“Merry Christmas,” Ken said, long after he untied her and removed her brand new collar from her throat. He kissed her cheek and wrapped his arm around her as the lights went down and he fell into an undisturbed sleep.
Lana had to get up and head to the bathroom. She watched Ken roll over and continue sleeping, her feet taking her to the sink in the adjacent room.
She stood in front of the mirror, her naked body more pathetic than usual. She saw every crease, every wrinkle of age. The lines she worked so hard to keep at bay. What she once thought was vanity she now believed was fear.
Fear that she would get too old. That she would go from being Ken’s wife to his stand-in mother. The more she looked at herself in the mirror, the more she realized her body was closer to forty than she ever anticipated.
Lana whipped her arm across the counter and knocked her husband’s shaving cream and razor onto the floor.
I need help. Her fingers gripped the edge of the sink, blond hair cascading against porcelain. I’m gonna lose it at this point.
She had two options: keep staying the course, wondering if her husband was cheating her on, or tackle the issue head on.
She may regret it. She may make a total fool of herself if her instincts were wrong. But Lana Andrews could not continue to live with the constant worry and misery that her husband was anything less than the wonderful man she always thought he was.
Ten years of marriage depended on it.
Chapter 9
“Stay Away From My Husband.”
Lana was more than grateful to put the rigors of Christmas behind her. As soon as she and Ken returned home, she slept for a day, putting off all work in those pivotal few days between Christmas and New Year’s. Her husband asked if she were ill again, and all she could say was that the weather – which was unusually wet and chilly that year – was dampening her spirits. He responded by closing the curtains, keeping a fire stoked in their room, and turning the flat screen hanging above the fireplace to every tropical travel show he could find. By their anniversary, on the 29th, Lana swore she would never go to the Caribbean again.
Ugh. Their anniversary.
Due to her health, Lana could not join Ken for their reservations at their favorite restaurant in town. They also had to cancel their plans to occupy a honeymoon suite at the Presidential Hotel, something they had been planning all year – the equipment they had accumulated remained unboxed in the closet. The last thing Lana wanted to do was have kinky sex with her husband. Something he caught wind of fairly quickly, often asking her if she wanted to go to a doctor – any kind of doctor.
Her therapist was away for the holidays. Too bad. I’m sure he would love to hear my recent paranoid ramblings.
“Bunny,” Ken said on their anniversary, sitting on her side of the bed and patting her hand. Lana turned off the TV to hear what he had to say. “What’s wrong? You’re worrying me.”
She shrugged, as if how she felt meant nothing. I don’t want to talk about it right now. She wanted to sleep, to play mindless games on her tablet, and to read all those literary classics she had yet to catch up on.
“Perhaps it’s seasonal depression,” she offered.
“You’ve never been this bad before.”
How kind of him to notice over the years.
“You’re not… depressed depressed, are you?”
Oh, Ken… he had such a way with words. Sometimes. Not all the time. “Maybe. I don’t know, Kenny. There are things weighing me down right now.” Tears formed at the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry I ruined our big anniversary…”
“Don’t do that. You haven’t ruined a thing.” He wiped away one tear, but missed the other one. “I don’t care what we do, as long as we’re together. Besides, we can make up for it on our honeymoon next month. Are you still looking forward to that?”
She nodded. I had been, anyway.
“You can tell me what’s bothering you. When have you not been able to tell me anything?” Ken squeezed her hand, a touch she would usually welcome with everything she had. “You know I like knowing what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours. Please, Lana, you’re starting to scare me.”