Breaking Perfect

The glass lay between them like the Red Sea. Only his authority could clear the way. His hand dropped to his side and reached for his messages on the counter. His tense fingers crumpled them as if he were angry. “Is this who called last night?”

“Who? Your mother? I told you she called yesterday and this—”

“Sean. Was it Sean O’Malley who called last night after dinner?”

Was that the guy’s name? She had to think for a moment. Mason had been kissing her and she was incredibly distracted as she took the message. “I think that was his name. Do you know him?”

Mason nodded, again appearing as if he were in pain. “I’ll be in my study.” Without looking at her again he took the messages and walked out of the kitchen.

Liberty stood there for several minutes wondering what she should do. The coffee stain was setting in the carpet and she needed to treat it, but the cleaner was under the sink. She didn’t have shoes on and he’d told her not to move. Could she move if she got shoes? Someone had to clean up that glass. It couldn’t stay there. Her anxiety over the disorganized state of the room and the inexplicable need to do exactly as her husband asked pushed and pulled at her like similar sides of a magnet. The nagging pull to correct the state of things battled with the push to obey. She didn’t want to get glass in her foot and have to explain that she didn’t listen to his edict.

Her palms began to sweat and her fingers shook. Biting down on her lip, she whimpered as nausea set in. If she weren’t crazy there wouldn’t be a problem. If she were a normal person who didn’t need everything to be in its rightful place in order to function she wouldn’t be standing there. If she weren’t a pervert she wouldn’t be getting a sexual rush from following her husband’s command, a command that was anything but sexual. What the fuck was wrong with her?

A door slammed upstairs and she began to cry. “God damn it!” she snapped and turned to run out of the kitchen. Taking the steps as fast as she could, her small feet rounded the bend and her footfalls grew muffled the moment they landed on the soft runner of the second floor hall. The office door was closed, thankfully. She made it into her bedroom and out again, with shoes now on her feet in under ten seconds. A minute later and she was standing back in her place in the kitchen.

It took another ten minutes of internal debating that only a psychotic person would suffer through to take a baby step closer to the pieces of broken glass. She debated and looked from the door, to the glass, to the cabinet that held the stain treatment, to the forgotten, soiled napkin on the ground.

Once she was over the humiliation of coming up against a crazy person and acknowledging that it was only herself, she moved onto being upset. Why would he tell her not to move and just leave? Did she do something wrong? He should know she wouldn’t be able to deal with such a mess. Was he trying to test her? Push her? Was he doing this to be mean? Then came anger. How could he leave her?

Wrapped up in such a whirlwind of emotional confusion and rage, she didn’t hear him return to the kitchen. Her lips pressed firmly together and trembled as her eyes blinked repetitively, holding back her tears, tears that would surely underscore that she was nuts. Who cried over coffee and glass? And what kind of moron didn’t have the common sense to move when something had to be done?

He walked into the room and didn’t appear to notice her. It was as if she was invisible, and then he stopped. “Oh, Jesus, Libby, fuck, come here, baby.”

She turned to him and couldn’t hold back the stuttering breath that broke her resolve. Regardless of her silence, she hurled the blame at him. Bastard! Only thought, no words needed, because he understood her that well.

Mason wrapped her in his arms and she crumbled. Too weak to hold it all inside, she couldn’t prevent some of the ugliness within her from seeping out. She hated the jagged edges of herself, hated when others saw them too.

Liberty pounded weakly on his chest as she cried. “You just left. You told me not to move and you left! The carpet will be ruined now and that stain will be there forever.”

Holding her tightly, he moved them to one of the stools along the breakfast nook. “Baby, I’m so sorry.” He pulled her onto his lap and tilted her chin so she was facing him. “Liberty, please don’t cry. I’m an asshole. I forgot about the stain and I wasn’t thinking when I told you not to move. I just didn’t want to see you cut your feet.”