Chapter Thirteen

The past several days blended in to each other as Samantha stayed close to the house. Her attempt to enter the boutique left her feeling broken, defeated and frustrated. She knew the feelings would persist as long as her eye was this fantastic shade of eggplant. It had been three days now and each day, the bruise darkened with no sign of abating any time soon.

The only saving grace to any of this was Richard still hadn't come back home or reached out to her. The longer he stayed away, the more she dreaded seeing him again and the pit in her stomach grew heavier knowing they were going to have to have a very difficult talk eventually.

The afternoon she came home from the restaurant, she had looked around the house, lost. She laid on her bed and cried. It didn't get her anywhere, nor did it help ease the dull ache inside. She ran a hot bath and added Himalayan sea salt to it, hoping the warmth would penetrate into her chilled core, but sat in the tub with her arms curled around her knees until the cold water eventually nudged her from her trance.

She dressed in a soft white cotton tank top with matching pajama pants and robe and curled into a heated blanket, exhaustion finally overtaking her. After the first few hours, she tossed and turned the rest of the night with vivid nightmares. It was like the more she was numb and detached to the physical world around her, the more evocative the pseudo world of her dreams became.

In the early hours of dawn, her mind finally stilled and she slept late through the morning. That day was a blur and the idea of food made her stomach churn. She thought of everything she should be getting up and doing, then berated herself when she didn't have the motivation.

The worst thing about that day was catching hints of his scent around the house. She drifted down the stairs to his study and curled up in his computer chair, the soft leather gently steeped in his scent and the faint smell of unsmoked cigars.

I shouldn't be missing him like this. I shouldn't be finding comfort in his smell. What he's done is unforgivable. What he had done was so despicable, it should have extinguished any feelings she had for him.

But she couldn't make her heart understand that. The lack of his presence, even his sour, negative energy, hurt equally as much as the monster he'd become and she spent the rest of the day in a constant war between her heart and mind. That night, she mist his pillow with his cologne, relishing the familiar scent of wood, pepper and citrus as she curled into it, able to slightly ease one ache, at least.

Two days after her expedition downtown, she felt like she'd forgotten how to take care of herself. She was still in her pajamas from the night before last and was dehydrated, her stomach so empty she was dry heaving. Losing herself in wine had no appeal to her right now as the thought of swallowing anything strong tightened her throat.

She spent countless hours scrolling through old social media posts and photos on her phone, seeing the pictures and times they seemed so happy together. Examining the pictures, she began to identify when he'd lost that happy sparkle in his eye, his eyes and expressions turning colder as time progressed. How did she not see it before?

Here is where she snapped a picture at dinner. They were sitting next to each other as usual and looking at each other, grinning like fools. A few months later, in another picture of them together, he smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Another picture she took while they were bowling with Nate and Mari. He was walking off the lane and looked up with a tight smile and his green eyes looked almost black with irritation. She didn't have many pictures of them together, or of him after that. It was like she subconsciously knew there were no moments of love, friendship or happiness worth capturing.

The third day after he left was Saturday and she was greeted with a bright ray of sunshine streaming in through the window. She still hadn't eaten, or had much to drink. Her stomach finally stopped protesting at the lack of food. She entered her ensuite bathroom and turned on the light, shocked at the grim visage before her.

Her face was pale as she trembled, weak from the stress her body was going through. Her eyes had an odd shine to them, enhanced by the hollowness of her sunken sockets and pronounced cheekbones. Her face was dry and chafed, and her hair that had been in a loose braid had mostly come undone.

How did I let another person destroy me so completely, she asked herself in detached awe. I can't continue like this. I could die and nobody would know how or why. He would probably be thrilled about it but she wouldn't roll over and give him that satisfaction.

She took a wide-toothed comb and started to untangle her hair. As she worked, she looked back and realized her whole life had become revolving around Richard, taking care of Richard, planning and setting goals to accomplish Richard's desires. It hit her hard to understand now that nothing was lonelier than knowing she gave so much, every ounce of herself, all her time and effort trying to navigate the world to keep him happy, only to have him hurt and abandon her.

It was her own fault, but that knowledge made it worse.

No good deed goes unpunished.

She showered and changed, her clothes that were meant to be loose and comfortable were hanging off of her. But, it was an improvement that she made it downstairs today and looked around the kitchen for something she might be able to palate.

She sipped on a cold bottle of water while she prepared her food then sat down at the island in the kitchen and nervously looked at everything in front of her, swallowing back the lump forming in her throat.

She closed her eyes as she took her first bite.

From now on, I'm choosing me.