demons—hurt and demeaned me in a different language. No matter how high I turned the volume, I couldn’t not hear them. But I could temporarily mask them with opera and run my body down until I couldn’t feel anything but the physical pain. And sometimes I could pass out in absolute exhaustion and fall into oblivion for just a little while.
Gideon called every day, and he came by a couple of times a week, always on Friday evenings and then either on Sunday afternoon or a weekday evening. I think he would have come more often, but he was kept pretty busy with his job, my cottage was quite a trek from his apartment, and I didn’t always make a point of inviting him.
One Friday evening a few weeks after I’d moved in, Gideon brought pizza over. I’d eaten one piece, and he’d eaten most of the rest of it. We were sitting on the couch, watching a sports channel because I didn’t really care what was on.
“Here,” he said, picking up the biggest piece of pizza left in the box. “You only had one.”
“It’s fine. I’m not really hungry.”
His eyes were searching my face again, in that way that was getting more and more familiar. I hated that look, and I ducked my face behind my hair so he couldn’t see it clearly.
“You should eat more,” he said, in what was supposed to be a laidback tone. “You’re losing weight.”
I was losing weight, but it wasn’t because I wasn’t eating enough. I didn’t eat a lot, but I ate regularly and what I ate was fairly healthy. But I was on the elliptical trainer for hours every day. My feet were completely torn up, even though I’d bought better shoes, so I had to always keep socks on to hide them. My knees hurt all the time, and I was never without pulled muscles. But the physical pain didn’t really bother me.
I took the piece of pizza and ate it, just so he wouldn’t think I was anorexic or something. Then I got up to throw away the used napkins and empty box. “Do you want another beer?” I asked him as I went to the kitchen.
“Sure. Thanks.”
I grabbed another bottle from the refrigerator and popped the top. I always had beer in the cottage for him, but I didn’t drink it myself. I didn’t drink wine either, although I used to really like it.
Something about it scared me, as if I might start and not be able to stop. And I didn’t need any other unhealthy habits. So I never drank anything but water and coffee.
He was supposed to be watching the game on TV, but I knew he was secretly watching me as I came back to the couch. I handed him the beer and tried not to wince at the stab of pain from my knee up to my hip as I sat back down.
If he saw it, he didn’t mention it. Just took a long sip of the beer.
He’d just been here an hour, but I was already ready for him to leave, since he was making me feel defensive and self-conscious. If he would just act like he had during the weeks at the Center, I wouldn’t have minded. He’d only talked about innocuous things then. It had been nice. Distracted me. Hadn’t made me think about anything painful.
It was different now, though. He was different. He seemed to always be pushing farther into my privacy, even when he was pretending to be casual.
I was sometimes tempted to tell him not to come by anymore, but I couldn’t bring myself to be such a heartless bitch to a man who’d been nothing but good to me.
“My team at work is having a cookout tomorrow,” he said, when the next commercial came on.
He paused, as if I was supposed to respond, so I just said, “Really?”
“Yeah. In the afternoon. Do you want to come with me?”
The invitation startled me, and I stared at him for a minute. He obviously wasn’t asking me out. There was nothing like that in our relationship and, if I’d sensed even a hint of it, I would have shut him out of my life completely. I was mostly surprised he would ask me to do something he must know I didn’t want to do.
I’d made it very clear since I’d left the
Gideon called every day, and he came by a couple of times a week, always on Friday evenings and then either on Sunday afternoon or a weekday evening. I think he would have come more often, but he was kept pretty busy with his job, my cottage was quite a trek from his apartment, and I didn’t always make a point of inviting him.
One Friday evening a few weeks after I’d moved in, Gideon brought pizza over. I’d eaten one piece, and he’d eaten most of the rest of it. We were sitting on the couch, watching a sports channel because I didn’t really care what was on.
“Here,” he said, picking up the biggest piece of pizza left in the box. “You only had one.”
“It’s fine. I’m not really hungry.”
His eyes were searching my face again, in that way that was getting more and more familiar. I hated that look, and I ducked my face behind my hair so he couldn’t see it clearly.
“You should eat more,” he said, in what was supposed to be a laidback tone. “You’re losing weight.”
I was losing weight, but it wasn’t because I wasn’t eating enough. I didn’t eat a lot, but I ate regularly and what I ate was fairly healthy. But I was on the elliptical trainer for hours every day. My feet were completely torn up, even though I’d bought better shoes, so I had to always keep socks on to hide them. My knees hurt all the time, and I was never without pulled muscles. But the physical pain didn’t really bother me.
I took the piece of pizza and ate it, just so he wouldn’t think I was anorexic or something. Then I got up to throw away the used napkins and empty box. “Do you want another beer?” I asked him as I went to the kitchen.
“Sure. Thanks.”
I grabbed another bottle from the refrigerator and popped the top. I always had beer in the cottage for him, but I didn’t drink it myself. I didn’t drink wine either, although I used to really like it.
Something about it scared me, as if I might start and not be able to stop. And I didn’t need any other unhealthy habits. So I never drank anything but water and coffee.
He was supposed to be watching the game on TV, but I knew he was secretly watching me as I came back to the couch. I handed him the beer and tried not to wince at the stab of pain from my knee up to my hip as I sat back down.
If he saw it, he didn’t mention it. Just took a long sip of the beer.
He’d just been here an hour, but I was already ready for him to leave, since he was making me feel defensive and self-conscious. If he would just act like he had during the weeks at the Center, I wouldn’t have minded. He’d only talked about innocuous things then. It had been nice. Distracted me. Hadn’t made me think about anything painful.
It was different now, though. He was different. He seemed to always be pushing farther into my privacy, even when he was pretending to be casual.
I was sometimes tempted to tell him not to come by anymore, but I couldn’t bring myself to be such a heartless bitch to a man who’d been nothing but good to me.
“My team at work is having a cookout tomorrow,” he said, when the next commercial came on.
He paused, as if I was supposed to respond, so I just said, “Really?”
“Yeah. In the afternoon. Do you want to come with me?”
The invitation startled me, and I stared at him for a minute. He obviously wasn’t asking me out. There was nothing like that in our relationship and, if I’d sensed even a hint of it, I would have shut him out of my life completely. I was mostly surprised he would ask me to do something he must know I didn’t want to do.
I’d made it very clear since I’d left the
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