Page 77 of Submissive Lies

He picked up dinner, and we ate it in near silence. By nine I gave up. My rejection of the movie had sent him straight back to his laptop, and the more I sat there, the angrier and more frustrated I became. The worst part was I couldn’t let it show. If I did, then he gained the high ground. I couldn’t stand the idea that he’d perceive my being the first to talk as tacit admission that I’d done something wrong, and not he.

-But that’s the truth, isn’t it?-

That’s not… I tried… I tried! He started this! Not me!

Tired, irrational, and frustrated at my wits end, I feinted with my own move.

“Thomas, I’m really starting to fade. I think I’m going to head to bed.”

“Oh, okay.”

And he immediately buried his face back to the screen of his computer.

Oh. Okay.

I nearly exploded. But I didn’t. I clenched my jaw until I thought my teeth would crack and didn’t say another word. Getting up, I closed the screen of my laptop down with a snap, and then padded silently to the bedroom.

I don’t know what time Thomas came to bed. Simmering in a stew of anger and exasperation exhausted me, and I hadn’t been curled up in bed for half an hour before I drifted off into a broken sleep. I woke up sometime late at night, and Thomas was there, back to me. I rolled towards him, instinctively reached with my arm…

And stopped.

I couldn’t finish the move. What had once been as natural as breathing now felt foreign. As if to touch him would be to take a step backwards. To admit and give in to what my conscious had accused me of earlier.

No.

I rolled out of bed, slipped silently to the bathroom. Once I was finished, I stole back in. Thomas never stirred, the gentle rise and fall of his chest the only movement visible. I scooched under the covers, staring at his back. I grit my teeth, then rolled to my side, back to him.

Goddamn you, Thomas Kiernan. Tomorrow. You better fucking do it tomorrow. Or I swear, I will.

-Yeah, right. Sure. This is exactly how it begins…-

I woke the next morning to an empty bed. Thomas was gone. For a moment I thought he might have gotten up sometime during the night and left. I sat up, my gut tightening. Shit. If he’d taken off, I would have to find him. Track him down. Do this on his turf. Maybe he’d realized that, gotten up deliberately just so he could set the stage for…

I heard movement in the kitchen. A cupboard door opening, then closing. The sound of the Keurig humming as he made a cup of coffee. A second later the smell of it drifted into the bedroom. Thank God. He was still here.

I rolled out of bed and walked down the hallway and into the dining area. Thomas was in the kitchen, making a second cup. As he worked, he silently handed over the first to me. I took it without a word, taking a sip.

Just the way you like it.

I pinched my lips together painfully. That first morning with Steve was a bright memory that exploded over nerves already tense since I’d awoken. I stared down at the cup, doing everything I could to savagely shove that memory into a box where I could lock it away forever. I did not need this. Especially right now. In the background I heard the Keurig stop, and the room went quiet.

“Okay, Jen. You know what, fuck this. Who wants to go first? Me? Or you?”

The room, my mind, everything suddenly cleared away. Pure, crystalline clarity replaced every thought, every emotion that had been rattling around in my head this morning. I looked up slowly from cup to Thomas. He stared back at me, and for the first time since I’d arrived home, I saw a glimpse of the man I’d known six months ago. The kind, gentle, caring man who I’d fallen in love with. Who’d fallen in love with me. Then his face clouded over, his anger as deep and abiding as mine.

“Thomas, I’m not who you think I am.”

I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“And I’m afraid we’re over.”

Neither of us moved. There was no sound. Not even our own breathing. And then each of us were moving. Out into the living room to the couch.

Where we both sat down.

Together.

“That’s it, huh? ‘We’re over.’”

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