was, but I couldn’t get my hands around it, the situation kept slipping out from my grasp and I was left wondering, unsure.
We were in the penthouse. It was a great little space, separate bedroom off to one side, really modern and spare, all neutral colors, and of course, there was that great relaxing hotel anonymity. It was like looking at a photograph, seeing the room but not being in it. And then we were on the sofa with a bottle of wine and then we were in bed. Tom was beautiful without clothes. Tom screamed, he said my name, I saw red and heard a roar in my ears like an ocean, I didn’t know who or where I was ...
And then it was over. I was back solidly in my own body, completely present, sure of myself and my surroundings. I sat on the edge of the bed, naked and shivering. Tom lay on the bed, snoring a revolting drunken snort. I was disgusted. My stomach turned. How, I asked myself, how—how—how did this happen? A filthy horrible thing. The most filthy horrible thing I had ever done. As quickly as I could I put on my clothes and ran out to the street, where I vomited once in the gutter and then got a taxi to take me home.
WANDERING THE aisles of a brightly lit supermarket in the city the next evening I couldn’t get the night before off my mind. In the meat aisle I stopped and looked at the steaks. I would make Ed his favorite dinner tonight, steak with mushroom sauce, and I would start again, retrain myself to see him as my husband, the man I had chosen to love and respect for the rest of my life. All this nonsense had to end. We fought almost every day now. In a rare lucid moment I saw that we were dissolving as a couple, and if I didn’t stop it now there would be nothing to save.
I was comparing prices on T-bones when the demon slithered back into my thoughts. Make dinner? she said. Hours in the kitchen and then he won’t even come home on time and will never appreciate it. Besides, Ed hasn’t cooked for you in ages, not since that horrible string bean mess he concocted months and months ago.
I dropped the steak back into its bin, abandoned my cart, and left the supermarket. The rest of the evening was spent shopping for shoes. The demon loved to shop. Two or three times a week I would take out my credit card for little luxuries that later, at home, confused me. Why had I bought a leather jacket when I already had two in my closet? What made me think I needed a red cocktail dress?
I came home that night with three pairs of high-heeled pumps and nothing to eat. When Ed came home at eight, only one hour later than promised, we had a terrible fight over why I hadn’t brought home dinner, which, he reminded me, I had said I would do.
THE NEXT day I went to a bookstore, a big multilevel place, airless and empty so early in the day. I browsed a few titles; psychic fine tuning, chakra realignment, aura cleansing.
“Can I help you?”
It was the voice of an adult woman, not the usual bookstore clerk squeak.
“No, thanks.” I looked up with a smile. But no one was there. I turned in a circle and looked through the whole aisle. No one.
Back to the books. I looked at a few more titles. And then—
“Are you looking for something?”
I spun around as quickly as I could. No one. Over the top of the next shelf I saw the tip of a head, with thick dark hair, quickly darting through the next aisle.
Behind me I heard a bang. I screamed and jumped, turning around. The crash was just a book that had fallen down from from a top shelf and onto the floor. Immediately I felt like an idiot. Just a book. Two young clerks came running over, a boy and a girl.
“Are you okay,” squeaked the boy.
“Yes, I just—it fell. It surprised me. Sorry.”
The girl bent down to pick up the book. The Encyclopedia of Demons.
“Actually,” I said. “Can I—”
“Sure,” the girl said. She handed me the book. I added it to the pile I already had, paid, and went home to pack; the next morning we were going
We were in the penthouse. It was a great little space, separate bedroom off to one side, really modern and spare, all neutral colors, and of course, there was that great relaxing hotel anonymity. It was like looking at a photograph, seeing the room but not being in it. And then we were on the sofa with a bottle of wine and then we were in bed. Tom was beautiful without clothes. Tom screamed, he said my name, I saw red and heard a roar in my ears like an ocean, I didn’t know who or where I was ...
And then it was over. I was back solidly in my own body, completely present, sure of myself and my surroundings. I sat on the edge of the bed, naked and shivering. Tom lay on the bed, snoring a revolting drunken snort. I was disgusted. My stomach turned. How, I asked myself, how—how—how did this happen? A filthy horrible thing. The most filthy horrible thing I had ever done. As quickly as I could I put on my clothes and ran out to the street, where I vomited once in the gutter and then got a taxi to take me home.
WANDERING THE aisles of a brightly lit supermarket in the city the next evening I couldn’t get the night before off my mind. In the meat aisle I stopped and looked at the steaks. I would make Ed his favorite dinner tonight, steak with mushroom sauce, and I would start again, retrain myself to see him as my husband, the man I had chosen to love and respect for the rest of my life. All this nonsense had to end. We fought almost every day now. In a rare lucid moment I saw that we were dissolving as a couple, and if I didn’t stop it now there would be nothing to save.
I was comparing prices on T-bones when the demon slithered back into my thoughts. Make dinner? she said. Hours in the kitchen and then he won’t even come home on time and will never appreciate it. Besides, Ed hasn’t cooked for you in ages, not since that horrible string bean mess he concocted months and months ago.
I dropped the steak back into its bin, abandoned my cart, and left the supermarket. The rest of the evening was spent shopping for shoes. The demon loved to shop. Two or three times a week I would take out my credit card for little luxuries that later, at home, confused me. Why had I bought a leather jacket when I already had two in my closet? What made me think I needed a red cocktail dress?
I came home that night with three pairs of high-heeled pumps and nothing to eat. When Ed came home at eight, only one hour later than promised, we had a terrible fight over why I hadn’t brought home dinner, which, he reminded me, I had said I would do.
THE NEXT day I went to a bookstore, a big multilevel place, airless and empty so early in the day. I browsed a few titles; psychic fine tuning, chakra realignment, aura cleansing.
“Can I help you?”
It was the voice of an adult woman, not the usual bookstore clerk squeak.
“No, thanks.” I looked up with a smile. But no one was there. I turned in a circle and looked through the whole aisle. No one.
Back to the books. I looked at a few more titles. And then—
“Are you looking for something?”
I spun around as quickly as I could. No one. Over the top of the next shelf I saw the tip of a head, with thick dark hair, quickly darting through the next aisle.
Behind me I heard a bang. I screamed and jumped, turning around. The crash was just a book that had fallen down from from a top shelf and onto the floor. Immediately I felt like an idiot. Just a book. Two young clerks came running over, a boy and a girl.
“Are you okay,” squeaked the boy.
“Yes, I just—it fell. It surprised me. Sorry.”
The girl bent down to pick up the book. The Encyclopedia of Demons.
“Actually,” I said. “Can I—”
“Sure,” the girl said. She handed me the book. I added it to the pile I already had, paid, and went home to pack; the next morning we were going
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