His Eyes

Chapter 5

I awoke with a headache and anger at being ripped away from what felt like the only person to ever really care about me. While Jason and I were only friends, we loved each other.

I lay in bed wondering why God couldn't just let me go. I stared at the ceiling fan spinning slowly. Mad. Yes, I was infuriated that I'd have to figure out how to survive another day.

The door to our bathroom opened, Jon's form exiting slowly surrounded by steam from the shower.

"Well, look who's awake finally," he said quietly.

I grunted then rolled away from him, fixing my eyes out the window to the leaf-less trees in the distance.

I felt the bed dip slightly. "I'm sorry about yesterday." His voice was seemingly sincere. "I just don't know what to do with you sometimes. My parents, you know how they are—"

I interrupted, "Controlling? Nosey? Assholes?"

He snickered. "Yeah. All of that."

We sat in silence for a bit before he spoke again. "Can you explain to me? About Jason?"

I spoke loudly, annoyed. "I told you, he was my friend. We were not having an affair!"

"How can you say that? There were pictures—"

I shot up, sitting and turning toward him. "Pictures? Are you kidding me?"

His voice raised. "Yes! Pictures." He quieted slightly. "Pictures of you embracing. Lots of them."

Yes, Jason and I embraced often. It was sort of our thing; to hug. Hug tightly since we both felt so alone when we weren't together. Not once had it been more than a hug though. Not once.

"He was half my age, Jon. Do you really think I'm a pedophile?"

John sighed. "I don't know what to think."

I shook my head. "You would think after thirteen years of marriage, you might know your wife a little." Turning away I muttered. "A little would be nice."

"I do know you."

My head snapped in his direction. "No! You don't. You're sitting over there thinking I would cheat on you. You are constantly attempting to figure me out, re-diagnose me with some magic fix so you can make me 'right' in the head. What do you think my therapist and psychiatrists have been doing all these years? Do you really think you are more qualified to diagnose me than the professionals?"

"Maybe you've just gone to the wrong ones—"

I rolled my eyes. "I've been to plenty and they've all come up with the same thing: Major Depressive Disorder, Bipolar Disorder, and ADHD. I'm medicated for all of it and usually, I'm okay. Usually."

"What if it's something else?"

I stood feeling a bit light headed, but wouldn't pause for it. I stepped toward the bathroom putting my hand on the knob. "No, Jon. No. The bottom line is, you just don't know me, not the real me. You're so busy trying to change me and make me into who you want me to be, you haven't taken the time to ever get to know me. Until you do that, there is no way we can ever have a quality relationship." I paused for effect. "You need to stop trying to fix me, because I'm not broken. I'm just me. A woman, a person with feelings and a heart, your wife, a girl who wants nothing more in the world than to be seen for who she is, and loved despite her issues."

He stared in my eyes, his face drawing downward slightly. Was that sadness? Was that remorse?

"I do love you," he said softly. "I do. I just wish you would—"

"Be someone else," I said calmly. "That's exactly the point. The girl you love doesn't exist. She's a figment of your imagination and every moment you spend trying to turn me into her, is another moment I—hate my life."

His brow creased. "You? Hate your life?"

Slowly, I nodded. "Yeah, I do." The truth was, I wished for death everyday. Multiple times a day yet, here I stood smack dab in the middle of a life I despised.  

"I don't want you to hate your life, Merida."

"Too late. I already do." I closed the bathroom door slowly then leaned my back against it with a sigh.

Here we go again. Just another day in paradise. God help me.