Resentment – By Coley

Vignette: Resentment

I lied to John; I’ve been lying to myself. Last night, after we made
love for the first time since I’ve been myself, after he assured me of
how much I was loved, after he held me, after he asked me if we could
move beyond the past, beyond Kate, Roman, and Alex, after he kissed
me—I lied.

I’ve been lying. I’ve lied to myself because I didn’t want to admit
that he hurt me, that he could have hurt me. It wasn’t all John, not
entirely; we hurt one other. I turned to Roman. He doesn’t blame me
for doing that. He doesn’t blame me for becoming pregnant with Roman’s
love child, for not being pregnant with his baby. He doesn’t blame me
for anything. He doesn’t call me the names I wish he would, so I lie
and silence the gnawing at my conscious, at the very bond of our
souls.

I was unfaithful to John; he was unfaithful to me. He believed he was
in love with her, even if he won’t admit it without editing himself
afterwards. I know John. He loves deeply and his love is not freely
distributed, he’s careful of whom he gives his heart to, and that love
comes with a loyalty unrivaled by any other. How could we not be
resentful? John loved her. He thought he loved her. I don’t know how
to live peacefully with that. I only know being so close to him makes
me forget.

I close my eyes now and see him, only him. He’s sleeping beside me but
I have to close my eyes to really see him. His kisses linger on my
skin long after he’s fallen asleep. It’s easy to lie to myself when
he’s near me, touching places cemented in his memory, in ways that
only he has mastered over our lifetime together. I wonder if he
touched Kate in the same way. It’s all I wonder about now.

We used to be so strong, unmatched by any other love I’ve ever
experienced—and now I’m so damn full of resentment.

( )

He thought Green Mountain was a good idea after what happened between
us. Alex. Roman. We haven’t talked about Alex or Roman. He wants to
forget Alex ever existed; He can accept Roman more than he can accept
Alex. He knows Roman; he has always been vigilant about Roman’s place
in my life. There will always be a jealousy; Roman is the man I loved
before him, it’s understandable. But Alex was something different all
together. He’s quietly resentful. We’re lingering between resentment
and devotion.

( )

John watches me closely. He touches me with unsure hands. When did
making love to me become so frenetic? Why does he force me to look
into his eyes? It frightens me how possessed I feel. I don’t know if
we’ve always been this way. I wonder if he’s always been so afraid of
losing me. We’ve lost so much. All of my memories are returning slowly
but I know we’ve lost. Making love tells me how much. How can I tell
him that it’s not the same for me? I love him. I love being with him,
but I don’t love knowing Kate shared something as sacred as my bed, my
house, and my husband. There are not words enough. His affair is
slowly destroying me. But that’s not fair is it? I did it too. I made
love to someone else.

He doesn’t hear me crying.

He moves slowly into me, it’s tender and careful, as if any roughness
we show each other could shatter me now. Why does his body feel so
damn foreign? The shape of his torso is smaller. His scent is
stronger, overwhelming. He’s not hurting me, not physically. I do hurt
though. I hurt when his hand pulls my chin forward to lock eyes. I
don’t want to look and see all the pain in them. I don’t want to be
reminded that he’s making love to me because I know he’s made love to
Kate. I don’t want to hate her. But why is Kate’s face the face I see
when I bite down into John’s shoulder? How could he love her?

( )

I refused to make love to John last night. He pretended to understand.

The next morning, he waited patiently outside the shower while I
toweled off from a long shower. I don’t feel comfortable completely
naked in front of him anymore. John notices this, his eyes follow my
hands as I tighten my towel and step from the shower.

“What’s wrong?” He asks me after he allows me to dress alone in the
bedroom. “What’s going on with you? I can see it all over your face.”
He watches me think of a lie. Lies slip easily from my tongue now. I
think it used to be so when I was first married to Alex, lies and
pretenses.“Nothing. I’m a little tired and sore.” I couldn’t resist.
He made love to me until he was satisfied and now I’m playing
psychological mind battle about it. “Are you hungry?” His face is hot.
He wants to be in control of the conversation. My unwillingness to
actively participate unnerves him. “Baby, I want you to talk to me.
Now. I want you to sit down and talk to me right now.” His fingers
burn against my wrist; I can’t loosen his grip. “John, don’t.” He
doesn’t hear that I’m afraid. He only wants me to be the same Doc I’ve
always been. “John, you’re hurting me.” This time he hears and slips
from my wrist to my hand and nearly drags me to the end of the bed to
sit down beside him. “What’s wrong with you? What’s happened to you?”
He’s so close. I’m afraid of being this close to him. “John.” It’s all
I can manage. The tears burn my throat. I feel that kind of anger that
scares me swallowing me up. But I don’t want to do this right now.
When I attempt to stand, he matches my movements. “I’ve let you remain
quiet about all of this for far too long. Come on Doc, it’s me honey.
You can talk to me. I knew last night when you wouldn’t let me touch
you… does it have something to do with Alex?” He asks so timidly that
I have to look up to really hear what he’s saying. “It’s not always
about sex John.” He sighs uncomfortably. “I didn’t mean that. I meant
are you remembering things about Alex… about him abusing you?” It’s
all there. Every blow stricken, every shove and drag, they are
swimming in the reservoirs of my memory. I don’t want to go there, not
yet. “I saw you John.” He doesn’t understand. “I saw you with
Kate…making love to Kate, I saw that.” Admitting this is painful. I
almost choke on my next words. “I made love to Roman because I saw you
making love to Kate.” I’m tired of lying to him and myself. He doesn’t
appreciate my confession. The disgust contorts his face into a bitter
hardness that forces me to look away. He removes the hand he had on
me. “I know how much that hurts you but I wanted to do that…I wanted
you to hurt as much as I was.” I love you won’t work; He knows that.
He doesn’t even attempt to speak. I continue mercilessly. “I watched
you with her in my home, in the same place where we’ve made love and
memories with our children; I saw that. I know you thought I was dead.
And I know I said I understand but I don’t. How could you have fallen
in love with her so quickly? How could you have moved on so soon after
you’d lost me?” He’s wide open emotionally. His eyes move passionately
from the ceiling to my face. “Doc, are you trying to deliberately hurt
me?” We lock eyes. “Maybe.” He thrust his arms forward to lock me
between them. “Don’t ever do that to me. I love you more than anything
in this world. I will continue to love you after this rough patch,
baby because that’s all this is. We’re going to get over this.” He
believes that. “John, there are some hurts that you don’t come back
from. Did you hear me when I said I saw you with her? I watched you
make love to her with Roman right beside me. It was cruel justice.
We’ve done that to Roman. We’ve betrayed him. And now I know what it
feels like.” He raises his hand to cover my mouth. “John, I know what
I did was wrong. We both know that.” His finger brushes my lips to
silence me again. “Doc, don’t do this to us.” We’ve both done it. I’m
just tired of pretending that we haven’t. “Are you angry? Do you feel
like your hearts been broken? Doesn’t betrayal feel awful?” I have to
take deep breaths to alleviate my fear. He’s grabbed my upper arms and
forced me to the bed. “Stop it.” Why is it that my honesty needs to be
silenced? “No. I’m angry about this. You lied to me and yourself. I’ve
lied too. I tried and I’ve tried to forget this but I’m too full of
resentment. And now I’ll always, whenever you’re making love to me,
feel as if I wasn’t enough for you. I can’t look in her eyes and know
that she’s had half of me. And it pisses me off that you want me to do
that.” He doesn’t care. His lips cover my face and mouth as I turn
away. He doesn’t care. He turns my chin toward him and forces me to
look into those beautiful eyes, filled with anger and resentment
before he lowers his face and body to me. There’s no sense in
protesting. He hasn’t heard me.

( )

In New York, I realized I didn’t need to have him beside me when woke
up. I was okay. I could go to sleep without his arms surrounding me. I
was able to function without him being two feet away from me. He still
calls every hour. The conferences are hourly and he knows this but he
still calls, leaving messages that he wishes could erase the
uncertainty. I wish I could do that for him but I’m learning to be
happy with or without him. When I go home to Salem, he’ll be there
waiting for me to fall into his arms as Mrs. Marlena Black; I am Mrs.
John Black but I’m also the abused wife of Alex North; I am the ex
wife of Roman Brady; and I am the mother of children I adore. I can’t
erase what happened. I can’t make Alex not exist. I can’t make what
happened to me with Alex okay for John. I can’t unlove Roman, or erase
our infidelity. I can simply be me. John won’t understand that because
we’ve always been one and now I have to separate myself from that
strong bond in order to survive. I want him to be angry with me; I
want him to allow me room for my anger. It’s what we need.

( )

“We have to separate.”
Part II : Misunderstanding.

(Thank God for those unknown forces)

It was innocent enough, John, Claire, and me—or Grandma and Grandpa as
we are affectionately known these days to Belle’s baby girl, spending
an afternoon alone, in the Penthouse. He’s been gone for two weeks
now, living in the Salem Inn. The phone calls haven’t lessened any.
He’s still the only man I want to hold me when the need arises. And
yet we are still separated. He’s still angry with me, sullen and
quietly angry because I was brave enough to admit that we needed
space. It surprised me that he agreed so easily to helping with
Claire; Belle and Phillip are working on their marriage with a weekend
in Europe; the irony in these circumstances is not lost on me. John
would like to be the one jetting off to Europe to repair the damage,
instead he’s being Grandpa to Claire while I am unexpectedly called
away to meet with a suicidal patient. That’s what so innocent about
that day. We were behaving normally for once. I even allowed him to
kiss me before I left he and Claire alone for the two hours that I was
away.

( )

Claire reminds me so much of Belle. She’s uninhibited and sunny. Her
smile is easy and her eyes are pleasant and trusting. I could retreat
from the separation from her grandpa if only to make Claire’s life a
little less traumatic. Her Grandpa is holding her, cleaving her to his
chest as if his heartbeat determined her next breath, and she seems
safe and peaceful. She’s not asleep; she’s cat napping as she often
does but John’s doesn’t know this. He only rubs tender strokes against
her back while staring unabashedly toward me. He needs to talk; I need
the peace. I am rewarded with his silence, thankfully. When Claire’s
eyelids finally fall heavily beneath the weight of sleep, he allows me
to take her upstairs. His breath quickens when our skin collides in
the exchange of Claire from his arms to mine.

She’s asleep in our bed when I feel him in the room, shadowing the
doorway. He’s unsure if he’s allowed, with the separation, to come
into the place that we held with sacred esteem before the separation.
An encouraging nod welcomes him and without seeing, I know he’ll climb
on the other side of the bed, his side, beside Claire who is in the
center. And we lay: John, Claire, and I.

( )

It was the phone call; He heard a man’s voice on the other end. I
whispered for privacy; he sat up. I decided to take the phone call in
the other room; he flinched as his jaw tightened. Claire stirred and
he calmed her with his hand, patting her back as I left the room. I
knew he couldn’t leave it alone. Before I ended the call, he was
standing behind me, with arms folded defensively against his chest.

“Is Claire asleep?”

His eyes burned into me; pain and fear intermingling with the
determination that would eventually force his hand. “Claire’s fine.
Come with me.” There was no time to object to his demand. We walked in
silence down the hall toward Belle’s bedroom.

“I’m not going to…”

He turned so abruptly that my balance was unsettled and my shoulder
collided with the wall. “John, what the hell?” He didn’t appreciate my
choice of words. He didn’t say a word but I could hear the judgmental
words swimming around. “Wait…we have to be able to hear the baby.” I
protested when he gripped my forearm to lead me further down the
hallway. “John.”

He stopped again and stepped away from me. I think he had to
disconnect from me before the anger erased any more of the civility
between us. “I want to talk to you. You haven’t allowed me two seconds
to do that since I’ve been here.”

“We’ve talked and talked…can’t we just let it be for a while?” He
hadn’t wanted to talk when I wanted to. “Claire will be up soon. I
don’t want her to wake up and not see us there.”

“She’s fine…her grandparents, however, are not fine.” He spoke
robotically. Was I turning him into an unfeeling man? He waited until
the awkward silence faded before he spoke again. I knew the question
before he spoke it. “Who were you talking to on the telephone?” His
face tightened and I felt the need to move away from him. “Why are you
backing away? Wait, I’m not going to hurt you, and you know that. I’m
not Alex. I would never do that kind of thing to you.” He didn’t
realize the severity of those words until it was too late, until I was
barreling back down the hallway away from him. His insensitivity
overwhelmed me. Before I could hide them, or stop them, the tears
began. John moved to embrace me.

“Don’t touch me.” I wasn’t sure I meant those words.

“Stop it.” His anger swelled but his voice wasn’t angry. I know him so
well that it’s impossible to not read him. He wanted so bad to hold
onto me. He couldn’t stand to see me crying. I hated feeling the
vulnerability that my tears attached to me. “Baby, come here.”

“No.” It was easier to regain my composure without his arms around me.
I didn’t want to hurt him so much as I wanted to be stronger than he
assumed I was. “I want you to go.”

“Go?” He repeated ‘go’ so forcefully that the wind from his mouth
raised my bangs. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to talk to me.
Do you understand me?” He touched me before I knew what was going on.
He was talking through clenched teeth, whispering. “Why won’t you talk
to me?”

“I’m tired of talking. John, please for Claire’s sake and mine, will
you please just go?”

“This is my home too. I’m Claire’s grandpa and your husband. What am I
supposed to do? Am I supposed to go on with my life and pretend as if
you don’t exist, pretend like I don’t want to be with you and my
family?” He seemed so sad. I’ve hurt him with my unforgiveness and
resentment. “I can’t do that Marlena. You know me…you know I’d do
anything to prevent you from leaving me.”

“I’m not leaving you.” I shouted involuntarily. He didn’t expect it.
“I just need time…and I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

Something clicked behind his eyes. A sudden change in his demeanor
signaled by the straightness of his back, the stiffness in his
shoulders alarmed me. I recognized that look.

“You don’t have time to talk to me. You do have time to talk to
whoever you whispering to on the phone.” The anger was familiar. He’d
been that angry when Brady and I were battling each other; I’d seen
this side of John before. “Don’t talk to me about what you need right
now. For once it’s not all about you. It’s about me and you, Belle and
Claire, our family. You can’t do this to us.”

I spoke before thinking. “Me? It’s not about me at all…it’s about you
and me. We were unfaithful to one other. How can you act as if that’s
nothing? You had that woman in my bed, John. I slept with Roman.” He
cringed at that. Why do I have to keep reminding him of that?

“Marlena.” He ran his fingers through his hair anxiously. He can’t
stand to hear it. The images of Roman and me, even in his imagination,
force him to drop his hands at his side, balled into angry fists.
“When are you going to forgive me?”

“When it stops hurting…I don’t know John.”

“What about what I want?”

“John please, don’t make me do this to you.” I’m not sure what I mean
by that. It’s John’s lips that I feel next. He’s rushed and filled
with rage and passion. “John, don’t.” He doesn’t hear me until I push
him away.

“I don’t want you to do this to us, Doc, please.”

“John go…please just go.” I lose my voice when his lips overpower me
again. This is how it’s always worked. Him kissing me until I couldn’t
speak or protest, he’s always won that way. But it’s not that easy.
“Stop it.” The objection is so weak that he barely acknowledges it. I
have to pull away from him when he reaches to hold me. “John, we can’t
do this.”

“Baby, please…don’t.” The tears from his face wet my cheek when he
attaches himself to me. I hate the way he’s making me feel. He’s
tearing down my wall. “I don’t want you to be involved with anyone
else. It’s not over between us.” He’s desperate. His movements are
desperate. “Do you hear me?” It’s impossible not to hear him. He’s
grasped my head between those large hands of his; I can’t move. I’m
not moving. It’s not that I don’t want to but it’s John’s eyes that
are forcing me to stay there, more than his grip on me, it’s the pain
in his face. “I couldn’t accept it again.” He doesn’t clarify ‘it’ but
I know ‘it’ is another affair. “Who was it on the phone? Roman?” His
questions come so rapidly that an answer is unfeasible. “Don’t you
know that I’d do everything in my power to prevent you from being with
him or any man? Doc.” What was I supposed to say? It’s the most
possessed I’ve ever felt in my life. “I don’t want anybody as much I
want you.” He touched me and I shivered. “I don’t love…”

“Don’t say her name.” I’m more forceful than I intend but the idea of
her name on his lips angers me unexpectedly. He tried to calm me with
another angry kiss. “John, no.”

“Yes.”

I can’t resist him. It’s not likely that I’ll ever be able to resist
him. Others would deny him what he’s seeking, especially because we
are separated but it’s not so with me. John kissed me until the
questions ceased and the angry objections died away. That’s what I
remember, the intensity of our connection. The actions aren’t so
clear. I do recall being lifted without words into the wall of the
hallway. I remember worrying that Claire would hear our frantic
movements against each other, so I cupped his mouth while he undressed
me enough to find what he wanted so badly.

It’s the quietness that frightens me; the tears that fell as I held
onto him for strength and love; the way he couldn’t release me even
after our simultaneous release. He held onto me against the wall. I
didn’t want to look into his face.

“John, let me go.” It’s a whisper but he’s heard and he releases me
regrettably. He watched me fix my clothes when I’m on my own feet
again. “I think you should go now.”

He waited until I’ve walked away to speak. “Why are you fighting so
hard to push me away?”

“John, I can’t do this with you…not anymore. I don’t think I want to
see you anymore for a while. It’s too hard.” We both turned to the
doorway of our bedroom because of Claire’s cry. When he attempted to
enter the room with me, I held up a hand against his chest. “I want
you to go.”

“What am I supposed to do?” He asked sadly. “I just want to be here
with you and the baby. I can’t leave you right now. You know that.” I
do know. Whenever we make love, he needs to feel or see me in his
eyesight. He needs to know that my body still needs him as much as he
needs mine. It’s too much for me to turn him away.

He climbed into bed and lifted Claire up into his arms. “You’re okay
little girl, your grandpa’s here. I’ll always be here.” The words are
meant for me. I sit beside him and watch him love and adore our
granddaughter. It all started and ended so innocently. He left after
Claire and I fell asleep.

( )

Belle invited me to lunch. It’s been two weeks since we made love in
the hallway with Claire sleeping in the next room. He hasn’t called; I
don’t know how to feel about that. We’re damned if we do and damned if
we don’t.

Roman surprises me when I meet him by the door of the Penthouse Grill.
Without words, we hug and hold on for a minute longer than usual. I
think the hurt is so readily available between us that we don’t need
to speak about it. He’s lost Kate; I’m losing John. He’s always been
someone I’ve trusted in my life, but I can’t talk about John with
Roman. I can’t talk about Roman with John. It’s the vicious circle the
infidelity has weaved around us. I want to inquire about Kate. I know
he filed for divorce but I don’t really understand why. I decide not
to ask. Our daughter told me that she told him about the separation;
he’s polite enough not to mention it. Small talk is better. No mention
of our lost baby. No mention of our indiscretion. It’s why Roman and I
will always be friends. He doesn’t voice everything and sometimes it’s
helpful. He’s different from John in so many ways, but that’s one that
I appreciate. He’ll never try to prod me about losing our baby. I’m
grateful for his reserve.

Roman and I are standing too closely when Belle and John walk arm and
arm into the Penthouse Grill. John is immediately affected by me
leaning into Roman’s shoulder for support. He glances quickly from
Roman to me. I’m rewarded with the angry glare and silent indignation.
He tightens his reign on Belle. I’m thankful for Belle’s maturity. She
notices the change in her father’s attitude and makes strides to
appease him. Belle offers me a ‘forgive me’ smile and reaches out for
my hand. She politely nods toward Roman before leading John and I,
with her standing between us as a bridge, into the restaurant.

“I just wanted to thank you and Daddy for keeping Claire.” She knows
that there is a strain in my attempt to interact with her father. I
don’t want her to be apart of our anger. We’ve always kept her out of
our arguments. She’s her daddy’s girl. She wants us to make up and be
together; I’m sorry that I can’t give her that assurance. Whenever
John speaks, he looks at Belle. When she attempts to blend a
conversation between the three of us, John avoids speaking directly to
me. “I’m going to call Phillip to check on Claire and then I want to
speak to you about something.”

I look around the restaurant in order to avoid John’s angry glare.

“Are you looking for Roman?” He’s never been able to resist taking
shots at me about Roman when he’s feeling vulnerable. “He’s gone.”

“I’m not.” I answered simply.

“Who called who?”

“John, Belle will be here any minute…can we not?”

“You called him didn’t you? You had no idea I would be coming into
that door with Belle. You’re seeing him behind my back.”

“You’re being paranoid. I was just as surprised as you were to see
Roman. I’m not seeing anyone. I’m still in love with you…” I admitted
regrettably. I didn’t want to do this with him. I don’t want to give
into his anger. “Can we please have a pleasant lunch with Belle? I
don’t want to involve her in this. She’s going through a lot right
now.”

“No, I’m not going to sit here and pretend that everything’s all right.”

“Well, I’ll go.” I stood up, trying out bravery for a change. I could
leave him and not look back, couldn’t I? “Tell Belle for me that I’m
sorry.”

“Sit down.” He demanded. I hesitated. “Marlena.” I lost my nerve and
fell back into the chair.

“What do you want from me? Why does everything have to be an argument
with you John? I’m not sleeping with Roman. I’m not seeing anyone. I
don’t move on as easily as you do. I can’t give myself so selflessly
to someone while the wound is still so fresh.” He realizes that I’m
speaking indirectly of him. “I love you too much.”

My admission softens him slightly but only for a second. He’s wounded
because he doesn’t know what I’m thinking. I’m trying hard to protect
myself. When I was in the castle watching him fall in love with Kate,
I knew when I got back to him that I would never allow myself to be so
easily plied by his words. They were useless because he said them to
her also. I’d forgotten this when I was under Alex’s tutelage, but
after he made love to me against the wall, angrily, it reminded me
that his words didn’t mean as much to me as they had before. When he
didn’t call I remembered how much it hurt. It hurts because I do love
him so much; I want him too much. That’s why I asked him to stay away.
I don’t want making love to be the solution. It hasn’t solved anything
between us. I’m still raw with emotion.

“I love you too.” He admits without provocation. “I don’t know what
the hell you want from me. I can’t give you what you’re asking for,
not talking to you for the past week has made me a very sad man. All
kinds of things are floating in my head. I can see you with him
Marlena.” His eyes flinch as the image lights his memory. “I know you
were hurting but I don’t see how you could allow him to touch you. You
knew I was alive. You knew I thought you were dead.”

“You should have known better.” I said above the whisper he’d
instigated. “You of all people should have known. You should have
fought harder.” I finally admitted what really hurt me. He’d given up
too easily. He said goodbye and never looked back.

“Marlena, you can’t punish me for not knowing. It’s not that I didn’t
fight hard for you…and you know that, too. You know I would have given
my life for you if I would have known the truth.”

“John, let’s not…”

“No, let’s get real. You’re allowed to be angry and bitter but I’m
not. What about you and your damn secrets? You made love to Roman; you
made a baby with him. Honey, that’s killing me to know that he was
inside of you, able to give you the baby I wanted to give you. You
told me we didn’t need any more children.”

“John please.” I can’t talk about the baby with John. He can’t
understand what losing that baby did to me.

“You listen to me.” He continued unapologetic. “You lied to me about
that baby for weeks…and when it was time to reveal it, you nearly die
trying to keep me from hurting Roman. And then we have Alex…you’ve
been lying to me our entire lives.”

He’s struck a raw nerve. “I didn’t remember him.”

“You left me for him. You said duty was far more important. You moved
him into my house.”

“I wasn’t myself. You can’t blame me for that.”

“But you can blame me. I’m so tired of your self-righteousness.” He
was losing control. He hated losing. Why couldn’t he realize that we
were both losing?

“If that’s how you feel then we don’t have to talk about this
anymore.” He hurt my feelings. I couldn’t stand it anymore. The air
startled to stifle me. Belle would have to understand, I stood again.
He followed and we rushed toward the entrance. “Don’t make a scene.” I
warned him as I pulled my jacket on.

“I’m already the biggest fool in Salem. I don’t have anything to
lose.” I snatched my arm away from his grasp.

“Then let me go.” Belle heard my words. She found her place between
us. I couldn’t hold back, not even for our daughter’s sake. “You don’t
have to be anybody’s fool John. Give up on me…and move on with your
life.”

“No mom, you don’t mean that.” Her face broke my heart. And of course
I didn’t mean what I told her father. She touched her father’s
shoulder and my hand simultaneously. “We need you. Claire and I are
going to need you. I’m leaving Phillip. That’s what I wanted to tell
you…we need you both, together.”

Belle’s words sunk in slowly but it wasn’t what I heard, I could only
see the anger clouding John’s eyes. He ignored Belle’s declaration,
too. He looked beyond her. “Is that what you want?” He asked me. “You
want me to give up and move on.”

I nodded indignantly. “Belle, baby I’m sorry. Come by the hospital
when you have a chance today. I’m sorry you had to witness this,
really baby. I want to talk to you today about Phillip. Come by. I
have to go.” I hurried away before my legs gave out. And because I
knew he couldn’t leave me alone so easily, I was prepared for his
manhandling grip on my wrist when I tried to open my car door.
Thankfully, Belle had stayed behind in the restaurant. I didn’t want
her to see the erratic behavior between us. We were out of control.
“John, let me go.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” He understood the double meaning of my
plea. “I can’t believe you would say that to me, in front of our
little girl.” The grip around my wrist reminded me of a darker time.
He had been holding my wrist in the shadows of my office, pleading
with me to give him a chance. And I’d told him to let me go.

“This is my life, it doesn’t belong to you.” I said, repeating the
words that I knew would sting.

He remembered. He let go of my wrist and stepped away. I hurried into
the car. Without looking back, I turned the ignition over and drove
away.
part III: Disappointment

One month; and three days—we’ve been apart for that long. He still
hasn’t called.

Belle and Claire moved back into the Penthouse; I’m less lonely. I
work harder, longer, and more than I have in years. Belle’s working
overtime to reverse the chasm between her father and me. It’s her
compassionate heart; she simply can’t help herself. She is the child
we share, and the only one of my children who benefited from a
father’s presence in her life. For Belle, we belong together, and
there’s no question. I hear her talking to him nightly, ‘just to check
in’ is the way she describes it when I ask her about the phone calls.
I can’t help asking. He doesn’t mention me and Belle’s apologetic when
she has to admit that to me.

I made him leave and I hurt him more than I knew I could and it’s
finally hit me that being apart hasn’t solved anything. Resentment has
only widened the gulf separating us.

( )

When I heard his voice on the phone, it startled me; it was so
unexpected. We exchanged pleasantries before he asked to speak to
Belle. I was a little disappointed. I had to ask myself: Isn’t this
what you wanted?

( )

He picked Claire up on Friday. I stood with my heart in the pit of my
stomach while he waited like a stranger near the door as Belle
gathered Claire’s overnight bag. Claire teetered toward him and he
reached down and lifted her up. She rewarded us both with a giggle and
we shared a grandparent moment before an awkward silence overtook us
again. He’s missing so much of Claire’s firsts. She took her first
steps three weeks ago while Belle and I proudly watched and applauded
her. She calls me Mama because she hears Belle do so. He’s missed that
too. I wonder what he’ll be to her, if she’ll call him Papa or
Grandpa. It saddens me when he turns with our granddaughter and leaves
for the weekend.

( )

I wish he’d talk to me. I want him to say more than hello and goodbye
when he’s around me. He doesn’t watch me as vigilantly as he used to.
He doesn’t seem to worry anymore what I’m thinking or doing. The
resignation in his eyes disappointments me more than our not talking
to one another. We see each other every weekend when he rings the
doorbell to the Penthouse he brought me to after Roman banished me
from his life, to pick up Claire. I retreat to my bedroom when he’s
there. It’s easier than waiting for the conversation that hasn’t
happened. I heard Belle ask him if he’s moved on. I couldn’t hear his
answer.

( )

Maggie and Hope are determined to pull me from the depths of myself.
I’m aware of how much I’ve closed myself off from my friends and the
world, outside of work and Belle and Claire. They don’t know how hard
it is to be a part of things that remind me of the years that John and
I spent together. Our friends have always been a significant part of
our lives, a second family. It’s unfair to them to have to choose
between John and me. I don’t want them to have to choose but that’s
separation, dividing friends, children, homes, love, and hate.

Maggie tells me that John’s found an apartment downtown near Basic
Black. How could he have another home somewhere? An apartment is more
than a room at Salem Inn; it’s more than a temporary solution. Hope
thinks it’s his way of dealing with our separation; he needs to be in
control of something because I’ve made all the decisions. I didn’t
want to push him so far away. I was blinded by my pain, but how much
does it matter now? He’s moving on, without me and maybe it’s for the
better. Maybe we’ve hurt too much and in too many ways.

It’s his name on my lips when he enters Chez Rouge. He’s not alone.
She’s attractive. I wouldn’t expect anything less from him. It takes
me a couple of moments to recover. It’s not so much that he’s with
another woman; I don’t want to jump to conclusions. It’s that he acts
as if I’m not in the room at all. It’s as if I’m simply his daughter’s
mother and Claire’s grandmother, and that’s all the acknowledgement he
can afford to offer, a distant glance across the room. How can he be
sitting with a woman in a restaurant and not have come over to at
least say hello? We’re better than that; at least we used to be. When
Hope asks me if this is what I wanted when I asked for a separation, I
don’t know how to answer her. Everything is snowballing. Apparently we
have more problems than even I realized.

He’s so jealous at times that it’s scary. He protects me unselfishly.
He loves our daughter, our entire family, even the children that Roman
and I share. He’s one of the most giving people I’ve ever met. And
when he hurts, I feel it somewhere within myself. I feel the ache in
his heart that allows him to look beyond me, in this setting, to look
beyond my pain and finally acknowledge something greater. He’s
hurting, too. I just don’t have to tools to get around our pain, not
yet. I won’t apologize for not being able to recover from the past
couple of years as easily as him. I can only accept and work through
my pain. But it’s unnatural to not speak to the man I’ve loved for
nearly half my life.

He stands and meets me before I get to his table. The lump in my
throat prohibits speaking. He stands at a distance and avoids looking
directly into my face.

“It’s not a good time.”

“I just wanted to say hello. It feels funny not talking to you.” He is
unaffected.

“I have to get back. It’s a business lunch.” His dismissal of me
heightens what I already know; John’s shutting down, or is it my ego
believing that it’s about me?

( )

“You don’t love Daddy anymore?” In so many ways, Belle is still a
child. She’s still the baby whose presence changed everything. Looking
at her, listening to those sad words coming from her quivering mouth,
reminded me of losing everything; of losing Roman and the respect of
my children and friends because I loved John, and because of our love,
Belle was here. How could she think I don’t love her daddy? I love him
even more than I did before. Anger doesn’t lessen love, it strengthens
and enlists more components of coping than one realizes. I haven’t
answered Belle. I can’t speak without losing the staid composure I’m
learning to muster when people inquire about John and me.

“Mama.” It’s Claire calling out to me, walking into the Pub with her
grandfather holding her closely. Belle excuses herself to the
bathroom; she can’t take the tension. I want to tell her that I love
her daddy. I love him with all my heart, more than I’ve ever loved any
man in my life, but I don’t. It’s self destructive and selfish but
it’s all I have to offer John and Belle. Resentment is powerful; I
always thought love would outweigh every thing determined to destroy
it. I was wrong. Roman’s resentment of me destroyed our marriage. I
don’t want to destroy this marriage. I just want to know John loves
me, in the same way he loved me when he first knew me. I’m not sure of
that anymore, and that’s why I asked for space. He doesn’t understand
that; Belle doesn’t understand it either.

John doesn’t talk directly to me. We’re surrounded by Brady’s. Roman
is in the room. Belle is gauging our interactions, they all are. I
know what they’re thinking: “How can John and Marlena not be
together?” My question would be how could they all have accepted John
and Kate’s romance so easily? But I have no right to ask that, right?
I’m guilty. John’s allowed to be jealous; I’m not. Apparently, I
should voice no opinion, and not be hurt by the actions of others. Kim
told me a long time ago, before I was able to openly admit how much I
loved John, that we were obsessed with one another. She was absolutely
right. I didn’t know it then, but I know now. I knew it when I was
with Alex. John wouldn’t give up. Why is he giving up so easily now?
Why is it so easy for him to be in my presence without communicating?

“Tink, I’m going to go.” He’s been around us long enough. He has to go
off and seek control. We’re both drowning in our need for control. He
kisses her hair tenderly, the way he used to when she was a baby. He
lifts Claire and kisses her, too. He still hasn’t acknowledged me.
Claire reaches out for me from his arms and he has to cross the silent
boundary to bring her over. Wordlessly, he places Claire in my arms,
lurching back quickly before our skin can make contact. “I love you.”
I know he means it for all of us, his girls, as he calls us…but it’s
only Belle and Claire who are allowed to respond. He tightens his coat
around him and stalks heavily from the Pub.

( )

Memories are fleeting, especially of Alex, but always, always John
remains clear. I’ve been trying to scavenger through the memories of
the past year, the year I spent with Alex, away from John. I can’t
remember a time when John wasn’t there because he’s always been in my
life. But he wasn’t last year, not fully; and when he wasn’t there, it
was Kate who had his attention. I dreamed of making love with him last
night. In my dream, he was the same loving man I’d always known. And
then he in a flash, in that dreamland, he asked a question I hadn’t
been asked. Alex? Had I made love to Alex? In my dreamland, I replied
No; I woke up. He wanted to know. I felt so strongly that he wanted to
ask and never did. I have questions I want to ask but never have.
Without regard for the separation, I called him, in the middle of the
night. Belle had given me the number mercifully and secretly, simply
laying it on my nightstand. “I didn’t John; I never made love to
Alex.” I confessed. He remained silent. His silence was deafening. “I
just wanted you to know that.” No response. I hung up.
( )

It took a few days for me to call him again. I left a message at Basic Black.

“Let’s talk.”
Part IV: Disillusionment

He came at midnight; and somehow I was waiting for him.

We haven’t talked. We didn’t utter one single word. He was simply
there, standing over our bed, peering obtusely at me. The shadows
don’t hide his anger, and it doesn’t cover my fright. The slow tedious
movements suspend my thinking. He kisses me with equal parts of
roughness and tender; it’s all I can do not to break the silence. I
don’t. I don’t betray this single moment of uninhibited clarity. So
many words have been navigating themselves around my head, and
sometimes I write them on paper, just in case. Communication has never
been a problem; neither has making love. And it’s what we’re doing
now. He’s not focused on me at all. I know the difference when it’s
all about me. I know why he’s here; I knew it when I turned over to
see him standing there. There’s no one other way to say it except, my
body yearns for him as much as it ever has before.

The tears that I cry afterwards are against my pillowcase and not his
chest, where I’d usually be. His arms don’t surround me; his words
don’t sooth me. There is only the awkward noiseless lull of the room,
and his heavy breathing. I faced the wall because I didn’t want to see
the nakedness in his eyes, or the disregard he’s holding me in. I feel
his breaths on my neck; he’s on his back still, head up with eyes
planted to the ceiling. If I turn just a fraction in the bed, we’ll be
touching, but it’s not time for that anymore.

I hear Belle moving around Claire’s nursery. It makes John tense up.
He’s ashamed. I’m not sure I understand why. In the darkness, he’s not
completely naked. There wasn’t time for that; he didn’t manage to
fully undress me either. And we lay together, in the dark, praying
that our daughter won’t stumble upon the lustful obsession that our
bodies have undertaken. She wouldn’t understand that he doesn’t intend
to stay and I don’t intend to allow him too. I’d rather he extinguish
his needs with me rather than any other person, even if it seems
shameful and dark. Sometimes words are unnecessary and just knowing is
enough; John and I just know.

But somehow we break through the shamefulness and I shatter the
silence with an intangible sentence. “I need for you to talk to me.”
He sighed profoundly before sitting up. I didn’t have the strength to
turn to see him go. He did; he went.

( )

I’m wise enough to know that he’s finally reached his breaking point.
I don’t want another midnight incident to happen without resolving
anything. I can’t live with any more lovemaking without being fully
re-committed, so I decided to leave. A conference in Louisiana on
vital issues; its work, but it’s also a break for both of us. Without
opportunity there is no temptation.

He offers the plane. The word ‘plane’ alone sends riveting memories
throughout my mind. It’s Belle who tells me of his offer. I accept
because it’s easier to be with my own thoughts on the plane, and not
in the chaos of a commercial flight. Through Belle I said thank you.

Day 56. He still hasn’t spoken to me.

( )

Goodbyes are hard, even when they’re needed. It nearly broke my heart
to tell Belle and Claire goodbye. I’ve never felt right about leaving
those I love without proper goodbyes, especially after all the times
I’ve left them. Sami, despite her tough exterior, asks me when John
and I will get our lives together. She’s worried that too much is
changing around her. I’m worried about the same thing, but as the
mother, I tell her that we’ll always be there for her, together or
apart.

( )

He doesn’t look up immediately when I pass through the doorway of the
plane. I’m too stunned to say anything. I left him a goodbye message
on his voicemail. Instead of allowing the tension to overwhelm the
room, I sit down beside him. “What are you doing here?” It’s a simple
question with big implications. His eyes are so unreadable when they
settle on my face.

“Emergency business meeting. I’m dropping you in Louisiana and going
on to Europe.” It’s simple and direct. No emotion. No compassion.

“John, I can find another flight. I don’t want to delay you.” My
attempt is half-hearted. I can’t imagine a long flight without words.
“Really, it’s not going to be too much of a problem to get a late
flight out.”

“It’s fine.” He thinks that his words settle me. They do for a moment.
They are spoken with such finality that I have to be quiet for a
moment of adjustment. In my silent stupor, he rises and finds another
seat, farther away from me, all without looking at me. Minutes
evaporate as I settle myself, resigned to the idea of our wordless
flight. He’s being Mr. Businessman. Phone calls and emails from his
palm. I busy myself with a psychology brief while we wait for
take-off. In his world, I do not exist. He’s completely disillusioned
with our marriage; I’m not far behind him.

Kate’s voice finds me first. I look up toward her and then drift
slowly to him. He sees my sadness. Kate seems non-perplexed with my
presence. I have promised myself not to hate her; at one time, she was
a friend. The awkwardness rises and I dismiss myself to the ladies
room to wash my face. I don’t have the nerve to ask if she’s flying to
Europe with him. It’s not as important as why he thinks it’s all right
to do so. He doesn’t return my look when I come back to the cabin of
the plane and find Kate gone.

“Are you ever going to acknowledge me again?”

He turns swiftly. Still no words.

“Besides the late nights when you creep into my bedroom.” I want to
hurt him. The burning in my stomach and hands forces me to glare at
him until he looks up. “Say something, damn you.”

“I’m not sleeping with Kate.” His voice is cold.
Part V: Collision

“You love her, don’t you?” Saying it tightened my stomach; believing
it nauseated me. They built so suddenly that the words slipped
carelessly from my mouth. “I’ll never forgive you.” I covered my mouth
involuntarily, but it was too late, he’d heard. The pilot warned of
take-off before I could gather my thoughts enough to move beyond the
moment. I intended to run away, to allow the tears to flow without
feeling vulnerable. But it was too late. We were in the air before
clearness of mind prevailed.

( )

The fabrics of our marriage lay tattered before us.

I never felt so raw or naked in my life. I never felt so used and
discarded. I’ve never loved and hated with such non-distinction
between them. This was John. The man who had given me so much was
taking away all the things I believed to be precious and good. I could
take anything except him not caring, except for him not denying his
love for another woman.

When had this become solely about Kate? This was about John and me I
think; Kate is a symptom of the problems.

My internal battle negated the sullen wounded face he wore. Why is it
that all pain is compounded? Why is it that at that moment I
remembered being hurt, extremely damaged, by his revelation about
having sex with Hope on our honeymoon? Or when he married Kristen, in
spite of the obvious love and profound connection between us? I felt
the sting of him choosing Brady and JT over our marriage. I attempted
to shut those memories out. I closed my eyes so tight that white spots
appeared. The leather of the couch felt hot beneath me.

They came blaringly, those memories, of his aggression, of us
stumbling backwards to find a flat surface so he could make love to me
urgently. On a plane similar to the one we presently inhabited. Was he
remembering how many times I’d chosen Roman over him back then? When I
carried his baby for nine months without permitting him to share in
any of that precious time, the time he would never get back. He was
feeling something, almost as painfully obvious as when he chose to
leave Salem to appease me, and to allow Roman to have the family he’d
come back to Salem for.

I fought to get back, too. I wanted to get back to John and our
family, back to my normal life, but nothing about my life feels
familiar anymore. John certainly doesn’t feel familiar.

Still nothing. No condemnations. No name calling. No declarations.
Just his silence, a heart wrenching silence. Well silence and intense
study; he watched and waited. Sometimes you have to shut yourself off
from the thing that you love so intensely. He is functioning
automatically, on auto-pilot. And it’s wearing me down emotionally
because I can’t battle John in that way. He’s never made me feel as if
he could walk out of my life and be okay with that. Our past has
always been John pursuing me. And now he won’t. He’s stopped fighting
me, because I’ve always been the wall he’s wanted to break through.
I’ve always been the one who hid from my true feelings by tucking them
into a safe place in order to protect myself from feeling the pain
associated with living. All of these things matter so little now;
we’ve reversed roles, John and I. He’s hiding behind his anger.

“Why are you so angry with me?” I have to ask. I need to hear it
clearly, analyze it, and then maybe help him work through it enough to
get back to being the John I need in my life. The question lingers
longer than I appreciate. He’s waiting…for the right question? For the
right apology. “What do you want from me? I don’t know what else to
do. It’s gone on long enough, don’t you think? I don’t want the only
communication between us to be angry sex John. Do you understand? I’m
terrified of what’s happening to us. I knew what I wanted before, when
I asked you to move out. I wanted space to think. I just needed to
figure out some things alone. But this…I don’t understand this.” My
voice has a control that surprises me, because inside, it’s physically
painful to have to beg my husband to listen and talk to me.

He says something in a low tone. I can’t hear what he’s said but when
I look up, after staring blankly into the floor, he stands abruptly
and turns his back to me. He’s looking out of the window, crossed arms
and legs apart. “Move on…remember saying those words Marlena? I tried
to rationalize why…how you could say that to me. I mean, I’m the man
who you’re supposed to love, right? I’ve been married to a
psychiatrist too long.” His laugh is awkward and short. “Do you know
that in my life I’ve only had two things that have ever meant anything
to me? That’s my kids…and my love. You. I don’t have anything else in
this world besides those things.” His words are familiar. They are
passionate and devoted but they are also void of any real emotion.
Hollow.

The shell of my husband stands alone by the window.

“Maybe I need time now, to stop being so consumed by you and learn to
live with being happy with myself. If it’s so easy for you to tell me
to move on, then I think I should explore that.” He says ‘move on’
dramatically, a twitch accompanies it. He’s emptied out. I’m not
privileged to the tears that I know are forming in his eyes. He’s
angry but he’s not that cold.

Words are not coming easy. Now it’s my turn for silence. I’d wanted
him to finally voice what monstrous thing had overtaken our amicable
separation. And now “it” was there hanging by a thread between us. I
had taken that precious, indestructible thing away from him: my love.

Being with John as long as I have, has given me an expectancy about
us. I expect that everything will be alright in the end; I expect that
he’ll always love me. I expect him to always forgive me. But I haven’t
been as accommodating as that for him, and I still can’t grasp the
accommodating spirit entirely. And because he hurt me with his
explanation that he essentially needs to lessen the dependence we’ve
come to yield from one another, I struck in the only place I could:
Kate. Because it’s her image that stands alone in my head, as John’s
words take hold of something within me, I think as John would, if it
were Roman we were discussing in regard to me.

Could he be seeking refuge with her, the way he had when he moved in
with her while Alex occupied his place at the Penthouse? Why had she
been on a plane that would take him to Europe? “What’s going on
between you and Kate?” We’ve already said too much not to discuss an
underlying pattern in our relationship, our inability to remain
completely committed to one person. He turned around after he heard
her name. He moved closer to me than he’s been in weeks.

“Do you want me to hurt you? Is that why you keep bringing Kate up
into every conversation? I don’t share anything with Kate except a
business relationship.”

Time to strike. “You shared a bed, my bed actually…and that hurt me.”

“Marlena, don’t say silly, vindictive things like that. It doesn’t
suit you at all.” He’s still not showing emotion. The words are still
so hollow. “What do you want details?”

“No baby, I don’t…Tony took care of that. I saw enough, thank you.” My
temper is rising, more than his. I care about this more than I should.
But getting their image out of my head is not easy. “What was it about
her that made you not give a damn about me?”

“How could you say something like that to me? After all we’ve been
through together.” How could I not? His question makes me stand and
plant myself too closely in front of him, so close that his breaths
tickle my skin. I stand defiantly with my hands resting on both hips.

“You’re telling me that you need to be away from me, and not
temporarily…it seems like your saying goodbye.”

“I’m not saying anything you haven’t already said.” I deserved that,
at least he thought so. He wouldn’t have said it if he hadn’t.
“Sometime I wonder how you function without a man in your life. Men so
devoted to you. How did you do it between me and Roman?”

I strike him so violently that my hand feels the sting long after he’s
stopped holding his face. I’m ashamed that he’s still standing there,
waiting. I refuse to cry. I refuse to allow his words to color my
reasoning anymore. He wants to hurt me, but he can’t physically, so
his words replace the blow of his hand.

“You’re out of control.” He said plainly. “Aren’t you sick of this
merry go round? Let’s do it. Let’s just give up…the way you want to.”
He’s so causal that I know it’s not what he means, not entirely. “I
feel like you want me to punish you…because you slept with Roman, of
your own free will. You want me to help you ink this discretion away
but I can’t do that Marlena.” He doesn’t call me Doc anymore. “I’m not
going to excuse your behavior. I tried to ignore it. I tried to move
on from that and get beyond the Alex mess but you wouldn’t let it be.
You kept pushing and pushing for me to talk. And I was hesitant
because I knew what would happen. It sickens me. Can you handle that?
It sickens me that you retaliated with Roman. And then not only did
you knowingly sleep with him, you got pregnant…it’s unforgivable.
Another man implanted his…and you knew it and lied to me anyway. You
lied to me. And then there’s Alex. I can’t tell you how much seeing
you with Alex hurt me. Do you understand that sometimes it’s not all
about you? I had to watch you living the life with him that was
rightfully mine, after all the time we’d already lost. You denied me
over and over again…and I came back every time, because I knew that
you loved me, but why is it that I always have to convince you of
that. You should already know that. You have no problem declaring your
love and devotion to everyone except me. So don’t tell me that you
can’t understand what happened between Kate and me, past tense,
because you’ve done it enough to know. The only difference is that I
thought you were no longer alive…and you knew and saw me during both
of these…”

I had to stop him. “I didn’t have sex with Alex.”

“It doesn’t matter. Some infidelity is more than physical. You said
you loved him, time after time in front of me and our children. You
doubted me over and over again.”

“What part of amnesia don’t you recognize? I wasn’t myself.”

“You should have known. I wasn’t myself all those years ago with
amnesia until I found you.” He was right but I didn’t smile at his
admission or soften. “You have no right to be angry Marlena. None.”

The terrible welling of unquenchable fury overcame my body. He was
close enough to feel the blows, until he couldn’t take them anymore.
The strength of his hands subdued me. He forced me back, bending me
across the couch until my hands stopped flailing. He breathed heavily
against my face but he didn’t look at me. He only held on until he
thought I exhausted myself. When I could speak again, tenderness
replaced my anger. “How could you say those things to me? I never
meant to hurt you. You never let me be imperfect; that’s who I am. I
make mistakes. You’re the one who taught me that mistakes were apart
of living. We had an affair John…I destroyed my life with Roman for
you.”

“Destroyed…do you hear yourself? I wasn’t the only one making love Marlena.”

“I know. I wanted to…I just wanted to be loved by you.”

“You were loved.” Past tense. I didn’t have the nerve to question his
choice of words. “What happened between you and Roman hurts me for
those very reasons. Marlena, you don’t make love to people you don’t
love. It’s not who you are. You haven’t been honest with yourself in a
long time. I’m trying to be honest here…it’s becoming impossible to
love you. It’s not Kate or anybody else, the blame is right here. We
did this, we screwed up.” He moved from over me. We’d been so close
but my body didn’t tense or yearn for him. I was numb. He sat beside
me. “When I came home that night to make love to you, I intended to
tell you then…but I missed you. I missed us…but I’ve decided that
maybe we don’t belong together anymore. Too much has happened, and
pretending otherwise doesn’t make it okay.”

“What are you trying to tell me John?”

“I’ve called a lawyer…for a divorce.”

( )

Even sunshine burns if you get too much of it. He asked for a divorce.
Sitting in my hotel room, in the beautiful French Quarter district of
New Orleans, handed me God’s greatest gift for sadness: beautiful
words and architecture. I took a hot shower after he left me by the
door of the hotel. There was no goodbye.

I found a book of Anne Sexton’s poetry on the table beside the bed. I
turned to a dogged page with a poem that accelerated my heart’s beat.
The title was a gift from God: For John, Who Begs Me Not To Inquire
Further. I read and re-read the same part: And if I tried to give you
something else, something outside of myself, you would not know that
the worst of anyone can be, finally, an accident of hope.

Hope is all I have.
Part VI: Repercussions

New Orleans is a fragrant city that haunts one long after you’ve left
it. Its secrets whisper in the flicker of candles in windows, and the
crying of broken hearts howl in the wind. It’s lonely to be broken
hearted in New Orleans.

I was drawn to Maison Blanche. I don’t know how I it came to be that I
was standing on those grounds, but I was there, gazing wistfully into
a past that didn’t feel like my own anymore. Among the weeds and
browning grass, I noticed the miracle of renewal in the form of
Azaleas peeking through those weeds and grass. There’s proof that even
something dead and seemingly uncared for can still be beautiful. I
could smile at that. That’s the accident of hope, my hope in tomorrow.

Was I broken-hearted at Maison Blanche? All those memories have been
replaced with love, John’s love. It’s just a house; it’s apart of our
history. But there is significance in the looming white house; it is
the house where I surrendered to a power greater than myself. I
would’ve given anything, done whatever it took, sacrificed morals and
conscience to keep John safe in that mansion. That’s never going to
change for me. I didn’t dare enter the gates. It’s like sacred land
that loses its power if one diminishes it with a mortal presence; it’s
also something better left in the past.
The message light was blinking on my telephone when I finally returned
to the hotel after hours of aimless wondering. It was John. He asked
me to call him when got the message. I pushed delete.

( )

During one of the conferences, I listened to a woman describe how she
stayed in an abusive relationship for 20 years. She’s only single now
because her husband died last year. In some mystical way, her story is
my story. If Alex hadn’t presumably died, I wonder if I’d still be
with him. I wasn’t strong enough to walk away from him as a young
woman. I know her story because I’ve lived her story. I was weak
enough to allow Alex to abuse me, continually, and come back each time
with apologies and gifts.

John’s never done anything except love me; and, I’m not strong enough
to simply accept his love.

It’s taken me nearly 20 years to finally recall the shameful existence
I lived as Alex’s wife. It was easy to hide the truth back then, I did
it so well that my own subconscious hid it from me, too. Alex treated
me like a prisoner in our home. I had no friends, none who knew the
true nature of my life. We lived a surface existence, with beautiful
facades. I never told anyone. Not Mama and Daddy, not even Sam.

How much does a past color one’s future? That’s the question the
seminar leader asked of us after the abused woman finished telling her
story.

We continually, in our dream life, in our subconscious life, relive
our past daily. What happened to me, with Alex, in light of the past
year and even the past 20 years, has affected the way I’ve dealt with
men in my life, even if I haven’t known it. From Don to John, what
have I done to John? All he’s ever asked of me was to love him.
( )
I’m afraid of what he has to say. Is there anything left? I’ve been in
New Orleans for a week and I haven’t returned the message. I don’t
want to know that it’s completely over. I still have that accident of
hope. I still love him. I still want him.

I haven’t the heart to tell Belle that her daddy and I aren’t going to
be together anymore. I can’t face her, or her disappointment. I
haven’t faced that myself; it’s unreasonable to expect anyone else
too.

( )

I delayed my trip home. Another week away from my life is what I need.
I haven’t returned John’s mysterious message hasn’t been returned.
I’ll deal with it when I go back home. I’m exhausted.

I don’t know what else to do; hiding is my only avenue now, the safest.

( )

The air is stifling. The fan above only moves musty air around the
room. The balcony is where I’ve been seeking refuge. If I allow myself
time to sit, and think, then it’s time spent rehashing things,
reasoning that all of my mistakes are irrevocably committed, and that
John has finally given up.

He’s given too much of himself; I’ve hidden too much of myself away.

The quiet makes me anxious.

Sleep evades me until I’ve fallen…that’s the feeling, falling into the
abyss, into myself. It’s not madness. I think it’s the overwhelming
sadness that causes me to stay in the unlit hotel room, watching
blinking message lights and avoiding mirrors and food. That’s how I
know its sadness. I don’t know what else to do. I can’t heal myself.

I hear Alex’s voice. The words are always vengeful; his face is
leering and frightening. Whenever I close my eyes, he’s there. He’s
right there. Bitch. Slut. You’ve never been anything except a slut. He
strikes me brutally. I fall across the room into a bureau; it doesn’t
stop him. I’ll never be good enough to leave him. Nobody will ever
love me because I’m not good enough. I’m not smart enough to be a
doctor. I should just quit. I have to stop listening to him, and I
tell myself so, but he’s louder than my own voice. He looms over me
until his face transforms to Roman’s.

He’s upset too, but he’s also loving. He helps me up and forces me
toward the mirror. I can’t stomach the truth looking out at me. This
isn’t me…not anymore. I’m not with Alex or Roman. I’m safe. John loves
me. He loves me.

The terror is real enough to awake me. My body is drenched from sweat.
Two sleeping pills from my purse break the monotony of endless
nightmares.
( )

I opened my eyes and he was there. His was sitting on the bed,
observing me as I shook off the pill-induced sleep. Am I still
dreaming? When his hand touches my face, I know he’s real. John helps
me sit up and inspects the pill bottle at the bedside.

“What are these? How many did you take?”

“Two. They sleeping pills. I couldn’t sleep last night…or the past
couple of nights.” He looks renewed, better than our last meeting.
It’s then that I look down and remember that I must look like hell. I
haven’t done anything in the way of personal hygiene in days. “What
are you doing here?”

“Belle’s worried sick. She’s left messages all week here. Why aren’t
you returning her calls? Why didn’t you return my call?”

“I’ve been busy.” A lie is easier than the sad truth. “Is Belle okay?
Is it Claire?” He touches me to settle me.

“They’re both fine. They’re worried about you.” He’s watching me very
strangely. And he’s concerned; his roaming hand across my back is a
sure sign. “You didn’t tell Belle about the divorce.” He sounds like a
doctor.

“No. I haven’t had time to deal with that yet.” Another lie. I haven’t
tried to really, but he’s ready for the next question before I have to
admit that.

“You look awful.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Your daughter was concerned about you. Don’t scare her like that.”
He’s avoiding making anything seem as if he were the one who cares.
“What about her daddy? Does he care?” Coyness always charmed John
before, but maybe we’re beyond teasing.

“Marlena, are you trying to hurt yourself?” He looks sincere. He even
sounds like himself again. The coldness has dissipated somewhat.

“No. I wouldn’t do something like that. I’m just sad.” His eyes fall
to the floor but I’m desperate for him not to look away. Turning his
chin is intense. His skin warms my fingertips. “John.”

“I don’t want this to destroy us…you. I need to make sure you’re okay
still.” Accident of hope? He still cares. “Are you going to be okay?”

“No. I’m not. I’m not ready to give up. I don’t want a divorce. I want
you here with me.”

“Marlena. I don’t want a divorce either…”

I eagerly interrupt him. “You don’t?”

“No…I need it. I just need it.” He’s monotone when he utters that
declaration. But I stubbornly block all of that out. Needs or want, I
need him. I really need him to kiss me and hold me. That’s what I
need.

“John.” His name is followed by my swift move to him, straddling
across his legs. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I just want
you to make love to me. Will you do that for me?”
Part VII: Redemption

“Please, I need for you to do this for me. With me.” I’m begging and
I’m not proud. It’s forgiveness I seek but the only way I know how to
show it is by allowing him to travel over the wonderland that he knows
as my body.

We, as humans, seek contact in our greatest sorrow. It’s one of the
things which make us human. Any response from John will replace the
cold, lonely vastness that has been enveloping me for the past couple
of weeks. Though his touch is careful, I don’t feel careful. My skin
is on fire. He’s not responding, not in the way I want him to. He’s
touching me with a timid, unnatural shallowness that I’ve never
experienced from him. “John. Please.”

I have to remind myself to breath. The only sound in the room is that
breath between us. He’s contemplating. Indecision torments John’s
usually tender eyes. He can’t force himself to respond to my kisses;
and I can’t stop myself from seeking his mouth.

He pulls away. He backs up, severing the connection I have instigated;
my legs unravel from his waist and fall heavily against the mattress.

“John?” My plea is evident in the child-like voice overtaking me. It’s
not me sitting with my hands in my lap, waiting for the approval of my
husband. Well, it’s me, but it’s not us. This isn’t the John and
Marlena we’ve always been. He’s never been able to resist me.

“I can’t do this.” His admission is heart-wrenching, half-hearted.
He’s clinching his fist against the bed, pushing himself farther away
from me.

The silence persists and he sprints up from the bed and lurches toward
the center of the room, away from me, any way not to feel like he
needs me. “We aren’t going to do that. You don’t want it this way.” He
doesn’t call ‘it’ by name. Making love is what he would say if we
weren’t fighting for the survival of our love.

“I do.” I’m whinier than I intend to be. “I want you…any way…any way I
can have you.” It’s honest, the most honest I’ve been with myself in a
long while, and desperate.

He doesn’t believe me. The look that he casts my way obliterates my
already shaky confidence. “John please don’t look at me like that.”

His eyes shift dramatically. Something is going on behind those
beautiful blue windows to his soul. “Don’t throw yourself at me.” He
admonishes me. The shame of our moment of indiscretion has caught up
to him.

The coldness re-emerges; he is disgusted. “Don’t ever do that…you know
we’re more than that…I’m not like them…” he ends abruptly and I try to
analyze what he really means. Them?

“I thought we were more than all of this. But you’ve changed.”

“I haven’t changed Marlena. I’m trying to…”

“What?”

“Move on.” He’s on the edge of the bed again. I haven’t moved from the
spot he left me when he recoiled from me. “Isn’t that what you
wanted?”

“No. I want you. I want us back, the way we were before all the pain.”
I refuse to cry. I feel like crying until I can’t anymore but I refuse
to.

“We can’t go back Doc.” He called me Doc. The name brings the whisper
of my smile. It’s still in there, even in his denial.

“John, I don’t care…I really don’t care what you think about me, not
now. I just want you to continue loving me. We still have so much to
accomplish together.” I try a different approach, one I know he can
appreciate. “We’ve got a family. Belle and Claire are going through so
much right now. John, Belle won’t be able to handle this, not right
now.”

He turns and matches eyes. The mention of Claire and Belle has
softened him a tiny fraction. Belle and Claire are our safe zone. He
allows me to close the gap between us. It’s a small movement but I’m
closer to him. So close that I can smell the aftershave Belle and I
chose for Christmas a couple of years ago.

“You don’t think I love you?” It’s a rhetorical question. He knows I
know the answer.

“John, you’ve left me…what am I supposed to think?”

“I’m trying to make you happy.”

“Make me happy?” How can he think I’m happy without him? “I’m not
happy, not without you. I want to stay married to you.”

He’s hiding something. It’s the sound of his voice that worries me.
It’s the look. “Come on, we don’t need to rehash this, do we?”

“I can’t do this without you. I really can’t. I don’t want to live my
life without you. If I thought that us being apart would make us
happy, then I’d do that.” He rolls his eyes unbelievingly. “John, I
would.” I reiterate forcefully. “You not being in my life is not what
I want.”

“You know I’ll never be completely out of your life.” I can’t tell who
he is trying to convince. “We are Claire’s grandparents. She’ll need
both of us.” It’s instantaneous. I can’t help reaching for him,
touching him. I prowl along the crease of his jeans with anxious
fingers. If I can get him to see me, beyond being the mother of his
daughter and Claire’s grandmother, to really see me, then he’ll stop
fighting me. I just want to be his lover right now. I can’t see beyond
this moment, or beyond me having him so close.

I’m grateful when he allows me to kiss his face. I know he needs me.
He needs me to be the seductive, sensual woman that he’s shown me how
to be, the one I rarely have to be in his presence because of his
insatiable appetite for me, I never have to be the seducer. I like to
be seduced. I’m willing to do what he would normally do, what he can’t
bring himself to do because of the nameless apprehension that is
keeping him reserved. I’ll be the one who makes love to him.

He can’t speak intelligently; it’s the power of being seduced, of
being rendered helpless beneath my hands. He’s stopped fighting; his
body has lost some control but not all. When he lies back against the
bed, I climb anxiously on top. He won’t look at me. He shields the
eyes that I’ve adored with closed eyelids. He’d not touching me. His
hands are drawn on either side of him, against the bed.

My mind is cloudy. It’s arousal but it’s mine alone, he’s not
responding. A hungry kiss replaces the soft, light feather-like one.
He’s surrendered without a physical response. He wants to appease me,
not himself. That hurts but I don’t care. I want him in any way
possible.

I need to have his hands on me; it’s never been this lonely when we’re
so close to each other. He pulls his hands away, after I’ve brought
them against my heaving chest. I reason that he can’t fight me
forever, not with me moving against him. We’re still fully clothed;
he’s still punishing me with contact deprivation. He has to feel the
urgency in my hips, in the tightening of my thighs around him.

He won’t kiss me back. I can’t see his eyes. I just need to see some
part of him that’s connecting with me.

It’s swift.

The rush of him throwing me from his body overwhelms me when I collide
with the rough carpeting of the floor. He pushed without thinking, in
response to me biting furiously into his lip until the coppery taste
of blood filled our mouths. For a second, I feel frightened, hesitant
to open my eyes and see what he’s doing. I hear him around me…finally
touching me.

“I’m sorry…I promise…I know that…” He doesn’t know what to say. He
doesn’t want to feel so responsible for my misguided actions. He can’t
watch me in such a state of confusion and physical pain without
responding. It’s not in his nature to be cruel. He reaches to help me
find my footing, but I pull away. I’m so confused by his reaction, the
Alex-like manifestation, that I don’t want him to touch me. It reminds
me of Alex’s apologies after he’d struck me. I stumble when I attempt
to stand on my weight. He catches me and lifts me into his arms. I’m
on the counter in the bathroom quickly with him standing between my
legs, examining my head for swollen regions.

“I’m fine.” I don’t know what else to say. He’s never pushed me away,
not physically or emotionally. I don’t know how to react to John
physically hurting me. His lip is still bleeding. My fingers rest on
the place where I broke his skin with my teeth. He leans forward to
connect our foreheads. We won’t talk about what it means. He’s scared
to be anything like Alex in my mind; I’m scared not to talk.

“I’m sorry I did that.” There is barely enough space to touch his lip
but I find it. He rests his palms against my thighs. “This is what I
wanted to avoid. I know what it’s like when you’re not in my life. I
have to be strong now Marlena, for both of us. We can’t keep doing
things like this.”

“Hurting each other? You’ve never hurt me in this way, John.”

“That’s just it, if I can’t have you then I feel like I have to hurt
you.” He was finally opening up to me. “I don’t want to hurt you
anymore. I want you to be happy.”

“Oh John please stop saying that. I just want to be yours again.”

“We can’t go back.” He told me for the second time since he’d come.

“No John we can’t…we can’t go back unless we move forward.” He’s still
resting against my forehead, gazing intensely at me, sending shivers
down my spine. “You’re breaking my heart.”

“I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to be out of control when I
with you. I don’t want to do things that Alex did.” He threads his
fingers through my hair. He’s searching for evidence of my impact with
the floor. “I’m not Alex.”

“I know.” He’s so close.

“I’m not Roman.”

“You’re John Black…my husband and I love you. And I’m not ashamed to
say that I need you.” I feel compelled to admit that I do need him, in
ways I can’t fully comprehend or explain.

“But I’m not…not legally. You’re married to Alex. Our marriage is
invalid.” It’s the secret. I can see how much pain is in his face when
he has to say it. And I know it goes back to his feeling invalid as a
man when he was wondering the world in search of an identity. He
recoils away from me. “I wanted to tell you that. It’s why I’ve been
leaving messages. We don’t have to get a divorce because we’re not
legally married anyway.”

( )

He’s still there when I’ve awaken from my nap. I took a long bath
while he waited patiently in his solitude on the balcony. I didn’t
bother him when I finally reemerged from the bathroom. I sought the
comfort of the bed and fell asleep.

He is in a chair beside the bed when I do wake up. He wants to ask
something. He always draws circles on paper when he’s nervous and
trying not to ask questions. He’s talking with Belle on the phone
about Claire and when he’ll be home drawing those nervous circles.
They seem like they’ve gotten closer, while he and I have grown
further apart.

John hands me the phone after telling our daughter how much he loves her.

She’s happy to hear my voice. I apologize and explain away my absence,
appreciative of John for not mentioning the state he found me in. She
tells me that she asked him to stay with me as long as I’m in
Louisiana. She’s worried. I don’t blame her. I give my love to her and
to Claire and hang up smiling. She always does that, brings some
slither of joy in the darkest of situations.

“I want to ask you something.” He begins without forewarning. “It’s
about Roman…and I don’t know why I have to know this but I do.”

“I’m not sure I want to talk about Roman with you John.” It’s never
been a subject that we could be civil in. “Can’t we let it go?”

“Don’t you want to know why I reacted so strongly to you trying to…?”
He couldn’t finish his thought but I knew.

“Meaning why you pushed me away so violently?”

“I thought about you…and him in Tony’s castle.”

“The castle?”

“Did you seduce him? Did you come on to him the same way you came on
to me? Is that how you got back at me?” He sounded more sincere than
I’d heard in a long while. He wasn’t upset to be asking. The hurt was
more apparent then anything.

“John…I didn’t…he came to me. He came to me and I didn’t turn him down.”

“Did you want to have his baby?”

“I wanted to have the baby. It had nothing to do with whose child it
was. I was going to love the baby regardless, the same way I loved
Belle. It had nothing to do with Roman. I didn’t tell you because I
knew how badly it would hurt you to know.”

“Marlena…I…”

“John, aren’t we more than those moments? I mean if you add all of the
years we’ve been together, doesn’t it make everything we’ve been
through worth something to fight for. I can’t…”

“It’s too much honey. I don’t think you understand how much this has cost us.”

“I want to work through this…but I can’t do this alone, not with you
fighting me every step of the way.”

“We can’t work through this.” He declared quietly. “I can’t just let
this go. It’s time. Maybe we need time to think about this.”

Tears. “Time? How much time?” Endless tears.

“I don’t know Marlena. Remember when you told me when it stopped
hurting? That’s what I need now, too. I don’t want to keep pushing you
away. I just need you to give me space. And don’t try to use your body
to get to me, I don’t like that…I don’t like you in that role.”

“What are you saying?”

“Don’t push.”

“I’m not giving up on you.”

“Well, honey that’s up to you. But it’s not like it used to be.” He
finally acknowledged the tears rolling down my face. “Don’t cry…you
know how much I hate it when you cry. I just need time to figure out
where I’m going.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

“I’m not happy but I understand. I know right now you think it’ll
never be the same again…but I know that you and I belong together. You
just have to remember that.”
Part VIII: Pursuit

He stayed. He insisted on it, and he also insisted on separate rooms.
Who was I to argue? I’m not his wife; apparently, I’ve never been Mrs.
John Black. But who am I kidding, beside myself? I’ve always been his.
Always. I never believed in always until John, no matter what name he
was being called, I’ve always belonged to him, more so than I belonged
to my parents, and even Sam. And I don’t want to give always away.
I’ve been wrong six thousand ways where John is concerned but in the
ways that I have been right, I know that I cannot live separated from
him.

His room is connected to mine. He says goodbye with a friendly kiss on
the forehead. How can I leave it at that? At least this time it
doesn’t feel final. John’s hand, I reach for the security of his
powerful fingers to thread through my own. He allows me this gift.
The same impulses pulsate through this contact. It’s immediate. He
feels the same coursing of blood through veins, and the rush of our
heartbeats. I feel like a school girl touching her crush for the first
time.

He averts his gaze to the wall behind me. Standing on the tip of my
toe allows me to reach his mouth, to press very discreetly against his
lips until I feel him pushing back. Our kiss lasts seconds. A tiny
miniscule thing that will forever be imprinted in my memory. He still
loves me. I know this. I know it because his hands find my back and
pull me against his body. His arms encircle me.

“This feels good.” The sound of the room is soothing, John’s hands,
one on my back and the other threaded with my hand, calms the unspoken
tension that has been surfacing between us since he’s told me about
the room change. He’s still only a door away, he told me that. “I’ll
always remember you holding me in this room…even if we’re over.” I’m
lying to him. I know it’s not over. I refuse to let him leave me. I’m
going to fight. That’s what I’ve decided. I’ve decided to fight for
him, to pursue him in the ways that he’s always done me.

“Doc, you should get some sleep.” He puts a small space between us
when he loosens his hold and moves to the door that connects our room.
He holds onto my hand; or I’m holding onto his, either way we’re still
touching when he opens his door. “We’ll go home whenever you’re
ready.” Compassionate John is returning slowly. He’s trying to stay
disjointed from the situation but he can’t completely untie the bond
we share.

“I appreciate you being here with me.” I don’t say more than that. He
doesn’t want me to inquire any more than I already have. I don’t have
to say much. He can feel the warmness inflaming my skin. I’m turned
on. I look up and hope he can feel what I need next. He answers my
quiet want with a sweet kiss on my lips.

“Good night.” He looks me over once more before closing the door.

( )

I dreamt of the time when we reunited in New Orleans. He loved me
obsessively then. Every time he looked into my eyes then, I knew how
much he loved me. The look is still there, though it’s diminished.
Every time he touched me back then, when he was afraid that Roman was
taking over his life again, was possessive and almost brutal. The
balcony at the hospital, when he grabbed me so forcefully that the
wind was knocked out of me; or the closet when he dragged me there
after an argument. He wouldn’t give up or give in to Roman or any man.
He was fighting so hard for us that I knew that he was the man I would
choose. I’ll always choose him. In my dreams, the only place where
John and I exist sexually anymore, he held me so closely that I felt
suffocated, suffocated in the most gentle and necessary way. When he
kissed me, he crushed me. But I wanted those things. The
uncontrollable way we made love during our reunion didn’t frighten me
as much as not having him frightens me.

( )

“Friends?” I almost choke on those words. I reach my hand forth and
take his to shake. “Can friends have lunch together?” He’s eyeing me
studiously. It’s the morning and he’s still in the stupor that sleep
brings him. I’m going to get him back, even if I have to play games
that I disagree with. I have to have him in my life.

“Are you going to get an apartment?” The question catches John off
guard. We’re sitting in a courtyard around the corner from our hotel.
“Or how does this work? We weren’t married so we don’t have mutual
assets to compile and divide.”

He doesn’t answer. He’s not interested in the topic, but If I want him
to realize the severity of our separation, or break up, then I have to
speak of things in the future, our separate futures. He takes a sip of
his beer and looks up towards me. “I haven’t decided about that.”

“It’s not a rush. We can share the Penthouse for a while. We are
divorcing…excuse me, breaking up, amicably.” I don’t want to be too
confident; it could backfire in my face. He’s trying to silently
figure me out. “It’s just me moving on. What you said made sense to
me. We have to move forward.” My explanation doesn’t make him any less
suspicious. I’ve been too depressed and disengaged to have come back
so quickly, he’s noting the change and examining my actions. He knows
me well enough to know that I couldn’t recover so rapidly.

“Why are you talking about these issues now? How about we deal with
them when we’re home? We’ll sit down and discuss things.”

“With a lawyer?” I ask sarcastically. He sighs and continues sipping
his beer, after a swallow he nods positively.

“I guess we should have things done legally for Belle and Claire’s sake.”

“Marlena.” He’s agitated. “I just thought you’d want to talk about
this. We can talk as friends. You’ll always be my best friend.” I have
to back down. We talk about safe things like Claire’s new words or
Belle’s position at Basic Black, anything except us.

He excuses himself to take a phone call in the corner of the courtyard.

I recognize the man who sits down in John’s seat. It’s Dr. McDowell
from the conferences. We had lunch together in the hotel after a
particularly long session. He inquires if I’m alone and I look to John
whose back is stilled turned. Chris. He tells me to call him Chris and
I smile politely. John finally turns and notices us and the flash in
his eyes is instant. Chris is talking about his practice in New York
but I’m half-listening.

John has all of my attention. He’s watching us with an intensity that
I feel from across the courtyard. He hates this. He’s always hated the
way men feel comfortable enough to talk to me as if I’ve known them
for a lifetime. It’s one of the things that scare me about him, the
possessiveness he exhibits where I’m concerned. Now, I’ve given him
reasons to mistrust me and our relationship. He locks his jaw. That’s
a sign of aggravation. When he runs his fingers through his hair, I
know he’s frustrated. He’s trying to allow Chris and I privacy, even
as much as he hates it. But Chris continues his spiel and I’m
listening politely.

John closes his cell phone and crosses the courtyard toward us. He
hasn’t stopped watching since he first spotted us. “This is Dr.
McDowell, John.” Chris never asked who John was. I notice him checking
Chris’ wedding finger. No ring.

He takes Chris’ hand when offered and continues to loom over the back
of his chair. “This is John…my best friend.” Wrong choice of words; I
know it immediately. John’s mouth tightens and he moves from behind
Chris’ chair to stand closer to me. “I had lunch with Chris during one
of the conferences. He’s a Psychiatrist in New York.” John cares very
little about the biographical information. Chris notices John’s
agitation and stands up to offer him his chair again.

John sits and gazes at me. Chris hasn’t picked up on the irritation
that John has with our conversation. It’s a couple of minutes before
Chris finally excuses himself. When he’s out of earshot John attempts
to explain his obvious irritation. He knows that I can read him enough
to see what was going on in his face. “I’m not ever going to get used
to you and other men.” It’s his best explanation.

“It’s not something you have to get used to. He’s someone I had lunch
with.” I’m treading and not sure if I want to continue. I can handle a
lot of John, but his jealously isn’t manageable.

“Is that the way we’re going to introduce each other from now on…best
friend? I don’t appreciate that entirely.”

“Should I have said ex-lover or father of my daughter? It’s
complicated enough without those long explanations. And you are my
best friend. I fell in love with my best friend but it doesn’t matter
because we’re apart.” How did I end up there? I looked away.

“I’m always going to be jealous of you. I don’t know how I’m going to
get through it.” I have a suggestion that I have to bite my tongue not
to say. “You’re…”

“I was.” I remind him. “We were lovers.”

“That we were.” He’s unsure if he should continue but he has to. “No
matter who you fall in love with after me, I’ll always feel like some
part of you belongs to me.”

I can hardly answer him. “Me too.” It’s not over for us, not yet.
We’re not ready to let go. He’s not ready to see me with anybody else
and I couldn’t face seeing him loving another woman either. “We can go
home today. I’m ready to get back to my life.”

And I’m ready to win him back.

Part IX: Recriminations
The flight home was quiet; everything about us is so quiet.

I’ve learned to be reserved when I want to scream. What I want to do
in the cabin of the private airplane, that reminds me so much of
Victor’s jet, and Belle’s conception, or our honeymoon flight to
Hawaii, what I really want to do is be only a breath away from my
husband, my only husband, the one who I’m married to, in mind, body
and soul.

He is beside me. We are sitting as if we are amicably divorced and
trying friendship out. We’re not. He nearly caved in and admitted what
I know is right and wrong about our situation—he still wants to be my
husband in every sense of the word. But I won’t push, not in anyway
that John can see. Instead, I’ll be a vigilant friend, and ex-wife.

The silence is too much. It’s too massive and veering toward
explosive, at least in my head. I can’t take not talking to him. He’s
avoiding conversation because he knows where they lead. I want them to
go there; I want him to remember that he’s asking to be away from me,
and not vice versa.

I have to talk. I have to hear him say my name before we get back to
Salem; I don’t know what will happen when we’re back in the staidness
of our comfortable surroundings. It’s one of the questions I have to
ask.

“Honey…” It’s a habit not so easily broken. He is my honey, my lover,
my best friend; he is my everything, and I don’t care how needy that
sounds. “I’ll have to stop calling you that, won’t I?” I know he loves
it when I am playful. I want him to love me, to remember those things
that he loves.

“No. I still like to hear you call me that. You’ll always be my Doc,
right?” Those damn eyes that make me want to believe in him. They
brighten and fill with so much love whenever I’m peering into them,
even now, I still feel that love.

“Yes. I’ll always be your Doc.” I emphasis ‘your’; I am his. No qualms
about being possessed, not now, not when I’m so desperate for him to
at least acknowledge that he likes to possess me.

“Belle called before take off. She and Phillip have worked out an
agreeable separation. I think she’ll do well at home with us…” He
stops and looks up when he realizes what I’ve wanted to ask. “Home.”
He lingers on the thought and slowly brings his hand up to move a
piece of hair from my eye. Those things are the reasons that I’ll
continue fighting. He’s always taking care of me, even when he tells
himself that he shouldn’t.

“So, will you live at home with us? I don’t have a problem sharing the
Penthouse until you get something more permanent than a hotel room.” I
try not to sound too hopeful.

“I’ve talked to some realtors while you were in New Orleans. There’s
actually an apartment in our building.”

It’s nearly impossible not to smile at the idea of him staying so near
us. It’s one step. I don’t feel like I’m losing him, not entirely. “I
think that would be better than the alternative. Claire will see her
Grandpa often; she’ll love that.” Claire’s grandmother will love it
too. He doesn’t miss the fact that his news has lifted my mood.

“You’re okay with that, with me living nearby?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He chooses not to answer; instead, his hand falls slowly to my knee.
Why do I have to watch his every move? “We’re going to have to talk to
Belle; she probably thinks she played the ultimate matchmaker when I
came to New Orleans. I don’t want to get her hopes up, Doc.”

“No.” I ask say and ask at the same time. We’re already doing that,
but I don’t tell John. I simply sit against the couch and lay on his
shoulder, while his hand rests still on my knee.

( )

My life is evolving rather slowly these days. Some mornings take more
convincing than others. I still yearn for him to wake up next to me;
to hold me until I’ve finally shaken off sleep and am ready to shower,
with him following closely behind.

It hasn’t happened, except in those dreams; he is sleeping two floors
below me, in his apartment. He hasn’t invited me to that apartment. I
haven’t had the heart to ask and be denied.

I’m not giving up, but sometimes, just sometimes; it’s hard to fight a
one-sided battle.

I’ll see him today; he’ll pick up Claire before I leave for work.
He’ll smile and kiss my cheek politely.

Ever since New Orleans, it’s easier to have conversations with him. We
don’t have the conversations we should be having but at least we’re
not punishing each other with silence anymore.

If I’m going to get him back, I have to play by the rules he’s
silently laid down. No obvious moves toward reconciliation, though I
know he’s thinking about it. He hasn’t mentioned the visit to the
lawyer; I haven’t bothered to remind him.

( )

Dinner with Roman and our children: Sami, Carrie, and even Will at
Chez Rouge. It’s a celebration for Sami and Lucas’ engagement, and
Carrie’s remarriage to Austin. All is right with this branch of my
family.

And then I see them, Belle and John, walking arm and arm into the
restaurant, looking ten shades of sadness. I didn’t tell him about the
dinner. I don’t inform him about things like that anymore, but when I
see his face I wish that I had bent the unspoken rules of our
separation. He doesn’t see us right away, but when he does I feel it
immediately. Those blue eyes are as cold as ice when they have to be;
and I hate to receive anything but warmth from them. Belle looks up
and searches for whatever has caught John’s attention. Her
disappointment is obvious. Their faces take the wind out of me.

John and I play eye tennis; watching play for play throughout dinner.

He hasn’t said a word or motioned toward us. Thankfully nobody else
has noticed Belle and John; it’s enough to keep myself focused in the
conversation without the added distraction of having to mesh the two
halves of my life. But there are two halves and they have never been
equal while both John and Roman have a role in the equation. He’ll
understand that Sami and Carrie have good news that requires the
presence of me as Roman’s ex-wife. Rationally, John has always
understood that, but that sensitive part of him, that part that makes
me love him so much, will be incredibly hurt with seeing me with Roman
and our children. It’s the old wound. It’s someone taking his place in
my life.

I should have mentioned the dinner to him, found some way to have told him.

I love Belle because she is my child, but more because she loves her
daddy immensely. She knows how much he’s hurting from seeing the
picture of happiness displayed before him. With Roman smiling and
talking with the kids while I nod and steal looks toward John. Belle’s
consoling him, as is her nature; she loves to make sure everyone is
taken care of. John says she gets that quality from me. She puts an
adoring arm around his shoulders and leans into his neck. He
appreciates the gesture, because he kisses her head and closes his
eyes. I never mean to hurt him as much as I do. I just haven’t figured
out a way to get him back without hurting or being hurt.

Belle heads our way after the awkward standoff between the Blacks and
the Brady’s, who are still unaware. She kisses everyone around the
table, even Roman, and comes to me last. She’s smiling but it’s a
false emotion. She’s sad and I know she wants me to be Mommy to her
right now, and she wants her Mommy to be eating with her Daddy.
“Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you all were eating dinner here.” I
whisper into her ear when she’s wrapped around me.

“I know.”

“Is your daddy okay?” I look over to see him still watching our every
move. He’s not good at hiding his emotions.

“Mom, why are you two doing this to each other? You know you love him;
he still loves you. I just wish you all could find a way to resolve
whatever happened between you.”

“Belle.” It’s all I can manage to say without breaking down. She looks
at me understandingly and squeezes my hand.

“Don’t worry about Daddy; I’ll take care of him.” I know she will and
that’s the only thing I can hold on to when she waves goodbye and
walks back to him.
When Roman leans over my chair to ask me to dance, John’s eyes follow.
I’m not clear if Roman is intentionally trying to hurt John. I don’t
know if that matters, because I can’t do it, not when he’s watching me
so carefully, and I’m playing this game., this game that I didn’t
initiate, but that I’m willingly playing because I want him back. I
want him to know I’m not waiting for him to win me back, but that I’m
the one who will pursue him, but it’s harder and harder to
differentiate between the two. I politely tell Roman no and watch
victory settle over John’s face. He’s not happy but he appreciates the
refusal to turn the knife anymore than he feels Roman and I have.

I don’t see them leave but I feel a little lonelier after they’re
gone. I have to stop myself from reliving the mind torture that John
must be putting himself through. He wouldn’t tell me, not now, but I
know he must be wringing his fingers by now. The fingers will thread
through his hair and the protruding vein will be evident in his neck.
He’ll question himself, and if I were with him, me, why I look so
comfortable with the family that used to be his. I’m almost grateful
that he can stew without me.

( )

Dr. Chris McDowell. He’s a friendly, overly warm gentleman. He’s in
town unexpectedly for another conference. When he calls to ask me to
lunch, it’s a welcomed distraction, and I haven’t heard from John.
Belle promises me that he’s okay. I have to believe her.

He’s so polite. I never noticed men when John and I were together. I
never looked or really had a conversation with any men that John
didn’t know. He didn’t like it. I can appreciate that; I don’t like
the flirtatious way woman flock to him. Chris is listening to me talk
about him, he’s been my life for so long that there is little else to
report.

“I’m sorry to keep talking about John.”

“It’s okay. I’m going through a divorce myself.”

“Tough business, right?”

“Yes. I can’t lie; it’s tested more than my patience. But I hope that
for my daughter and son, one day we can be friends again. It’s the
best I can hope for. I’m sorry that you’re going through this, I
really don’t wish divorce on anyone.” He offers me a smile. “I wish I
had what he has.”

I’m blushing uncontrollably. “What do you mean?”

“I wish I had a woman like you who had that look in her eye when she
talked about me.”

“Thank you.” I can appreciate a man who knows the boundaries in a
relationship. He casually covers my hand with his; the gesture is
innocent, until I realize that it’s John abruptly charging out of the
door. Things look different through the eyes of a man who’s trying to
fall out of love with you. I nearly rush to follow him but decide to
remain seated. Chris asks if I’m okay. I nod. John’s not okay. He
can’t be.

( )
Claire and I ring the doorbell to John’s apartment. She’s cooing in
expectation. She knows who she’ll see and she’s beaming when his voice
barrels from the other side.

“Pop-Pop.” She’s shortened Grandpa and John loves to hear the nickname
coming from her mouth. He reaches and takes Claire out of my arms
quickly.

“Hi John.” I’m still standing in the hallway, outside the apartment.
Claire’s bags are on my shoulder. He hesitates before inviting me in.
He doesn’t seem comfortable when we’re standing together in the living
room. “Are you okay?” Claire squirms lose from John’s arms and sails
toward the stairs. John chases after her quickly and catches her
before she can climb the stairs.

“You should get the gate. It’s upstairs. It’ll keep her from the
stairs.” It’s a suggestion that John doesn’t hear. He’s thinking about
the past two days. “John.”

“Did you enjoy your dinner?” He’s asking nicely but the bitterness is apparent.

“John.”

“Don’t explain.”

“I wasn’t. I don’t know what there is to say.” He doesn’t appreciate
my explanation. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to you and not
say to you anymore. If I have dinner or lunch with somebody, is that
something I’m not supposed to do? This is all new to me.”

“Are you kidding?” Claire turns in his arms. She notices the change in
his voice. He’s louder than before. “What’s he doing in town?”

“Chris? He’s here for a conference.” Simple and truthful. “I think
you’re frightening Claire.” She’s watching me vigilantly. “We can talk
about this later.”

“Marlena, it was so plain that you were hiding away for your lunch
date. You never go to that restaurant. You said you didn’t like the
food.”

“I don’t. I needed a distraction.” Feeling attacked, I can only attack
back. “John. I need to go.” He won’t hear anything I say, not while
he’s stewing about seeing me with Roman and Chris. “If you want to
talk to me, I’ll be in my office tomorrow until noon. I kiss Claire
and hurry to the door.

“I’ll meet you there.” It’s a promise.

Part X: Courage

It takes courage to admit when you are afraid. I’ve always known so
but it was Dr. Chris McDowell who reiterated it. Why was I afraid? I
knew John would come. He would be there, as promised, and bring with
him all the emotion and passion of an 18th century poet; he was coming
because he couldn’t take not knowing; he can’t ‘stomach’, as he keeps
phrasing it, that there could have been someone else, that there could
still be someone else.

Chris. God Bless him. He says he understands John’s dilemma. He is an
outsider, and even he realizes that nothing will destroy our love, not
even us. I can’t help smiling though because of his sunny optimism. He
wishes me well, and says goodbye. He admits that he was interested in
pursuing me romantically; but, after seeing me so affected by John,
he’s realized something about himself: he wants to try again with his
wife. Divorce and all. I tell him to never give up on her.

We are hugging when John’s shadow darkens the doorframe of my office.
Lurching back involuntarily, I bump against the front of my desk,
sending pens and our family photograph over the edge.

His presence makes me nervous.

Ignoring Chris, who has moved nearer to the door, John bends to the
ground, where I am kneeling, and gathering pens. My hands are clammy
and fidgety. I can scarcely catch my breath. He covers my hands with
his and helps me up. He’s knows I can’t gather an intelligent
sentence, not with him staring brazenly at me. He bends again and
picks up the photograph I’ve forgotten on the ground. He places it in
my hand.

“Marlena. It was a pleasure.” It’s Chris breaking the silence. I can
only offer him a small smile and wave. He understands. He still loves
his wife. “Good luck.” He adds with a charming wink that John doesn’t
miss.

Johnb’s fingers spider aggressively against the small of my back until
Chris disappears through the door.

“John, it’s improper for you to simply barge into my office.” My anger
is swift. I can’t think with his hand pressing into my back.

John functions on two gears of late, anger and passion. His first kiss
is sweet, a sort of gentle begging and prodding with his tongue. I can
fight if his kisses stay innocent and chaste; but, the contact, his
merciless touching, and his stroking demand more. Even through
clothing, my skin is tingling.

But he doesn’t want me to react to him. He keeps telling me that, but
I can’t believe that now, not with his hands fondling me beneath my
blazer.

“John, no.” The door is wide open, and it isn’t concerning John in the
least. He’s in seduction mode. I’m ready to be seduced, but I have to
be sure, that his seduction is about me and not just about a need that
has to be filled. Pulling away from John only draws him back to me
magnetically. We are standing interlocked, his arms encasing me from
behind, splayed across my stomach, as I push my office door shut. I’m
against it before I can move again; my palms rest against the coolness
of it. His lips are pressed against my neck; he’s lifted my hair and
knotted it into his fingers. His scent surrounds me. It’s the ridges
of his tongue dragging across my neck, down across my shoulder blade.
My jacket is off; my buttons slowly unbuttoned. It’s his game. I’m
falling so deep into his seduction.

But the question is there. He doesn’t want me to simply sleep with
him; I don’t want to be the answer to a temporary problem. “I’ll only
do this if you are sure.” Am I being honest with myself, probably not?
I’ll follow him anywhere, especially when he’s leading the way. “You
told me in New Orleans that you didn’t want me to do this. I don’t
know what you want from me anymore. You asked me not to do this to
you; not to use my body to entice you to stay. You can’t have it both
ways.” The words have meaning but I don’t believe them anymore than he
does. He wants me as much as I want to give myself to him.

“Are you…” He wants to ask about Chris, but he won’t, because he’s
too of a proud man to say his name. He only looks at me because he
knows I know what he wants to say.

“No…he’s…he is not you.” We move to the couch; he lays me across
the pillows and climbs over me.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I saw you with Roman and then
with that doctor…I can’t stop myself. I know that I have no right to
say this but honey I can’t stomach it. I see you with Roman and the
kids and it does something to me.” I can feel how much that hurts him,
even to admit it to me. He’s looking into my eyes, framing my face
between his large hands. I’m terrified to move. My hands are sedately
resting on my sides.

“What do you want me to do? You wanted it this way.” This is his game.
I want him. I have to play his game.

“I’m saying it hurts to see you moving on. I’m saying I don’t want to
see it.” It’s what I wanted him to realize; I just didn’t want it to
be so painful for him.

“John, I don’t know what else to do. You want me to remain a part of
your life as a memory that doesn’t exist; we’re real, you and I
had…have something very real here, and I’m attempting to deal with the
loss of it. What do you want me to do? You don’t want me to shut down
the way I did in New Orleans. You don’t want me to see me with anybody
else.”

“No I don’t.” He sits up suddenly. “I don’t know what I want, but I
don’t want to ever see you with Roman. Promise me that you won’t go
back to Roman.” He’s serious.

“I’m not going back to anyone….” Except him. I only want him. He’s not
touching me anymore. He’s moved away, and shutting down; Roman’s name
usually does that to him.

“What about me?” He sounds child-like.

“If that’s what you want.”

“I’m not sure what I want.”

“Do you want me? Right now, do you want me? With no strings attached?
Just you and me.” If this is the way I have to win him then I’m going
to win him this way. “But you know that sex has never been a cavalier
thing between us John.” I near him, climbing into his lap and draping
my arms around his neck. He’s completely expecting me. When I kiss him
softly he returns his mouth roughly. The urge is rising. “No strings
attached.” I whisper seductively into his mouth. His hands inch across
my back, threading through my hair, pulling my neck back so that his
mouth can suck the skin there. There will be love bites tomorrow that
I’ll have to hide from the world. I don’t care. I just want him.

( )

We’re naked. He’s concentrating on pleasing me; he hasn’t done that in
a long time. My thoughts cease when his mouth covers the place that he
knows best. I have to grip his hair when his tongue causes my body to
shiver uncontrollably. “Oh Honey please don’t stop.” I don’t want him
to move; but he does. He moves to hold me, locking my legs together to
calm the trembling. He’s sweet when he continues to kiss me,
everywhere. They are hot and wet; he lingers in places where he wants
to leave his imprint. I have to squirm when his fingers travel
downward, toward my wetness and mold themselves there. He’s so intent
on continuing to make me moan and call his name. Arching against the
couch, with him holding me steady, I do call his name. It’s primal and
repetitive.

His body is beautiful. Sculpted and tanned in some artful way that is
a masterpiece. I’ve missed the feel of his chest hairs tickling my
chest when he’s on top of me. His body is never too heavy; he’s light
and feathery. He enters me so gently that I pull him closer to feel
more of him, more roughly. “I’ll only make love to you. I promise
you.” He hears me. It turns him on, the way I wanted it to. He thrusts
harder, longer, circling, anything to make me lose control. There’s no
way I’m going to hold on to my control. He hits my spot perfectly.
He’s the only one who knows exactly where it is.

Everything around me becomes pixie dust. I feel magical and
enraptured. The room turns cloudy and our scent envelopes me. He
kisses me as I ride alone into ecstasy, but in order to help him
along, I reach between his legs and stroke until I feel him twitching
beside me. We kiss through his release. It’s sensual. I have to have
his mouth on me, in order to feel authentic; he kisses me so gently
that tears well and fall without permission. This is the John I love;
the man who loves me jealousy; I love the man who wants me all alone;
I love this man who risks reputation for lovemaking; I just love him.

“I wish we were still making babies.” He says when I stir beside him.
Fifteen minutes have passed, I’m exhausted. We’re still naked; he is
still holding me. I know what he means. I wish I could give him the
piece of me that he feels he lost to Roman, when I made love to him in
that castle.

I have to reassure him. He has to know this. “I’m still all yours.
Nothing will ever change that.”

He kisses me again. “I’ve never wanted something so badly. I remember
the first time I ever saw you.”

“Do you?” I like when he remembers. “What did you think?”

“I wanted to make love to you.” His response causes me to laugh and he
reaches for my face. “I’m serious. I took one look at you with these
beautiful brown bedroom eyes and I had to have you. It was that
instant. I decided then that…” He falters as if the memory is too
great to re-experience.

“What John?”

“To love you. You know love is a decision. I decided then and there
that I would love you. And when I saw you with the kids it only got
better. You absolutely stole my heart. That’s one thing that has never
changed. I still love you with all my heart. I just don’t know if we
love each other well. Do you understand?” I understand. I can’t voice
it but I know exactly what John is trying to say. “When that was
over…when you chose Roman, I didn’t think we’d ever have the chance to
be that happy again.” His voice is low. We’ve gone there. He didn’t
intend to, but I feel his sadness. It makes me squeeze him tighter. I
don’t have words for the way I feel. I’m complete, if only for the
small window of time; in his arms, I feel safer than I’ve felt in a
long time. Not physically safe, but emotionally. I know he doesn’t
want to hurt me anymore than I want to hurt him.

After the silence passes, he turns my face to look at him. “Doc, did
you mean that? That you would come to me with no strings attached?”

Powerless, I nod. I do mean it, only because we know there are
strings, invisible as they are, they remain. If all we can have is a
physical relationship, then I’m willing to do that. “I don’t want to
put any pressure on you. You know how I feel about you.” I can’t look
into his eyes anymore. It makes me feel cheap; but, I’ll be that for
John. “You don’t want me to…make love with anyone else.” The timidness
of my words is a powerful contrast to John’s reaction. He takes my
face again, forcefully, between his hands and pulls me nearer to his
face.

“No. I don’t want to hear you say anything like that. It drives me
crazy Marlena.” Mercenary John; he’s a terrifying man when he wishes
to be. He sees how tense I have become, how frightened I am; when he
releases his grip on my face, I lay across his chest. He twirls my
hair between his fingertips. “I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself
for me. I can’t give you what you need right now.”

“I only need what you can give. I’ll settle for whatever you have to
offer for now.” It is painful but the truth. “If you think it’s
painful for you to imagine…me with others…well it’s not any easier for
me.”

I have to have him once more before the world intrudes and we have to
pretend to be less to each other than we truly are. I move slowly. I
want him to feel everything. I want him to be pleased more than I care
about myself. Taking his hands, I place them on my hips and hold them
there while I lift myself onto him. He’s been throbbing against my
stomach. His eyes are shut when I bury him deep inside me.

I’ve never been so turned on in my life.

We’re so afraid to lose and keep each other; I’m afraid that making
love is the only thing we have. We are good at it; we’re better at it
than most. He’s taught me things that I have never had the guts to do
with anyone, except him. He makes me feel sexy. The way he holds my
hips firmly as he helps me find a rhythm that’s satisfying to him. He
wants to control the pace but I want him to be pleased. He’s shocked
when I pull his hands above his head, the way he often does me. Never
losing the steadiness of my body writhing against him, I lean and kiss
his mouth sweetly. It’s the sweetest thing he’s ever known. He tries
to continue but I move to his cheek and lick circles there; my licking
becomes sucking, his cheek is clutched between my teeth; I intend to
leave my mark there. I’m not sure if he knows or if he’s too past gone
to care. He can’t take not touching me in some capacity. He pries his
hands away from mine. The pressure is incredible; the teasing and
touching moves from him to me. His fingers find an opening between our
bodies and he flicks me senseless. I’m holding back; it won’t be long;
he’s close. His body signals it when he grunts heavily, and pushes
himself up deeper into me. We are releasing in a simultaneous gush of
pleasure; he pulls me until I collapse against him.

( )

“Baby…I love you so much.” Those are his last words to me. After he’s
dressed, I touch the place where my teeth have left a mark, tickled
that I could be so out of control. “I’m so sorry about that.”

He only smiles and sticks his tongue out before he goes.

We’ll make love again. Next time, I’ll ask him to stay.

Part XI: Confessions

A school girl; he has me feeling giddy like a school girl.

I wonder what he did after making love to me in my office yesterday. I
came home, took a bath and climbed into our bed, on his side, and
clung to the pillow that still holds his smell until I fell asleep.

He sent flowers, my favorite, and a card written in his black inky
scrawl, “Thank you.” Should I be proud? He’s appreciative of my ‘no
attachment’ rule. I know that it’ll only go so far, eventually, he’ll
tire of simply pleasing one another and then leaving. He doesn’t like
to be alone after sex. He likes to hold me, to be held and feel our
hearts matching beats.

When the flowers arrived, Belle and Claire brought them into my
bedroom while I was getting dressed for work. The smile on her face
told me all I needed to know about the sender. She smirked because she
knew more than she would say; she’s too much like me to ask about what
happened between her daddy and me. She knows something has happened;
it’s enough for her. She knows us both too well.

My connection with John changes me; I’m completely connected to the
world around me. The distant, unemotional doctor, the one I’ve grown
to be, is thrown aside where my family, and especially John, is
concerned. That’s what I’m feeling when I see the flowers and Claire
chanting my name. I am feeling very connected.

“So?” Belle’s coyness forces another wide grin from me. She settles
Claire on the ground from her hip. Its seconds before Claire runs
toward me with her hands reaching up.

“So…long day for you and the little princess here?” She always forgets
that I’m a psychiatrist trained in word and mind games.

“Mom.” Belle sits on our bed and shoots her father’s eyebrow up at me.
“I know something happened. I don’t want to know details.”

“Good.” She’d be shocked if she knew how well her daddy and I connect,
although, I’m positive she’s heard us more than a few times in her
lifetime. “There are some things that even a mother and daughter
shouldn’t discuss.” Claire’s playing with my lips while I talk. She’s
fascinated with hair and lips. Her lips purse and inch toward my hair
until her mouth has a tuft of hair.

“Don’t eat Grandma’s hair.” Belle softly chides her. She’s so careful
and patient with her. That’s the part of her that’s John. John was and
is still careful with Belle and now even more so with Claire. He
doesn’t like the pout he receives when he’s chides or chastises his
girls.

“Mama.” Claire hasn’t differentiated the difference between Mama and
Grandma. She calls me what she hears Belle call me; it’s a result of
living with us. Us…me ; Habits die hard. I hope Belle doesn’t mind it;
I love to hear my granddaughter say anything, but especially when she
calls me Mama.

“Daddy’ll be here in a minute.” Belle confesses this quickly. I assume
at first that she’s talking to Belle about Phillip. My daughter’s
stifled attempt at smiling gives her away.

“Your dad, John?” She doesn’t answer me vocally; her head dips low and
she stands and hurries to the chiming doorbell. “We’re having
breakfast.” She adds before scurrying down the stairs.

We?

I gather some sense of myself and squeeze Claire against my chest. The
butterflies flutter in the pit of my stomach with every step I take on
the path from our bedroom to the door, where he’ll be standing.

His eyes follow me from the top of the stairs to the bottom. They are
less distant, warmer than I’ve seen in a long time. Somehow they are
bluer, if that’s possible, and as they steady on me, I feel the
warmness flushing my cheeks. Belle’s visually volleying between the
two of us, until her attention is drawn to the blatant mark on his
cheek. She sucks in a breath of air as she looks from me to John
again.

“Dad.” Her hand traces my handiwork; the brownish purple circle on her
daddy’s cheek causes her to turn in shock towards me. “I’d give a
diamond for a love bite like this, not flowers.” I laugh into Claire’s
hair while John swats playfully at Belle.

We feel normal again, standing together in the place he brought me to
when Roman left me. I remember feeling then that I was recovering some
piece of my life, and it was only after looking into John’s eyes and
feeling loved, only after he claimed Belle as his child and took away
some of the shame of her birth. Seeing her now, standing between us,
she’s always the bridge that connects our silence and anger. She’s the
part of us that we’ll never lose. When I look into her face, I wish
again that I could have given her and her daddy another baby with
their heart and sense of devotion.

“So breakfast, Mom?” Her question is unexpected, terrifying even. I
don’t want her to get caught up in the game that John and I are
playing. With Claire and Belle between us, it seems so real, so
natural that we are slowly getting our bearings together, and that
we’ll be taking substantial steps toward rebuilding our lives. As
unexpected as it was, I think momentarily before saying yes. John’s
face tells me that he wants me there. The smile that always makes me
happy is coloring his face with joy and expectancy. He’s speaking
through our little girl. It’s a step, small but significant.

“Claire and I would love to have breakfast with you and Grandpa.”
Belle takes Claire and heads for the stairs. And John and I are left
standing alone. What do we say to one another? Can we simply leave
well enough alone, just this once?

We can’t; I can’t.

“I loved the flowers, thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.”

He closes the gap. “I loved making love to you.”

Belle’s footsteps halt our conversation. He squeezes my hand inconspicuously.

( )
When Belle was a little girl, after we found just the two of them.
Belle would dress up in her favorite tea-party dress and wait for him
near the door. I never knew where they went, not until John and I were
married and Belle was old enough to tell me. John found a cozy
restaurant called Bella that served Belle’s favorite food, ice cream.
It’s where he took us there for breakfast.

He helped me out of the jeep, and one whiff of his cologne caused
memories of yesterday to replay. Being so aware of him, the hand on my
back as he led us into Bella, the way he stood so close while we
waited for a table, breathing heavily into my hair, made me dizzy.

I could barely focus on Belle’s topic of discussion. He was touching
my leg beneath the table. Innocently, but the bonding between our skin
made me feel warm. When I took my jacket off, he reached to help me
with it and brushed discreetly against my breast.

“I can’t believe it still feels the same, well maybe a little smaller.”

John didn’t miss a beat. His hand lingered beneath the table, moving
slowly up and down my leg, while he talked to Belle. “Well you’re a
little bigger. You used to love this place, Tink. I had to bribe you
to go home, remember that.”

“No.” Belle’s eyes widened. John always says she’s my mirror image but
I don’t agree. She might have my coloring, the hair, the small frame
but she’s all John. Her heart is just as big; she loves her family
with every fiber of her being. “You told me a story. You used to tell
me that story about a princess named Isabella.”

I couldn’t concentrate. John’s hands are magic and he knows it. He
glanced at me quickly, smiling as he continued inching closer and
closer to my weakest spot. “What story?” I said shifting uncomfortably
beside him. I was happy for the table cloth that hid his meandering
hands from the other patrons in the restaurant. I don’t have the heart
to stop him but it’ll be a short breakfast if he doesn’t.

“There was a princess…” John and Belle begin simultaneously, laughing
at their remarkable sense of timing. “Basically I was the princess and
you were my beautiful fairy godmother…and daddy was the prince who
wanted to marry my fairy godmother and be a family.”

“You told her that story?” I fought myself not to reach for him.

“Yes, every Saturday…now you can see why I was so excited to be apart
of the wedding party. I wanted my family back together. I still do.”
Belle looks to both of us. Her eyes are so identical to John’s that
it’s like looking into his face. She’s holding Claire, who has fallen
asleep, as she’s pleading for us to work our problems out.

I don’t feel confident enough to answer her. I can only nod and look
away. John rescues me. “Tink, this separation has nothing to do with
how much I love you or your Mom. We love each other. We’ll always love
each other.”

“Daddy, you’re not even married. It’s not just a separation anymore.
Now I’ve tried to stay out of this, I really have. Because, I’m an
adult now and I know I’m married with a baby, well divorcing, but
still, I want my fairytale ending. I want my mom and dad back
together.” She was cool and calm, holding her emotions at bay, a gift
I’d given her.

“Honey…” It’s a weak reprieve. John’s hands have returned to the table
top and we’re suddenly raw with the pain of our separation. “Every
thing is going to work out for us. For you and Claire and your daddy
and me. I love your father very much. I’m not giving up on him yet.”
John reaches and squeezes me beneath the table. He’s grateful that he
didn’t have to defend his decision to Belle. I don’t want him to have
to try and make our daughter understand. It’s not for her to
understand. We’re still trying to handle that on our own.

( )

We made love in the bathroom of Bella’s. He felt compelled to have his
hands on me after sitting so close to him for an hour. I went along
for the ride. Belle and Claire sat at the table while I excused myself
to the ladies room with John following closely behind. It was quick
and satisfying. He locked the door behind him, after he snuck into the
bathroom without me knowing, backed me into a stall and divested me of
all unnecessary clothing. To muffle me from crying out, he put two
fingers into my mouth before he lifted me against the wall.

I emerged first, hoping that Belle was unsuspecting. She grinned that
John Black, cocky, all-knowing grin, and packed Claire up.

No strings attached.

( )

“Mom, when are you and John going to get back together?” Sami asks
standing in front of a mirror in the bridal shop. She and Lucas have
planned a small, intimate ceremony that requires another wedding
dress. “It doesn’t seem right that you two aren’t together.” She
turned around and settled on her knees, in front of me.

She’s never cared either way. “Sami…do you mean that you want me and
John back together?”

Sami shook her head positively.

I have to hug her close. She’s still my baby girl, even through all
the turmoil and anger; she’s always been my baby. In more ways than
not, she’s also a remnant of John. He loved her from the first time he
laid eyes on her and Eric. It breaks my heart to think that they’ve
lost that special relationship that they used to have when he was
still the only daddy she and Eric knew. “Baby, I honestly don’t know.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?” She’s serious. Her face is set in the
determination she learned from John. “Because, we all know he loves
you. Even Daddy has figured that out. And as much as I did to keep you
apart…I don’t like it Mom. You don’t seem the same without him with
you. I thought it would make me happy to see you two apart but it’s
the saddest thing I’ve ever seen.”

She lays her head in my lap. She’s still as tender as she’s ever been.
And I’ve realized that she still loves John, as much as her heart can
allow her too, without making her feel like she’s betraying her
father.

“When I was a little girl, I thought I had all the answers. It’s
partly why I became a doctor, well a psychiatrist. I also believed
that doctors had all the answers when I was little. But it’s not true
baby girl. We are as human as the rest. We’ve hurt each other so
much.” I can admit this to Sami, more than I could to Belle. “I don’t
know what we are to each other anymore.”

“The baby? Is he upset about you and daddy’s baby?”

“It’s more than that Sami. I betrayed my marriage vows…well at least I
thought they were marriage vows when I created that baby with your
father.”

“But you don’t love Daddy in the same way that you love John.”

“I know that, and I think he knows so too. It’s just finding the
pieces to our lives and putting them back together. That’s the hardest
part. But I’m fighting for him.”

“Mom, I want to ask you a question. It’s about you and John.”

“Go on honey.”

“If you could go back and change what happened with John, when you and
he had the affair, would you?”

The answer is ready before I’m ready to share it. I wouldn’t give up
one day with John. No matter what it costs, I was in love with him
then and I still love him now. “No Sami, I wouldn’t do one thing over.
I’d still love John…still make love to John. I’m sorry if it hurts to
hear that but your mother really is imperfect. I would spare you the
hurt that you faced when that happened, but I couldn’t go back and not
have John…or Isabella in our lives.”

“I didn’t think you would. I respect your honesty. You could have lied
and said otherwise but you didn’t and that’s why I know that you won’t
lose John…because he wouldn’t go back and not love you either.”

“Maybe not.” I’m unsure because of all the hurt we’ve faced and caused.

“Mom, I’m sure. He loves you. And if you love him, then you have to
fight for him. Don’t do the stupid things I did for love…for people
who didn’t love me; but do the things that you’ve been doing. It’s not
over. Fight with your heart. I know true love wins. Look at Lucas and
me. I didn’t ever think we’d make it, and now look at us.”

“I’m so proud of you honey.”

“I’m proud of you too Mom. You taught me how to love
unconditionally…that’s what I got from you and all the years I did all
those bad things and you still loved me. Remind John.” She lifted her
head from my lap and kissed my hand. “Thank you for teaching me about
love Mama.”

( )

He answered on the first ring. “John…can we have dinner?”

I can hear his hesitance.

“No strings attached.” I remind him.

“My place at 8.” The first official invite to his apartment.

“I’ll be there.”
Part XII: Confrontation

Work is my only means of escape; I can’t hide too much, memories
assail me whenever it’s too quiet.

We both knew that dinner would be more than food and conversation. I
should have known that John would be looking incredible; I knew that
he would be charming; I knew I’d see the bedroom more than any other
room in the place he was calling home.

I told Belle I had a dinner date; I didn’t mention her daddy. Sedate
is the look I was going for because making love wasn’t on my agenda;
though, if I’m honest with myself, I should have known that even
dressing down couldn’t make John any less aroused. I put on jeans and
a cashmere sweater with a v-neck cut. Little makeup. Hair in a high
ponytail. It all ended up on John’s floor an hour after I’d gotten
there.

He’s so good with making me forget that we’re not living together.
When we’re together, and he’s holding me pressed firmly against him, I
can’t recall the times when we’re apart. Though we are, he’s here in
his new home, and I’m living with our babies in our home. It’s as easy
as coming home, that’s what I remember when I’m in his arms. I don’t
like the ‘no strings’ rule. I want strings. I want to be able to wake
up and still be in his arms when the sun rises across our bodies. He
massaged my back and shoulders until I was relaxed enough to sleep.

He begged me to stay for a little while; the game says that I can’t,
but I do only until he falls asleep. I hate to leave him; but, if he
wants ‘no strings’, then this is the way ‘no strings’ works. It’s
after midnight, not too late to sneak back home without Belle getting
suspicious. I can’t handle her hanging her hopes on what her daddy and
I do or don’t do. She’s got enough to deal with. He’s breathing
lightly when I manage to slip from under his arm to grab my clothes.

Being the pursuer means knowing when goodbye is right. I want to stay;
I just need to go. It’ll make him realize what he’s missing with this
casual relationship. He asks me where I’m going before I can make a
secret getaway. I creep back and kiss him. “Home.”

He has to want to stay with me, at home. It’s the only overnight stay
that I’ll allow myself with him.

( )

John and Roman.

How is it that the two men I’ve loved the most, hate each other so?
They have pissing contests every chance they are given. I’m inclined
to put them in a ring and let them fight it out once and for all, if I
didn’t think it was so barbaric and idiotic.

Sitting comfortably in the Penthouse, across from me, Roman is
meticulous as he describes their confrontation; he is micromanaging
every word and action that occurred. He wants me to know that it was
His Parents’ Pub that John was in, that I was his wife before John,
that we Still Have Children together.

I have to wade through the pieces of the confrontation that are
relevant, ignoring the things Roman finds pertinent. He finds
everything pertinent where John is concerned and where he believes
John is wrong.

So apparently, John stopped by the Pub to pick up lunch. Nothing
unusual, I’d like to believe John is always welcome at the Pub. Shawn
and Caroline accepted him as their son for five years. It’s never
really changed, except when Roman and John are in the same room, but
they still love and adore him just the same. John loves them; he’ll
never stop. It is that fact that makes Roman so uncomfortable. To him,
John will always be the imitator who stole his identity and his
family. He hides his contempt well, but Roman and John will probably
never fully trust one another, especially where I am concerned.

Roman was headed to the Penthouse. John overheard. I can only imagine
what he was thinking. In light of our evening together, the dinner
where we didn’t talk much, and nothing much got resolved, John is
feeling insecure. We both are, but for him it’s more than mild
uncertainty. He doesn’t want Roman anywhere near me.

I know John couldn’t have heard Roman and simply let it go, not with
us in such a precarious state of being. He heard Penthouse and Doc,
and he reacted. Squaring off against Roman in a mild mannered
argument, he blasted Roman for trying to take advantage of our
situation. I am no longer Roman’s wife; Roman reminded him that the
same was true of him. I can imagine the furrowing brow and clinched
fist; his face would be tightly drawn, weathered with the apprehension
and uncertainty of our last couple of months apart; he would be
touching our wedding band— that he’s never taken off— just to remind
him that I was his last, last night even, but forever.

Roman, who can’t help himself, who still feels the jealousy of a
husband scorned by an adulterous affair, reminds him that I was his
first. That we had babies together; that we had a life together; that
we shared something special together before she’d ever known John
Black. Those declarations alone could cause John to explode, but
assuming he was being mindful of their surroundings, he backed up and
lowered his fist. Roman admitted that he couldn’t leave it alone. He
had to break the arrogant hold he feels John has over me. He reminded
him that we had shared something incredible together on the island and
in the castle, and that our baby was created in love.

I stopped him. I knew the rest. John would reach back and cock his
fist. Thank God for Abe.

Roman and John.

( )

John’s impeccable timing. He stepped off the elevator as I was walking
Roman through the door. His entire body tensed up. He tried to brush
past us without acknowledging the fact that we were standing with our
mouths opened. I felt guilty and opened up.

“John. Wait.” I followed him into the Penthouse, leaving Roman without
a goodbye. He didn’t answer me at first. He went about the living room
searching for something on the table and couch. “John.”

“Not now Marlena.”

“Yes, now.” We’ve come too far to do the bitter silence anymore. I
learned the error of my ways when I tried to be silent and he moved on
because of my silence. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Don’t you know? Didn’t Roman come in here and give you all the details?”

“Yes. He did but I want to hear what you have to say.”

“You mean for myself.” He looked as if my words were wounding him.

“No. I’m not trying to personally attack you John.”

He retrieves a folder from between the cushions of the couch. “I have to go.”

“No, now wait a minute.” It hurts that he’s so ready to leave without
discussing things. “John. I thought that we’d gotten beyond this. I
want to talk to you.” I’ve reached him. He stops and turns back
around. I’m still clinging to his arm. “What happened honey, with
Roman? I’ve heard what he has to say. I want to hear from you, honey.
Please don’t shut me out.”

“Why can’t he stay away from you?” He is trying to control his
emotions. He is avoiding looking directly at me. He studies the folder
in his hand instead.

“John. He came to talk about Sami.” He’s starting to crack; this can’t
continue much longer. We won’t be able to stand this synthetic
distance. “He wasn’t here as Roman, my ex-husband. He came as Sami’s
daddy.”

His eyes finally find me. He doesn’t like my implication. He’s Sami’s
daddy, too.

He avoids addressing it completely. “I came to get this folder.
Someone’s waiting for it. I was here with Claire earlier. Belle needed
a babysitter” He looks as if he wants to ask why I wasn’t here. He
doesn’t. “The little noodle must have thrown it between the cushions.”

“I had a meeting that ran over.” I feel like I owe him explanations.
“Sami’s getting married. We haven’t had time to talk about it. She and
Lucas have finally grown up and want to become a family. It’s
wonderful, isn’t it? For Will’s sake.” John and I haven’t had time to
talk either. All we do is make love, argue, apologize, and make love
again. It’s an endless, agonizing cycle.

“That’s great.” His eyes are distant. He’s thinking of my reference to Roman.

“Do you want to talk about what happened with Roman?”

“No.” He shakes his head almost defiantly, relaxes his face and turns
to go again.

“Are we okay?”

“Were you with Roman today?” His voice lowers and he steps closer to
me. My answer is to kiss him. Since we are functioning with strictly
sex as our form of communication, kissing him seemed the only logical
move. He moves away so abruptly that I stumble forward from the loss
of his weight.

“John.” He turns again and leaves wordlessly. “John.”

He pushes anxiously on the elevator button, while I find something
safe to say. “Honey, what. What is it?”

“I have to go.”

I follow him when he steps into the elevator.

“I don’t have time to discuss this.”

“What is there to discuss? No, I haven’t been with Roman. I was with
you last night. Remember?”

“Yes I do remember. I also remember you sneaking out of my bed and
leaving.” He says this without venom; instead, hurt colors his words.
“Are you covering up something?”

“No.” He’s disengaged from my words. “John, wait one minute. What are
you asking me exactly?”

“Nothing.”

It’s quiet again as Mrs. Kirkland enters the elevator. He moves back
to allow her space and she turns and smiles at us both. She inquires
with her eyes about the distance between us. We’re usually connected
to each other when we’re riding downstairs together. Many times she’s
been privy to John’s public displays of affection; but, she watches us
in confusion. She’s heard, building gossip travels fast that John and
I have separate homes now. I avoid looking into the disappointment
layering her face. John is as far away from me as possible. It’s all
too much to handle in the small compartment we’re in. I’m thankful for
the next stop, Mrs. Kirkland’s floor. She offers me a gracious
condolence with a smile she makes sure that I see.

“Wait.” I move to stop John from pressing the elevator button again.
“I want you to talk to me.” He watches me as if I’ve struck him. I
haven’t; he’s thinking of the confrontation with Roman. The pain is
etched in his body movements. He’s tight and constricted. I know what
he’s thinking. I can feel the pain in his eyes, when he looks up at
me. I’m taking a stand. When he pushes the elevator close button
again, I move to block it with my body.

“Marlena, I don’t have time for this.”

“Well we’re making time. We are not going to do this silent treatment
thing anymore. Now talk to me.”

“This is childish. Come on Marlena, I have to go.” He’s still jammed
into the corner of the elevator.

“John.”

His movements are so quick that I’m in the hallway before I’m able to
say another word. John looks down as the elevator door closes with him
on the opposite side. My initial reaction is stunned. He’s gotten
better at shutting me out and down. But it’s not a fight I’m going to
lose so easily. Rushing, I take the stairwell a flight down.
Seeing her nearly takes the wind out of me. She’s standing, with a
smile intended for John, with her arm outstretched. He’s handing her
the folder he retrieved from the couch when I approach them.

“Marlena. Not now.”

I ignore him for a moment. Kate’s smugness is more interesting. She
looks as if she’s enjoying the obvious tension between John and me. He
puts his hand on my shoulder and I remember that he’s standing there.

“Thank you John. I think I’d better go.” She does without a word to
me. Now I know what John feels whenever Roman’s in the same room with
me and him. It’s awkward and horrible.

“Kate?” Her name is sufficient without any venomous adjectives. He
knows what it means.

“Picking up an important file for work, and it’s not a big deal.”

“Don’t dismiss me John. It’s insulting.” I realize that my voice has
risen; but, I don’t want to be angry or argumentative. It’s not the
goal. We were just locked in each other’s arms the night before.

“I’m not Marlena.” He’s calmer than me.

“After all this time, I can’t believe you still doubt my feelings for
you. I wouldn’t be here fighting with you if I didn’t care. You can’t
think that there is anything between Roman and me.”

“Roman doesn’t feel that way.”

“I don’t care what Roman feels. This is me. John when did you stop trusting me?”

“Do we have to do this here?”

“Yes. We do. We have to do this right here, because I’m not leaving
here until you realize that I don’t belong to anyone, except for you.
Roman might think otherwise, but I you know me, at least I hope you
do. How do you think I feel when I see Kate with you? Don’t you think
it’s the same for me?”

“Marlena.”

“No John. Don’t Marlena me. I don’t want to feel jealous of her, of
anyone where you’re concerned.”

“That was the past. Kate understands that. We have both moved on.
You’re the only person who shares my bed.” He says it cautiously, as
if I’ll react in some way that he can’t handle. “It’s too much. Roman
and you share so much.”

“John, don’t.” I’m against him. Kissing him again. Pulling his face to
me, because he keeps shifting away.

“No. Why couldn’t you answer the question?”

I ignore him completely. I don’t care anymore. He responds to my kiss
when I push him against his door. We fall together into the door when
he opens it from behind. Clothes shed easily. He’s on the floor,
pulling me with him. Everything I’ve ever wanted in my life has always
been with him. I hate to use our sexual connection like this but it’s
all he understands anymore. And God help me, I crave him; when he’s
upset, I crave him more. It’s a turn on. The words are useless. He
doesn’t take much time to satisfy our mutual urges; it’s as if love
won’t allow us to wait for the pain to be gone. We have to have each
other now. He’ll still question me after its over; and I’ll still be
jealous of Kate, but for now, our connection is the only thing that
matters, on the floor of his apartment, where I’m holding on to him as
if it’s the last time I’ll feel him inside me.

( )

I wake up in his arms. Only hours have passed. His breath is heavy
against my cheek. We’re in his bed, where he carried me.

“No, you’re not going anywhere.” He whispers cocking an eye open.

I fall back into his arms and allow myself to drift into the dreamland.
Part XIII: The Aftermath

They come frequently.

They are nightmares that have some base in reality, even while I’m
locked in John’s arms. They are slow and fleeting; the emotions last
beyond the sleep. Being locked in John’s arms, after awaking and
remembering that it was John who I was with, felt stifling. I haven’t
slept in anyone’s arms in so long; I have to remember what it feels
like.

The dreams, nightmares, return after surrendering to my exhaustion.

Alex. The berating in that voice tortures me. I cringe internally
because dreaming makes it seem real and current. If it’s happened, if
he’s as cruel as my dreams paint him, then it’s me, my mind trying to
remind me that I have yet to deal with all of the things that Alex did
to me.

It becomes suffocating. His hands are so soft yet they harm. They love
to harm me. They slap. They push. They choke. He loves to use them to
choke.

John’s shaking me awake. I love the sound of his voice; it chases away
the demons inhabiting the sanctity of my dreams and my mind. John’s
gentle enough to overpower all of Alex’s harsh cruelty.

“Baby.”

I love it when he calls me ‘Baby’. He has a way of making the
endearment less demeaning and more feminine than any other person who
has me ever called me that. He’s worried. I hear that in his voice. I
see it unapologetically lining his face. He’s wiping the sweat from my
forehead, kissing me there. “Are you okay?”

I’m not; I haven’t been, especially without him. How do I explain that
to him? It’s a past that neither of us knows a lot about. I can’t find
the emotions of that past with Alex, until I’m dreaming. I haven’t
told anyone about the nightmares. My conscious is protecting me. But
he wants to know why I was jarring and seemed so frightened in his
arms.

“I’ve been having dreams –- nightmares about Alex.” John’s first
response is to spoon against me. His body naturally finds the curve of
mine.

“Can you talk about it?”

Have we ever really talked about Alex? I’ve given him as much as I
think he can handle. My journey into my conscious hasn’t been
forthright where John and our family are concerned. They can’t handle
my past as well as my subconscious has. So many memories feel
half-lived and unnatural. So many hide behind fear.

Baby?” If I could rest in his arms forever and simply be his ‘Baby’,
then maybe we could live forever without pain, with beauty, but it is
a unrealistic notion I have. He wants to talk. I owe him that.

“Can you handle this?” I have to ask. Alex is gone and John can’t hurt
him anymore, for this I’m thankful. It’s not a protection of Alex I
feel, it’s because John will want to hurt him. But I’m the only one
with the remnants of our angry past, of Alex’s anger.

John tightens the embrace. His arms are drawn together across my
stomach. We are still naked and the heat generating from our bodies is
cooling against the crisp, coolness of John’s airy sheets.

“Baby, I’ll always be here for you. I want you to be able to talk to
me about anything.” John’s called me baby more than I’ve heard in a
long time.

Why am I so brave when I’m lying against John’s body? His love makes
me feel as if nothing is impossible, not even working out our issues.
He wants to help me face those dark memories.

“Alex didn’t start off as a bad guy.” Plunging in is easier than
trying to organize and analyze my words. He’s waited long enough to
hear. “He was completely the opposite.” John’s breathe catches in the
base of his throat and his hand slides back from my stomach toward my
hips. This is going to be harder than he thought it would be. He’s
holding back for my sake. He thinks I’m too fragile for the full
intensity that he lives in. He remains quiet and allows me to speak.

“In college, God, I knew nothing. Mama and Daddy did a terrific job of
raising Sam and me – to be completely dependent on each other. I never
knew about the Charlie Manson’s of the world; I didn’t know bad people
existed in the world. I only knew Mama, Daddy, and Sam. And then one
day, we were graduating from high school and she was gone, off to
California. Sam always was an actress. She so wanted to be that and I
wanted her to be happy, so I said goodbye to her –- and I was
alone…for the first time in my life. I lost the other half of myself
when Sam left.”

I still miss her. I’ll miss her everyday for the rest of my life. I
avoid talking about her because just the mention of her name takes me
away somewhere in my mind. In that place, I long for the life she
missed, that she wasn’t given a chance to live; the children she never
gave birth to; the love she never found enough of; the world really
lost something when she was taken away from me; I really lost
something when she was gone.

“I wish I had known her Baby.” He bends to kiss my shoulder. He can’t
see the tears. My hands find his and I weave our fingers together.

“She was my best friend –- more than that even. I know she would love
you. She probably does already; I know Sam’s still with us. Sometimes
I feel like I feel her.” I have to stop saying her name.

“She never liked Alex. You see, I was only a kid when I went to
college. I hadn’t experienced enough to be away from my parents and
Sam. I moved to the dorms because I couldn’t stand to look at Sam’s
empty bed anymore. And when I got there, life began but it wasn’t the
kind of life I’d ever imagined myself living. Everything happened so
fast.” I don’t speak often of this time. It could be because I’m so
deeply ashamed of my behavior. I was rebelling and trying to find a
voice without being totally disrespectful of my parents, but we were
the generation who found issue with authority.

“I had an affair with my psychology professor. It’s not something I’m
proud of. It happened; and, it continued until my junior year. I never
told anyone about it. I wasn’t really in love with him. I only know
that because I know what true love is now.” He hasn’t lessened his
hold any. He hasn’t tensed any. He must understand more than I gave
him credit for.

“Alex found out about it and he helped me break free of it. That’s the
kind of person Alex was then. He didn’t have to say much. He was
confident and kind to all the girls in our class. We’d see each other
in various classes throughout the semesters.”

“You don’t have to do this.” I’ve started trembling uncontrollably. He
leans against the back of my head and I inhale a cleansing breath.

“No. I can do this. I want to tell you.” I want to see his face when I
tell him. He’ll have the forgiveness I need in those blue oceans I so
often loose myself in. When I turn in his arms, we are face to face,
and he kisses me on my forehead. He’s rubbing my back gently.

“And when I tell you, maybe we’ll be able to get back to each other
again. Maybe when I get Alex out of the way, I’ll have room for you
again.”

“I hope you always have room for me.” He says this with an eager kiss.

“We were married secretly. I called Mama after the civil ceremony and
she just cried so. They never really accepted my marriage to Alex. He
never tried to make them like him.”

My memories of Alex are so splintered. The good and the bad are
evolving into a confusing tapestry that is difficult to decipher.

“On our honeymoon, after I’d disheveled some paperwork, he hit me. I’d
never been hit by anyone who said that they loved me. I didn’t know
what to think. It was so unexpected that I didn’t really know what or
if he’d even meant it. We were stuck in that confusion for a long
time.”

He’s touching me because he wants desperately to erase the pain in my
voice. It’s so palpable for both of us. His chest is heaving against
me. And he remains silent.

“I don’t want your sympathy. In fact, I don’t want you to be sad for me. ”

His answer is to grab my chin and force me to look into his eyes.
There’s the forgiveness. It’s staring right at me, in the place where
I’ve always found everything I need. In his arms. He’s holding me
still, so closely, pressed against his skin. “When I was with Alex, I
thought that the only pain there was, was the pain I felt in that
marriage; I didn’t know it could be so bad. I had no idea that people
treated others so horribly.”

The memories are suffocating me again, only now, I’m awake. It’s not a
dream that haunts me; it’s my memory.

“He raped me over the course of our marriage. He didn’t think it was
rape. He said that a wife is supposed to give her husband whatever he
wanted. He wanted me to quit school. I did; I wanted the anger to be
over. I wanted to please him so much. He was meticulous and
calculating. Dinner on time. Sex at midnight. No friends. No revealing
clothes. It was like prison.” A sob breaks through my body. How could
I have stayed with a man as cruel as Alex? It’s taken over thirty
years, but I finally found the source of the unspoken pain. And it’s
harsh. The truth about Marlena Evans is harsh. I was weakened and
nearly destroyed by a man who said he loved me.

I can’t get any closer to John. He’s holding me with more strength and
love. He’s kissing me. He’s stroking my back. His tears wet my face
when we are kissing. He still can’t talk.

“He tried to break me.” And I realize then, when I whisper that
sentence to John, why he was so hurt by my choice in Alex over him.
Somehow he must have felt that pain in me, even with my amnesia; he
must have sensed that I wasn’t safe with Alex, he knows me that well
and I didn’t trust him. I resented him for trying to control me but it
wasn’t about John at all; it was Alex who I was fighting in the form
of John. “Oh my – John, I didn’t know. I didn’t know.” He understands
my sudden outburst. He is kissing me between my neck and shoulder
area. His hands are still stroking my back. “Oh honey.” But it’s
useless. I don’t have to say another word. Because I know, when he
looks into my eyes and pulls back the sheet and lifts me into his
arms, that we’ll be all right. He knows now. There’s nothing to hide
anymore. Alex North nearly destroyed me and John is still here picking
up those pieces.

“Listen to me Baby.” His voice is forceful but his eyes are warm.
“There is nobody in this world that I’m going to allow to hurt you
like that again. You’re my lady. You’re my baby, forever. Everything
before this day doesn’t matter to me anymore. We’ve done this apart.
It doesn’t work; my life doesn’t work without you in it. I don’t want
to simply sleep with you honey. I want to make love with you. I want
you and me to watch over our children together. All that matters is
now.” He doesn’t allow me to answer. I don’t have anything to say. All
I want is him. He rewards me with warm kisses. Soft and unrushed.

That’s the way we made love. It wasn’t any better or worse than any
other time. He took his time. Kissing every kissable place on my skin.
Dragging his hands across every region of my body. Entering me gently
and bringing me back home, sexually and emotionally. There wasn’t a
detachment to the way he made love to me. He was careful and vigilant
in what he did. It was the most powerful experience I’ve ever had. I
gave him pleasure with my mouth, watching him the entire time, knowing
that I would only give in to him in that way. And when we finally
tired of thrusting and sucking and kissing, we fell asleep entangled.
In love and in sync, together.

When we woke up, he asked me to marry him. I said yes, as long as he
came back home to me. We made love over and over again after that. In
the living room, when I left the bed to get him a drink of water, and
he met me with nothing on. We made love in the kitchen on the counter,
when I awoke from another short nap and found him making us dinner. He
dragged me back into the bedroom and proposed again, properly, on one
knee and then proceeded to make love against the wall when I jumped
into his lap in excitement. And then in the shower, where he took
tender care to wash and caress every inch of my body until I was
outside the shower with his body writhing against me.

( )

Resentment nearly destroyed us.

We’ve found a way to forgive each other.

I called Roman and told him that I was deeply, sincerely, and utterly
devoted to my husband. I apologized for allowing him to think that we
were more than ex-husband and ex-wife. John was sitting beside me when
I did it. Roman wished us luck. I promised myself to never use Roman
to make myself feel better. My husband is enough.

I didn’t tell John, but I had to go see her.

She didn’t seem surprised when I knocked and walked into her office.
She’s still a beautiful woman; I wish we could remain good friends.
It’ll never be the same. She’ll always be the woman who went after my
husband in my mind.

“Kate, I need to talk to you.” I wanted to be polite and not have a
cat-like argument. I don’t like when women are portrayed as jealous or
bitter. We are bigger than those emotions.

“I actually don’t have time.” She’s anxious. She always chews inside
her cheek when she’s feeling cornered.

“I’m marrying your boss; you can have a couple of minutes.” I take the
seat across from her desk. She lies the paperwork down that she was
studying when I came in and looks up at me.

“Yes Marlena.” Patronizing and condescending, but I’m undaunted.

“John and I are getting remarried. He’s coming back home. He proposed
last night.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. I came here today because I wanted to speak with you as a
friend, like the friends we used to be.”

She rolls her eyes. “We are a long way from that now Marlena. So much
has happened between us.”

“I know. Don’t mistake my intentions; we’ll never be friends again,
not like we were. But I do want you to know that I understand why you
did what you did. I’m not saying I like it but I know. You were lonely
and frightened. John was there.” She’s watching me without flinching.
Her game face is on. “He’s no longer available.”

“Well I’m aware of that. He’s made his decision. I’m going to let him
stick to it.”

“It’s not your permission that he needs Kate. If I were never away
from John, you would never have taken my place in our bed. It’s over.”

“Is it? Do you think that John and I can forget what we shared while
you and Roman were away?”

“No, and hopefully you’ll find a way to deal with it. I just want you
to know that I love my husband. And if you were any other person, this
could be uglier but it’s you. I’m not comfortable with you working
with John.”

“Oh?”

“No. If you really want to move on, then I suggest really moving on.
He’s not going to decide differently. He’ll never choose you.”

“Marlena, what are you saying?”

“Resign with dignity. And I forgive you…I really mean that.” I say
lifting up and smiling at her. We are women who were once friends.
I’ll miss her in our lives. Without another word I leave her alone.

( )

We had dinner at the Penthouse. We were all there. My children. Sami
and Carrie. Will. Eric phoned. Brady and Chloe flew back home. Belle
and Claire. John proposed again in front of the children. He put a
beautiful ring on my finger and lifted me into his arms.

“I love you baby.” He whispers when he’s hugging me in the circle of
our children. I know how much he means it.

“I love you.”

And I forgive us. I forgive us both for being human.

*******The End******