Trying to teach the rest of the day with so much on my mind was excruciating. This was the one day that I wish I were able to call my boss and tell her that I needed the rest of the day off, but unfortunately, it’s not that easy. I can’t just tell the kids I’ll see them tomorrow and walk out the door. I had to power through, and I did.
The kids seemed all right when I picked them up from school. Again, showing how extremely resilient they are. There was no mention of the conversation we had earlier in the day. No more questions or sad faces. Dinner went on as usual. The kids talked about who did what and I sat and listened. Heath, who’s never one to get involved in the dinnertime conversation, threw in a word or two.
“Did you watch that?” Heath asks me from his side of the bed, pulling me from my thoughts.
Looking up from my now darkened Kindle, my eyes scan him, the television, and then back to him. “Did I watch what?”
“The movie.”
“Oh, no, but we’ve seen this movie before. That’s why I’m reading.” I point to the Kindle. He eyes the Kindle then looks at me. His head is against the headboard, propped up on the pillow, and the remote is lying on his naked chest.
Heath has always had the rugged look going on for him. We both have brown hair and brown eyes, but his coloring is much darker than mine. His nose is strong, with a nice scar over the bridge from where a window came crashing down on him when he was restoring his first solo gig.
“Shouldn’t you be writing instead of reading?”
It’s this line of questioning that irks me to no end. He doesn’t understand that writing isn’t a nine to five type job. He thinks that I should be able to write any time I need to and I guess lying in bed with the light off, and the television blaring, is one of those times. I’d love to be able to write whenever I want, but it doesn’t work that way, at least not for me. The characters don’t always talk, and if they aren’t talking then how am I supposed to write their stories?
“I’m not in the mind-set to write right now, so that’s why I’m reading.”
He takes the remote from his body and drops it next to him before turning on his side and facing me. His arm reaches out as his fingers grip my waist, pulling me towards him. He plucks the Kindle from my hand and drops it at our feet.
“I’m sure I can get you into a mind-set to write your sexy stories.”
I bite my tongue because there are so many things I want to tell him, but I don’t. “Thank you, honey, but you know that’s not how it works. Besides, you wouldn’t want people to think that all those scenes are actual recounts of our bedroom activities, do you?”
He pulls me down the bed while he brings his body up to cover mine. He nips at my earlobe, placing kisses along my jaw bone. “Who gives a fuck what other people think?”
He moves down my body, biting my nipple through the cotton of my shirt, and my body tenses at the pain. His hand finds the hem of my sleep shirt and pulls it from my body, wasting no time pulling my shorts down my legs as his own legs fight to push his boxers off. The weight of his body is back to covering mine as he places his lips on the column of my neck. He shifts and brings his fingers to my breast, twisting at my nipple. This action does nothing for me, it never has. There was a time when he would feast on my nipples, starting off slow and sweet and then work to become more aggressive. He knows that’s the easiest way for me to climax.
My body arches, wanting to push him off me. He leans back, spitting on the tips of his fingers before rubbing it on the tip of his dick because he hasn’t taken the time to get me wet enough. He doesn’t put effort into it anymore. Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe the years of frustrations, the lack of communication and the absence of daily physical touch, has made me unable to get turned on.
I can’t do it anymore.
He pushes into me, slow, working at the fact that there isn’t enough lubrication to make it enjoyable for either of us.
I lose it.
“Get off,” I grit through clenched teeth.
“That’s what I’m trying to do here, babe. Your help would be appreciated.”
“Damn it, Heath. I mean get off of me!” I growl as I push on his chest, making him fall to the side. I roll over to the side of the bed and grab my shirt from the floor, tugging it over my head.
“What the hell, Whit?”
Without answering, I toss his boxers at him.
“If you aren’t in the mood, all you have to do is tell me. Jesus.” He leans to his back and hikes his boxers up his legs.
This has nothing to do with me being in the mood or not being. It has everything to do with me feeling as if I don’t matter unless it benefits him. I pull the sheet up to cover my naked lower half.
“Heath, I can’t do this anymore.”
When I look over to him, he’s sitting with his feet crossed, knees drawn up, his arms wrapped around his legs. He’s staring at the television, and I hope that he’s heard me because I don’t want to repeat myself. When he turns his head, and brings his gaze to meet mine, my stomach drops.
“What the hell is this about? Do what exactly?”
“Us,” I state.
“I can’t keep going on this–”
“Is this because of the other night? I thought we talked about this. Damn, if you need me to apologize to make it right then I’m sorry. I am. I didn’t thank you because I didn’t think I needed to–”
“The awards are just part of it, Heath.”
I look up at the ceiling, blinking my eyes because I know any moment I’m going to start to cry and I need to get through this before I break down. I rub my trembling hands down the sheets that are covering my legs. “We need to make a change, Heath. We can’t keep living like this. We can’t keep thinking our marriage is going to turn out differently. We can’t expect anything to change if we don’t do anything about it–”
“What are you talking about, Whit?”
I turn my head to face him. “Something’s going on here, Heath, and it’s not good. I feel it. We’re off. We’ve been off for a long time, and I can’t keep doing it. I know I’m not the only one who feels it. I know you feel it too.”
“You can’t tell me what I feel. You don’t know,” he defends.
“Are you happy?”
“Fuck, I thought I was, but maybe I was wrong.”
I’m taken aback by his words. “How have you been happy?”
“We have a good life, Whit. We have three kids and I’m damn proud of them. I work my ass off to provide for you and the kids–”
“I provide just as much, but I’m not talking about our life. I’m talking about you and me as a couple. That’s what this is about. It has nothing to do with the kids or the house or our careers. It has everything to do with the fact that we are strangers living under the same roof.”
He gets off the bed. “That’s such bullshit, and you know it.”
I turn to face him. “Really? Your award is case in point. I had no clue you were being considered.”
“It’s not that big of a deal. I don’t see why you’re so hung up on it. Christ, we’ve been together so long, I didn’t think I had to tell you every aspect of my day. I didn’t think you cared–”
“I’m tired of not feeling like you love me!” I shout.
“Jesus, it’s like you think all that shit you read in those goddamn romance novels is real. That shit isn’t real, Whitney. I don’t have to declare my love for my wife of twenty plus years every single day.”
“When was the last time you told me you loved me?”
“For Christ’s sake…” He pulls at his hair in frustration.
“I’m an educated, intelligent woman. I know what’s real and what’s not. I know what I read and what I actually live. And I certainly know when someone is going through the motions, and that’s what we’ve been doing for years. I can’t anymore.”
He throws his head back and lets out a growl of frustration. “I don’t know what the fuck you want from me. Nothing I do is ever good enough.”
“You know that’s not true. You’ve always been enough for me, Heath. But I’m not sure I’m enough for you anymore–”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Whit.”
“We’ve lost each other, Heath. Somewhere along the way, we lost what we used to have, and I’m tired of wondering when it happened. For years I never questioned us. We were solid, but then I woke up and we weren’t. I’m not sure how to get us back because believe me, I want us back so bad. I love you with everything I have, but I’m afraid that maybe that’s no longer enough. I feel like I’m drowning trying to fight against the constant waves of disappointment. Every little thing you do, the things you forget, or don’t have time for, are starting to build up and I’m starting to resent you. And I don’t want that. God, I don’t want that.”
“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. The only one that I’ve wanted to share my life with–”
I stand and grab my shorts throwing them on, one foot at a time. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe the words aren’t working anymore because your actions contradict them,” I huff as I drag the shorts up my legs. “That’s what I’m talking about. Our tactics need to change.”
“What do you mean, our tactics?”
“I think we need to reevaluate our marriage,” I rasp, causing his eyes to widen in shock. “I don’t want to lose us, but I’m afraid that we already have, but we’re both afraid to admit it.” I take another deep breath. “I can’t keep living like this. I can’t keep thinking that you’d rather be anywhere else but here with us, with me.” I swipe the tears from my cheeks. “I’ve looked at some places to rent–”
“What the fuck do you mean you’ve looked at places? You’re being serious? You want to leave?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to, but damn it, something has to change. We’re living on repeat, and I can’t keep doing it.”
“You can’t keep doing it?” he scoffs. “I’m sorry your life with me isn’t meeting all your expectations. I’m sorry I’m not what you want.”
The emotion in his voice nearly breaks me. This is the emotion, the feelings that I’ve wanted to see from him for so long. Tears run down my cheeks as I watch him bend over and grab his clothes from the floor.
“That’s not what I’m saying…”
At that moment, I second guess my decision. I think maybe I’m being irrational. Maybe Jenna’s tendency for drama is rubbing off on me. I take a step towards him, but when he straightens his body and looks at me, his face is without emotion.
“You want to leave, you need your space to figure whatever the fuck it is you’re looking for, then so be it. I’m not going to fight you on this, Whit. For as long as I can remember I’ve wanted you to be happy. I’m just sorry that you think you’re not happy with me.”
A sob breaks from my chest.
He pulls the door open to our bedroom, still in his boxers with his clothes gripped in his fist. “I don’t know where we lost our way, Whit,” he shakes his head, “but I can’t make you believe the things I’ve been telling you. That’s up to you. I just hope you don’t take too long to figure it out.”
The slamming of the door makes me jump. My body shaking with emotion, my eyes scan our room, but nothing has changed. Hs presence is the only thing that’s lacking, but for some reason, the room feels entirely too empty.
And it’s all because of me.