Page 54 of Perfect
“Just kill me already.” A horrified expression creeps across his face.
“What thefuck?” He stops touching me immediately and rolls onto his back, sighing hard, his hands scrubbing over hisface and back through his hair. I don’t say anything as I look up at the ceiling, focusing on a long, thin crack in the plaster. We lie there in silence, listening to a ship’s horn blare in the distance. After a long moment, one of his hands finds mine under the blanket, and I flinch as he twines our fingers together.
“Alex, I’m never going to hurt you, Ipromise. We’re adjusting, and part of that is learning to trust each other. It’ll be so much easier once you trust me,” he says softly. I slip my hand out of his and turn away from him, curling into a ball and shoving my emotions down so I can think.
He’s delusional, but he wants to think he won’t hurt me, which means I can push until I figure out the boundaries of his delusion and then find a way out. I’m smart, and I can make this work if I’m careful. I can get through this, whatever the fuckthisis, the way I used to – minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day.
And then, when I can, I’ll fucking run.
16
THEO
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 27
I lay in bed reeling, listening to Alex’s breathing even out and focusing on a long, thin crack in the plaster on the ceiling.
I’ll add that to the endless list of things I need to fix.
I have no idea why this isn’t going the way it should. She keeps misinterpreting everything I do and acting like she can’t feel how connected we are. Maybe shecan’tfeel it, or maybe she can, and she’s just lying to herself. She seems to bereallygood at that.
This is so different than I thought it was going to be.
I turn to my side and pull her into my arms slowly, slipping an arm under her pillow and curling my body around hers. She relaxes out of the tight ball she sleeps in and pushes back intome, and I breathe a sigh of relief into her hair. She can’t lie to herself when she’s asleep, at least. I kiss her shoulder softly and hold her a little tighter, syncing my breath to hers to help calm myself down.
I might have overestimated how well I got to know her, because she’ssodifferent than I thought she was. She’s guarded and seemingly incapable of opening up, and sensitive in a way I didn’t expect. She’s kind of an alcoholic. She’s got such insane trust issues that she thinks I’m going tokillher. She barely seems to understand affection, and keeps flinching any time I touch her, unless we’re having sex. I know it’s not about me, but it’s hurtful, not to mention concerning.
I definitely underestimated what a liar she is.
I know Alex was lying through her fucking teeth about the rape thing, but she seemed insistent about it, almost like she needed to believe that’s what happened. I get that she’s into that, but I didn’t like it. I’m still slightly worried we’re not on the same page, so that shit’s off the table until she can communicate better.
I thinksexis entirely off the table for the time being. I know she loves the sex, but that doesn’t matter anymore. I think I underestimated how bad her marriage was, so I think we shouldn’t have any sexshedoesn’t initiate. Her motivations for initiating might be complicated to figure out, so probably not until she’s begging for it. That’s going to suck, but I want her to know that this is a good relationship and that she can trust me.
Alex rolls over in my arms, and I roll to my back, pulling her close. She slings one of her arms across my chest and makes a low, content sound, and I feel the hum of our connection radiating through me.
I know I’m right about us. I didn’t expect I’d have to work so hard to getherto see it, but that’s fine. This is an adjustment period.
I have to adjust, too.
***
I give Alex a day to herself. She acts fine when other people are around, but the second she’s alone, she seems scattered, and she’s so exhausted that she leaves her fitness class early. No matter how much I text her, she won’t even look at her phone.
She goes to trivia with her friends, and I watch her from the bar across the street as she drinks too much on an empty stomach. I follow her home, horrified that she’s walking home alone at night while fucking drunk.
Does she have a death wish?
Wednesday starts the same, and I can’t stand it. I catch her on her walk home from work, falling in step with her after a few blocks. Her face falls the second she sees me, and my heart sinks.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I say, keeping my tone light and pretending like nothing’s wrong as I steer her in the direction of my house. “How was your day?”
“Itwasgoing well.”
“Uh, how was Pilates?” I know she didn’t go, and she knows that I know that.
She shrugs. “It was fine.”
“Sure. What do you want for dinner?”
