Respect Me, Part 1 by Nia Arthurs
Harriet
I takecommand of the exclusive boutique and point at things. Clothes. Shoes. Purses. Wallets. Things I normally purchase in increments. Christmas. Birthdays. Special occasions.
Not today.
Today, I grab them in one sweep.
I put my husband’s credit card on the counter and smile at the cashier. She’s young. Hair scraped back. Eyes wide and innocent. The world hasn’t beaten the naïveté out of her yet.
“This is a lot.” The surprise in Pax’s voice is thick. The smile on her face is thin.
“I’m in the mood for excess.”
“That’s…” She blinks rapidly. Pax is wearing red today. A matador’s color. It flows around her like a flag taunting a bull. “Excuse me.” Pax tells the cashier. She plants her elbows on the counter and spies on the total. Her eyes go wide. “Oh. Wow. What’s the occasion?”
“Revenge.”
Her eyebrows shoot for the ceiling.
And maybe I push out my chest a little, but I can celebrate my evil if I want to.
“Really.”
“Well?” I gesture to the cashier. Then flick my fingers at the card.
She rings up the total and it goes through.
Of course it does.
My husband is the CEO of a well-known sports agency. He can afford to lose the cash.
He won’t like it.
But he can afford it.
“Have these sent to the address on file,” I say confidently, accepting the card back and putting it in my purse.
“I’d need to confirm the address, ma’am. I don’t want to make any mistakes.” The cashier trembles.
I take pity on her. After all, my revenge has nothing to do with this poor girl.
“Go ahead.”
She places a finger on the mouse. Moves it up and down. Eyes focus on the computer. The girl rattles off an address that doesn’t belong to me. An address I’ve never heard in my life.
My eyes widen. “Are you sure that’s correct?”
“Is something wrong?” Pax glances between me and the computer as if she can magically connect to the software.
The cashier breaks out into a cold sweat. “L-let me check again.”
I nod. Confident in my plan. At ease in my own skin for the first time since my fight with my husband yesterday.
Let him photograph me spending his money. Let his spies report on my bags filled with luxury. Money in the form of shoes, clothes and purses. Jewelry purchased for the sake of status rather than necessity.
“I’m sorry.” The cashier snaps me free of my mental victory lap. “The address I gave you is the last address saved with this card.”
My stomach drops to my toes.
Dread winds over my body like a snake about to crush me alive.
No.
It can’t be.
All at once, the victory that had surged through my veins putters out like a limp balloon. Horror fills me instead. It gathers around my neck. Drains all the oxygen from my lungs.
Pax loops her arms through mine. “Harriet, are you okay?”
“Ma’am?” The girl leans forward. She’s about to hyperventilate. Everyone can taste my displeasure.
“Say it again.”
“Ma’am.”
“Tell me the address again.”
She does.
That’s not my address.
My home.
The place I share with my husband.
It belongs to someone else.
Who?
Which one of my husband’s women?
I can’t open my mouth and admit that. It’s humiliating. Painful. A knife to the gut. A sharp edge against a wound that hasn’t even begun to scab over.
“The name,” I croak, staring unseeingly at the packages on the counter. A big rock is sitting on my chest. It’s going to drill me right into the ground. It’s going to crush me to nothing.
“What?” The girl blinks.
“What’s the name that goes with that address?” I snap. “Who was the tramp? Who was she?”
“Don’t.” Pax squeezes my arm. Her attention narrows in on me until it feels like she’s burrowing under my skin. “Don’t do that to yourself, Harriet.”
She knows.
I see it in her dark eyes.
She knows what my husband did. What this means.
A groan builds in my throat and begs to show its face to the world. A sound of pain, disgust, and heartbreak.
Jerrison showered another woman in gifts. And it’s even more humiliating with Pax’s understanding, with her arm on my elbow, with her sad eyes penetrating me.
Pax offers the nervous cashier a smile. “Let me give you the right address. Can I write it down?”
While my friend moves confidently, I stumble outside. It’s hard to breathe. Hard to speak. The tears cropping in my throat fills my lungs until I’m drowning.
When it came to shopping, I practiced self-restraint. I didn’t want to overdo. I didn’t want to hurt his wallet too much. The empire we built doesn’t run on greed. There’s wealth in denying myself. Making sound financial decisions. Letting go of things I might want but don’t need.
I thought he would applaud me for it.
Pat me on the head. Offer words of encouragement.
He never did.
No smiles. No understanding. No appreciation.
He never bought me gifts from this place. Not where the price tag was so high it would be cheaper to sell a kidney. I got reasonable flowers. Reasonable jewelry. No need to romance me when I was already trapped. When the wedding ring on my finger marked me as his prisoner.
I got the bare minimum while his women were pampered.
And that’s not even the worst part.
I accepted his leftovers with open arms, wide smiles, lips that met his mouth with gratitude.
Crumbs.
While I filled my heart with them and accepted him inside me, he offered the world to his girlfriends. Lavish gifts. Hefty price tags. Wealth that stretched beyond his wife.
I dig my fingers into fists and feel a sharp sting in my palm.
It’s where my nails have cut into my flesh.
The door of the boutique bursts open. Pax flies down the stairs and grabs my arm. “Harriet, I took care of it.”
“Who was the girl?”
“We don’t know if it was a girl. He could have sent a gift to a business associate. My dad does that all the time.”
“Your dad?” I arch an eyebrow at her. Pax’s dad is nothing like Jerrison.
Her eyes slant to the side. “Well, he has people buy the gifts for him, but it’s the same thing.”
“No, it’s not. Don’t insult my intelligence, Pax.”
She swallows. Bites down on her bottom lip.
“I’m going back in.”
“Harriet. Stop.” She shakes her head. “You’ll only torture yourself.”
“I thought it could be a business associate?” Sarcasm laces my words like poison.
Her brown eyes drop to the ground. “Let’s get some food.”
“I’m not hungry right now.”
“So you’re just going to stand here and torture yourself?”
“What do you expect me to do?” I scream. Pedestrians stop and watch me. Mothers tug their children close, hiding them under their skirts, quickly pushing them away in their strollers. See, kids? If you marry for love, you might end up like her. You might end up pathetic and shrieking on the side of the road. It’s better to marry for money. At least you’ll know what you’re signing up for.
“Let’s talk somewhere private,” Pax says, her eyes darting around and taking note of the crowd. A cell phone is out. Someone is already recording. Anticipating. The pain on my face must be that apparent. Cut-throat vultures. They feed on misery. And mine is a homing beacon.
I let Pax lead me to the car. Let her usher me out into a busy diner filled with senior citizens wiling away the time. Let her push me into a booth and accept the menu she shoves into my hands.
“Harriet.” Pax’s voice is sharp. The kind a teacher uses on a student daydreaming in class.
“He said he didn’t like to waste money,” I murmur.
Her eyes soften. Pity. She’s feeling sorry for me.
Normally, I would snap at her. Launch my missiles at her. Demand respect. Is there anything more embarrassing than being pitied? Bearing my pain alone is ten times better.
Pax sighs patiently. “Harriet…”
“He said I have a purse addiction. He joked that I’d make him go bankrupt. I stopped buying what I liked. He said it was too much. He said I was going overboard and we had to be smart with the money.” My voice cracks. “He lied. My husband didn’t want to spend that money on me.”
“Harriet, you’re torturing yourself.” Her hand falls on mine. Light brown. Warm. Soft fingers.
All I feel is cold. “What am I even doing, Pax?” The words fall out of me. Tumble on top of the table. Skitter over the laminated menus and the sugar packets. “What am I fighting for? Why am I bothering with Doc? With repairing my marriage? Ever since I started seeing Doc, things have only gotten worse.”
“I know it’s hard, Harriet. Even though I can’t pretend to understand what you’re going through, there’s one thing I can assure you. Doc can help. You might give up on your husband, and that’s okay. But don’t give up on Doc.”
I wipe the tear that slips down my cheek.
I’m struggling and I’m not sure what I’m fighting for any more.
“If you really want to stop now, you can.” Pax smiles in understanding. “If it hurts too much, stop now, Harriet.”
“I… can’t.” What will I find when it’s just me? Who will I see in the mirror? Will I like that person? Will it feel like a failure?
I don’t want to find out.
Not yet.
Not…
“Then go see Doc.”
I nod. Let out a sharp breath. “I will.”
