I ran barefoot, in my fucking pajamas. I ran until the sun was high in the sky. And, even though I knew the sky was no doubt blue, again, everything was still gray.
I ran until my legs gave out, and I collapsed under some overgrown tree, and I curled into a ball and cried.
Manly, I know.
It's not like I spent the next ten years numb and empty. But, somehow, the colors were never as sharp. Food never tasted as good. There was always something missing, some awful gray dullness to the world. I was with other woman before, and I was happy, but there was still something so drab about my life.
And then I met Alyssa.
She stared at me, sizing me up, so bad at hiding how much she wanted me. And, I can admit it--I was there to mess with Ryan. I wanted to flirt with her, to rub it in his face. A nice revenge for existing as such an awful human being. A nice revenge for rubbing his relationship with Alyssa in my face every chance he got. It was always my gorgeous girlfriend. As if I cared that his girlfriend was gorgeous.
But the second she opened her admittedly gorgeous mouth, I was hooked. She was so smart and articulate and so humble about it. And even though she'd just met me, even though she clearly wanted to fuck me, she called me on my bullshit. She called out my obvious ploy to fuck with Ryan. She called me on assuming she was vacuous. She even corrected my grammar.
Then I touched her, and the most delightful red flush spread across her face. It was so bright and vibrant.
It was like the color was finally back in my life.
I always want more of her. Everything is better when she's around--the air, the music, the food. Even me. I'm so much smarter and kinder and more honest when I'm with her.
I know it's early, but I see a future with her and it's vibrant and bright.
I see her lying next to me at night, her soft body pressed against mine, her arms wrapped tightly around my chest. My T-shirt--the one she claimed as her own--drapes softly over her curves. In the morning, she stretches out on the couch with her Kindle and a cup of coffee. I can smell the coffee on her breath, taste the honey on her lips. I feel the nerves in my body turning on, everywhere all at once, just from her hands on my skin.
I know it won't be that perfect. I know we'll have fights, we'll have bad days, we'll have miserable shit in the rest of our lives. But it can be that good. We can be that good.
I really meant what I said. I'd marry her today if she'd have me.
***
Mrs. Pike is immaculately put together. She's the kind of woman who has spent her entire marriage immaculately put together. One of those wives who serves as a very special kind of trophy--beautiful, educated, conservative. Usually, by the time these women make it to my office, they've lost interest in being the symbol of their husbands' good taste and manners. Or their husbands have gained interested in a younger woman.
But Mrs. Pike is still immaculate in her freshly pressed suit and her small silver earrings.
"I should have known better," she says. "I did. I knew this would happen, even when we got married. I thought I could look the other way. I have a good life, Mr. Lawrence. I have a beautiful home. I have all the money I could spend."
"How old were you when you married him?"
"Twenty-two," she says.
"You had no idea what you were giving up. You can't blame yourself. No one has their life together at twenty-two. It's a terrible age."
Mrs. Pike smiles, but it's short lived. "I was in graduate school. And he asked about my thesis. He pretended like he wanted to hear about it."
She's miserable over this mistake. She's too miserable. If she believes it's her fault, she won't ask for the settlement she deserves. She'd be an easy client for any other lawyer--a few billable hours to agree to whatever her husband offers.
But I know what she deserves. She deserves half of everything they made together.
Right now she needs someone on her side. She needs someone who will listen to her.
"What did you study?" I ask.
"Literature."
This is exactly how Alyssa would have ended up if she'd stayed with Ryan. She'd have spent her life ignoring her wants and dreams, instead playing the role of the perfect trophy wife.
"Not enough people appreciate literature," I say. "Where did you go to school?"
"Columbia."