Dark Jeans, Dark Eyes Ch. 08

We lay together in his bed, the familiar space, the spicy scent of some of the candles mingling with the roses and rose petals, which were everywhere. This had been my happy space for some very intense weeks. Then I had hated it, never wanted to set foot in it again.

I tried to remind myself of the two girls at the party, of all the women he had fucked in this room, but I couldn't manage to get angry. I was too exhausted.

He was talking to me, so quietly, telling me things about himself I hadn't known, thinking aloud about my current situation, talking about my living with him. He was lying on his back, and I was in his arms, lying halfway on the bed and halfway on him, my face against his chest, listening to his heart. For some reason, a Joy Division song was in my head, and I would hum it now and again. We were a mess, covered with sweat and come and rose petals.

I actually faded off to sleep, first time ever with him. He was holding me, now talking only a little, and I just zonked out. Then he was gently waking me, leading me to the bathroom where he started the shower and pulled me in with him.

He was enormously gentle, soaping me up and washing my hair. I stood there, sort of yawning and trying to clear my head, while he quickly soaped himself up and washed off, me reaching for the sponge so I could give his back a scrub. This pleased him; he leaned in and kissed me, the water pouring over both of us.

I was actually starving. My stomach rumbled while we were in the bathroom, as he was putting lotion on my body, a concoction that smelled of plumeria. He then bandaged my two wrists, applying antibiotic and wrapping gauze around each, but said he couldn't do anything about my neck. I didn't know what he was talking about, so I went to the mirror.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I groused.

There was a large bite mark on my neck, the impression of his teeth. I shook my head, groaned, and dropped my head into the mirror with a thunk.

"I look like I tried to commit suicide," I grumbled, looking at my wrists.

He laughed, pulled me to him, kissed me again. He was in a great mood.

I pointed out that I had nothing to wear on top, because of him. (He'd even destroyed my bra, which he indicated wasn't nearly sexy enough, compared to what I usually wore with him.) He handed me a shirt from his closet, a burgundy button-down.

"This is silk," I pointed out.

"Yes," he said.

"I'm going to mess it up," I warned him.

"Whatever," he said, helping me to put it on. He buttoned the cuffs over my bandages, and straightened the collar over the bite mark. I rolled my eyes, but I was still secretly pleased.

Juan took me back to his patio, sat me down again. The light was different; there was more daylight here in the early morning, kind of made the place golden. Later in the afternoon, the sunlight came from a different direction, was more dappled, and there was a lot of greenery making it shady and cool.

It was an altogether different meal than the one I had had with him when I first got there today. He brought out about three platters of food, poured me some white wine with bits of orange and grape floating in it, then sat on the small padded bench with me, instead of us in separate chairs on either side of the small table. Our bodies were entwined, and he kept feeding me what he wanted me to try.

I was lost in the moment. It was way too easy to succumb.

"It's not always going to be like this," I warned him.

"So much gloom and doom," he teased me, leaning in to kiss me after I swallowed some wine, tasting my mouth. "What if I can make this happen? Don't you trust me?"

I gave him a look, and he laughed.

"I trust you," he reminded me.

"I'm cheating on my husband with you," I taunted him. "What makes you think I won't cheat on you?"

"It's not who you are. You were faithful to a man who doesn't even care what you need. Now you should be free."

"Being with you doesn't exactly make me free," I argued with him, pointing at my bandages.

"Free to be with me," he said. "I'd get to keep you at night."

"I don't think there's enough room for me here."

"I'll make room," he promised.

"I'm a package deal, Juan. I have a child, a very destructive child. I don't think we can kid-proof this entire house. Plus, I'm too broke to get a divorce. My husband needs his son as much as I do – he and I should raise our little boy together."

Juan had already devised what he thought I should do. And most of it made a lot of sense, although the living arrangements were pretty unconventional. It hinged on my getting a job or at least some contract work, and for my husband to find employment as well, or at least to qualify for disability, for neither of us to demand child support from the other. To have a place where our kid lived and for us to stay with him, each of us taking care of him in turn, while we each had another place to stay on our off days. He seemed to think through this arrangement we would find the lives we both needed and financial balance.

But I wasn't entirely convinced any of this was a good idea. I feared change in this circumstance. Even if conditions were far from ideal, things weren't in complete upheaval yet. I was even afraid that if I lived with Juan, that I'd come to regret it.

"I don't know how you feel about monogamy," I told him, "but I'm pretty certain that in my current state that I'm not polyamorous."

"Not what?"

"Multiple sex partners," I explained. "If you're fucking other people, then I'm fucking other people."

This amused him.

"Give me your phone," he said.

I gave him a strange look, but I unlocked it and handed it to him. He was thumbing through several screens, finally held the phone to his ear.

"Oscar, como estas?" he said. "It's Juan." He paused. "No, she's fine. Better than. You have to stay away from my lady, mijo. Now." He paused again. "That was just a mistake. She's my life, hermano." He paused again. "I know that, too. Let her go."

Then he hung up without saying goodbye.

"That was pretty fucking rude. Oscar was incredibly kind to me when you weren't. Isn't he your friend?"

"Do you believe in me now?" Juan asked.

I could only smirk at him. I wasn't giving in, just yet.

Once again, I waited until I was sober before I headed home. I'd had about four texts from my husband, and he wasn't very happy with me. I tried not to think all the way home as I went to the store and then got takeout.

My spouse started in on me as soon as I walked in the door. Lately, he bitched, I had been sort of flaky, hadn't been holding up my end. He was feeling put out.

"Why are we still together?" I asked him. "Because I don't think there's been much substance to this marriage for a few years."

"Beats the hell out of me. You wanted a kid, so we had a kid. You're always doing what you want to do."

"That's not true," I said slowly. "I've missed out on jobs, to stay with you while you were in baseball. I live in L.A., even though I'm sick of it, for you. I stayed with you through rehab. You haven't even brought in a paycheck in the last two years, and I've never ridden your ass about it. And it hurts so much that you resent your son, when he's the most important person in my whole world."

"I don't resent him. I mostly just resent you."

That's it, then. I didn't expect this to go down so fast, in this way. I'm overwhelmed.

"I can't sleep in the same bed with you any more," I said quietly. "I'll leave if you want to stay. But if you want me to stay, you're going to have to go somewhere else tonight."

"You can leave," he snapped.

Wow. I went to our bedroom. I grabbed my rolling suitcase, threw in some clothes, trying to remember to grab the stuff I liked, and started to pull things out of the bathroom. This was it. I felt crazy-deranged at the moment. I had a list on my phone of stuff to pack for a trip, and I went through it quickly, grabbing my phone charger, the small jewelry roll (I had been robbed of my jewelry box, and had had to start all over), even my MacBook. I had about four bags when I went back out to the living room.

"Is there someone else?" he asked me.

I lied to him, but it was the only way.

"No. There's only me. But I think both you and I have been far too unhappy for awhile."

He looked sad, and for a moment, I almost relented.

"I'll see you in the morning. We'll start to figure things out," I told him, kissing my little boy on the head as I walked out the door. My heart was tearing apart at that moment.

I tossed my bags in the backseat, got into my car, the tears starting again. God, I was tired of crying.

Here was my plan: I was driving to Juan's house without calling or texting. If I was going to catch him in the act, I wanted to do that now, while I was already broken in pieces this evening. Just make one awful night of it, then start to put my life together again in the morning. I could always go to a hotel.

I drove up to his house. There were still lights on inside; it was still early enough. I was bracing myself for the worst, made a point of parking where he couldn't see my car, rather than in his driveway. Then did the walk of doom to his front door, and rang the bell.

His was a look of surprise.

"Are you alone?" I asked.

Juan looked puzzled, then nodded.

"If you do anything – and I mean anything – that I don't like, I'm outta' here, and you will never see me again," I told him.

"You're spending the night?" he asked.

I nodded. And then some.

"Did you bring your stuff?" he asked.

"In the car."

He leaned out.

"Where's your car?"

"On the street," I told him. "I wasn't sure if I would have to drive away quickly."

Now he rolled his eyes.

"Go get your car. It's safer in the driveway."

I did, grabbing the four bags on my way back into his house. He took them from me, and put them in his bedroom.

For the record, I had been to his house only one time before when it was no longer daylight. Not a good precedent, actually. He was in the middle of his evening, and I felt a lot of uncertainty suddenly. There was a cocktail on the coffee table, and something he'd been reading, and some music playing.

"You sure about this?" I asked him.

I wasn't feeling all that sure myself.

"Mmm-hmm," he said, putting his arms around my waist, rocking me gently. "Are you hungry? Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, and no. Please just take me to bed."

I give it four months.