Page 4 of Cheater

“Then maybe do something to help meet them,” I mutter.

He jerks back like I’ve slapped him, then says, “I wish I could.”

I shove my chair back as I fly up to standing, then I drop to the floor by his wheelchair, putting my forehead to his knee. “I don’t mean it like that. You know I don’t. Not that way. By letting intimacy back into our relationship. You can touch me. You can kiss me. You can hold me and use one of my toys on me. Or watch me and hold me afterwards. I could try touching you in places and see how you feel about it, too. The pamphlets had some suggestions for bringing intimacy back into our relationship.”

He sighs like he’s absolutely exasperated with me.

“Then we can fall asleep together cuddling afterwards, Adam, like we used to do. We don’t even snuggle anymore. We don’t even kiss other than a quick peck. I don’t need the whole nine yards to be satisfied. I was just trying to open the door for something… not meaning for it to turn into… this. I just need some kind of intimacy between us. Just… a… ”

I want to crawl into his lap, but of course I can’t. I realize I’m leaning on a body part he can’t even feel and he’s making no move to offer comfort whatsoever, so I straighten up.

He’s gripping the arms of his wheelchair. He’s gritting his teeth.

Seeing me this upset, he doesn’t even have it in him to stroke my hair or offer some words of comfort?

My belly pitches and I feel a chill creep over me slowly. Reality sinks in. And it doesn’t feel nice.

I don’t bother to finish my sentence.

Finally, he says, “I feel nothing from the waist down. I can’t fake that, Chloe.”

He’s not willing to try. He’s unwilling to try any level of intimacy with me but wants me to have it with someone else.

I’m crushed. I’m embarrassed. I don’t know how to fix this.

We were happy. Okay, sex wasn’t as often as I’d have liked and it was kind of predictable, but we had intimacy. Talking quietly in the dark about our future with warm, naked bodies pressed together. Affection. Snuggling. And he looked at me with lust or at least appreciation when he saw me undress or wearing something new. All that’s gone now, and after six months of hoping it would come back to some degree, any degree, I try something to stir things up and wind up hurting him.

I feel like garbage.

Selfish garbage.

And also hopeless. Because he’s not even reaching for me right now.

I’ve done my best to be a supportive partner to him, to be the partner I’d want if I were in his position.

I slept in a chair at the hospital, not leaving for days. I’ve been to every specialist appointment. I’ve been at his side constantly. I took a leave of absence from work and my job was more than accommodating to ensure I could be here to look after him by letting me take months off without canceling my medical benefits, which he’s on as well, and which were crucial for Adam’s recovery. They’ve been very flexible about my hours and workload.

We cleared both of our savings out to buy this modern townhome because his mom knew the realtor who told her about it – that it was built for someone in a wheelchair who passed away before the closing date. It’s nothing I thought I’d ever live in, all modern and sterile feeling with not much of a yard, but it works well for Adam’s mobility issues with wide doorways, an accessible kitchen and bathroom, with everything on one level.

I do my very best to be here with empathy and support, along with hope in my heart. Hoping I’ve been a comfort to him through the worst days of his life. Because they’ve been some of the worst days of my life, too, tied with when I lost my brother in my teens. I’ve done my best to hide the pain and strain. I’ve been more than patient when he wasn’t easy to be around. Forgiving when he got frustrated and took those frustrations out on everyone around him. I’ve been willing to do whatever I can do to be a supportive partner to him. Because that’s what you do. That’s what I’d hope for if the roles were reversed.

After six months in this new reality, I can’t help but count that I haven’t had more than a peck on the mouth from him even after my hinting at making out a while ago, which was met with a chilly eyeroll. As much as it hurt, I’ve tried to be understanding, to let it go.

All these pamphlets they gave me talked about how he might have some sensation return, that we should experiment and not get discouraged. That medical aids and even procedures exist that could help if he doesn’t get to a point where he can get an erection on his own.

I’ve been trying so hard not to be selfish, but I guess I’ve failed. Maybe the idea of me getting sexual pleasure when it isn’t in the cards for him is just unthinkable, but it’s about so much more than sex.

“Don’t look at me like that, Chloe. You don’t know what it’s like.”

“I know that,” I say softly. “Sorry.”

And I’ve apologized for not being able to see things from his perspective on a variety of issues at least a hundred times.

“I didn’t intend to make you feel bad, Adam. I wasn’t trying to be cruel. I was trying to open the door for us to try things. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

He’s been in counseling since almost the beginning. I went to a session with him last week at his counselor’s request. She point-blank asked if my needs are being met in our relationship. I stammered something to the effect of being more worried about Adam at the moment than myself and she asked if I wanted to see her separately, if I wanted to explore my feelings, since I’m allowed to have them. She asked me if I’ve become someone I’m not in order to support Adam in his recovery. Adam snapped at her stating I’m who I always was, that I’ve always been supportive and caring and giving in our relationship. She let it go, but handed me her card at the end of the session in case I wanted to explore my feelings.

And Adam has been almost edgy ever since. It’s like he didn’t even consider my feelings until she brought up the fact that I must have some, too. That I might have emotions around the fact that our lives are now different than what I’d signed up for. He’s been so focused on his recovery, on his new reality that I don’t think he’s had a chance to think about me. And admittedly, her words probably, at least in part, spurred action from me with the vibrator the other night.

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