The Perils of Love Ch. 07

I suddenly and desperately wanted my wedding band on my finger.

I looked at my watch when Liv started gathering her things. It was 12:40.

"I've gotta get back to the office. I assume you're not coming in."

"No, I'm not. When you see him at the meeting, tell the boss I might be out tomorrow, too. Just depends."

I collected all of the papers and put the clip back on the stack. Liv took my hand.

"Good luck, okay? I really hope she's okay. Do you believe me?"

"Yeah, Liv. I do. I owe you big. Thank you for meeting me and … thanks for doing the uncomfortable."

"Go take care of your business. Go love on your wife. Don't be a dip-shit. Be careful, you know?"

I sat in my truck in the parking lot, deep in thought.

I left the restaurant at 1:00pm then drove to the jeweler. I wasn't surprised to hear my ring wasn't ready. I passed the time by looking at the display cases.

An hour later, I finally had my band back on my finger where it belonged. Its weight felt reassuring. I'd missed it, and chastised myself for being so irresponsible in the first place. A wedding band is more than a simple piece of jewelry. It is worn and should be seen as a constant reminder, and I'd neglected it for far too long.

I looked at my watch. It was barely after 3:00, and my daughters would soon be on their bus and close to home. I knew I couldn't possibly have an open discussion with Samantha, with all of its weight and possible heat, with the girls in the house. I drove back to the hotel and started working on the bottle of Jack I'd bought the previous day.

When I was fairly well steeped, I sent my wife a text.

Sam, I need you to know that I lov you. Im going to come home tomorow morning. Whther I stay or not is up to you.

A half-hour passed before I received a reply.

Are you drunk?

Maybe

you only call me Sam when you've been drinking

Oh

I know you love me. Please come home. I will come get you if you tell me where you are?

Not tonigt I will come tomorrow so we can talk when thegirls are at school please be ready to talk

I can't promise she replied.

we have to. I will see you tomorrow I am going to bed if the girls are still awake please give them a hug and tell them I love them

They are already asleep. They know you love them and they miss you.

I fell asleep quickly, probably aided by my inebriation. It was close to seven o'clock when I awakened. A hot shower and a hotter cup of indecent hotel room coffee dispatched my mild hangover.

I dressed, then headed to the house.

After I walked through the door, I found my wife in the kitchen reading the paper.

"Are you ready to tell me what's going on?" I asked.

"I'm sorry." Her voice squeaked. "I just … I can't."

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"This has gotten really old," I said. I stood still for a minute, thinking, then continued. "I'm going to lay it all out on the line. If you're not going to … If you and I can't fix whatever this is that's going on, I want a divorce. I can't live like this anymore."

She was silent for several moments, as was I. I heard her sniffle before she looked up at me.

"I understand. It serves me right."

I was flabbergasted at her surrender and the evenness of her tone. I watched as she took a sip from her mug. I saw her hand shaking. She had to steady the cup with her other hand.

"Samantha, are you having an affair?"

She choked on her coffee. I'd gotten a response, and my heart began to sink.

She looked at me with wild eyes before she started crying. She rose from the table and stormed to the bedroom. She tried to slam the door closed, but I body-checked it.

"Yes or no!" I demanded.

She put her hands over her face. "No, Gary! I would never do that!"

"It sure feels like you are, Sam!"

"Sam ? Are you still drunk?!"

"No , I'm not drunk ! I'm scared ! I can only assume you're having an affair because we haven't had sex in forever! Do you even realize that?!"

She lowered her hands and put them in her lap.

"So, that's it? If I lay you right now you'll come back home?"

"Holy hell , Samantha! Please ! God damn it! Please talk to me !"

"Why is sex so important to you all of a sudden?"

"It's always been important!"

She scoffed at me. "Spoken like a man."

I almost came unglued. Thankfully, I felt it coming, and did my best to force my anger into the pit of my gut. I sat on the opposite side of the bed and calmed myself. It took me almost to the count of thirty.

"You cheapen me when you say things like that, you know? It really hurts me that you think of me that way. Let me see if I can explain this to you in a way which doesn't make me sound like a pig.

"I read a book when we started drifting apart. One of your friends on Facebook posted about how it improved her marriage, and several other folks commented on it. The subject caught my interest.

"It was a book which describes the ways people demonstrate love and affection. The book explains that the way people communicate affection falls into five categories, and that one of those five is the primary way any given person demonstrates their affection and finds their own value when they receive it the same way.

"It says if there's a mismatch, it might as well not happen because it's often unnoticed by the other. It offered guidance on how to communicate in the other languages more effectively.

"I understand the concept, but I disagree with a big chunk of it when it comes to marriage. I can run an errand or do a favor for anyone. I can give a gift to anyone. I can spend time with anyone. I can give compliments or say nice things to anyone.

"The last one is about touch. A hearty handshake or a platonic hug is one thing, which I can offer to or receive from anyone.

"But sensual touch … our sexuality is reserved for us . Physical intimacy within a lifelong commitment is the only thing about marriage which sets it apart from any other relationship with a friend or coworker or acquaintance. Jeez! We agreed on that when we met the second time!

"Other than our deepest secrets, our sexuality is the only thing that you and I share exclusively with each other , and the way you've been literally pushing me away from you when I try to get close to you rips my fucking heart out !"

I started tearing up and my voice became muddy.

"It hurts that you don't want us to enjoy each other like that anymore. Have I done something to you? Do you not find me attractive? Am I somehow repellent to you now? Why don't you want me?"

I waited a while.

"God damn it, Samantha! Answer me!"

She sat motionless for several minutes before she broke into tears.

She cried for several more before she spoke to me.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Gary! God, I'm sorry !" She bawled.

I stood and walked to the other side of the bed where she was sitting. I knelt on the floor and reached to put my arms around her. I felt her flinch at my touch. Though she didn't push me away, her reaction scared the shit out of me. Her physical reflex seemed instinctive and visceral.

"I can't, Gary. I can't do it anymore," she sobbed.

I held her in my arms, but she wouldn't unfurl herself. She was closed in.

"Can't do what?"

"I can't keep this a secret anymore!" she wailed.

"What are you saying?"

"Please don't hate me! Please don't leave me! God, Gary! Please forgive me! I'm sorry !"

"My god, Samantha, what's going on?"

She picked up her phone from the nightstand. She tapped the screen several times and I saw her face pale before she clutched it to her chest and stared at me with terror in her eyes.

"What is it?!" I begged.

"Please, Gary, Please promise me you won't hate me!"

Her voice was more anguished than I'd ever heard. I heard echoes of Suzie's voice the evening she called and told me her father had been killed in that horrible wreck, and the same in my wife's voice when she'd learned her mother had committed suicide.

"I can't imagine ever hating you, Samantha."

She sheepishly and shakily held her phone out to me. I took it from her and about fainted to the floor when I realized what I was seeing.

It was a photograph. I recognized the print of the dress and the unmistakable birthmark high on an inner left thigh. I knew, beyond any doubt, it was Samantha. Her underwear was pulled aside, partially exposing her. There was what looked like semen on fabric and flesh.

I swiped. What I saw next further crushed me. I saw my wife's bare breasts. Her dress was unbuttoned, and her bra had been pulled upward. Her head was against her own shoulder and her eyes were closed.

"Who did this to you?!" I yelled in shock.

"Ashton! My manager!" she yelped, rapidly crawling backwards on the bed, away from me.

I tried to stay calm, a damn-near impossibility.

"How? How did this happen!?"

"I don't know! I don't remember !"

"How the fuck do you not remember something like this!?"

"You're scaring me! Please stop yelling at me!" she begged, crying.

"Okay. Okay ," I said and started pacing the room in an attempt to calm myself. "Tell me what happened."

"I told you I don't remember!"

She had her back to the headboard, clutching a pillow between her chest and upturned knees so tightly her hands were pale. It made me realize how completely vulnerable she must have felt.

"Tell me everything you do remember."

She needed several minutes to compose herself to the point she could think and speak clearly.

"I went to the party. It was better than I was expecting. There were table games. You know, blackjack and hold 'em. All the buy-ins went to local charities. I was playing hold 'em and got onto the leader board. I bought in with two hundred dollars and I'd already won more than three thousand in chips, and I was actually having fun. I was having fun !

"Ashton started to get weird with me again. He started sitting too close to me. I remember him putting his hand around my back and on my hip. He squeezed my butt!

"I left the game and tried to avoid him. I remember thinking that I should go back to my room, but I didn't, because I wanted to see who won. I thought he was only drunk and being handsy, and I put a stop to it. Like I said, I was having fun and stayed out of his way.

"That whole evening I had a couple of glasses of champagne. Two. That's all, and that's all I remember clearly. Please believe me! I swear to god, Gary, I wasn't drunk!"

"I believe you. I know you. I know how careful you are when it comes to alcohol."

"I don't even remember leaving the party, but I woke up in my room a few hours after it was over. I freaked out when I realized I was half undressed and what was all over me."

She shuddered in revulsion and was doing her best to calm herself.

"I have hazy flashbacks. I don't know if they're real or not. I think I remember someone groping me in an elevator. Hands all over me. Someone with horrible smoker's breath on my mouth. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't stop it ! I don't know how I was in my room unless he went through my purse to find my keycard."

"Could he have put something in your drink?"

"I don't know."

"Okay. Okay. Um, oh shit. Oh, god, Samantha, did … did he rape you?!"

"I don't know," she cried. "I don't know, Gary! I can't stand not knowing!"

She jumped out of the bed, ran to the toilet, and emptied coffee and toast from her stomach.

I knelt next behind her, held her hair out of her face, and stroked her back as she retched repeatedly.

"Samantha, oh, my god I can't tell you how sorry I am."

"Why? It's not your fault!"

"Because I wasn't there with you. I wasn't here when you came home and you hate me for it," I cried.

She didn't argue with me. In my mind, I begged her to, but she didn't.

I was certain, in her mind, I'd failed her, and I agreed with her.

I followed her to the sink where she rinsed her mouth out with tapwater. She walked back to the bedroom and sat on the antique cedar chest at the end of the bed.

"Gary, you have to understand. At that point, I still had no idea who it was. The only thing I knew clearly was that Ashton had been drunk and gotten grabby."

"How'd you find out it was him?"

"Because it didn't stop there."

I wasn't sure I wanted to hear more, but it was more important for her to tell me than it was for me to know. She needed to get it out in the open.

"After Atlanta, he stayed distant. He even sort of acted like he was a bit embarrassed at his behavior at the party, you know? So, I began to think maybe it wasn't him. That, yeah, he was an asshole, but he wasn't the one who … who did … that."

"Then, one day, he came into my office, shut the door, and started rubbing my shoulders. I tried to shake him off and told him to stop. He grabbed my chest. I knocked the shit out of him, Gary. I hit him so fucking hard it hurt my hand!

"He was so pissed off. He held up his phone and showed me that first picture. He said, 'I did that to you, you little bitch, because I own you. Your husband is going to get this picture when I tell him that you gave me a blowjob, and he'll believe me.'

"He told me it was my doing !" she screamed. "It wasn't! Please! Gary, please believe me," she bawled.

My blood was boiling. "I'm gonna kill the fucking bastard," I hissed. "I'm going to make him hurt so bad he'll fucking beg me to kill him."

"No ! Stop talking like that! I can't lose you! Our children can't grow up like that! Ashton's already been punished. He never did anything else.

"I filed a complaint with human resources the next day. I didn't have any proof of what happened at the party, but since other people heard the dust-up in my office and saw my hand mark on his face, he was transferred to a different department at the other campus while they did an internal investigation. He was fired a few months later."

"Yeah! Some punishment!" I hissed.

She could only shrug under her exhausted expression.

"Why didn't you show HR those pictures?"

"I didn't have them yet. Even if I did, I'm not sure I could bring myself to show something like that to anyone! I was scared to even show them to you!"

"When did you get them?"

She unlocked her phone and tapped.

"He sent this," she said then handed it to me. The messaging app was opened.

YOU BITCH.
YOU WHORE!
This is all YOUR fucking fault!
But it doesn't matter because I STILL OWN YOU.
You are MY bitch. You are MY whore. I MARKED YOU!
Have FUN WITH YOUR DIVORCE, because I will be waiting.

The two pictures followed.

"Shit , Samantha! Isn't that enough proof?"

"Look at the number they came from."

I did. It was from an SMS short-code. The messages had come through an anonymizer gateway, making them impossible to trace.

"I have no way to prove who sent them. I mean, I know in the pit of my gut it was him, but I can't prove it!"

My mind was in overdrive. I forced myself into an objective, logical corner, and evaluated every angle, despite the taste of bile in my mouth and throat. I evaluated every date and imagined those points on the graph I'd already cemented in my mind. Everything made absolute, perfect sense, except for one thing.

"Samantha, why did you quit?"

"What?"

"Why did you quit your job after Ashton was fired?"

"Because I can't stand being there. I should have quit a long time ago, but … I just … Please try to understand. I can't figure any of this out. I don't know what to do."

"Why didn't you tell me what was happening? Why would you hide this from me for so long?"

"I couldn't tell you! Another man … he … maybe it was my fault! I feel like I've been unfaithful to you!"

"Oh, fuck , girl. No , you weren't unfaithful. This wasn't your doing. It wasn't your choice. No one knows you like I do. I trust you. I know this wasn't your fault.

"I doubt it makes you feel any better because your brain is probably so scrambled that I'm not making sense to you. I don't understand what you're going through, baby, and I probably never can. I can only abstract it. Please. Come here and let me hold you."

She was close to me, but when I reached for her, she recoiled. She realized it herself.

"Gary, I am so sorry! I … the thought of being touched … I'm so sorry!"

"Listen to me, baby. Please listen to me.

"I can only imagine your fears. But please, please listen to me. I am not him . You are my wife! I am not that fucking bastard ! I will never, ever hurt you. That fuck -wad doesn't own you.

"I don't own you.

"You , Sunny, only you own you."

The next moment brought me more comfort than I'd had in a long time, and I prayed it brought my wife more by an order of magnitude. She clutched me. She embraced me then sagged into my arms.

"It's been so long since you've called me Sunny," she bawled.

"We're going to figure this out, baby. You and I are going to figure this out together."

"Oh my god I love you! Why are you doing this? Why do you put up with me?"

"I don't know what I can do to help, baby, I don't . But now that I know what's going on, I'm not going anywhere. You're my wife. You and I have been through an awful lot of shit together, and we're going to get through this, too. You're going to get through this, and I'm going to be right here beside you, okay?"

We cried together. We sobbed together. My wife held me so tight to herself, and I vowed I would make it right. Somehow.

She went with me to the hotel so I could collect my things and check out of the room. We clutched hands tightly the entire time.

Sunny and I went to an assault victim counselor for months. The counselor brought in an attorney to talk with her during several sessions. The attorney decided the odds of any successful criminal prosecution of that bastard's crimes (and, yes, they were crimes) would be very, very slim.

She did say, given the right circumstances, a civil judgment might be possible. She was very clear about the burden of proof which would need to be satisfied in what would likely be a very uncomfortable and expensive ordeal with the distinct possibility of no satisfying result.

Despite my urging, Sunny decided to put the whole trauma behind her. She was a strong-willed woman, and I let her settle the matter internally her own way as long as she promised to keep the line of communication open, and not shut me out.

It took many months before my wife accepted my affection without thought or instinctive defense. But, at last, she allowed herself to lean into my touches and kisses again.

I could tell she had mostly restored her comfort level when, one evening, we settled onto the couch to watch a Marvel movie together. She took my hand and placed my arm around her shoulders. She held it and twisted my wedding band around my finger. I assumed she was doing it subconsciously, but it was a satisfying gesture. She shimmied subtly until the space between us was absolutely minimized and the contact between us was perfectly maximized.