Page 8 of Truth
I don’t even know if that’s true anymore. All I know is the girl I was has been masterfully twisted and deconstructed by her own need to present the perfect life. Nick’s perfect on paper, and I just keep trying to hold onto the “glimpse” I dreamed for us. It seemed so real, so attainable. If I can just do everything right or better, we can get back there, but the thought that niggles at me is what if who we were isn’t who we are?
“I’m too busy fighting with myself to stop and wonder.”
“Why are you fighting yourself?”
“Do you think I don’t see what’s happening to me? Do you think I swallow my pride, my fucking dignity, my self-respect without gagging on disappointment? Newsflash, G: I hate myself. I hate myself for loving him, and I hate myself for not being able to be the woman he needs. I just want him to love me, but how the fuck could anyone love me when I hate myself so much?” My words are accompanied by the tears streaming down my face. “I just…I don’t know. I’m stuck in the cycle. I can’t remember the last time he didn’t second-guess my every move, but then if I just listen to him and stop being so stubborn, he’s so happy and life seems perfect—except it isn’t. I don’t even know what to think anymore.”
The silence on the other end feels appropriate. Sometimes you just have to say something out loud to hear how it sounds. I sound pathetic, like the girls I hate listening to, whiny and needy for the attention of someone who doesn’t care about them. I just can’t stop myself from caring.
“Drew, promise me you won’t do that anymore.” Her voice is solemn, and I wonder if she feels sorry for me or sad on my behalf.
“Gretchen, I love him, and I don’t know how to fail. I know it’s not perfect, but what if this is my only shot? No relationship is perfect.”
“You’ve already failed.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, my dear sweet friend, that you are so concerned about getting this right that you have forgotten to protect the most important person in the relationship.” She has to be joking.
“What the fuck does that mean? I’m always thinking of what’s good for Nick. I just told you I was trying to work on everything wrong with me to make this work with him.”
“I meant you, Drew. You should be the most important person to you…”
My silence is all the validation she needs to know that I hear her. I do hear her. It just happened so gradually, tiny concessions, victories disguised as compromises. It was all training. He doesn’t have to lift his hand over my mouth to muffle my voice; I’m using my own hand now.
“I have to go.”
“D…”
“I have to go!” My scream surprises me too as I end the call, tossing my phone to the floor and not bothering to wipe my tears. I’ve become used to crying myself to sleep. I close my eyes and let the sleep take me.
It’s 3:00 a.m. when Nick wakes me up from the couch, picking me up to carry to me to bed. He smells like cigars and cheap perfume. I open my eyes and look at his profile, wondering how I will live the next twenty years ignoring the smell of cheap perfume on my husband.
“Put me down,” I gripe, trying to struggle from his arms.
“What? Hey, sleepyhead, we’re almost to the bedroom. Put your head on my shoulder.”
“Put me down.” This time my voice is stronger and more assertive as I force a leg down toward the ground.
“Whoa, okay, walk. I was just trying to be sweet. Go back to sleep; you’re grumpy.” He holds both hands up in retreat after releasing me and walking past where I stand.
“Where have you been?” The smell wafts by as he passes, causing me to grit my teeth together.
“What? Not this again. I told you I was going out with the higher-ups tonight. You said it was fine, Drew.” Entering the bedroom, he removes his tie and tosses it on the dresser.
“It was fine until you came back smelling like a strip club,” I spit out from the doorframe I’m standing in, hands on waist.
“Oh, here we go. This isn’t about me going out. This is about you. You’re feeling insecure.”
Fuck you, Nick.
“How do you expect me to be secure, Nick, we haven’t had sex in a month, you’re never home, and you smell like women’s perfume.” Crossing my arms, I stare at him expectantly for an explanation.
“Jesus, this side of you is so unattractive. Can you blame me for staying out? When I’m home, this is how you act. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, and even under all that stress I’ve noticed that you have been super insecure about your body. I’m glad to see you working out again, but I didn’t want to pressure you for sex when you seem to be in a bad place about the weight gain.”
I stare at him, stunned. I can see what he’s doing. He just tried to play my insecurity about the five pounds I’ve gained, but joke’s on him. I’m fine with it. Not again, Drew—don’t play right into his hand.
“No. Hell no. I won’t do this. Nick, take a pillow and sleep on the couch. We can talk in the morning, I won’t stand here and let you try and turn my weight gain into some heroism on your part. Fuck that. Tonight, last night, and the night before were dick moves, and you owe me an apology.”
