Monster And A Half

A Shift In Character - 1

Your husband is coming home today. You shift listlessly on the couch, staring at the movie playing on your laptop while your mind travels hundreds of miles away, to where he must be in a hotel room, packing up and getting ready for his flight.

I'm going to have to talk to him, you think. We can't keep going on like this.

You love your husband, you really do. But it feels like at some point in your marriage of three years, you got on different trains heading in different directions. He dove headfirst into his work, while you settled down to start making a home out of your house.

You have terrible communication skills, but he isn't stupid.

He had asked what was wrong about a month ago as he hopped into bed after his nightly workout and shower.

He was home for a rare weekend off from work, and you had spent it with an amiable air between you. As if you were roommates and nothing more.

You had been reading, but now you pressed your face into your pillow and mumbled that it was nothing with your back turned to him.

What you really wanted to ask was why he wouldn't have sex with you anymore. Was there someone else? Was it because you had gained weight? Were you no longer attractive?

In your mind you screamed these questions at him. But in reality, the embarrassment froze you up so that the times he did ask, you always insisted it was nothing. So really, this is as much your fault as it is his.

That's why the guilt from last week is eating you alive. Your best friend had decided she'd had enough of your moping (you didn't want to talk to her about it either) and suggested that maybe you go to a professional.

"As in a therapist?" You'd asked, choking on your hot tea.

"Is that what you want?" She asked, speaking far too loudly and comfortably.

You snuck a burning gaze around the room and hoped no one was listening in.

"I'm fine. Therapists are for broken people," you mumbled and immediately hated how much you sounded like your father.

It was too late to take that back, though. Your friend tilted her head like she was seeing a new side of you.

"Who told you that?" She asked.

Suddenly, you felt stripped naked. You had said too much and at the same time, too little.

"I think I just need a fun night out," you said quickly, knowing it would distract her.

It worked. That was how you found yourself at a club at eleven in the evening, dancing till your feet were sore. You'd kept a strict regiment of clean living and sleeping early for a few years, but as you downed another shot you wondered why you had even bothered.

Before you knew it, your friend had disappeared in the crowd, and all of a sudden you had a stranger's hands on you. You turned to see a delightfully scruffy man with twinkling green eyes and a jaw you just want to rub your cheek against.

"Hi," you smiled and hiccupped, swaying to the beat.

He leaned in and for a second you felt his nose press against your neck, so quick that you thought maybe you imagined it. Goosebumps covered your skin.

"Where's your husband?" He asked, having to raise his voice to be heard.

"I don't know," you giggled, tossing your arms in the air. "He left me all alone."

You didn't think twice about how strangely pointed his question was. The strap of your high heel was coming loose, causing you to tip forward. You caught yourself with a hand against his chest. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to feel a sliver of his skin, burning against your palm.