Fighting for Arielle (7 page)

I roll my eyes at he
r and stick my tongue out as she follows my movement with her eyes.  I walk back over to Mick and give him a big hug.  In order to do so, I have to stand on my toes.  I take advantage of the embrace to take in another mental note of his muscular frame, flexing as he squeezes me tightly.  

“Thank you so much for being such a great dance partner and awesome company tonight.
 Be safe.  It was really great seeing you again.”  

I close my eyes, taking in a strong whiff of his scent of cologne, some perspiration, and him.
 I convince myself that I need to make the most of these last few seconds with him and take it all in.  

I pull back and he smiles at me, with the same passion in his widened pupils as before, but with maybe a tinge of regret.
 I wonder if my eyes convey the same sentiment because that’s exactly how I feel.  We bid each other goodnight and give fond farewells.  

As soon as I am out of his company, I yearn for his warmth and security that I had felt all night.

***

“
O
hmigosh,” Macy says bouncing and moving her hands up and down, “You two totally have this thing.  I don’t know what it is.  I can’t describe it, but everyone can see it.  What happened?”

I sigh and look out the window of Macy’s car.
 “Nothing happened, Mace.  We danced and talked about nothing, really.  Then, we parted ways.”

Macy looks over to me in disbelief.
 “Nothing happened?  That is grade A, solid poop you’re spewing, and you know it.  You two didn’t leave one another’s sides all night, and he always had a hand on your lower back or you were touching in some way.”

I didn’t realize we were in such close proximity all night, especially so much so that others took notice.
 Guilt begins to creep into my stomach.  

“We just had a good time.
 Like you said, you can be married and still have fun with good-looking men.  Besides, he doesn’t even know my real name.”

“I know!
 I figured that must be your stage name when he first said it.  I’m pretty sure he knows it’s not your real name too, but he was a good sport about it.” 

Shifting tones, she says,
“But really, Ari, there is something between the two of you.  I know you haven’t confided much in me about your marriage to Brody, but I can tell you that I see you just about every day, and every day you look a little more deflated, as if someone is chipping away at your soul little by little and replacing it with misery.  I see how you try to smile through the pain and give the ‘everything-is-great’ act, but I know better.  You’re not as good at masking your emotions, especially your pain, as you think.  But, what I saw tonight was someone who was care-free, happy, enjoying themselves, and just freaking being you.  That’s what you deserve all of the time.”

I feel like I might choke from the tightness my throat is feeling caused by what Macy just said.
 

“You don’t know what I deserve,” I mumble.

Macy slams on the brakes and changes to her loud voice that she uses to tell our PT guys what to do.  “No!  YOU don’t know what you deserve!  If you think you deserve to live a life of isolation, of losing yourself to depression and loneliness, and feeling as if you’re worthless and have nothing to offer this world, then you are the biggest loon on the planet and grossly mistaken.  You are one of the coolest chicks I’ve ever known.  You’re hilarious and look at everything from an interesting perspective, which makes others look at their world in a different way.  Not to mention that you’re freaking gorgeous, and I am so jealous of how sexy and alluring you are to people.  I know somewhere, locked away in a deep chasm of your brain, you know that too.  It’s just been pushed way down by people who honestly don’t deserve you or an iota of your attention.”

Taken aback by the vigor and passion with which she just addressed me, I don’t know what to say.
 Everything I’ve kept bottled in for so long begins to manifest itself in the form of tears and snot.  Lots of it.  

Macy pulls to the side of the road, places the car in park, unbuckles her seatbelt, and brings me into her arms as I sob- no, ugly cry -into my hands.
 

All of the tears hidden behind smiles, the reassuranc
es of “I’m fine,” and the fake “look on the bright side” faith-in-humanity-despite-knowing-that-I-am-destined-for-a-future-of-misery persona all flood my senses at once.  The worst part is that I know I chose this path for myself.  I may not have been able to predict exactly how my relationship with Brody would evolve or how cruel he would become, but I do know that my worst fears of being lonely and unloved have transcended into reality, despite my being married.

Macy quietly holds me in her arms for a great deal of time until I stop shaking, tears stop flowing, and sobs stop screeching from my chest.
 

When I regain some composure and indicate that it’s alright to continue our journey, Macy and I ride to my house in silence.
 We pull into the driveway and I wipe my eyes once more for good measure.  

Macy gives me a hug and a reassuring smile.
 “There are people who can help you, you know.  I’m not telling you what you should or shouldn’t do, but should you choose to even just talk to someone and ask questions about the legalities of separation or divorce, there are resources out there.  You can make an appointment with a JAG officer on base.  They handle those kinds of things for free.  I love you, friend.  You deserve the moon, and this...,” she gestures to me and toward my apartment, “is certainly not it.”

I nod in silent acknowledgement as I reach for the door handle.
 I give a small wave and whisper, “I love you too, Mace.  Thank you.”

S
tanding in my driveway, trying to regain my bearings and process what just happened, I feel numb and hollow.  Letting out all of those emotions has now left me feeling empty and confused.  Everything she said is true.  I know it is, and have known it for some time, but I haven’t yet had the courage or the push to do anything about my situation.  I’ve been standing in place, not moving in any direction, yet somehow my life’s goals, ambition, and drive continually move further out of my reach.  Right now, my senses are overloaded with fears of whether or not I can stand on my own two feet or if I even have any place to go, should I decide to escape my situation.  I used to think that getting a divorce seemed like admitting defeat and giving up, but I am beginning to see that if I can accept that I did something human, which is that I made a mistake, and put the potential for happiness in my pride’s place, I just might be able to be move closer to those lost dreams and desires for life.  

I reach for the doorknob of my apartment, facing my present predicament
, and let out a weary and defeated sigh.  All of those things are good in theory, but for right now, I have to accept the reality that I created and enter what has now become very much like my tomb.

Arielle

I
silently enter the apartment, which is unusually quiet.  Perhaps everyone has passed out early, or they took the party elsewhere.  Either way, I am relieved to come home to a bit of calm after all of the mess I just let out in Macy’s car.  

I head to the bathroom to wash my face
and whisper, “Hey Swanks,” as I pass through the living room.  

Swanks pauses and allows me to pet him as always.
 His head is grooved, yet soft as always, and I find the texture of his shell calming.  

“I’m heading to bed,” I tell him.
 He nods his head in understanding, and I hear the clacking of his feet on the floor as he moves back to his favorite resting spot.

Kicking off my heels and reveling in the release of my poor feet from their pointed cages, I hear Brody stir.
 I am really disappointed to know that he’s home.  Hopefully, he will be too sleepy or out of it to talk to me.

“Ari,” he croaks from the bedroom
, and I hear him move around in the bed.

I peek my head around the corner of the bedroom door.
 

“Hey,” I whisper.
 “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to disturb you.  I’ll just go lie down on the couch.”

I try
to get back to washing my face, but am thwarted when he says, “Ari,” a little more clearly this time.  “You didn’t come show me your outfit before you left.”

My stomach drops
, and I halt in my tracks.  I think back to before I left and remember he was asleep.  “You were asleep when I left, and I know how tired you’ve been from working so much.”

Brody sits up on the bed and turns on the bedside lamp.
 He blinks his eyes several times and rubs both of his hands on his face.  “I didn’t say ‘don’t wake me,’ Ari.  I said to make sure you let me see you in your outfit before you left,” he spits out.

Feeling unusually bold, I roll my shoulders back, walk to the foot of the bed, and say, “Well, this is the dress.
 You can see me in it now.”

Sensing my change in tone, I see his chest heave in anger.
 “I can see this is the same fucking dress, but I wanted to see you BEFORE you left, when you looked hot.  Not now with your hair all sweaty and your makeup smeared and shit.”

I stumble back away from the bed as fear bleeds into my chest.
 I can see where this is going if I don’t play it smart.  

“I’m sorry, Brody.
 I just thought you would prefer to sleep and rest.  You see me all of the time, but you don’t get sleep as often.”

I’ve really upset him, more than I usually do.
 On the one hand, I want to stand up for myself and scream at him and make him feel every bit of pain and loathing I’ve ever felt, but on the other hand, I’m terrified of how he might react.  

“Damnit, Ari!” he yells.
 “I don’t give a FUCK what you
think
I might prefer.  I told you I wanted to see you before you left.  When I tell you I want to see you before you leave, it means I fucking want to see you BEFORE you fucking leave!”

He’s screaming now
, and I don’t know what to do.  In my mind, I wonder if this is really happening to me, if I am really allowing someone to speak to me this way.  I always told myself I was too strong to allow someone to treat me like shit or abuse me.  Abuse is something I thought only happens in Lifetime movies starring Meredith Baxter or Tori Spelling, not to once regarded smart, vibrant, and strong people like me.  Plus, I tell myself, it’s not like he’s ever put his hands on me.  No.  No, this is not abuse because if it is, it’s certainly not going to happen to me.     

With a little more resolve, I reply, “I know what you said.
 I heard every word of it, and I’m telling you that you were out cold.  Snoring.  And since you’re always complaining about how tired you are, I made the decision to not wake you.”  

I’m breathing more rapidly and a little surprised at my response.
 

Suddenly, I hear a crash and the sound of something breaking.
 I look over to the side wall and see the alarm clock broken into pieces.  

“GOD!
 Why do you do this to me?  Why do you DO this to me, Ari?”

I stand silently, not really knowing how or if I should respond.
 I let the unreal situation circle around me and step back from myself, as if I’m watching a movie happen.  Did I really just witness him throw something and break it out of intimidation?  I do not condone that kind of behavior.  

“I married you,” Brody cries as he slaps his hand to his chest.
 “I brought you here with me.  I got us this apartment.  If you didn’t have me, you would have nothing.  You would be back in that shitty town and alone.  Do you really think anyone else is going to choose to love you?”

I thought I had no more
tears left in me after the huge cry I had earlier, but I was wrong.  I thought I could stand strong and not become a person whom I loathe, but I was mistaken.  Tears pour out of my eyes because I can’t hold them back.  

“Oh, and now you’re trying to make me feel
bad by crying.  Boo fucking hoo,” Brody mocks me. “What about me?  What about everything I’ve done for you, and what have you done for me?” His face is red and his hands are balled into fists.

I choke on my tears as everything he’s just said to me seems very true.
 “Brody, I-”

He stands up and stalk
s toward me until he’s directly above me, staring down at me with contempt in his eyes.  

I cover my face and sob into my hands repeating, “I’m sorry.
 I’m so sorry,” over and over, only I don’t quite know to whom I’m truly apologizing.

Brody’s disposition changes and he says a little more quietly, “I’m sorry too, Ari.”
 He lets out a sigh of frustration.  “Look, you just...you drive me crazy.  And I am tired.  I didn’t mean to lose control like that.  Please.  Come to bed with me, and let’s be husband and wife.”  

He coldly places his hand on my shoulder and directs me toward the bed.

Nausea overwhelms me.  I know precisely what
be husband and wife
means to Brody, and it’s the last thing I want to do right now.  

Looking above my hands and through my tears, I mutter, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Brody.”

Glaring straight into my eyes he says, “You are my wife and we WILL be husband and wife.  Plus, you owe me.”

I don’t owe him, or at least I don’t think I do.
 I don’t know right now because everything is confusing to me at the moment.  

“I reall
y don’t want to, Brody.  Please,” I plead with him.  

Becoming angrier he rocks back on his heels and says, “You’re lucky you even have someone willing to have you in their bed.
 With your huge ass hips and waterslide of a nose, honestly, Ari…Tell me.  Tell me who else is going to want to share their bed with you?”

With that statement, I lose all of my resolve
, and my pride crumbles.  I just want him to leave me alone, and giving in is the easiest way I know how to achieve that.  

Hating myself.  Hating life.  H
ating Brody, I reluctantly crawl under the covers and silently pray for the night to end.

***

W
ith Brody fast asleep again, I decide to get some fresh air.  Sitting on the front porch of my apartment, I allow Macy’s words to sink in.  I wonder if what she said about marriage and relationships being a reward and another source of light in life is true.  I think to how those short, yet strong, interactions with Mick felt, versus what I am going to feel when I walk back into the relationship and life I’m currently facing. I wonder if things have always been this way between Brody and I; if perhaps I have always felt this way with him.

When we were in high school, Brody was funny, charming, and very social.
 To me, he was more worldly because he had not lived in the same small town all of his life.  It seemed as though he knew so much about the world beyond those city limits I knew so well, and I wanted to know and experience everything he had.  He was never overly affectionate, but he did like to show me off, so we attended many social events and spent a good deal of time together.  I would soak in everything he told me and all of the places he took me, feeling special and important to someone.  It seemed like a privilege to be chosen by someone to not only accompany them places, but to simply be chosen.  

All I ever wanted was someone, anyone, to choose me.
 Choose to be with me.  Choose to love me.  Choose to make me theirs.  

I think about that concept-
choose
to love.  Everything else in my life pointed, and continues to point, to love being something that comes naturally and something that you couldn’t fight off or deny if you tried.  Love is much more than a feeling or a choice- No, love is a connection so deeply rooted that even the most precisely engineered attempt could not unearth it.  

I love my parents and my siblings unconditionally.
 I couldn’t stop loving them if I wanted.  I have no choice.  The moment I found out my mother was expecting my younger siblings, I knew I loved them.  Our lives and emotions were immediately intertwined, and I had yet to even meet them.  Despite them not yet being in my life in the flesh, one thing I did know was that I would do anything for them and support them regardless of their actions, behavior, appearance, and abilities.  I also knew that, even without their trying, they enhanced my life and made it just that much better.  

Here I am, standing outside of my apartment, in a world of loathing I created.
 Alone.  Even after I pass back through that threshold into the life that is a result of my decisions, there will be another person there, yet I will feel even more abandoned.  I wouldn’t wish the daily feelings I experience on my worst enemy, but I cannot help but feel I deserve every moment of sadness, every feeling of suffocation, and every ounce of self-loathing, despite the small respite I had from those feelings earlier this evening.  

T
onight is slightly different from most weekend nights.  After I cry for a good amount of time, I begin to feel as though I truly have no more tears to shed in self-pity.  I know what I experienced earlier was not love.  It was not admiration.  In those moments, in no way was I lucky to have him choose me.  In fact, my emotions were not even taken into account.  

My mind returns to that very small
, but very strong, connection I felt earlier tonight with Mick.  I doubt I will ever see him again, but I hope somehow the universe lets him know that he has become my saving grace.  I continue to find solace in that tender, yet powerful interaction.

I don’t know when, but at some point as the night fades on, I decide it is time to start taking steps in the right direction.
 This shift in emotional response gives me a tinge of reassurance.  I feel something building, ever so slightly, in the depths of my soul.  

Somewhere, somehow
, a fire is lit in me, albeit very small, giving me hope that perhaps my life does not have to be this way.  It is time to pick myself up and begin to redirect my life’s path away from the predictability of darkness and misery and move it toward the light of the unknown.