Respect Me, Part 1 by Nia Arthurs
Harriet
I’ve never wantedto slap anyone as much as I want to slap my husband.
“What did you just say to me?” My chest rises and falls with every labored breath. Trembling fingers close around my purse strap and twist. For a second, I picture doing the same thing to my husband’s neck.
If Jerrison had any sense, he would drop this.
Now.
But there’s little chance of that happening.
My husband is a man on a mission. Everything, from his crackling blue eyes, to the lines etched into his pale forehead, to the flaring nose and clenched jaw screams that we’re headed for a fight.
“Oh? You’re going silent now?” His lips curl up in a cruel smile.
He truly believes I’m having an affair.
It’s so ridiculous I want to laugh.
Does he have any right to be angry with me? To even ask that question?
I’m trying to save our marriage. I’m jumping through hoops. Spiraling deep into exhaustion. Crawling on my hands and knees in a dirty mechanic shop. I’m doing everything I possibly can to keep what’s left of our crumbling relationship from sinking to the ground.
After all he’s done to damage and destroy us, he wants to come at me with this bull?
“It’s a simple question, Harriet.” Jerrison enunciates every word as if I’m five years old and incapable of understanding the concept of affairs. “Are. You. Sleeping. With. Someone. Else?”
“Is that scary, Jer?” I hear the pitch of my voice drop to a deadly whisper. “Why? Because it’s too close to what you would do?”
His gaze focuses on me and sharpens. Deadly. Intense. “Don’t start that with me.”
“Start what? What exactly am I trying to start with you, Jerrison?”
“I’m trying to have a rational conversation, Harriet.”
“No.” I stick my finger in his chest, poking him to underscore my exasperation. “You’re hurling accusations when you’re the last person on this green earth who should be flinging stones.”
Jerrison grabs my hand in a near-painful grip. “Answer the damn question.”
“I’m not answering a thing,” I spit back in his face.
His stare turns fevered. A tick in his jaw pops out, warning that he’s teetering close to losing his control.
He’d never hit me. Has never raised his hand to me in the history of our marriage. But, for a second, I’m afraid that might change.
I clench every bone in my body. Set my feet a shoulder-with apart. Hands ready to defend myself.
My dad’s old boxing lessons wash over me.
Steady breaths.
Focus.
Concentrate.
Rather than withdraw, I hold steady and meet Jerrison’s gaze with every ounce of pride within me. Cross that line, I silently dare him. Cross it and you’ll see the monster in me.
Last time, it was a bat to his girlfriend’s car.
This time, I won’t be that kind.
It’s been years since I’ve practiced, but some habits are so ingrained they become a part of you. I’m not as strong as him, but I can knock him out.
He knows.
His face reddens and he takes a giant step back.
Voice tightening until it sounds like its been squeezed by a cobra, he rasps, “Where have you been every morning?”
“I’m working on another project.” My voice cracks from the anger coursing through my veins.
It’s been a long day.
Doc didn’t help matters at all. After handing me the wrench yesterday, I expected us to get to work.
We didn’t.
Doc sent me home and told me to come back tomorrow.
I did that gleefully.
Morning came.
But the advice didn’t.
Instead, I handed him the wrench and accepted it back while he worked on a car.
Thinking Doc was waiting for me to ask questions, I peppered him with my thoughts.
Why do men cheat?
How do we get them to stop?
Why doesn’t my husband love me anymore?
Doc only grunted in response and asked for other tools that I had to google to identify.
Nothing.
I got nothing from Doc today.
It was a total waste of time.
I’m starting to wonder if I threw all my eggs into a basket with a hole in it.
Maybe Doc is a scam.
Maybe Calvin and Pax lied to me.
Makes sense. There’s no such thing as a good marriage. I bet Calvin is cheating. Every other man on earth seems to be. Maybe Pax’s husband is doing a better job of hiding it.
My mind picks through all of Pax’s unbelievable stories about her marriage. Massages. Candle-lit dinners. Deep conversations. Date nights. Movies. Sweet notes in the morning.
Is a man capable of loving his wife like that?
Hell no.
And if he did exist, it wouldn’t be a man like Calvin of all people.
I start to wonder if I’ve been duped.
Lies.
All lies.
Maybe there’s nothing special about that old man.
Doc.
He’s ordinary.
Or worse, a crook.
And I’m the idiot who fell for it.
It’s a striking thought that makes me tremble. I reject it as suddenly as it arrives.
No, that can’t be.
I’ve seen Calvin dote on Pax with my own eyes. Whether he means it or not, I can only trust what I see. If my husband did half of those things for me, I would be content.
Calvin said that Doc made that happen.
Doc can make that happen for me too.
I have to believe he can repair my broken marriage or else…
Or else what?
I’ll be falling off a cliff with no parachute. I’ll plummet to my death. Snap my neck on the rocks.
Gruesome. Bloody.
A marriage left to die.
I can’t.
Even if Jerrison is working my last patience right now, I still want this to last.
I still want him.
Stupid jerk that he is.
“What project?” Jerrison’s eyes burrow into the staircase beside my right hand. He’s not looking at me but through me. Pale fingers tighten into fists that he keeps tightly at his sides.
I fold my arms over my chest. “None of your business.”
“You’re really not going to tell me?”
“No,” I growl.
He juts his chin down in a sharp nod. A silent decision.
Tension stretches through time, smothering me with its finality.
Is this the fracture that breaks us? Is this the fight that crushes what’s left of our marriage?
Maybe we’re beyond repair.
The truth hurts.
I whirl around and stomp up the stairs. Anger, pain, and regret form a strange mix in my heart.
As I throw my bedroom door open and fling myself on the bed, I let the dark voices seep into my mind. Wind through my veins. Travel straight to my soul.
Maybe I should have an affair. Would that show him? Would that gouge his soul and destroy him the way it destroyed me?
I play around with the thought. Let it fall against me like a scandalous dress, sliding over my skin with wicked decadence. Exposing the ugly, twisted parts of me.
What would it be like to find a new man? One who’d call me beautiful—not because he wanted me out of my clothes but because he really meant it? One who would have dinner on the stove when I came home and offer to massage me when I could barely stand from a hard days’ work? One who would love me and only me?
The fantasy grows.
Expands.
Heat flashes straight to my core. I’m so deprived of this quiet, steady love that just imagining an alternate version of my life makes me hot.
I unbutton the top of my shirt. Dive straight into the fantasy because it’s so much sweeter than my current existence.
Oh yes. What would it be like to hear how jealous my friends are of me and my husband? What would it be like if my husband never met women in bars, in hotels, in dark, shady restaurants? What would it be like to enter a room and not wonder if he’s screwed the girl standing in it?
I open my eyes.
See the dark bedroom. The closet with Jerrison’s clothes. With mine.
The dresser.
The mirror above it.
And I’m sucked back into my reality.
That is not my life.
Helplessness claws at my throat and makes the room spin.
Tears strain behind my eyes.
My heart shatters. It amazes me that there are still pieces that haven’t been bruised yet.
What would it be like?
An affair.
There’s a soft knock on the door. My fingers dig into the sheets and I dart my eyes away from Jerrison when he steps into the room. Something clatters to the nightstand and I glance up, surprised to find a glass of orange juice and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“I brought food,” he mumbles. As if I don’t have eyes.
My shoulders hike to my ears. “Take it back. I’m not hungry.”
“Baby…” Jerrison sits on my side of the bed. The mattress sinks with the weight of him.
Moonlight slants through the curtains, filling the room with silver light until it feels like we’re swimming in some kind of mystic fog. Stars twinkle brightly outside, straining to dance in the shadows of our bedroom.
He sighs so hard my hair blows back. Taking my hand, he speaks tenderly, “I’m sorry. Really, I am.”
“Sorry for what?” I try to snap at him. Try to hold onto the anger.
I fail.
My desperation for the fantasy to become real steals all my fight.
I want it so bad.
A good marriage. Peace. Happiness.
Don’t I deserve it?
Can’t I have it with the man that I love?
Jerrison bows his head. Blonde hair falls gently over his forehead and covers his ears.
A fallen angel in a white T-shirt and jogging pants.
Has he hurt me enough? Has he broken me enough to see the damage now?
His fingers caress my knuckles warmly. “I shouldn’t have accused you of having an affair, Harriet. I lost my head for a moment.”
“You sure did,” I mumble harshly.
“You’re so beautiful,” his eyes slide over my face, “it wouldn’t surprise me if some guy tried to get with you.”
I roll my eyes but, inside, my heart melts.
Jerrison tightens his hold on my hand. “I just… you’re my wife. You’re mine.” He taps his chest. “And the thought of you ever leaving scares me.” Big blue eyes tug at my soul, folding flower stems into the bullet holes. “I love you.”
My heart does a leap.
Every part of my body turns to liquid.
Three words.
Powerful words.
He’s a wizard. How can it be so easy for him to unravel my hurt, pain and anger until there’s only love left?
“I love you too,” I whisper. My voice cracks. Breaks. Shatters just like my heart.
Because I mean that.
I mean that with every breath in my body.
Jerrison’s eyes dip to my lips. “I don’t want to fight tonight.”
His tenderness affects me, but it would be pathetic to let it go so quickly, wouldn’t it? I should hold out for a little longer, shouldn’t I?
His touch slides down my inner thigh. A thumb draws circles over the fabric of my pants.
Jerrison leans in. “I don’t want to fight anymore, Harriet.”
Me either.
So I close my eyes, and I let my husband kiss me.
