Page 59 of I Shouldn't Feel This Way

I found her sitting by her desk with a stack of textbooks in front of her.

“Hey, baby girl, what are you doing up so late?”

“Studying.”

“You need your sleep. Otherwise, all these long hours will go to waste.”

She looked at me, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“We sleep to remember. Sleep helps us remember things. It’s important for the brain.”

“There are lots of things I wish I could forget,” she mumbled. “Unfortunately, I always remember. Sleep or no sleep.”

Even the faintest smile on her lips was so beautiful, but her eyes revealed nothing but sorrow in that moment. I instantly felt like crap because I should have provided a better life for her much sooner.

“Is everything okay with you?” she asked. “Why aren’t you catching some Z’s?”

I’d beenhoping she wouldn’t ask me that.

“Insomnia, and I’m also working late.”

“I guess we have that in common.”

Very true, even though I fibbed a little.

“Anyway, I just wanted to check in on you. I’m going to try and get some shut-eye.” I kissed her on the head, forgetting to breathe when she looked up at me. Her white camisole was extremely transparent. I had to avert my eyes.

Aria frowned. “I feel like something’s wrong. You’re upset about something.”

Was she also psychic?

“No, nothing’s wrong.”

“But I heard you arguing with Vanessa.”

Well, that explained it. I must have been shouting a little too loudly.

“It’s nothing to worry about. We were bickering over stupid things. It’ll blow over by morning.”

That was highly unlikely, but all right, I wasn’t going to drag my daughter into my marriage problems.

“I don’t like to see you sad.” She pouted, and I felt a tug at my heartstrings—I never wanted to be the reason for her sadness.

“I’m not sad,” I said. “I’m just frustrated.”

Yeah, not just emotionally, but sexually as well. Things had been quite frigid between me and Nessa.

“You know you can talk to me,” Aria said.

“I know, and I love you for that, but some things need to stay between us grown-ups. Besides, you have bigger and better things to worry about.” I cupped her face and lightly kissed her forehead. Her shampoo smelled so good. “Sleep well, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight.”

I stepped out of her bedroom and walked to the couch in the living room, where I slumped down and turned on the television. I made sure to lower the volume enough to help me fall asleep.

I was halfway through an episode ofCSI,and unfortunately, late-night TV didn’t seem to cure my insomnia. I hated going to bed angry at my wife, but by that point I had got used to doing it. Lately, all we did was fight and argue over the same shit. The fucked-up part was, if I were to cheat on her and sleep with someone else, even if I admitted my infidelities or got caught, she still would have internalized it and believed that I didn’t find her attractive anymore, which undeniably had some truth to it—but only because the plastic surgery had botched her appearance. She’d been beautiful when I married her. Now I hardly recognized her. No amount of surgery could have restored her face to what it once was.

I thought about booking an appointment with a marriage counselor. That’s how severe the situation had got. Vanessa may have been in denial, but I wasn’t. We were definitely in troubled waters. I wondered how this was affecting Aria. I was worried that my wife’s obsession with perfection would rub off on her, and by the time she’d turn eighteen, she’d be begging me to fund an expensive boob job or God knows what else. Thankfully, she hadn’t been showing any symptoms of body dysmorphia … yet.

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