The Speed Of Pain

What Am I Thankful For?

Chapter Nineteen

November 26th, 1998

Charlotte

We're in our new home, the one Marilyn mortgaged for us. It's everything anyone could dream of—spacious, luxurious, filled with expensive furniture and art reflecting his eclectic taste. Yet, despite its beauty, it doesn't feel like home. Not really. It feels as if it never will.

I watch Bowie chase his toy mouse around the living room, his playful antics a brief distraction from the heaviness in my heart. For weeks now, it's felt like Marilyn and I are merely going through the motions. He's distant, cold even, ever since he returned from the European leg of his tour. It's like there's an invisible wall between us, one that I can't seem to break through. And I don't know how much longer I can pretend everything's okay.

The clinking of pots and pans echoes through the kitchen as I prepare tomorrow's Thanksgiving dinner. It's a big one—Marilyn, his band, Johnny, and my family, all under one roof. I had wanted everything to be perfect, a day filled with warmth and love. But as I stand here, the house feels as empty as I do.

Marilyn's locked away in his studio, working on new music as usual. He's barely spoken to me since he got back, and when he does, it's distant, like he's somewhere else entirely. I know the Stern interview got to him. It got to me too. But we haven't talked about it—not really. He avoided saying "I love you" like it was something that would choke him if he did. And that avoidance has left me questioning everything.

I wipe my hands on a dish towel, taking a breath before glancing at the clock. Johnny should be here soon, and I hope his arrival will shake things up, maybe lighten the mood. I could use a little light right now.

Just then, the doorbell rings, startling me out of my thoughts. I move to the door, but Marilyn's already there, opening it to reveal Johnny standing with a grin, a bouquet of roses in one hand and a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

"Hey, man," Johnny greets Marilyn, pulling him into a quick hug. "Long time no see."

Marilyn gives a small smile, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, good to see you, Johnny."

Johnny turns to me with his trademark grin. "Darling!" He hands me the roses and plants a kiss on my cheek.

"Hey, Johnny." I force a smile, though the heaviness in my chest remains. "Welcome to our new place."

He steps inside, looking around at the grand, gothic-style decor. "This place... it's very you two. Though, it does remind me of how your dad likes his homes."

I chuckle softly, nodding. "Yeah, it's got that dark charm, for sure."

Marilyn leads Johnny to the guest room, and I return to the kitchen, trying to focus on preparing the meal. The sounds of their muffled conversation float through the house, but I can't focus. My mind's stuck on Marilyn—how distant he's been, how cold everything feels between us. I stir the mashed potatoes, wondering how we ended up here.

Later that evening, we all gather in the living room, and the tension in the air is almost suffocating. Marilyn sits quietly, his usual bravado replaced by a silence that gnaws at me. Johnny, perceptive as always, picks up on it.

"So, how have you guys been?" he asks casually, though his eyes are sharp.

"We've been... busy," I reply, forcing a smile.

"Yeah, working on new music," Marilyn adds, his voice strained.

Johnny looks between us, clearly unconvinced. "Anything you want to talk about?"