Invisible - 1

Slowly he moves inside me, savoring the moment. Silently I lay beneath him, eyes tightly closed trying to erase the memory of his touch from my mind. Later I know I'll wash all traces of him off of me and act like nothing happened. But for now I'll put up a brave front and act as if nothing is wrong, as if this is nothing more than casual accidental sex between friends.

"Come on baby." He slurs his words in my ear, the scent of alcohol hot and heavy on his breath. I try not to breathe, try not to smell the scent of him. Holding my breath I calculate how long I have until my body betrays me and I involuntarily breathe. The scent of his arousal and drunkenness is almost more than I can take, but I refuse to give him the pleasure of knowing that this, that he, bothers me. Silently I suffer praying that he comes quickly.

"I love the feel of you," he whispers as he tries to flip my body over. Fighting him I lay on my back refusing to give him any more power over me. He's taken more from me tonight that he even knows is possible.

Everything about this situation is wrong.

Faster and faster he pumps himself into me as his fat fingers needle my breasts. A couple more minutes and it will be over I tell myself over and over. A couple more minutes.

I hold my breath and will myself not to react to this, to him. A couple more minutes and it will be over.

I feel the sweat from his forehead as it drips down and lands on my bare chest. This is really happening to me as much as I tell myself that its not. He's really doing this.

I tell myself that I'm strong and that this will be over soon. I concentrate on memorizing the pattern of the tiles on the ceiling, anything to get my mind off what he is doing.

With a final push I feel his body as he involuntarily shudders and I know that he's emptied himself into me. I can't stop my tears as they betray my fear and pain. He's to far gone to even notice that I was never a willing participant and that he took something that wasn't his to take.

"Maybe we can do this again," he murmurs as he tries to hold me in his arms. I know that there will never be another time, that this will never happen again.

I wait for what seems like forever for him to pass out so that I can escape him, escape this. Slowly I extricate myself from his arms and gather what's left of my clothes. There can never be another time, this will never happen again and if I'm lucky my pain will remain invisible.

XXXXX

Doc, is that you?" John asks as I enter the penthouse. What am I supposed to say to him? What is my response supposed to be? With a heavy heart and a mind

preoccupied, I close and lock the wooden door.

"Yes." I summon my most cheerful voice and try to act like things are perfect, that I'm fine. I foolishly tell myself that I'm safe here, that nothing happened.

"What took so long? I expected you home hours ago." The richness of his voice carries through the house and provides me with some comfort. I know that I'm safe here.

John, oh John, such a trusting man. How do I break his heart and tell him what happened? I can't and I won't. The pain is mine to bear alone. I've already put him through so much this past year and what happened tonight is an unnecessary burden. "I ran into someone I know." I wouldn't call them a friend, not after tonight. After tonight I will do all that is in my power to avoid him and never give him the opportunity to do what he did to me again.

"Anyone I know."

"No one important." It's easier to lie to him than to face the truth of what happened to me.

"I missed you baby," he admits as he finally enters the room. I can tell by the look in his eyes, the way that he's staring at me curiously, that something is wrong.

"What's wrong?" I ask him as I finally approach him. I feel the smooth silk of my shirt as it moves against my chest leaving me with a feeling of iciness. I need to change. I need to get these clothes off me and destroy them. I need to erase all traces of him off of me. Then I'll be okay.

"Nothing, I was worried about you….that's all." What did I ever do to deserve this man? I'm the one that's three hours late and he's not mad at me, only concerned.

"That's sweet John."

Curiously he looks me at and I know what he's thinking. Why am I not touching him? Why am I not rushing into his arms? Why am I still standing in the entrance way to the penthouse, unable to move more than a few feet into the safety of my own house? Looking anywhere but at him I try to summon my best game face and push down the thousand different thoughts that run through my head, thoughts that should be of him but aren't. Growing up my mama used to tell me that time healed all wounds and I know that she's right but at this very moment in time I'm feeling so uncomfortable in my own skin, lost in a way.

"Marlena." It's those damn eyes of his, eyes that I've never been able to lie to or hide from. Some of my patients will tell me that they have something in their life that acts as a moral compass for them, whether it be a cross on the wall, a statue of Buddha, or a Star of David pendant around their necks. They have some connection and reminder of what is right in the world, what is moral. I'm a practicing catholic but I never felt that Catholic guilt or the need to confess. But for some reason John is my talisman and always has been. One look into his eyes and I know what course I need to take, what's right. It's killing me inside to look into his eyes and see how wrong I am, see my guilt, see the pain that I am incapable of stopping.

"Marlena," he repeats again when he doesn't get an answer. I can't look at him, I can't.

What just happened is a deal breaker in our marriage. I know that and he knows that. I can rationalize in my own mind the details of how it happened, but it doesn't change the facts.

"Talk to me," he whispers in a low tone as he cups my chin with him nimble fingers and tries to look into my eyes.

I can't.

"Honey, you're scaring me."

I can't look at him and his touch is more than I can bear. Backing away from him quickly, I feel the hardness of the door as it slams into my back. Flashbacks of what happened earlier flash through my mind as hard as I try to prevent it. I feel the sweat as it forms on my forehead and I'm aware that my heart rate has increased. As the blood flows quickly, it feels like my heart is slamming itself against the wall of my chest and I have to look down to see if what I feel is visible. I'm a doctor, why can't I control my bodies' reaction?

"What's wrong?" he asks with that damn look in his eye and he once again approaches me. I want nothing more for him to take me into his arms and make everything alright again, make me alright, but I'm scared of him. I'm scared of his touch. I'm scared that he's going to find out what happened and judge me for it. Either see me as a helpless victim or blame me.

"I'm fine, just a little tired." This much is true. My lies haven't started yet.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'd like to go up and take a shower and change," I tell him as I try to put as much distance between us and walk towards the balcony. "Would you mind making me some tea?"

"Sure." He follows me into the living room and stands behind me, placing his strong hands on my shoulders. He starts to kneed the tense and knotted muscles, my body's visible betrayal of my secret.

Why is this so hard?

I stand tense before him, hating the feel of his hands on me. Maybe later I'll feel differently, but right now I want to crawl into my own skin and hide. But I know that I need to be strong and keep up the pretense, keep up the illusion.

"Doc, you are so tense baby." His hands slowly reach down to my chest and I can't help my reaction as I tense up and move back against him. "You're on fire baby," he whispers, taking my response as one of arousal.

I can't do this. I can't do this.

I feel his fingers and they move the shirt off my shoulders, baring even more skin. "Do you know how horny you make me? God, I want you all the time." Praying to a God that I'm not sure I even believe in anymore I wish that he'd stop touching me. It's too soon, but how can I deny my husband something that he's come to expect on a regular basis?

Silently I stand and try to suppress my emotions and remind myself that this is John, that I'm safe. I refuse to cry, clenching my eyes as tightly as I can to ward off the tears. As his hands travel down my bare arms removing my shirt I feel his fat fingers doing the same thing. I can't do this. I can't do this to John. John loves me and would never hurt me. He is not John.

I allow John to undress me as I detach myself from what's happening. I feel each piece of clothing as it's removed and the cold air chills my skin. John is breathing heavily into my ear as he describes in detail what he wants to do to me. I don't really care; I just want it to be over and done with.

Quickly he picks me and carries me up the stairs to our bedroom. He's done this a thousand times. I tell myself that tonight will be no different. I can do this. I am strong enough. My pain will remain invisible.