Page 10 of Beyond our Forever

They bring the food and I swear that the ravioli tastes like straw. I do little more than spin them on my plate until Bruce stops my train of thoughts by producing an envelope from somewhere and placing it next to my plate.

Here we go.

“What is this?” I know, of course I know. Bad news. It’s a pointless question.

“Open it.” The idiot dares to smile at me.

Don’t fuck with me! Just don’t fuck with me!

“Open it, Ilythia,” he insists.

With trembling hands I lift the small yellow flap and pull out a bunch of papers neatly arranged.

I can see they are documents, to do with insurance and other legal things related to his job. This is perfectly logical, the security of our children always comes first. We have always put them above everything else, including ourselves.

But I feel the ties that joined us years ago at the altar begin to loosen.

I keep reading, until I see my name.

“I just renegotiated my contract with the company,” he explains. “The hotel project has been profitable for everyone, which includes you, love. You and my children will share in this success.”

My hands tremble, this time, for a different reason.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I tell him, and it’s true.

Bruce’s hand moves closer to mine and when I feel its heat, it affects me so much that I have to close my eyes. This is too much, I can’t do this.

“I promised I would give you the world,” he tells me.

“I wasn’t asking for more money, Bruce,” I reply angrily. “I needed something else.”

And that’s the heart of the matter.

This is why we are where we are.

Each of us trying to live by their own rules. Yes, I know. Trying is the key word here.

“Listen, love.” Hearing him call me that makes me want to hit him and knock his teeth out because he lost that right. “All I have is yours, you know that.”

His hand seeks mine again, but I swiftly move it away.

“Don’t you get it? Money is not going to solve our problems.” I raise my voice in frustration and anger. We ended up in the same place as always. And the worst part is, he still doesn’t get that I wanted something else.

I’m about to throw up what little I’ve eaten, like in The Exorcist. Bring the holy water, because I’m transforming. Better yet, a straitjacket to put me in it.

“Take me home, Bruce,” I demand, getting up from the table. “Take me home or I’ll just leave on my own.”

“Thia… listen to me…” he begs and like the gentleman that he is, has gotten up from the table to try to stop me from leaving.

“What else is there to say?” I spit at him. “You have your reasons and I have mine.”

“Tell me what you want me to say, what you want me to do and you know I will do it, but you have to tell me. Talk to me, love.”

I stare at him, so tired of arguing, it all seems so pointless. And yet…

“We’ve become so lost, so far from each other,” I sigh. “We stopped wanting the same things long ago, Bruce, that’s what separated us. You wanted another piece of expensive designer furniture, while I just longed for you to make me feel like a woman, rather than someone who conveniently washed the dishes and did the laundry.”

He’s paralyzed, hardly breathing, like a boxer stunned by a good hit, as I walk by him, looking for the exit.

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