The Real

“Oh, I’m pathetic? I’m the problem? When did that happen? I’m not the one numbing myself to the point of being frigid.” Her body went stone still as I reeled it in, because her words hurt, and I could see something in my wife’s eyes for the first time that looked like hate. But that couldn’t be true. Kat didn’t hate . . . anyone.

“Stop,” I said, reaching for her, “let’s stop.”

It was the shock that registered first, not the pain. But I didn’t get a chance to recover because she swung the steel-plated brush again and caught me in the temple. She stood, hovering above me, and landed another blow. I felt the rush of nausea as blood trickled down my temple.

“Get the fuck away from me! Don’t touch me! It’s your fault! I fucking hate you every day I wake up feeling like this! This, all of this, it’s your fault!”

Blinded by pain and boiling with rage, I stood so abruptly I knocked her back in her seat. I cupped my jaw where the last blow landed before I ripped the brush from her hand, cracking it in half and tossing it to the floor.

“What the fuck, Kat!”

“Don’t act like you didn’t deserve it,” she hissed. “What? You can’t take a punch, Jefferson All-Star!? Eight months I’ve been in pain because you let me fall. Eight months!” she screamed at my retreating back as I walked to the bathroom with my heartbeat ringing in my ears. Until then I never knew words had the ability to ruin flesh and bone worse than a hand or fist. How those syllables could rip apart visions of a future while they left invisible scars. Throbbing everywhere, I glanced in the mirror and saw my jaw was swelling and a large gash across my temple was bleeding freely. I watched it trail a path down my jaw and drip to the carpet. I threw out half of her cabinet to get to the antiseptic as she slammed the bedroom door. Intent on seeing it through, I turned on my heel and snatched the bottle off the floor before she came back into the room, her pills her focus, the pills her afterthought, not her husband. I shook my head as she moved toward me.

“This has got to stop.”

“Give them to me,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Jesus Christ, Kat, look at me! You need to think about what you’re doing!”

“What I’m doing? You’re ruining my life!”

“I’m pointing out the fucking obvious. This shit is changing you.”

“Give them to me!” Her face was porcelain perfection and her eyes stung the deepest part of me. They were laced with hate, and it was all for me.

“No.”

She flew at me then, the blows coming more rapidly, her nails scratching my skin, my face, her eyes wild. It was as if a switch had flipped. I moved to stop her, and it only fueled her. She landed every blow, determined to draw as much from me as she could, and I backed away before I snapped. The second I loosened my grip, she snatched the bottle away. Head pulsing from the fresh hits, I watched her open her bottle and palm a pill, swallowing it to spite me.

“What the fuck did you just do, Kat?”

“Stay away from me, Cameron,” she warned, tears pouring out of her as if I’d somehow hurt her. “You don’t know what it’s like to need this, you don’t know what it’s like to need it to breathe! You don’t love me. There’

s no way you love me!”

“How can you say that? We went through this together!”

“I hate you,” she heaved out through a sob. “I hate you.”

“Cameron.” Max’s voice sounded on the other side of my door before he rapped his knuckles against it.

“What are you doing here, Max? It’s late.”

“Door was unlocked. Why in the hell is it so fucking dark in here?”

Fuck.

I closed my eyes. “Not feeling great, man. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“You and me both. I think I got dumped.”

“Dumped?” I answered, searching my cabinets for some way to cover the bruises and finding nothing.

“Yeah, if you can call it that. She let me in then kicked me out. Look, man, why am I talking through a door? Got anything stronger than beer?”

Gripping the bottle in offering, I opened the door to see he was shitfaced. There was no way I could ask him to leave. I ducked my head as I walked past him. He was on my heels as I moved toward the kitchen. “So how did it go with Kat?”

“Same old shit. I think I might be divorced soon.”