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Here he comes. My very own Prince Fucking Charming, Cal Scott. He walks in, and his eyes quickly skim the packed suitcase in my hand and briefly rest on my face. He lets out an exasperated sigh, tosses his keys on the table, and takes off his coat. His eyes fall on the empty bottle of wine I finished today. A smirk spreads across his face before he passes me, heading into the living room. I expected his lack of response, but it hurts all the same. I’m pretty sure he regards me more as his personal high-class escort than his wife.
“Don’t start this shit, Lauren. I texted you,” he says with obvious exasperation.
I start to take off my wedding ring. I want to throw it at him, but then I realize I like my ring. It’s fucking gorgeous. So I throw the stereo remote at his head instead before I march to the door.
“You’re kidnapping me now? You’re adding that to your résumé as a shitty, emotionless husband? You can’t keep me here! I’m leaving you! I’m tired of this! You’re never home! I didn’t sign up to be the only person in this marriage!”
The loneliest time of my life didn’t begin until I married the one person I would have given my life for.
Our home is void of warmth and love and filled with anger instead.
We are participants in a war of words that continue to be recycled over and over.
He’s the master of manipulation, the king of allure.
That’s what happened to me. I was caught before I even knew I was being hunted, and by the time I realized it, it was far too late.
He has me addicted, and that’s how he wants it.
Well, I said I’d be civil; I didn’t say polite.
who passes it to Michael since he’s standing there being worthless.
“Isn’t it a bad policy to accept drinks from customers?” Michael butts in. We all stare at him in disbelief; he’s been known to accept a lot more than drinks from customers.
when I see my manager, Ryan. He’s heading my way, and it’s too late to go in the other direction—well, without being completely obvious.
“I don’t know.” I do know. I don’t want to do it!
Having a drink with a guy for my boss isn’t that bad. Wait, that even sounds wrong. Being pimped out is not a part of my job description.
The Prince Charming myth is the other curse God created to punish Eve and every other woman for biting that stupid apple.
He must have opened the blinds. Two conclusions quickly come to mind: he’s either trying to wake me up, or he’s just trying to annoy the shit out of me. Whichever it is, I’m not happy about it.
“I’m the finale.” He snickers, and it wakes me out of my moment of ecstasy. I push him away from me, irritated at the satisfied grin on his face. “What, no thank you?” he asks
“Lauren, don’t do it.” His eyes widen, reading my thoughts,
“How long are you going to be gone?” I ask, pushing myself between his thighs, purposely ignoring his previous comment. “You’re going to miss me?” he asks, but it’s a statement more than a question.
He won’t let me be there for him in any way except sexually. It’s starting to get harder to see the difference between being his wife and a favored high-class escort.
“So I can assume you’re not a serial killer, ax murderer, or crazy psycho?”
“No, you said yourself it’s a little late for a woman of my respectability to be out,” I tease him.
“I’m so sick of your shit, Cal. I don’t give a shit when you get home, because I won’t be here.” And I extend the same courtesy to him as he’s shown me. I hang up.
I’ve wrapped myself up in him, something no woman should do with any man.
Cal has been my gift and my curse. Curse more often than gift, I suppose.
house, I notice Raven standing at the door with a huge smile and the phone close to her ear. Please tell me she’s not talking to who I think she’s talking to. “Lauren, honey, Cal’s on the phone!” she calls.
“You’re not talking to me?” he asks. I sigh in disbelief. He still thinks I’m “not talking to him.” I’ve left him, and he’s shrugging it off as a temper tantrum.
“Well, what do you want me to say?” he asks defensively. What do I want him to say? What the fuck do I want him to say? I want him to say he’s sorry for everything, sorry that he’s played with my emotions, sorry that he’s such an ass, that he leaves me alone for days without a single phone call, sorry that he’s made me into a person I don’t even recognize, that he’s eroded my self-confidence, sorry that he exists in my life! I don’t hear anything except silence on the other end. Oops, I must have said all that out loud.
As I walk into my bedroom, a slight breeze blows in through an open window, so I walk over to close it. A hand touches my lower back. I shriek, spinning around and backing up at the same time. Cal is standing in front of me.
“You’re here, so I take it I should be here too.”
“Really? Because forty-eight hours ago, it wasn’t at all important for you to be where I was,” I tell him bitterly.
“I’m so tired. I can’t. I can’t keep doing this; it-it’s destroying me,”
I have a lot of confusion about his love for me, but what I have never been confused about is my love for him. I love Cal. That’s it.
I grow more resentful of that every day.
“Get dressed. We’re leaving.” “What? No, I’m not going anywhere.” “Look, I don’t have time for this shit. Get up and put your clothes on.” “So that’s it? After everything last night, you wake up with a fucking stick up your ass, throwing out demands. Maybe you don’t get it, but I didn’t come here for an overnight trip.”
I love him, yes. I’m in love with him, no question about it, but it’s a problem when I’m questioning whether I love him more than myself and if he loves me at all.
“Of course, you’re tearing yourself away from work. How difficult it is to be with your wife—because we’re desperate for the money. I need the Louboutins, and you need those Rolexes and foreign cars!” I shout through my tears,
“I-I feel like you’ve grown resentful toward me. You used to be—well, I thought you were happy. You were fun. You made me laugh and feel sexy and wanted.” I smile, remembering happier times. “Now, I feel like you’re distant. You’re slipping away from me. The only time I feel connected to you is when we’re having sex. And recently it’s just been that. You don’t make love to me anymore… maybe marriage turned you into this. I never imagined it being like this for us.”
I used to have a different reason for being. It came from a dark place. My motivation changed when I fell in love with you. You’re my strength and my weakness. You’re the reason I fight to be here.”
I settle under the covers and lay my head on his chest. It’s been months since I’ve done this,
“I’m hungry,” he says, standing at the foot of the bed. “You want to go get something?” I ask, getting out of the bed and searching for something within my reach to throw on,
“Cook me something,” he dares, his eyes smiling.
“Only if you promise you’ll eat whatever I cook,” I dare him, folding my arms. “Deal.”
“I don’t think the shells are supposed to be in there.” He muffles his laugh with a hand over his mouth. “It adds to the texture,” I say sarcastically. He shakes his head and grabs a fork and attempts to get them out. “You’ll eat those shells and like it, remember?” I say, referencing his earlier promise. He sighs. Not feeling so smart now, huh, buddy?
“I think I’ll take it from here.” He snickers, and I pout. “But I thought you wanted me to cook,” I whine. “I thought I did too,” he mutters, and I playfully hit at him.
“Okay, you win. I’ll work on the cooking thing,” I say as we both dig in.
He’s quiet. “Your thoughts, sir?”
It would be a lot of work, and the money…” “I guess you’d have to sacrifice some of those shoes, and I can do without a few Rolexes,” he quips, throwing my earlier words back at me.
