soundly.
I crawled quietly into our bed, the bed that had become mostly mine for the past couple of months. I found that I liked having the whole bed to myself. I turned on my side, away from Jack. I thought about those piercing blue eyes that continued to haunt me. I thought about how I wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with him.
The week ahead seemed to drag on for an eternity. I was anxious for Jack to be back out on the road so that I could resume the life (and identity) that had come to be mine. I realized it was a sick existence, to some extent. For now, it was my therapy until I could feel comfortable in making the break I knew I needed to make. I was going to discuss it with Becky this week. We were having lunch on Friday.
Jack had checked my job performance on the handling of our finances since he’d delegated it to me. He actually complimented me on my accuracy.
“You did really well on handling the books,” he said, coming into the laundry room where I was ironing his fifth shirt.
“Jack, I saw an electronic cash deposit made through an ATM in Virginia come through. I wasn’t sure how you wanted me to post that on the Excel file, since typically the deposits are payroll or transfer. Was this a one-time thing?”
“Oh, that,” he replied, turning to head back out to the family room. “One of the company cars was involved in a collision. I meant to deposit the check from the other driver’s insurance company into the business account for that branch office while I was down there. I cashed it by mistake. It had been made out to me. I’m glad you reminded me. I need to issue a check from our personal account to Banion Pharmaceutical Eastern District Office. I’ll do that now.”
By Friday afternoon, my nerves were frayed as I headed out to meet Becky for lunch. It wasn’t as if Jack had done or said anything. It was simply the fact that I missed the life I’d carved out for myself in his absence. I was back to being lackluster Samantha. I was bored and I missed dancing, but mostly, I missed Slate.
Becky noticed right away as the waitress left with our order.
“Okay,” she said, “what’s Jack done now?”
“He hasn’t done anything. He’s just home.”
“And that’s not a good thing, why?”
“Because I finally realized something, Becky - something I should’ve realized a long time ago. I don’t want to be married to Jack anymore. I probably never really did.”
Her eyes widened as she looked at me in disbelief.
“I don’t know why you’re acting all shocked, Bec. You’ve never been a fan of his. I believe you refer to him as a mannequin most of the time.”
“Yeah, I get that, but what brought you to this realization? I mean, you always seemed satisfied with the…mannequin.”
I shrugged. “I’ve gotten a taste of being on my own, making my own money, and not having to answer to him - to anyone. I like it.”
“Would you like to clue me in on what the hell you’re talking about, Sam? I know we don’t see each other as often as we used to, but we talk at least once a week. You’ve never mentioned a thing about making your own money. Did you get a job?”
There it was. I needed to confide in my best friend. She would either think that I’d gone off the deep end and was in dire need of medication and psychotherapy, or she’d be happy that I’d finally started to live. Either way, she would be honest with me, no holds barred. I told her everything.
Once I’d spilled everything to her, I sat back and waited for her reaction. It took her a couple of minutes to digest everything. I saw her mind coming to terms with what I’d told her about the club, Slate, and even Jack’s abuse.
She finally broke the silence.
“Sam, when I encouraged you to get a hobby or take classes, or get a job, it was more along the lines of making pottery, taking a cooking class, or working part-time at Bed, Bath & Beyond. I’d no clue you’d go and create some wild-child alter-ego and live
I crawled quietly into our bed, the bed that had become mostly mine for the past couple of months. I found that I liked having the whole bed to myself. I turned on my side, away from Jack. I thought about those piercing blue eyes that continued to haunt me. I thought about how I wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with him.
The week ahead seemed to drag on for an eternity. I was anxious for Jack to be back out on the road so that I could resume the life (and identity) that had come to be mine. I realized it was a sick existence, to some extent. For now, it was my therapy until I could feel comfortable in making the break I knew I needed to make. I was going to discuss it with Becky this week. We were having lunch on Friday.
Jack had checked my job performance on the handling of our finances since he’d delegated it to me. He actually complimented me on my accuracy.
“You did really well on handling the books,” he said, coming into the laundry room where I was ironing his fifth shirt.
“Jack, I saw an electronic cash deposit made through an ATM in Virginia come through. I wasn’t sure how you wanted me to post that on the Excel file, since typically the deposits are payroll or transfer. Was this a one-time thing?”
“Oh, that,” he replied, turning to head back out to the family room. “One of the company cars was involved in a collision. I meant to deposit the check from the other driver’s insurance company into the business account for that branch office while I was down there. I cashed it by mistake. It had been made out to me. I’m glad you reminded me. I need to issue a check from our personal account to Banion Pharmaceutical Eastern District Office. I’ll do that now.”
By Friday afternoon, my nerves were frayed as I headed out to meet Becky for lunch. It wasn’t as if Jack had done or said anything. It was simply the fact that I missed the life I’d carved out for myself in his absence. I was back to being lackluster Samantha. I was bored and I missed dancing, but mostly, I missed Slate.
Becky noticed right away as the waitress left with our order.
“Okay,” she said, “what’s Jack done now?”
“He hasn’t done anything. He’s just home.”
“And that’s not a good thing, why?”
“Because I finally realized something, Becky - something I should’ve realized a long time ago. I don’t want to be married to Jack anymore. I probably never really did.”
Her eyes widened as she looked at me in disbelief.
“I don’t know why you’re acting all shocked, Bec. You’ve never been a fan of his. I believe you refer to him as a mannequin most of the time.”
“Yeah, I get that, but what brought you to this realization? I mean, you always seemed satisfied with the…mannequin.”
I shrugged. “I’ve gotten a taste of being on my own, making my own money, and not having to answer to him - to anyone. I like it.”
“Would you like to clue me in on what the hell you’re talking about, Sam? I know we don’t see each other as often as we used to, but we talk at least once a week. You’ve never mentioned a thing about making your own money. Did you get a job?”
There it was. I needed to confide in my best friend. She would either think that I’d gone off the deep end and was in dire need of medication and psychotherapy, or she’d be happy that I’d finally started to live. Either way, she would be honest with me, no holds barred. I told her everything.
Once I’d spilled everything to her, I sat back and waited for her reaction. It took her a couple of minutes to digest everything. I saw her mind coming to terms with what I’d told her about the club, Slate, and even Jack’s abuse.
She finally broke the silence.
“Sam, when I encouraged you to get a hobby or take classes, or get a job, it was more along the lines of making pottery, taking a cooking class, or working part-time at Bed, Bath & Beyond. I’d no clue you’d go and create some wild-child alter-ego and live
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