I am HER... Read online

  "Hello?"

  "Hi Sweetheart. Do you have privacy?"

  "Um, yes. My husband isn't home from work yet."

  "Pardon? He didn't stay with you all day, and he isn't even home before 10:00? Please tell me he at least called every hour to check up on you?" Do I lie? Will he know if I lie over the phone? Probably.

  "Um... No, he didn't. I assured him this morning that I was fine though, and he trusts me, so he didn't really have to call me today." God that sounded so pathetic.

  "To quote the charming Ms. Kayla, 'your husband is a fucking prick'!"

  "No, he's not! We're just not like that. If I say I'm fine, he trusts that I'm fine. There was no need for drama or concern today, because I told him I was FINE. Marcus is a good man, and he’s nice, and he loves me."

  "Well, I am delighted to hear that. I'm pleased that your ignorant, selfish, jack-ass of a husband is ‘good and nice’. I'm sure that’s exactly what you want in a spouse."

  "You don't know me! God, Z. Why do you keep talking to me, like we know each other? We don't. Marcus is EXACTLY the kind of man I want. He is calm and stable and he loves me. He’ll never cheat on me. And he’s good to me…"

  But even as a say it, I don't really believe it. Marcus isn't actually good to me, he just kind of acknowledges me, has sex with me once a month, and that's really about it... Huh.

  "Are you through, Sweetheart? Have you convinced yourself yet, that your husband is the kind of man you actually want?” No, not really.

  "There is no convincing needed. I married him, and he is wonderful. We have a nice life. We have a lovely home, and beautiful furniture to furnish our lovely home."

  Furniture? Am I actually stressing Marcus' marital merits to a stranger with FURNITURE?

  Z laughs, "Did you just try to defend your husband’s lack of thought and concern for you, with furniture?” Yes. Yes, I did.

  "N-no. I was just saying that we have a nice home together because Marcus likes nice things."

  "Marcus likes nice things? And what do you like, Sweetheart?" Um…

  "I like nice things too. We have a nice life together because he and I usually agree on everything." Ah, except before, during, and after sex. There we really do not see eye to eye, I giggle to myself.

  "Why are you laughing? Is it because you are finally seeing the absurdity of your statements?" Nope. It's because I'm thinking about sex with Marcus.

  "No. I'm just thinking about something Kayla told me, um, yesterday." Another lie? Shit.

  "Really? And what did Kayla tell you that was so funny?" Pause. I can’t think of a single thing. I have a complete blank where cognitive reasoning used to be. And the pause just gets longer…

  "Um... It's private. Just between girls..." That's believable, right?

  "Interesting. I think you're lying to me. Kayla informed me today, that though she tries very hard to be your friend, you’re very emotionally detached from her and everyone else she has ever seen you speak to. So I find it intriguing that you and Kayla would suddenly share something just between girls."

  What the hell? Why would she say that? Why would she talk about me like that? I'm not emotionally detached. I attach. I hate Kayla right now. And I hate Z for talking about me with her. I don't know what to say anymore. I want to hang up and go to sleep.

  "That’s n-not true. I am emotionally attached to people; I just don't feel the need to tell everyone everything about myself." God, I hate this. In a near whimper, "I have to go now. Thank you for calling... Ah, enjoy your stay in Chicago." I am so polite, always. I. Am. So. Pathetic. ALWAYS.

  "We’re not finished with this conversation yet. Do not hang up. I would like to talk to you about what you're feeling right now. Your mood changed rather drastically. Listen, Sweetheart, I didn’t mean to sadden you."

  "Oh, I'm not sad. I'm fine. But I really must go. Good night."

  "Sweetheart..." It sounds like a threat, but I just don't know what to say anymore.

  "What do you want me to say? Please tell me. Tell me what is a proper response, and I'll say it, and then we can hang up. What am I supposed to say, Z?" I think I'm getting to that shaky place again. I'm not breathing very well.

  "Why don't you tell me what you're feeling right now? You sound slightly distraught."

  Slightly? I feel awful inside. My hands are officially shaking, and my chest is getting tighter, and now my head throbs.

  "I'm not dis-traught. I, I'm fine." Shit. I can't breathe properly. WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING TO ME??

  "Breathe, Sweetheart. I don't want this for you. Please try to relax. Breathe with me. Right now!"

  Within seconds I'm almost hysterical. Everything hurts. I’m just so confused. Why does this keep happening?

  "Please try to stop thinking. I want you to concentrate on breathing with me. Slowly... There you go. Slowly, catch your breath. I want you to lie down right there."

  I can’t even protest. I don’t want to protest his instructions. Laying down, I close my eyes and listen to his voice.

  God, his voice is so beautiful. His soothing voice makes everything slow down. My body is slowly returning to me. I have the tingles from head to toe. I can still hear him murmuring in the background, but I'm concentrating on relaxing my body now. I am so tired suddenly, I just want to stay here on the floor.

  "Sweetheart, are you there? You didn't fall asleep on me, did you?"

  I gasp a small laugh. "No. I'm here, but I'm really tired now. Can I please hang up? I want to sleep..." I whisper.

  "Yes, love. Hang up and go directly to bed. I'll call you tomorrow. Sleep well."

  I know I should be worried. I know Marcus might hear me on the phone, but I really want to hear Z’s voice again. I love his melodic voice. I know Z might call when Marcus is still here in the morning... but I just don't care right now.

  ==========

  "For Christ’s Sake! Again, with the floor? What are you doing on the kitchen floor?"

  "Um... What time is it?" I ask groggily.

  "11:55, Why? Are you going to give me hell for working late?"

  Well, I’m certainly not groggy enough to miss the implication of 'working'. And when have I ever given him hell? Never. I never say a word about anything. I don't say a word to anyone about anything. And if I do ever speak my mind, everyone is mad at me. Like Marcus is- right now.

  "There’s a very dry homemade lasagna in the fridge, if you're hungry. I'm going to bed. Good night Marcus." There! Do you like my implication, Marcus? Actually, he probably didn't even notice.

  Trying to steady my legs, I nearly run from the kitchen to my room. I can't stand this. I hate being disliked by anyone, and with Marcus it always feels worse. Maybe it feels worse because he’s supposed to love me. Or maybe it’s worse because I have to live in silence with him when he’s mad at me. Whatever. When it's Marcus, it feels worse than even silence from my parents.

  In my bathroom, I brush my teeth quickly, and change my capris for pajama bottoms, but keep wearing my black cami. Finally, nine minutes later, I crawl into my bed.

  Thank god today is over. I hope tomorrow is better. Anything has got to be better than the last two days. Hopefully, I’ll even feel better tomorrow. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll actually feel…

  Friday, May, 27th

  CHAPTER 5

  Waking to the sounds of Marcus in his closet, I look at the clock. 8:40? Wow. He's really late.

  "Are you okay?" I ask gently.

  "No. The stupid alarm clock in the spare room doesn't work. Why didn't you tell me?"

  "I didn't know. Didn't you use it yesterday morning?"

  He grunts, "Yes, so? Are you saying I broke it?"

  "No. I just think it’s strange that it worked yesterday, but not this morning. Did you remember to set it?"

  "Of course I did. I'm not an idiot." Wow. What does that mean? Marcus thinks I'm an idiot? Since when?

  "Do you love me?" Where the hell did that come from? Please don't answer. Please...

&n
bsp; "Why? Does it matter?" What!?

  "Of course it matters. Do. You. Love. Me. Marcus?"

  Shut up! Stop speaking! You do NOT want an honest answer to this question. You do NOT want to hear this.

  "Yes, I love you. But I hate when you act like this. I'm the good guy here. Everyone thinks so. Even your parents like me better than they like you. But you act like I'm NOT a good guy and I don't like it. Please stop acting this way. It really doesn't become you. I didn't marry some drama-queen; I chose to marry YOU, okay?"

  Okay. That was sooo not touching, thoughtful, or filled with concern. Z would have said something like… Shit. Don’t go there!

  "Did you pick-up my dry cleaning yesterday on your day off?" Day off? It was a sick day.

  "Not yet. I was unwell yesterday, so I just worked in the sunroom all day, remember? I'll try to get it today. Sorry..."

  "Okay. Could you try hard?" Try hard? That's all I DO. All day. Every day. I try so hard. God, I'm so sick of trying.

  "Okay Marcus... I'll try real hard to pick-up your dry-cleaning." Was my sarcasm obvious?

  "Why are you being so sarcastic? Never mind, I don't want to know. I'm leaving for work." Yup. My sarcasm was obvious.

  ==========

  Finally alone, I reach for my phone and there’s an email from Z. I kinda want him to stop emailing me, because he stresses me out. I really do want him to stop, but then again, I really hope he doesn’t stop. Z stresses me out and he calms me right down. What the hell am I supposed to do with that? I really am all over the map here.

  Here we go... Shit.

  _____________________________

  From: Z. Zinfandel

  Subject: Panic

  Friday, May 27

  7:53am

  Good morning Sweetheart,

  I do hope you are well.

  You gave me another little scare last night.

  Do you practice yoga? If not, maybe you should.

  Yoga helps with panic-attacks due to all the breathing exercises. Yoga also increases flexibility, which is very beneficial for everyone.

  I'll give you a call around 10:00am.

  Until then, stop thinking!

  Z

  ________________________________

  Is he teasing me? Is that a sexual joke? Does he even joke? He seems way too intense for joking. Stop thinking? How the hell does one accomplish that? I mean really, how the hell do I stop thinking when I have work to do?

  After reading Z’s email, I send an email to Mr. Shields explaining that I should have the expense summary reports to him this afternoon, instead of Monday morning. I hope he’s impressed when they arrive early. Maybe he won't think I'm such an incompetent drama-queen.

  Maybe I should try to schedule a meeting with him Monday morning to explain my actions this week. But what would I say?

  "Ah, nothing happened on Wednesday, but I've been freaking out anyway? My husband doesn't really love me? I'm kind of lost and panicky right now, but don't know why? Oh. And I can't stop holding my breath, losing my breath, or forgetting to breathe altogether."

  Yeah. That would definitely reestablish my reputation as competent within the company.

  ==========

  10:01... He’s late, and then I jump. Why does the phone keep doing that to me?

  "Good morning, this is..."

  "I know who you are Sweetheart. How are you this morning? Better, I hope?" God... His voice is just stunning to listen to.

  "I'm well, thank you. I wanted to apologize for last night. I'm not sure what came over me, but I can assure you it won't happen again."

  "Uh huh. You’re apologizing again, and making assurances you may not be able to keep."

  "Oh... I, I'm sorry." Shit! Why do I keep saying that?

  Laughing, "Apparently, there are some habits you find very hard to break. Have you always apologized endlessly? Almost on demand?" Yes. Yes, I have.

  "When the situation requires it... Yes. What’s wrong with being polite?" I snap at him.

  "Nothing at all. Politeness is required in almost any industry and social setting. However, endless self-recrimination is not. Why do you feel the need to always apologize?"

  "I DON’T feel the need," I almost whine. "But if I've done or said something requiring an apology, I give it. Why is that a problem? I don't understand."

  "Oh, I have no problem with a polite apology when it is required. What I have a problem with is an intelligent woman who constantly vilifies her actions, therefore creating an opportunity, for said intelligent woman to apologize for a supposed offense. Do you see the difference?" Ah, not really. What the hell is he talking about?

  "I don't do that. Last night, I acted out, so I apologized. I’m embarrassed that you had to stay on the phone with me while I acted all dramatic, therefore, I apologized. That's it. I'm not creating anything." There. Ha!

  "Acting out? Dramatic? Listen, love... You. Had. A. Panic-Attack. You could not control it, and it certainly does not require an apology. And I did not have to stay on the phone with you, I wanted to."

  "Well, then, thank you."

  After another long, seemingly uncomfortable silence, Z breathes, "I would like you to meet me today for lunch. Or I could stop by your home? I'm sure your nice husband won't be there to care for you... So I could be over by 12:30." Gulp. NO!

  "Ah, no. Thank you. I MUST finish my reports and email them to Mr. Shields by early afternoon. I really don't have the time to meet you for lunch... But, I do appreciate the invite." That was good- firm intentions, yet polite refusal. Yay me!

  "Still not comfortable with me? After all the time we have spent via email and phone conversation? Again, I suggest Sweetheart, that you become comfortable, because before I leave for New York we WILL meet face to face."

  Gulp, again, and more silence. I don't want to meet him. Yes. I do... And more silence until…

  "When was the last time you experienced pleasure?" WHAT?! What the hell is he talking about? Is he actually waiting for my response?

  "Um... That's really none of your business."

  "That long? Oh, Sweetheart... that's sad."

  "What? No. It hasn't been long. I'm not sad. What are you talking about?!" Shit. I'm getting louder. Come on... calm down.

  "I didn't say YOU were sad, though that seems fairly obvious. I said THAT is sad. I would like to imagine you feeling pleasure, but I find it quite difficult." Ha!

  "You and me both..." I snort. Shit! That was out loud?! Oh. My. God. "I'm just kidding. Honestly. My, ah, pleasure is none of your concern."

  "Oh, but I find it is my concern. I would like to see you experiencing pleasure. I like to imagine those beautiful lips of yours swollen by kisses, and those gorgeous eyes of yours, bright with pleasure, pupils dilated with lashes lowered."

  That was the sexiest thing anyone has EVER said to me, but I have to stop him, right?

  "Z. These comments are very inappropriate, and I'm very uncomfortable with this conversation." That sounded somewhat truthful.

  "Yes. I am rather inappropriate. And yes, I can see how my words would make you uncomfortable. However, I don't believe I’m going to stop. Therefore, I suggest once again, that you get comfortable..." How do I do that?

  "I find myself thinking about you frequently. From the moment I heard your low, reserved, slightly raspy voice, to your laughter... including your slightly hysterical laughter... I have wanted to hear your voice, while you succumb to pleasure."

  OH MY GOD! THAT is the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me!

  "Please stop. I really DON’T want to discuss this with you. I'm not that girl, okay? Go find someone else to try to seduce. I've never been a whore and I'm not going to start being a whore now."

  Did I just say that? That sounded so judgmental and prudish. Christ, maybe Marcus is right- I AM a prude.

  "A whore? I would never classify you as a whore." Good. Why not? I can be whorish if I want to.

  "Well, before you start panicking, I'm going to hang up
now. But, Sweetheart, I would like you to think about sexual pleasure, and how it applies to you. Think of it as a homework assignment. I'm going to call you back at 3pm sharp, and I WILL be asking you questions." Questions? Like what? What the hell do I know about 'sexual' pleasure?

  "Um... That's not really appropriate... "

  "I’m well aware of this inappropriate conversation, but I stand by it. Finish your reports for Shields quickly, and prepare yourself, love. I look forward to asking you questions, and I really look forward to hearing your responses. Until later..."

  He hung up? He hung up like that? My pleasure? My responses? What do I say? What is he going to ask me? God, will he want to know about Marcus and me? Will he ask about Marcus... pleasing me? What do I say?

  Homework?! Thank god my college Professors didn't require this kind of homework assignment, I would have dropped out. Dammit! He's going to know that I know absolutely NOTHING about pleasure.

  ==========

  By 1:45, my mind can’t focus on my reports. I have just two left, but I'm drawing a blank. The numbers won’t balance. I can’t find my error. I try to concentrate, but I'm always distracted with thoughts of pleasure. Nothing is balanced. Jesus, I'm not balanced anymore.

  By 2:30, I have finished one more report summary. It finally balanced and the Detroit office is secured. Mr. Shields has only to approve it. The last one however, is proving to be quite difficult. I have gone over it, again and again. I have all the names and each expense memorized, and everything is right there in front of me. It's all there, but it won’t balance. I'm actually more frustrated than upset.

  I could email over to Shields every other summary, and explain that the 9th is on its way, but I don't want to look incompetent. Shields asked me to be thorough each month of this next quarter, so Shields would think I'm a total flake if I send over every summary, but one. Shit. I have got to do this. Start again.