Page 213 of Cheater

There’s more silence on the line for a long minute so I’m not sure if he’s still there.

“Are you there?” I ask.

“Gonna go. Bye.”

He ends the call.

Wow, was he cold with me. It’s not about me, of course, but it still doesn’t feel nice to be on the other end of coldness from Derek. And I have no desire to dissect my emotions on the issue.

My day with Alannah yesterday was somewhat therapeutic, especially with all my alone time lately. She did her best to keep me distracted. Of course she wanted to know how things were with me and Derek when she first got here, but because I was pretty clammed up, she let it go instead of launching into her typical non-surgical information extraction mode. I told her I had no idea if the house was wired for surveillance or not, so she let it go and pampered me by making me cream of cauliflower and broccoli soup and an extra bougie grilled cheese for lunch. She also gave me a manicure and we watched some old favorite chick flick movies and hung out, showing one another stupid memes and videos on our phones.

She ordered pizza at about ten o’clock at night and got Ken to bring it in after giving him two slices.

“He’s kinda hot, isn’t he?” she asked after shutting the door.

“He’s the guy that held me and Adam at gunpoint. He’s been following me around for weeks. Following you at points, too.”

She was offended. “I should go take that pizza off him.”

She didn’t.

She slept in the guest room I’d changed the bedding for yesterday and told me she loved the house, thought it was even better in person than it had been on the real estate website listing from several months ago, and while we didn’t talk much about Derek given the likelihood that the house was wired, she did bring up running into Derek the other day, telling me she thought he planted a white van there, insinuating she could be abducted by it and never to be seen again… but she went on to say it was there again the next day, that when she was leaving at the end of the day, she saw men going in and out for flooring materials. She realized he’d probably used that to his advantage rather than planted it himself.

This confused me, so I asked her to explain and give me a play-by-play of that entire exchange with Derek. By the time she recounted all that had happened in that encounter, it seemed plausible that Derek had run into her instead of seeking her out.

Maybe the van thing was a coincidence that he took advantage of. We debated it and she admitted she wasn’t sure if he’d just seen her while at his club or if he’d waited to run into her. Regardless, it didn’t make what he did okay. He made sure to intimidate and threaten her. The way she described it from start to finish sounded slightly less horrific than I’d first imagined it. But only slightly. I wasn’t giving him a pass; he’d made direct threats about her being part of my life. Or not.

He wasn’t getting a pass on anything he’d done, including punishment sex the other night. Or emotion-affirming sex. Or… me Derek, you my woman caveman sex. Whatever it was… it was memorable, that’s for sure. But then again, sex with Derek always is. As usual, I do my best to push those thoughts away. And as per the norm, I fail.

I’ve gotten stuck in a sort of loop of thinking frequently about all the things Grace told me about his history.

And for a moment I allowed myself to ponder whether or not cooperating with all of this would change anything. Would it be me throwing in the towel and letting him win at this game I’ve been an unwilling participant in? Or would there be any sort of shot at happiness in a marriage with him?

And big question: would having kids with him mean I’ve got a chance of having a kid with a genetic predisposition to mental illness? Is what Derek has become due to trauma? Or is it in his DNA? The stories I’ve heard about Thad Steele make me think it might be a little of both. I berate myself for considering having kids with him, of course, but my thoughts repeatedly flit to the visions I had of him with kids here in this house, in this yard, in that treehouse out there.

I wake up touching someone and startle, moving away.

It’s Derek and I’ve been snuggled into his back. I reach over to the bedside table and touch my phone. Two o’clock in the morning.

I stare at the back of him for a solid minute before a familiar unpleasant, lonely twinge twists in me.

“How’s your dad?” I ask softly, not sure how long he’s been here or if he’s even awake.

“Alive,” he answers.

I sit up and take a long drink of my water. He keeps his back to me.

If everything that has happened between us hadn’t happened, I could try to comfort him right now, offer an ear so he could talk out his emotions.

But that’s not where we are. It’s nowhere I can fathom getting to.

I lie down again and blink into the darkness, listening for his breathing to even out. I drift off before it happens.

I try to move but I’m sort of trapped. And uncomfortable. By the faint light peeking in through the blinds, it must be near dawn. I’ve got Derek wrapped around me. Tight.

As my eyes adjust I realize he’s awake. Staring into space. But the grip he has on me feels like he thinks he needs to hold on otherwise I’d float away.

“I have to pee,” I whisper.

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