The hardest moments were the unexpected memories. When I would be going about my day, no self indulgent thoughts passing my brain, no rumination on the past, and yet all of a sudden- I remember him. Like a slap in the face. I see his face, hear his voice, feel his touch.
These memories were at times so intense, I would be momentarily blinded to the world. Never knew how or why they would invade me. Sometimes they were provoked by the simplest things, turning on a lamp, washing the dishes, mundane chores. Then I would see him, peeking through my mind's eye.
Over time however, I found tricks to stop these feelings right in their tracks. At least before they became too much. You know the saying "Idle hands lead to idle minds"? Well it is actually quite true. Throughout these past five years my primary focus has been to always keep busy. So I did just that-who has time to think when there is work to be done!
Constant side jobs, volunteer work, time consuming projects. I once uprooted the entire line of bushes in my back yard, countless hours of back breaking gardening, only to replant the same line months later. Despite the unhealthy tinge in my lower back, my torn fingernails, sweaty clothes, it was as if the smell of soil on my skin and the soreness of my muscles could calm my mind into silence. And I wouldn't think about him. For at least a while.
Sometimes I would have a warning. Those days were the worst. No matter how much I tried, whatever affort I placed upon myself to halt the memory of him….he always won.
Once upon waking, I opened my eyes to the empty space beside me and the bedsheets suddenly felt bitterly cold. I remade the bed, dressed and tried not to dwell on it too much.
Hours later after my shift at the diner, work at the Granger's and food shopping for the week, I finally made my way back home. But the moment I placed the grocery bags on my kitchen table the oddest feeling overtook me. Standing alone in that room, the house seemed to echo in its silence.
I felt uneasy. Skin itching with anticipation. The torrid of thoughts growing within me.
With a sudden curse I flung off my winter coat, my clothes, and changed into running gear. Before I knew it, I was pounding the dirt path near my house and began running into the rapidly dimming sunlight. Blood pumping, air rasping, sweating pores. It felt good. I felt alive. And I concentrated every semblance of thought into the placement of my feet and the rhythm of my breath.
'Just keep running', I told myself. 'Just keep…. running.'
And it worked. A little over an hour later, I returned home drenched from head to toe. A full 10K achieved. Not my best time, but better than nothing. After kicking off my muddy, running shoes, I made my way into the kitchen for some much needed water.
"Oh damnit Christine!" I exclaimed. There on the table laid the forgotten grocery bags. "The fish definitely went bad."
Although there wasn't much of a questionable smell coming from the halibut, I didn't want to risk food poising. Embarrassingly I dumped the fish into the trash.
Then it hit me….
"Unbelievable," I said throwing the stew into the trash. Scrapping the plate clean, I made my way to the sink to clean the dish. I tried to fight off my annoyance and anger. I knew how he can be when he works. Food is the last thing on his mind when he stays in his study into the long hours of the night. I snapped the running water off.
Usually I leave these things alone, but this is the third time this week he refused to eat the food I made for him. With indignation suddenly I barged into his study. Flinging open the door, there I found him. Sitting, looking over his notes in deep concentration.
"Erik," I said. He didn't look up. Didn't even flinch. I waited a moment for some sign of acknowledgment. My hand clenched the held doorknob a little harder.
"I see you didn't eat your dinner last night. Left it on the stove for you and it was left out all night." His head hunched over his desk, never once did he look up. Not once did his hand stop writing. "Look I know how I get when you work, but Erik you have to eat."
Silence answered me. If anything he seemed to scribble harder and faster onto the page. As if the sound of my voice alone could ruin his thought process. I waited, feigning patience. Waiting for some sign that he heard me. Waiting for the smallest apologetic sign. Nothing.
"So you know what, I'm just going to not make dinner anymore and you can do whatever you want!" I said a little too loudly. A childish sense of bitterness taking over.
I stormed out of the room and made my way into the bedroom. Quickly, I changed for bed and threw myself into the folds of my bed. After a few moments of tossing and turning I finally settled down.
A sigh escaped me as I looked out our bedroom window. I knew I had reason to be annoyed, but my reaction was a bit dramatic. I had to wonder as to why I was just so angry. It's not like he hasn't done this before. The periods when he becomes immersed in work, whether its music, his inventions, a new business venture, Erik is fully committed and dedicated. When deep in thoughtful creation, although he can be in the next room, in reality he is miles away.
Everything else becomes secondary. Food, talking, even me.
Then I knew...I missed him. Not once this week has he slept in our bed. Not once have I felt his fingertips grazing my skin. I longed for him.
Suddenly the bed gently dipped behind me. I felt him, a presence consuming the air. I laid in silence, trying to still my breathing. But it was impossible. The room slowly began to fill with that inexplicable thing he has, a sort of electrical current sending my nerves aflame.
The space between us pulsed with that feeling.
"Have you calmed down?" He whispered. His tone was mocking, as if he was parenting a child. My body shot up in an instant. I turned and look at him incredulously.
The smallest smile played upon his face. I saw him look me up and down.
Following his eyes, I glanced down to my chest. My nipples were hard and visible through the fabric of my tank top. Drawing a deep breath, I purposefully expanded my chest. I looked back to him, and watched his gaze harden as he looked at my body.
"No I haven't calmed down," I whispered back. "Why don't you go back to what you were doing. We can talk in the morning…if your not too busy with your work that is."
He eyes flicked up to meet mine. I bit my bottom lip in anger and murmured, "I don't want to fight right now."
His voice is beautiful, deep and rich. But when silent, his gaze alone can speak volumes. I knew he was reading me. Almost as if he knew my thoughts clear as day.
"Really Erik," I said. "I'm tired."
"That's too bad," he said. "Because I'm not."
Like lightening he grabbed me, pulling me flesh to his body. The hardness of him stole my breath away. His lips crashed into mine….
The memory ended as abruptly as it had appeared. I blinked rapidly.
Once again I stood above my trash can, hands suspended in air. The memory of him pervading every part of my being. The feel of him was so strong, the memory so impossibly real that I felt the space between my legs warm. My lips burned as if I had just been kissed. I panted through my parted mouth, an unnamed passion sighing into the empty room.
Gingerly I reached my hand up and touched my face. I was crying. A choking feeling filled my chest and throat. Pathetically I placed my hands on my face, sobbing. My loneliness, my situation, my past, my future, and my life, whatever that might be now, consumed me. So I stood there with nothing better to do but cry in the middle of my modest kitchen.
"Stop it Christine," I told myself. "You don't miss him."
I can never be with him again. This I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt.
He did the unthinkable- the unforgivable. Things so terrible I just cannot- despite how my soul cries out for him- be near him. That is why I ran away. That is why I have lived in obscurity these last five years, under a false name, living a life that never really felt like it belonged to me. Pathetically I cried till exhaustion took over.
You see... I stilled loved him and I knew that I always would. There would never be anyone else for me. So inevitably I will always be alone, till my dying day. However above all, I cried because I knew that I loved my husband even though he's a monster. Even though he's a murderer.