Page 39 of First Time

She had given me a new phone number since Stephen knew her old one and often browsed through my cell. I’d saved her as “Library” in my contacts since he wouldn’t think anything of it if he felt the need to poke around in my personal stuff again.

I turned off my phone to keep any pinged notifications from drawing Stephen’s attention.

Bundled up, we walked on the beach hand in hand, breathing in the brisk spring air, listening to rhythmic waves crashing on the shore. We visited our favorite sub shop and shared a steak bomb for lunch. The afternoon wasted away with us on the couch, watching his favorite home improvement show. I cooked him a pork roast and mashed potatoes, one of his favorite meals, and he simply wrapped his body around mine as we once more lay in bed.

He nuzzled my neck. Whispered in my ear that he loved me and appreciated my loyalty to staying with him. Again, he reminded me that he wouldn’t survive without me by his side.

Tears slid down my cheeks as I lay beneath the weight of his heavy arm over my chest. I felt…trapped both physically and emotionally. Held in place by history and manipulation I hadn’t considered the truth of before talking with Chantelle.

She’d told me about narcissism, and the traits matched Stephen to a T. But I still struggled with the sense of being tied to him for so long. Responsible in some way for his mental health.

Perhaps things would get better once he started speaking to the therapist. I’d called around earlier in the day, finding someone local who accepted his insurance and could meet with him by teleconference.

His appointment was on the following afternoon after he got off work, and a little inkling of hope resided in my heart.

I’d gathered up the AA information and had given it to him that night after dinner. He’d agreed to call the number I’d written down the next day during his lunch break.

Tuesday morning, I made Stephen’s lunch and sent him to work, his I love you in my ears, the press of his lips on my bruised jaw lingering long after he left.

I powered up my cell to find Chantelle had texted a half dozen times in the previous twenty-four hours since I’d reached out to her. I’d been smart to shut my phone off.

Me: I’m doing well.

While my response wasn’t exactly a lie, it felt like one. I wasn’t sure I trusted my own emotions, and I hated how my entire life had been called into question by my cousin’s meddling. Yet some part of me appreciated what she’d attempted to point out.

Was she right?

Wrong?

How was I supposed to know the truth of my situation or my heart? Conflicting desires roused up anxiety, and after less than two days at home, I was exhausted.

Library: Can you call me?

My heart rate picked up at the knowledge she would weasel every detail out of me. That included the purplish hue on the left side of my jaw.

Fingers shaking, I typed out my reply. I have to get ready for work.

Library: Did he hurt you?

I chewed on my inner lip before replying, He made love to me without cruelty in any form.

It wasn’t until I hopped out of the shower and dressed that Chantelle replied.

Library: If you need anything—ANYTHING AT ALL—I don’t care what time it is or where you are. Call me.

Tears pricked my eyes, and my throat swelled.

Me: I will.

Feeling somewhat buoyed, I took my old clunker to the coffee shop where I’d been working part-time for six months. I used to have shifts at the Dunks a few blocks from home, but I’d been fired. For five years, I hadn’t missed a single day regardless of the soreness I experienced after sceneing with him. Stephen had said my loyalty should have earned me the manager’s position they’d hired someone with lesser experience to fill. He’d gone off the rails, shown up while I was working for the new manager, and created such a ruckus on my behalf that I’d left on the spot, my head hung in shame.

The official phone call from the owner stating I didn’t need to finish out the week’s schedule had come two hours later.

I did as Stephen suggested and started at the bottom of the totem pole once more, pouring coffee and toasting bagels for a privately owned business. But I enjoyed the mindless job, causing smiles to lift lips by handing over the nectar of the gods and quick breakfasts that helped people get through their day.

I had no lofty goals, no desire to rise in the ranks and run a shop of my own as Stephen pushed for. The idea of being in charge made me want to cringe. I couldn’t imagine having to be the one employees came to with grievances or having to listen to pissed-off customers and somehow make things right for however they felt wronged.

Laboring behind the scenes had always been my preference.

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