feels like an eternity, I get up and wander into the kitchen, aimlessly opening and closing cabinets. We’re running low on his favorite brand of coffee. I should add that to Melissa’s shopping list for the week. It’s been four long, excruciating days since I made him his morning coffee, which usually morphs into my sitting on his face since, as he claims, my juices are the only creamer he needs. Fuck. Tears spring into my eyes as the sound of his gravelly morning voice, even if it’s just in my memories, has a straight line to my sorely neglected clit.

Wiping them away, I settle on a cup of tea, hoping the warmth will provide some comfort. As I wait for the water to boil, my eyes land on lone salt shaker on the kitchen island. Its twin was knocked over by Gilbert last week, in one of our many lovemaking frenzies. He had me brace myself against the island while he impaled me with his dick from behind, and I was too busy screaming out his name to register the sound of the rare glass shattering to a thousand pieces. The memory brings a fresh wave of tears, and I quickly look away. But my gaze lands on the pantry door, and how he had my cheeks pressed against the doorframe as he ate me out.

Now that I think about it, there are just too many surfaces in this house that we’ve christened. Everywhere I turn, there’s something that reminds me of him. It’s like he’s everywhere and nowhere all at once. The only place I haven’t ventured into yet is his home office, because I know myself. There might be answers in there, but I don’t want to snoop. It feels wrong to invade his privacy like that. He doesn’t go snooping around in the studio, so who am I to betray his trust like that by snooping in his sanctuary?

I take my tea to his bedroom, the place that feels the most like him. His side of the bed is neatly made, untouched since he left. I sit on my side, clutching the warm mug, and let the tears fall freely. And then I think about the secret he kept, the betrayal that shattered everything. I want to be angry, but mostly, I just feel hollow.

And so, so filled with regret and guilt, over what I said.

How could I ever think that he would see me as anyone but me?

Sure, he talks about Rachel, and how close they were. How codependent their relationship was. He loved her, but in terms of any romantic entanglements he’s been firm on the fact that Rachel and Mom were soulmates. I realize that what happed with Leland messed me up more than I care to admit. Still, it doesn’t mean Gilbert is like that.

I think about the times we shared, the love and laughter, the way he’s always made me feel safe and cherished. No one in their right mind would give their dead wife’s lover’s eighteen year old daughter access to ALL of their money, just for kicks. It’s in the billions, for the record, something both he and Rachel downplayed a lot. If not for this house, one would never know. And frankly, it no longer bothers me that he and Rachel were siblings — or step siblings, as Aunt Bonnie repeatedly pointed out — or that he kept it from me. I’m sure he had his reasons.

I wipe away the tears and take a deep, steadying breath. We all have secrets, and it would be hypocritical of me to hold his against him. The ache in my chest feels unbearable, and I finally let myself acknowledge the truth.

I miss him.

Despite everything, I miss him.

I miss my soulmate.

And even though I’ve already forgiven him — not that there ever was anything to forgive — I need to hear his side of the story. But it’s clear he won’t reach out unless I do. So I pull out my phone and call up our text history, my finger hovering over the Read symbol under my text from three days ago.

Me: I miss you.

I hit send before I can lose my nerve. Life is far too short to be beating around the bush, a sentiment I know all too well.

His response comes almost instantaneously, like he had been staring at his phone too.

Gilbert: I miss you too.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves as I stare at the screen, my heart racing.

Here goes nothing.

Me: I’m sorry for what I said. It was stupid and insensitive of me.

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