my love,leave yourself behind

I climb into the shower, effectively blocking him out. Oh, it’s warm. The healing water cascades over me, cleansing the exhaustion of the night off my skin. Oh my. This feels so good. For a moment, for one short moment, I can pretend all is well.

I wash my hair and by the time I’ve finished, I feel better, stronger, ready to face the freight train that is he. I wrap my hair in a towel, briskly dry myself with another towel, and wrap it around me.I unlock the door and open it and find him is leaning against the wall opposite, his hands behind his back. His expression is wary, that of a hunted predator. I stride past him and into our walk-in closet.“Are you ignoring me?” he asks in disbelief as he stands on the threshold of the closet.

“Perceptive, aren’t you?” I murmur absentmindedly as I search for something to wear. Ah, yes—my plum dress. I slide it off the hanger, choose my high black stiletto boots , and head for the bedroom. I pause for him to step out of my way, which he does, eventually—his intrinsic good manners taking over. I sense his eyes boring into me as I walk over to my chest of drawers, and I peek at him in the mirror, standing motionless in the doorway,watching  me. In an act worthy of an Oscar winner, I let my towel fall to the floor and pretend that I am oblivious to my naked body. I hear his restrained gasp and ignore it.“Why are you doing this?” he asks. His voice is low.“Why do you think?” My voice is velvet soft as I pull out a pretty pair of black  lace La Perla panties.

He stops as I shimmy into them.“Go ask your Mrs. Robinson. I’m sure she’ll have an explanation for you,” I mutter as Isearch for the matching bra.“I’ve told you before, she’s not my—”“I don’t want to hear it.” I wave my hand dismissively. “The time for talking was yesterday, but instead you decided to rant and get drunk with  the woman who abused you for years. Give her a call. I am sure she’ll be more than willing to listen to you now.” I find the matching bra and slowly pull it on and fasten it. He walks further into the bedroom and places his hands on his hips.“Why were you snooping on me?” he says.In spite of my resolve I flush. “That’s not the point” I snap at him. “Fact is, going gets tough and you run to her.”

His mouth settles into a grim line. “It wasn’t like that.”“I’m not interested.” Picking a pair of black thigh-highs with lacey tops, I retreat to the bed. I sit, point my toe, and gently ease the gossamer material up to my thigh.“Where were you?” he asks, his eyes following my hands up my legs, but I continue to ignore him as I slowly roll on the other stocking. Standing, I bend to towel-dry my hair. Through my parted thighs, I can see his bare feet, and I sense his intense gaze. When I’ve finished, I stand and step back to the chest of drawers where I grab my hairdryer.“Answer me.” his voice is low and husky.I switch on the hairdryer so I can no longer hear him and watch him through my lashes in the mirror as I finger dry my hair. He glares at me, eyes narrow and cool, chilling even. I look away, focusing on the task at hand and trying to suppress the shiver that runs through me. I swallow hard and concentrate on drying my hair. He’s still mad. He goes out with that damned woman, and he’s mad at me? How dare he! When my hair looks wild and untamed, I stop. Yes . . . I like it. I switch off the hairdryer.

“Where were you?” he whispers, his tone arctic.“What do you care?”“ Stop this. Now.”I shrug, and he moves quickly across the room toward me. I whirl around, stepping back as he reaches out.“Don’t touch me,” I hiss and he freezes.“Where were you?” he demands. His hands fist at his side.“I wasn’t out getting drunk with my ex,” I seethe. “Did you sleep with her?”He gasps. “What? No!” He gapes at me and has the gall to look wounded and angry at the same time. My subconscious breathes a small, welcome sigh of relief.“You think I’d cheat on you?” His tone is one of moral outrage.“You did,” I snarl. “By taking our very private life and spilling your spineless guts to that woman.”His mouth drops open. “Spineless. That’s what you think?” His eyes blaze.“I saw the text. That’s what I know.”“That text was not meant for you,” he growls.

“Well, you were right. I do choose this defenseless baby over you. That’s what any loving parent does. That’s what your mother should have done for you. And  I am sorry that she didn’t—because we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now if she had. But you’re an adult now—you need to grow up and smell the fucking coffee and stop behaving like a petulant adolescent.“You may not be happy about this baby. I’m not ecstatic, given the timing and your less-than-lukewarm reception to this new life, this flesh of your flesh. But you can either do this with me, or I’ll do it on my own. The decision is yours.“While you wallow in your pit of self-pity and self-loathing, I’m going to work. And when I return I’ll be moving my belongings to the room upstairs.”He blinks at me, shocked.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to finish getting dressed.” I am breathing hard.Very slowly, he retreats one step, his demeanor hardening. “Is that what you want?” he whispers.“I don’t know what I want any more.” My tone mirrors his, and it takes a monumental effort to feign disinterest while I casually dip the tips of my fingers into my moisturizer and smooth it gently over my face. I peer at myself in the mirror. Blue eyes wide, face pale, but cheeks flushed. You’re doing great. Don’t back down now. Don’t back down now.“You don’t want me?” he whispers.Oh—no . . . oh no you don’t.“I’m still here aren’t I?” I snap. Taking my mascara, I apply some first to my right eye.“You’ve thought about leaving?” His words are barely audible.

“When one’s husband prefers the company of his ex-mistress, it’s usually not a good sign.” I pitch the disdain at just the right level, evading his question.Lip gloss  now. I pout my shiny lips at the image in the mirror. Stay strong, Steele . . . um. Holy fuck, I can’t even remember my name. I pick up my boots, stride over to the bed once more, and quickly put them on, tugging them up over my knees. Yep. I look hot just in underwear and boots. I know. Standing, I gaze dispassionately at him. He blinks at me, and his eyes travel swiftly and greedily down my body.“I know what you’re doing here,” he murmurs, and his voice has acquired a warm, seductive edge.“Do you?” And my voice cracks. No . . . hold on.He swallows and takes a step forward. I step back and hold my hands up.“Don’t even think about it,” I whisper menacingly.“You’re my wife,” he says softly, threateningly.“I’m the pregnant woman you abandoned yesterday, and if you touch me I will scream the place down.”

His eyebrows rise in disbelief. “You’d scream?”“Bloody murder.” I narrow my eyes.“No one would hear you,” he murmurs, his gaze intense, and briefly I’m reminded of our morning in Aspen. No. No. No.“Are you trying to frighten me?” I mutter breathless, deliberately trying to derail him.It works. He stills and swallows. “That wasn’t my intention.” He frowns.I can barely breathe. If he touches me, I will succumb. I know the power he wields over me and over my traitorous body. I know. I hang on to my anger.

“Why can you talk to her and not to me?”“I was mad at you. Like I am now.”“You don’t say!” I snap. “Well I am mad at you right now. Mad at you for being so cold and callous yesterday when I needed you. Mad at you for saying I got knocked up deliberately, when I didn’t. Mad at you for betraying me.” I manage to suppress a sob. His mouth drops open in shock, and he closes his eyes briefly as if I’d slapped him. I swallow. Calm down.“I should have kept better track of my shots. But I didn’t do it on purpose. This pregnancy is a shock to me, too.” I mutter, trying for a modicum of civility. “It could be that the shot failed.”He glares at me, silent.“You really fucked up yesterday,” I whisper, my anger boiling over. “I’ve had a lot to deal with over the last few weeks.”“You really fucked up three or four weeks ago. Or whenever you forgot your shot.”“Well, God forbid I should be perfect like you!”

Oh stop, stop, stop. We stand glowering at each other.“This is quite a performance,” he whispers.“Well, I’m glad that even knocked up I’m entertaining.”He stares at me blankly. “I need a shower,” he murmurs.“And I’ve provided enough of a floor show.”“It’s a mighty fine floor show,” he whispers. He steps forward, and I step back again.“Don’t.”“I hate that you won’t let me touch you.”“Ironic, huh?”His eyes narrow once more. “We haven’t resolved much, have we?”“I’d say not. Except that I’m moving out of this bedroom.”His eyes flare and widen briefly. “She doesn’t mean anything to me.”“Except when you need her.”

“I don’t need her. I need you.”“You didn’t yesterday. That woman is a hard limit for me.”“She’s out of my life.”“I wish I could believe you.”“For fuck’s sake.”“Please let me get dressed.”He sighs and runs a hand through his hair once more. “I’ll see you this evening,” he says, his voice bleak and devoid of feeling. And for a brief moment I want to take him in my arms and soothe him . . . but I resist because I’m just too mad. He turns and heads for the bathroom. I stand frozen until I hear the door close .I stagger to the bed and flop down on to it. My inner goddess and my  subconscious are both giving me a standing ovation. I did not resort to tears, shouting, or murder, nor did I succumb to his sexpertise. I deserve a Congressional  Medal of Honor, but I feel so low. Shit. We resolved nothing. We’re on the edge of a precipice. Is our marriage is at stake here? Why can’t he see what a complete and utter ass he’s been running to that woman? And what does he mean when he says he’ll never see her again? How on earth am I supposed to believe that? I glance at the radio alarm—eight thirty. Shit! I’ll don’t want to be late. I take a deep breath.“Round Two was a stalemate, Little Blip,” I whisper, patting my belly. “Daddy may be a lost cause, but I hope not. Why, oh why, did you come so early, Little Blip? Things were just getting good.” My lip trembles, but I take a deep cleansing breath and bring my rolling emotions under control.