The attention he’s paying my body should be relaxing me. It feels great; but I can’t help but cringe every time his hands grab at my flesh. There’s fat where there used to be very little. I feel out of sorts and uncomfortable. Half of me doesn’t want this moment to end and the other half is screaming for it to stop. I don’t feel attractive. I feel disgusting and I fear that I’m going to have a sudden bout of gas. My diet hasn’t been what it probably should be as of late and it’s causing control issues. I didn’t know at the time that sabotaging my career would cause this kind of downward spiral; and yet I don’t really regret it.
In Brad’s words, the Toad can suck it.
I try to pull him up but he isn’t budging. “I like this,” he murmurs as he crawls up my body at a snail’s pace. I roll my eyes, annoyed. I don’t need him to bullshit me. I just need him to ravage me—preferably with his eyes closed so he can’t see my expanding flesh. God, I’m fat.
“What’s wrong, pretty girl?” I close my eyes and cringe. I can’t explain to him what’s wrong because I don’t even know what’s wrong. Curling up beside me, I can feel his breath on my neck. My hands are clenched tightly to the blanket around me, unwilling to let him see me; not that he’s trying. “Colleen, you’re scaring me.”
I shake my head back and forth, panic rising. Brad seems to be picking up on my panic attack. He’s feeling my forehead and I think he’s checking my heart rate, which is undoubtedly abnormal right now. In this moment, I seem to be his only concern. I want to reach out and hold him, but I don’t. I haven’t done much but avoid him and sulk since the whole negative pregnancy test thing. Oh, God, I’m depressed. That must be it.
“Please stop touching me!” The tears begin and I no longer have any control over my emotions. He removes his hands immediately. I don’t open my eyes. I can’t bear seeing him seeing me like this. I’m insane. The realization that I am, essentially, out of control in every manageable way only upsets me further. I’m spiraling down a rabbit hole and I just want to claw my way out—mentally, emotionally, and physically.
“What’s wrong?” Brad’s voice is soft, gentle. He’s intent on figuring out what the problem is. I need to pull it together soon before he calls the funny farm, or worse, my mother. God, help me.
“I’m fat!” I scream, unable to verbalize anything deeper that may be wrong—definitely is wrong—so I stick to the surface issues. “I’m a loser.” I swear, I feel the bed move lightly. If he’s laughing at me, so help me, God, I will lose the last strands of sanity I may have.
“You’re a successful attorney, you married me—smartest decision you’ve ever made, by the way—and you’re beautiful.” I know he’s trying to be kind, sincere in his own way; but the mention of my profession sends me into an angry tailspin. I sit up quickly—narrowly avoiding falling back onto the bed in a lightheaded haze—and glare down at him. He’s still on his side, worry on his face, but an encouraging smile playing at his lips. I smack him on his arm. Hard.
“Is that all I am to you? A show piece?!? Huh!” The look on his face is unmistakable. I’ve done a 180 in a matter of seconds. My tears dry up as the blood rushes to my head. Rationally, I know that the idea that he’s attached to my paycheck—former paycheck—is ludicrous. I just can’t help this emotional rollercoaster that I’ve gotten myself stuck on even though I so desperately want to get off of it.
“What the fuck are you even talking about?” He shoots up, yelling. “You are Grade A fucking certifiable, Frasier,” he practically spits his disgust at me. He stands up and walks away from the bed. I still there clutching the blanket like it’s a lifeline.
“I don’t know anymore!” I scream, and like the mature adult that I am, I kick my feet at the floor.
“Do you want out? Is that it?” My brows knit together. Why would he think that? He stares at me like I’m an idiot. Maybe I am. “If you want out, just fucking say so. Quit jerkin’ my chain, will you?”
“Do you want out?” I yell back. I drag the blanket off the bed, wrapping it around me fully.
“We don’t get divorced, Colleen, or have you forgotten that we’re Catholic?” he’s annoyed, frustrated. I don’t know if I want to kiss him or s him, maybe a little of both. I scoff because that is such bullshit. It’s always bothered me about the Church. With all the crap that goes down in the name of the Lord and all the stuff those same Catholics do when they like to pretend that no one is looking, getting a divorce is mild.