If I Break (3 page)

“Thank you,” I reply sheepishly taking the cloth from his hand. Hes smiling at me like he knows a secret that I’m not in on.

“I’m really sorry about your drink. I can get you another one,” I offer, staring up at him. He has to be at least 6’2.” I subconsciously take a few steps back, so I don’t have to look up at him like a little girl.

“You’re good,” he assures me coolly. No,
he’s
good apparently, since no matter how hard I try I can’t bring my eyes to leave his face.

“I work here, it’ll be no problem,” I reply. His gaze is intense, almost intimate, but his smile so charming or rather, welcoming—like he’s luring me; and for a moment, time slows down. All of the noise around us has disappears, and it’s just the music and my breathing.

I wonder if he hears it?

He steps closer to me and I notice in those perfect gray eyes, the iris is surrounded by subtle green tint but beautiful as they are, they’re upstaged when he lets the right corner of his bottom lip free he’s been holding captive between his stark white teeth. His tongue sweeps across those delectable lips adding the perfect amount of moisture and right then a wave of heat flushes through my entire body. I cringe to myself referring to a body part as delectable, a stranger’s at that but there is absolutely no other way to describe them.

“I know.” His words jolt me back to reality and I lean forward a bit the return of the noise making it more difficult to hear him and a second later he leans down towards me his face near my ear and my breath hitches.

“Your shorts gave you away,” he says into it and just as quickly he’s back in his own space.

“These God forsaken shorts,” I’m so embarrassed and begin pulling them down. He nods his head, a grin now on his face as his eyes travel down my body.

“No, thank God for those shorts,” He's biting his lip again and I feel myself changing all shades of pink.

“ …and I was actually coming to get a closer view of the woman I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of since you walked in, anyway,” he explains, looking directly in my eyes with a smile that could melt the Arctic-- with that I almost swallow my tongue. What am I supposed to say to something like that?

“She’s Lauren,” I can’t help but whisper. Wait, that wasn’t right. Wake up, genius! I scream inside my head.

“I mean, I’m Lauren,” I laugh, hoping the music covers my ridiculous answer and that I won’t drop dead of embarrassment right here. Thankfully, my brain cells are released from my hormones’ grip and direct me to extend my hand.

He smiles almost as if he’s amused. I guess I’d be amused too if I could reduce a college-educated woman to a bumbling idiot just by licking my lips.

“I’m Cal,” he replies.

April 27th 2011

I open my eyes and turn over to see Cal still asleep. I remember when I would watch him sleep; he seems like such a different person when he does. When he’s awake, he’s confident, cool, and in control of every situation. I think this is the only time he doesn’t have a wall up—where he's not plotting and planning and his guard is down, the one he has up, even with me.

I touch a lock of his hair and move it back into place. He starts to wake up, so I turn away and settle back on my pillow. He knows I’m awake, but he won’t say anything to acknowledge it.

His fingers run through my hair before tracing a soft line down my neck and they momentarily rest on the small of my back. He begins to trace his signature there causing me to roll my eyes and get goose bumps simultaneously. This is his way of saying good morning, a tease. I feel him get out of the bed, his footsteps grow faint as he enters our bathroom and the door shuts. I roll onto my back, entangling myself in our sheets.

A sigh escapes my mouth as my thoughts drift to last night; tingles shoot through my body at the memory, and I try to shake the thought. He can make me feel wanted and be so in tune with me, physically, but his mind can still be miles away in an emotional desert. It didn’t used be like this with him. I can’t pinpoint when it changed, but somewhere along the line, he started to grow resentful towards me, or maybe towards our marriage. I’m not sure which, or if there’s even a difference. We used to talk about it—or, at least I tried to talk and he blew it off, telling me I was paranoid and overreacting. Now I don’t talk—I throw fits.

I didn’t used to be angry all the time and vindictive, but now it’s my defense mechanism with him. It’s about the only way to maintain my sanity. He has a wall up that he won’t let me see behind. I only see what he wants me to see. I’ve known him for three years and he’s still like a puzzle that I’m trying to solve. Sometimes I just get mad and want to throw the pieces at a wall and give up.

Unfortunately, I always come back, letting the mystery of the final product pull me in. It seems that’s what we’ve resorted to—emotional mind games. We both play them. He’s forced me to play, and all I want is for it to be over and for us to be how we were before we were married. If it were up to me, I’d wake up every morning and tell him how much I love him.

Now, I just keep my feelings to myself until I have an emotional overload, like yesterday, aided by a bottle of wine—a bad habit I’ve developed after being left alone for days at a time.

His story is that he’s working. I do believe him—mostly—and for a while, I was content with sharing him with his job—or at least what he says is his job. I’ve never been privy to the specific details other than that he works in a special division of Crest Field Corporation, a company that has its hand in nearly everything, from real estate, to commercial retail, to highly-questionable financial investments.

Conveniently for Cal, he’s in a position that’s so confidential, he can’t even tell his own wife where the hell he is half the time. When I complain, he says I knew this when I met him. And I did, but it feels more exciting getting surprise visits from your boyfriend when you don’t live together. The picture isn’t so rosy when you’re home alone most of the time, and it seems as if your husband is just dropping by rather than living with you.

I look towards the window, where the sun is shining in. He must have opened the blinds. Two conclusions quickly come to my mind: He’s either trying to wake me up, or he’s just trying to annoy the shit out of me. Whichever it is, I’m not happy about it.

I grab the remote that controls the blinds and shut them back down. I hate how the weather almost never matches my moods. Right now I would prefer it to be raining and dark out, so I can linger in my depression, but as always, things never go as I plan.

I hear him come back into the room, and I look over as he opens the closet. His typical get up, a gray button-up and black slacks will, I’m sure, be paired with one of his long, black coats. He probably spends more money on clothes than I do. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him head back out of the room, so I turn my attention back to the ceiling. All of a sudden, I feel the sunlight warm my back. He’s let the damn blinds up again. I was right. He’s trying to bug the shit out of me.

“What the hell is your problem?”

“It’s time to get up.” He glances up at me now while rifling through his drawer across the room.

“It’s morning. I’d like to sleep,” I growl before burying my head beneath the covers.

“Morning?” he asks, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “It’s one o’clock,” he laughs.

One? I roll over and maneuver myself to see the clock on his dresser. Damn. He’s right.

“I’m sorry I tired you out. I won’t keep you up so late tonight,” he says, smugness lacing his voice. He turns his attention to his cell phone. I roll my eyes at him and start to get up, making sure the sheets cover my entire body. He notices.

“You have something I haven’t seen before now?” He asks deviously. I don’t dignify him with an answer. I head to my closet, which he is now blocking.

“Excuse me,” I say sharply. He just smiles down at me. When he doesn’t move, I push past him but he holds onto the sheets, so my choices are to either keep walking, bare as an egg, or to stay put and covered. I tug on it, but he won’t let it go. In a battle of strength, he’ll win every time so I do the only thing I can do to save my dignity. I throw my hands up and twirl around in the birthday suit God gave me.

“Happy now?” I ask sarcastically.

“Well, you are wearing my favorite outfit on you,” he says with an amused grin. He points his phone at me, and I hear the flash go off on the camera.

“Real mature, Cal!” I chastise him before going into my walk-in closet, and slamming the door. I look around, see my robe hanging on a hook, and put it on. I go to my dresser and look for something to wear today; I need to get out of this house.

I sink deeper into the warm bath water grab the remote beside me and turn on the stereo, hoping to calm my senses. Twisting my hair into a braid and pinning it in place, I realize I should have done this before it became wet. I look at my nails and think it’s time for a new manicure before I settle in and close my eyes, trying to relax.

I don’t really need one. A manicure isn’t a necessity; it’s just another example of how spoiled I’ve become since marrying Cal. The fact that it’s so high on my priority list is just one of the bad traits I’ve picked up since being with him, along with a long list of very bad words I use now that never used to escape my mouth. He brings out the worst in me sometimes, but when he wants to, he can also bring out the best. And most times, that’s only when it’s to his benefit. I look up and notice he’s leaning in the doorway.

Damn him, sneaking up on me. I swear he has feet like a cat.

He’s dressed in one of his many chest-hugging, gray t-shirts and a pair of dark denim jeans. The only thing standing out from his outfit is the black Rolex on his wrist. He always does that. At first glance, you’d guess his clothing came off the rack from any local mall and then—surprise!

He’s wearing an $11,000 watch or a $300 pair of sunglasses, and you’ll know otherwise.

I note that it’s not the same clothing he picked out earlier. I’m surprised; he’s usually very decisive when he chooses things. He’s never been one to second-guess himself. Since I’ve known him, he’s always been very particular and exactly sure of what he wants, and I’m curious as to why he’s changed clothes. I grab my sponge and douse it in the water and start to run it up my leg. I know he’s there. He knows that I know he’s there, but I have no reason to address him.

He walks toward the sink and I can’t help but think how good his hair looks since he’s grown it out. The fresh-out-of-bed-look.

He takes off his watch, making me wonder why. He then opens up the stereo control above our sink and presses the “scan” button, changing the radio station I had it on. I roll my eyes. I’m not going to do this with him. My first instinct is change it back, but I came in here to relax, and I won’t let him interrupt my attempted moment at peace.

“How do you listen to this crap?” he asks, shaking his head in disgust. He finally finds a station that he’s happy with and closes the stereo control back up. I open my mouth to insult his choice, but realize I like the song.

I have to admit, I’ve stolen his iPod more than a couple of times. His musical choices have exposed me to songs that I’d probably never have discovered, had I not known him. He’s not into pop at all, but his favorite genres range from Alternative to R&B, and Classic Rock dominates.

I’m so lost in the song that I don’t realize he’s now beside me, squatting on the side of the tub so we’re near eye level. I try to play off my surprise as he smiles at me knowingly. The shirt he’s wearing highlights those gray eyes of his.

It would be a lot easier if he had a beer belly, bad breath, or an ugly scar. I look away from him, continuing to busy myself with my soap sponge. I see him out of the corner of my eye, but I won’t give him my full attention. Unfortunately, he knows he has it, and he’ll make sure I know that he knows.

He grabs the remote and turns down the radio. I still don’t look his way. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a smile play on his lips; he walks behind the tub and starts to caress the back of my neck. I bite my upper lip to keep from moaning, it feels so good. I curse him silently for knowing each and every sensitive spot on my body. With one touch, my hormones usually drown out my anger, stubbornness, and better judgment. I feel his hands start to slide down my shoulders as he massages them. I try to maintain my aloofness, continuing to wash myself. I don’t know if it’s helping or making this situation worse. I know he either wants something, or is going to tell me something that’s going to really piss me off.

“What do you want, Cal?” My question comes out as a whisper, which is not what I meant to do. He doesn’t say anything, but I feel his lips on my shoulders, making their way down my back.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he whispers in my ear before his tongue makes its way inside it. This time I can’t help but let a small gasp escape. I try to wiggle my way out of his grasp. I don’t want to let him have the satisfaction of doing this to me, but one of his arms crosses beneath my breasts, holding me in place while his other hand makes its way past my belly button, slowly trailing downward.

“Cal leave me… S– st–,” I’m unable to finish my incoherent sentence as one of his fingers slips inside of me, finding a place only he’s been able to discover. I freeze as his fingers start to work their magic on the two most sensitive places on my body. I draw my legs up, my previous defensiveness disappearing as I close my eyes and lean back giving him complete control to finish his intended task.

“What were you saying?” His voice is low and extremely deep. I want to scratch his eyes out, but I settle for digging my fingers deep into his shoulder as I feel myself going over the edge. It has little effect on him as his rhythm speeds up. I start to fidget, unable to control my panting, and I feel it coming on. As bad as I want it, I wish it wouldn’t.

“You started that little show out there,” he continues, in between sucking the back of my neck.

“But I just wanted you to know…” I hear his voice, and I want to slap his condescending ass, but a moment later everything in me rises and releases, and I involuntarily let his name slip past my lips. Moments later, my body is coming down in ripples, and for that instant, I just enjoy bliss.