Changes

Chapter Six

I stand in front of the mirror, looking at this reflection that seems foreign to me. My hair, once neatly styled, now hangs in loose strands around my face. I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts of Elvis. His touch comes into my memory now, and it sends gooseflesh, remembering the thrill of holding his hand as he guided me into a world I never thought I could have.

It's as though the house is suffocating, the walls closing in on me. I step into the kitchen, the stench of last night's dinner lingering, mixed with the antiseptic smell of bleach from the cleaning I did lately. The sharp reminder of my life with Noah: be a good wife, do everything he expects me to. But today, I feel different. Today, I feel alive.

I see the sink, still piled high with the dishes I have left unwashed in that silent rebellion of mine. The plates stare back at me, and for a moment, I feel temptation to wash them out of force of habit. But then I remember the way Elvis looked at me, the way he made me feel wanted and important. I turn my back on the dishes, leaving them uneaten.

I continue listening as Noah's car pulls into the driveway and I trek across the house. A wave of anxiety washes over me, and my pace quickens to retreat to the living room. I plop onto the couch, picking up a book to feign interest, but my mind drifts to thoughts of Elvis. I want to text him, to tell him how I feel, but I hesitate because I'm worried Noah will notice if I'm not being careful.

Noah walks into the house, his commanding presence filling the room; it's a sight both soothing and terrifying. He drops his bag by the door and makes for the kitchen, opens cabinets, clatters pots and pans, probably blind to the storm brewing inside me, searching for a snack.

"Hey," he calls out, his tone casual, but the underpinning of a tightened throat is evident. He walks into the sitting room, plopping himself on the armchair across from me. I avoid his gaze, pretending to read the pages of my book.

"Anything worthwhile done today?" he asks, and the judgment in his tone is thick. It's an old question, one I have lived through for years. But today, instead of the acquainted sting of guilt, my reaction suddenly runs to defiance.

"I did some cleaning," I say, clenching my voice firm.

Some? You mean you didn't finish the kitchen?" he returns, annoyance creeping into his voice. I can feel the burn rise to my cheeks.

"I didn't get to it," I answer evenly. "I thought it could wait.

His eyebrows lower, and I know I've crossed some invisible line. "You know I don't like living in a mess, Rachel. You need to take this seriously."

I shut my eyes briefly, the fight not to snap back almost too much. "I'm not your maid, Noah," I say before I can censor myself.

The silence afterward hangs heavy and almost tangible. Noah's eyes narrow, and for a second, I wonder if I really have crossed the line. Something inside of me shifts then, a spark lighting. I refuse to be cowed. "I'm allowed to take a break too," I forge ahead, buoyed by my words.

"Fine, take your break. Just don't expect me to make up the difference in your lack of work," he says, then abruptly stands. I watch him storm into the kitchen, slamming a cabinet door.

My heart is racing, as I have never spoken to him this way, and part of me feels exhilarated while the other half is scared of his reaction. I know this is just but the beginning of the confrontation, but if I want to be out of this life, I have to make a stand.

A few moments later, I hear Noah's footsteps come back. He drops down onto the couch next to me with a tense, inquisitive expression. "What's going on with you?" he asks, his voice tinged with a mixture of concern and annoyance.

"Nothing. Just tired of the same routine," I admit, keeping my tone light-as if it is no big deal.

He looks at me some more, his eyes burrowing deep into my skin. "You haven't been yourself lately. Is there something you want to tell me?

I hesitate I wonder why he changed all of a sudeen, I am debating whether to tell him about Elvis, about the feelings that have stirred inside me. But the thought of Noah's reaction terrifies me. What if he angers? What if he tries to control me even more? I shake my head, casting a smile. "Just thinking about some things," I say. "You know how it is.

"Yeah," he says, but I know he doubts me by the look in his eyes. Not quite believing, yet willing to let it slide for now. He sinks back into the couch, picking up the remote to turn on the television. I face the screen but my mind is elsewhere, my heart racing with the thought of my voice slowly coming back.

Later that night, as I lie in bed, the information of our conversation replayed in my head. I couldn't believe I stood up to him, which makes me feel empowered yet so dangerous. What if he retaliates? What if I have made him angrier? This uncertainty gnaws at me, and I reach for my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen.

Finally, I send a quick message to Elvis, my heart pounding with every touch of my fingers.

I cannot get you off my mind.

Almost immediately, my phone vibrates with his response.

I think of you too, he responds. When can I see you again?

I wear a smile, the warmth spreading from inside. The chaos in my life with Noah has taken a backseat for a moment as I lose myself to the thrill of this connection with Elvis.

Soon. I promise.

This exchange has left me with hope-a light at the end of a tunnel in which I have been trapped for far too long. I close my eyes, my heart racing with fear and exhilaration. I know I need to be careful, but for the first time in a long time, I feel alive-filled with a sense of purpose. I'm ready to fight for the life I want.

The next morning, I woke up with determination born anew. I want to explore my independence, my desires. No longer will Noah be telling me what to do. It stirs in my belly, a promise of what is to come.

After breakfast, I need to clear my head and take a walk. The cool air hits my face as I step outside, and for the first time in a long while, I feel a flicker of freedom. The thought of what Elvis has said courses through my veins: the way he had made me feel alive, desired, as if I could be more than just Noah's wife.

With every step, I have taken, I am confident and sure. Yet, I know I must be cautious, though at the same time, I know I cannot allow fear to hold me back. I am ready now to move forward with this change-to find some way of being with Elvis without losing everything.

I pull out my phone and send Elvis another text. The ability to communicate with him ignites a fire inside me.

"I'd like to meet you. Is that something we could plan?

As I wait for his response, it becomes evident that whatever happens next will be a first step toward the new life. No more concealing, no more domination. Time to take back my story.