Page 31 of Into The Light
Yet, he also seems to know exactly who he is, and what he's capable of. It’s a strange juxtaposition.
I'd have to tread lightly, as Gloria advised.
He makes a grumbly sound in his throat and stirs—sounding so ursine that I can't help but sniff another laugh. He's just so much like the animal he's named after. It’s adorable, intriguing, funny, and sexy all at once.
Who knew my type was man-bear?
He couldn’t be any more the opposite of Brennan, my only relationship and the only person I’ve ever had a physical relationship with. Brennan was just over six feet, so he was not short, but he was slender and geeky—a church boy through and through. He could quote long sections of the Bible, loved to debate creationism versus evolution, and the occasional round of golf was as close to physical exertion as he ever got. He was sweet, attentive, and very needy. Sex with him was…well, all I’ve known, so I have no way of comparing it to anything. I was often—or maybe always—left wanting more, though—I can admit this now, a year after the divorce.
I was with Brennan for a long, long time. We dated all throughout high school, got engaged the year after, and got married a year after our engagement; we were together in some romantic capacity for fifteen years and married for eight. He was a third of my world—work and my family being the other two-thirds.
We did things right—according to my parents’ standards, at least. Mostly. We didn’t even kiss until after we graduated and didn’t go beyond a few heavy make out sessions until after he proposed to me—at which point we’d been together for more than four years. Our relationship was cerebral, I guess. Conversation, debate, companionship. We never moved in together, but we did sleep together regularly once we got married, obviously. The plan was to get married and get his career as a pastor going while I continued as a cosmetologist until we had kids, at which point I would become a stay-at-home wife. I was content with that—cosmetologist and pastor's wife. It was a life I could see.
And then he accidentally left his phone unlocked and open while in the shower after sex one morning. It went off while I was making the bed—rather than a text message, it was a topless photo of a woman. Another came through—her lower half, also naked. With her fingers touching herself.
“Can’t wait to have you again, Brenny baby.”
I was immediately sick—I'd run into the kitchen to vomit into the sink. Once I'd rinsed my mouth out, I took his phone, locked myself in the spare bedroom, and searched every message and email.
I discovered threads with two more women, all of them graphic and lewd. Lots of sexting, lots of naked photos going both ways.I can’t wait to see you again. Want you inside me. I love the way you “eff” me, Brenny baby.
All three women were from the church where we went—where he was an usher, deacon, and assistant teaching pastor and in the running to take over as lead pastor when Pastor Johnson retired. One of the women was married with kids.
I'd put his phone on the bed, open to the photo that had begun the whole spiral of discovery, packed my few belongings, and left without a word.
I left the church and haven't been back. I blocked his number. Refused to speak to him. Refused to speak to his parents or his two siblings, who had been like bonus siblings to me my whole life. Filed for divorce, asking for nothing from him but a speedy dissolution.
My one act of…vengeance, I suppose, was to forward myself screenshots of some of the more incriminating photos and texts, print them out in full color, and mail them anonymously to the church, care of Pastor Timothy Johnson.
Brennan had been ousted from his positions, ostracized by the community, and eventually moved out of Three Rivers in shame.
Perhaps I should feel guilty—a good Christian doesn’t deal in revenge, I know that. But goodness, it was rather satisfying, and I don't feel guilty at all. It was no less than he deserved.
My faith, ever since, has been…wobbly, shall we say. I still hold onto my core belief in a God who created the world, his son Jesus, and the Holy Spirit, but the trappings of organized religion have lost their appeal to me. Brennan ruined it. Maybe that's an indictment of my weak faith, but so be it. I just can't bring myself to go back. If someone like Brennan, raised in the church, educated in the Bible, and serving the church faithfully for his whole life, could be a cheating, philandering, butthead, then what does anything mean?
In the year since the divorce, I've felt happier than ever despite my loneliness. I’m learning to stand on my own two feet. Do things for me. Brennan never approved of my friends—especially not Thomas and Colin. Ashlynn, he hated more than anyone—for reasons I’ll never understand. She’s quirky and unique, takes no crap from anyone, and does what she wants. She’s dated men and women. Probably, she just makes him uncomfortable—like Thomas and Colin.
Now, without Brennan and his disapproval, I'm free to enjoy my friends, go out for drinks, and have fun. I've even gotten tipsy a few times. I kissed a stranger. It stopped at kissing and I didn’t like it at all, but I can see myself going all the way with the right person.
With Bear.
Speaking of whom—he grumbles again, stirs. His eyes flutter open, and his green-gray gaze finds mine. "Mornin'."
I smile at him. "Hey, you." I wince as he rolls his neck, popping it loudly. "Sorry, I, uh, sort of fell asleep on you. You should have woken me up."
"Wouldn't do that for anything."
"You can't have slept well in that position."
His eyes search my face, sleepy and gentle. "Rather sleep like that, with you than in a bed."
"Bear." It's a whisper. "You're so sweet."
"Not sure about that. Best feeling in the world is you trusting me enough to fall asleep on me."
My heart melts, pounds; my stomach flips. "I slept great. Better than I have in a long time."
"Good."
