I was high on the weather, intoxicated by its allurement. Persistent rain promoted tranquility and filled me with solace. The droplet’s gentle taps against my room window allowed for a luxury I often can’t afford: peace of mind. Mental clarity in my predicament was practically unobtainable, I tried for it nonetheless. An ambrosial aroma occupied my room, this coupled with the soft silk of my comforter allowed once again for the tantalizing prospect of calmness. The outlier in this room; however, was me. Disconcerted by my thoughts, my mind raced thousands of miles per minute. And the further I allowed my mind to wander, the more cynical my thoughts. I wonder where he is. I made it a point to memorize his schedule and given his punctual manner, I had reason to be nervous. He was three hours late. Independent of my yearning for his return home, was my worry. Who is he with? What were they doing? Before I could finish pestering my thoughts with questions, the garage door opened. This sound had a dual sentiment for me. I love James, I do, but an uneasy tension filled the air hinting at what was to come. I made my way to the kitchen which sat parallel to the front door and eagerly waited for my husband to walk in. As soon as he walked through the door; however, I wished that he hadn’t. “Hey”, I said, not looking up from the floor as I spoke; my demeanor was often made timid in his presence. Conversations with James were rarely charming, but I could feel something was severely off. His eyes darted to mine as a familiar fixed glare was replaced with an accusatory scorn. “You didn’t make dinner did you?”, James asked. He undressed his feet and moved his shoes to the side of the room. He let down his computer bag and greeted my eyes once more with a condescending stare. I felt my shoulders drop closer to the ground as the whole mood of the conversation changed. I was annoyed with him, and this newly-found annoyance emboldened me to disregard my timidness. I interrogated, “I’ll do you one better, where were you tonight?”. this question seemed to throw him off balance; it didn’t, however. “I’ll take that as a no”, he said as he chuckled. James made a habit of doing that, using every chance he got to assert his superiority through condescension; he could turn an ordinary conversation into an egregious display of disdain, mockery, and degradation. “DON’T MOCK ME, WHERE WERE YOU?”, I yelled. He paused momentarily then continued to undress himself as if I wasn’t speaking to him. He removed his blazer revealing disturbingly heavy sweat marks all over his shirt. He then rolled his sleeves to his elbows and poured a drink. Quaffing the liquor down with ease, he met my eyes once again with a troubled smirk. “I don’t work my ass off all day to come home AND BE INTERROGATED”. The intermittent fluctuation in his voice let me know just how unhinged he was becoming. I tried to interject my own rebuttal- “James I’m jus”- “can we please not do this tonight?”, he asked. The desperation in his voice couldn’t be ignored. Although I knew him to intentionally belittle me, I had a soft spot for James. I could sense that he was tired, and like me, not in the mood to keep fighting. “Fine”, I said. Though it wasn’t the worst fight we had ever had, it was the beginning of the end for us; it wasn’t always like this. There was a time when my ache for Jame’s return home was met with love, laughs, and occasionally sex. I truly missed those times. I thought if I allowed old memories in, my reality would only get that much darker in comparison. Hesitant to let myself go down that rabbit hole, I mirrored the man that I reluctantly loved and poured myself a drink. The bourbon was butter; melting intimately in my mouth and melding with my sorrow mood. The sweet almost maple esque taste of the liquor retracted my mind. When I close my eyes and intake the pungent aroma, I’m taken somewhere. Almost letting my emotions get the best of me, I take another sip and am reminded of just how little control I have over my life. A deep warmth washes over me which gives way to an unwilling smile. I dissociate from my current situation and allow myself to become enveloped by older- happier memories.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

“When we first met I’m not sure that I knew what true love was, James taught me quickly. Before him it was always infatuation, and romanticizing guys that only brought out the worst in me; thank god they’re gone.” , I admitted. “Let me stop you right there, you bring up an interesting point”, Dr. Ashford said, not letting me finish my thought. It had only been fifteen-minutes into my session and we were jumping straight into my problems; I liked that. Talking to Dr. Ashford was seamless; my problems seemed to dissipate when we talked, even if momentarily. He dug deeper, “Part of your problem is you assume that what you have with James is true love. Your inability to detach yourself from what you think you know hinders your ability to accept what can be. Growth however is costly; and the cost of growth is discomfort. You have grown comfortable with James, not necessarily a bad thing, but you have consequently lost yourself searching for a version of you that you believe he might accept”. His words unsettled me, could there be truth in them? My desire for love was only second to my desire to find myself. “Could I have gotten lost in my pursuit of happiness?”, I asked. He paused to type something in his notes which aroused my curiosity. “Everything alright?”. “What did you mean when you asked if you could have gotten lost in your pursuit of happiness?”, he asked, continuing to type as he countered my question. He furthered his point, “It is interesting that you view your pursuit of love, happiness, and self purpose as separate when in reality they are intrinsically linked”. I erupted with insecurity, “That’s the thing though, I feel most myself when I’m with him, I am at my happiest when I’m with him, and I feel the most-”. I hesitated to say that I felt loved by him. Maybe I was just in love with the idea of him, the idea of someone that was perfect, the idea of someone who could be so perfect that they could compensate for my many imperfections. “You feel the most- what, Rose?”, He asked. Embarrassed to admit that he might have been right, I found myself disturbed. I offered him this, “I know the therapist traditionally does most of the talking, but let me tell you a story.” I never knew a man could be so perfect until I met James. Kind, hardworking, smart, not to mention very handsome. He seemed too good to be true, only later would I find out that he was.