MARY
Fresh from the shower, I look at myself in the mirror. It has been a long time since I let myself see what I look like. Usually I avoid looking into the glass until I’m dressed. Then I don’t have to see what they took. I don’t have to see what I’ve become.
Today I stand and I force myself to look, because soon he will be looking again. I want to see what he sees. Maybe it’s not so bad…
…
… It’s even worse than I remembered.
I am trammeled with marks. Lines. Scars. I am geometric where I should be smooth. My skin puckers where it should lay flat.
How could Ken look at me and see anything worthy? Let alone a woman he wants to have sex with?
He will be back soon. I will have to face him again. The man I bait through the computer will be made flesh in front of me and he will have his way with me. He’s told me so enough times that I believe him.
I wrap my arms over my breasts, hide the missing nipple. Sometimes I wonder what they did with it. Tiny frisbee?
I snort at my dark thought. It’s not funny, but it helps me deal.
A tap at the door makes me yank a towel around my naked body as Tom’s voice comes from the other side.
“You okay in there, Mary?”
I roll my eyes at the mirror. What is he, psychic?
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Just checking.”
He might actually be a bit psychic. Not in any kind of paranormal way though. Tom just has a sense of empathy so strong he seems to catch my feelings almost before I have them.
“I’m fine.”
“Your breakfast is getting cold.”
That’s my cue to stop dredging up the darkness and get some clothes on.
I get dressed and go and sit at the kitchen counter, where Tom has made a breakfast spread that would make a hotel chef cry. Croissants. Juices. Cheeses. Grapes. Three different kinds of jam.
“What’s this for?”
“Just felt like spoiling my little girl,” he says with a flicker of a wink.
“You’re way too fucking nice, Tom.”
“I’m just the right amount of nice, and no swearing, please.”
He really does treat me like I’m his kid. It’s kind of weird in a way, but it’s also really fucking sweet.
As I pick at what is enough breakfast for a small army, he makes conversation.
“You looking forward to Ken coming home?”
“Of course.”
“So you’ve forgiven him for sending you here?”
“Yeah,” I shrug. “I mean. I get it. He had to do what he had to do.”
Tom smiles. “You’ve come a really long way.”
“Yeah, from Afghanistan.”
“No, brat,” he snorts. “I mean, when you got here you were so angry. I could barely talk to you. But you seem happier now. Settled.”
“I’d like to be settled,” I mumble through crumbs.
“You can stay here as long as you like or need…”
“… or until Ken says otherwise,” I smirk.
“Or that,” Tom agrees. He doesn’t look happy about that. I think he likes having me here. I’m company. Not good company necessarily, but company.
“So what’s your story, doc?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why aren’t you working?”
“It pays to take some time off every now and then,” he says, turning his attention to cleaning crumbs off the counter. “Like when your marriage falls apart.”
I don’t want to pry, but I can see Tom being thrown off kilter by something like a marriage breakup. He’s strong, but sensitive, and he wears it on his sleeve.
“How long have you been off work?”
“I’ll be getting back to the hospital in a couple of months,” he says. “Don’t worry about me, little girl. I’m just enjoying my time off now. The wallowing is over.”
Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t.
I know better than anyone that some things can hurt for a very, very long time.
* * *
Later that day, I’m watching television. Tom has gone out for groceries and I’m just relaxing when I hear the doorbell. It’s not a common sound, and at first I don’t even recognize it. It rings several times more in very quick succession though, and I soon realize that there’s an uptight brunette standing at the door with a screwed up expression like a dog just pissed on her.
I open the door. “Yeah?”
“Where is Thomas?”
“Thomas?”
“Typical,” she mutters under her breath. “His bimbos never know his name.”
Bimbo? Did she just call me a fucking bimbo?
“Doctor. Ares,” she says in a loud, slow voice. “Is. he. in?”
I fold my arms over my chest. I don’t like this woman. I don’t like her tone. I don’t like her face. I don’t like her shoes. I don’t like anything about her.
“Who’s asking?”
“His wife,” she says haughtily.
“You mean ex-wife?”
The woman bristles and looks me over with open hostility. “So you’re what he replaced me with.”
“No,” I say, speaking before I can think. “He replaced you with a cock-sleeve full of wasps. He says fucking it reminds him of you.”
Her expression is priceless. Her jaw drops and she makes a spluttering sound which indicates she has no comeback whatsoever.
“Mary, go to your room!”
Turns out, Tom is home after all. He must have come through the back door with the groceries. Now he’s standing behind me, looking about as unhappy as I’ve ever seen him look.
This isn’t my fight. I shouldn’t get involved. So I don’t. I lift my hands up and walk away - as far as the hall corner where I can still see and hear what’s going on beyond.
“You still have that sick fetish of ordering women around,” she says, her voice loud enough for the neighbors to hear. What a bitch.
“Is there a problem, Stephanie?” Tom says, remaining impressively calm.
“Yes, there’s a problem. I need an advance on my alimony. I’m going out of state with Hector.”
“I can’t do that,” Tom says. “You’ll get your alimony at the usual time.”
“I want my alimony,” she says, her tone getting nastier. “Or…”
“Or what?” He lowers his voice a little. “You’ve already gotten me suspended pending an investigation. You’ve already taken the apartment in the city, and the car. What else do you want?”
“You’re obliged to keep me in the style I became accustomed to.”
My blood boils as I listen to this bullshit. Tom is the sweetest guy on Earth and this woman is trying to shake him down. There’s threat in her tone, like she has something on him she plans to use to try to ruin his life if he doesn’t do as she says.
I go to the bathroom to grab something, and then I come back. When I do, she’s still outside, trying to badger Tom into giving her more money. Fuck everything about this.
“I’m sorry,” I say sweetly, pushing past him. “Tom doesn’t have any money right now. He spent it all on this stupid spoiled whore repellent.”
I have a can of toilet spray air freshener. It’s the only thing for pieces of shit like her. I spray it in her direction, a nice thick mist. She starts making coughing sounds and waving her hands about, but that’s not the worst of what I have planned for her if she doesn’t get the fuck off his porch.
“Go away, bitch,” I hiss. “We already gave to the gold-digging slut-athon.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but gags on the scent of concentrated lavender and wild flowers.
Fortunately for her, Tom sees what I have in the other hand and grabs it off me before I can use the lighter which would have turned the smelly spray into a ball of fire.
He slams the door shut in her face, more for her protection than anything. Through the glass, I see her rushing back to her car as fast as her high heels will take her.
I look at Tom, expecting to see him smile. Instead, he rounds on me, his face a mask of stern anger.
“You do NOT use home-made flame throwers on my ex-wife.”
“Not when you take the lighter off me, I don’t,” I say. “I was trying to help.”
“Help? By burning her?”
“I was only going to do that if she didn’t leave.”
“You don’t do that at ALL!” He thunders at me. “What’s wrong with you?”
It’s my turn to stand, stunned. He’s actually yelling at me, after I tried to defend him.
Tears spring to my eyes. That last part of the question is like a knife to my stomach. What’s wrong with me? Fucking everything apparently.
“I’m sorry, I guess I should marry some guy and ruin his fucking life. That would be normal. There wouldn’t be anything wrong with me then, would there!?”