The Deal

Two-Bernadette

At home, Thabo and I are watching the second season of Bad Habits in the living room, our bodies glued together on the couch. The musk of his scent keeps assaulting my nostrils. We didn't even shower before watching the sitcom. As he's wrapped his arms around me, it's hard to tell him how I feel at this moment. If I wasn't convinced that he was actually my husband, I would have never let him touch me. Not once. A few months after the coma, I didn't allow anyone to touch me. I found it bizarre. I more than flinched at the touch of any random person; I mean, the first time my husband tried to kiss me, I actually put him in a chokehold. 

Not only that, but I'm glad we've moved from that stage of our post-accident relationship. There was a time when he would gloat to his other friends about my successful recovery. Those friends of his, up until this day, don't matter to me because I'm sure I've never met them in my life. A few months afterwards, I realized some of my memories were returning, and Thabo could finally hold and caress me again. I watched his face light up with such a heart-warming smile. It felt so good to watch him reunite with a long-lost loved one. I'm happy for him, and it's good he's found peace again, but I'm not happy.

He’s cuddling me so tightly, as if someone might snatch me away if he lets go. I want him to release me. When the annoying theme song for the TV show's intro is over, the third episode begins. I ease myself out of Thabo's arms and slightly shift away from him. I find it hard to look at him because I'm afraid of how I'm going to feel if I do.

“Are you okay?” Thabo asks.
I nod quickly. "Yeah." Thabo's a very handsome and caring man, but he's not the reason for my sudden uneasiness. It feels like getting zapped with electricity when a man touches, hugs or comforts me; I have absolutely no idea why.

"You look tired."

Thabo's shifting closer, so I divert his attention. "I remember what it was like working with that girl." My character in the sitcom is in a scene with a young co-star. We're two hotel keepers bickering at each other.

"How was it?"

Why do I have to lie to him? Lying has brought nothing good into my life-That, I can remember. Pretending to be head over heels for him is a bigger punishment. The doubt on his face is evidently clear. I mean, he is a damn good psychologist; I bet he's figured out the reason I suddenly shifted.

I scoff. "She and I… we rarely agreed on anything. Not among ourselves, but with the writing. She and I kept on blabbering complaints to the show's directors."

Thabo nods. Either he's bought it, or he’s playing along. "Well, there were dozens of times when you didn't agree with the way your character was written for the episodes. Yvonne used to give us all the details when we hung out together."

A question I’ve been dreading asking comes back to me. "I wasn't difficult to work with, was I?"

"No. Not at all. Like I said before, you're the actor who isn't afraid to voice out an opinion. You never cared whether your judgements hurt people or not. You loved stating the facts."

Turning my gaze back to the TV, I start doubting again. I look so different from the woman I'm watching on the screen. I'm talking about physicality. I remember the day the doctor told me how the accident left me disfigured. My first thought was I wouldn't be able to look at myself in the mirror anymore.

The second being that Thabo, the husband I never imagined myself having, would lose interest in me, or end up cheating on me with a younger, prettier actress. But I was wrong. The doctor revealed that Thabo paid for the surgery to have my face done. I see almost no physical difference from the woman I used to be.

"You miss your old life?" Thabo asks. "I mean, before the accident?"

I shoot him a side-glance. "Not really. I'm still remembering what it felt like. Was I always drunk on set?"

Thabo scoffs. "No. It was usually after shooting a scene for the day. You'd sneak into bars late at night, telling no one. We went through hell trying to get you into AA meetings."

"We?"

He shifts closer to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, and I fight the temptation to move away again.
"Yvonne and I." He caresses my right arm, sending a chill down my spine. "This reminds me, Naomi Rozabell, the podcast lady, sent me a message. She told me her next episode is being postponed until further notice."

"Oh, too bad. I was really preparing myself for my third, post-accident interview."

Thabo throws me a side-glance, smirking. "That's a bad thing?"
I chuckle. "I like interviews. It lets my fans, especially other people, see who I really am beside playing a hot-tempered, hotel keeper and single mom on screen."

"Hm. What will your fans say when they find out you don't shower before bed?"
I bulge my eyes at him. "Not everyone showers before going to bed. There's nothing weird about it. You're just going to shower the next day."

He chuckles and raises his hand in surrender. "My opinion. Just voicing my opinion."

"Well, it sounds like you're judging me." For a while, we sit together in silence. Finally, the episode ends, and the annoying theme song plays during the credits.

"You know what I can do to help trigger another memory?"
Our gazes meet and a rush of anxiety runs through my veins. This is what I’m afraid of when we're left in a room together. His flirtations may be innocent, but my reaction wouldn't be. Thabo smiles at me, his gaze closing on mine. Awkwardly, I return the smile.
                                                                                             ***
I stand before the bedroom mirror with black underwear hugging my curves, and both arms wrapped around my bare body. As I say a silent prayer, wishing this moment to go faster, the door behind me shuts. Dimmed lights brighten our room, and what grabs my attention is the poster of me dressed up as my sitcom show character. The next thing I know, Thabo has his arms clutched around my waist. Slowly, he peppers my neck with warm, tender kisses. Such intimate moments like these should turn me on, but I only want to shove him away.

I even want to hurl him through the window. "You're so beautiful," Thabo whispers. "Even more beautiful than I could ever imagine." I smile in return.
I watch him unbutton his brown suit, and when he takes it off, my heart skips a beat. Not in the good, I'm-so-turned-on way. This is bad. If this goes further, I might hurt him. Physically. He takes off his glasses, then loosens his belt. With nothing but tender love on his face, he advances towards me. I fight so hard not to keep my distance. From behind, he cups my chin with his palm, angling my head so he can smash his lips onto mine. The kiss is raw, possessive, but I can tell Thabo's holding back a lot of sexual energy because he wants to be careful. When my attention goes to the pair of scissors laying on the make-up table, I swallow hard. I need to stop this before I take immediate action.

"I'll make you remember all of this," Thabo whispers, but the tone of his voice makes me flinch. With no warning, he grabs my left arm and swings me around. Facing him, I hand him a dirty slap before shoving him to the bed.

"Jesus!" Thabo rubs his cheek, a look of shock etched on his face.

I cover my mouth with my hand. "I'm sorry. Thabo, I'm so sorry. It was too fast for me. I…." I do not know how to explain myself because I don't understand why I react like this.

"What the hell is causing you to do this, Nettie? I'm confused!" As Thabo motions toward me, I grab my t-shirt and cover myself with it.

"I'm so sorry I hit you, darling," I say. "You know I'm not a violent person. I swear I don't normally act this way. I need some time, please."

Thabo narrows his eyes at me. "You're right. I was overwhelmed the day you hadn't tried to strangle me after I kissed you. I thought I finally had my wife back. Well, you're still not over what he did to you. This is all Bill's doing."

I meet his gaze. "My stalker?"

"Yes. Sometimes he touched you when you passed out drunk. There was also a time when Bill ambushed you from out of nowhere and had his way with you. He'd drug you so you'd forget the encounter. I believe that's what caused the sudden, violent reaction to my touch. The painful memories are obviously getting triggered because of me."

"Oh, God." I walk closer to him. "This Bill guy. How long has he been doing this?"
"Since our marriage began."

I narrow my eyes at him. A hundred questions float around in my head as I stare at him, but it’s hard to pick which one to say. This is one of the reasons I hesitate to believe that he’s actually the man in my life. Spouses don’t keep mysterious secrets like this. "Why have you kept this from me? You should have told me the man who has been secretly raping me is still out there, Thabo!"

"I kept this from you to protect you, Nettie." He undresses from his trousers and underwear, then heads to the bathroom. "You'll understand what I mean soon."

"Bullshit!" I snap at him. When he enters the bathroom, fully naked, the bright light illuminates the multiple scars on his back. Up until now, I still don't know where they came from. I thought asking how he got them would be insensitive, but now I don't.

"How did you get those scars on your back, Thabo?"

My husband hushes out a breath. He's obviously going to ignore me. I'm proven wrong when he shoots me a look over his shoulder. "It was Bill." He enters the stall and closes the glass door. The sound of the water flowing gives me the feeling he won't talk to me until tomorrow.
Outside, a vicious thunderclap roars, and gradually, small drops of rainfall flood the windows. It makes sense now. If Bill is still out there, waiting for a moment to strike, then I'm not safe. I let out a tiny gasp when fiery lightning strikes. Down below, standing on the sidewalk, was a hooded figure. My legs are frozen. My heart rate quickens. Calm down, calm down, Bernadette. It wasn't real. I wait. When lightning strikes again, the figure is gone.

Am I seeing things now? Or is this a warning from Bill, telling me he's watching?
 

Chapter Soundtrack: Brink Score