<\/p>\n
My body felt heavy. It felt as if my bones had swelled up inside of me, ballooning up to the size of tree trunks. The weight of my limbs pushed down against the mattress, with the thick, firm pad pushing back. Isn\u2019t there a rule in physics that says, <\/span>for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction<\/span><\/i>? That\u2019s how it felt lying there, my body pressing down as hard as it could, the bed giving all of its force to sustain me. I was motionless and could barely move my pupils. I let my eyes unfocus as the room around me became blurry. A room that, despite me living there for a few months after the incident, felt so unfamiliar to me it might as well have been a train car in a foreign country filled with strangers.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I heard a voice calling my name. I ignored it. Hoping it would go away was the only thought I could muster. But, of course, it didn\u2019t. Because things don\u2019t get better like this, do they? Not when you choke them down, push them below the surface. Because, the thing is, your problems know how to float, and you will get exhausted trying to keep them below the water. You will start to drown before they do.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cBeth,\u201d the voice repeated, the white wooden door swinging open with such velocity it made my head involuntarily snap towards the door frame, my eyes slowly focusing on the silhouette standing there. The silhouette belonged to my sister, Claire. She had a cup of coffee in her hand and a disapproving look on her face that made me wish the mattress wasn\u2019t pushing back at me, so that I could sink into its pillowy white insides, cocooned by its safety and foam. <\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s already 11,\u201d Claire scolded me. \u201cYou can\u2019t continue living here if you\u2019re just going to sleep all day. Check your email. I sent you a few job listings that you\u2019re qualified for.\u201d She put the cup down on my nightstand and looked at me for a few long seconds. Her lips were pursed, and I knew that she was trying to play bad cop today. I knew better than to pick a fight. She was wearing a nice cream blouse and a black blazer, with fuzzy pajama pants on the bottom. Her typical work-from-home attire. I managed to lean up on my elbows and look her in the eyes.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOkay,\u201d I reluctantly responded with my groggy morning voice. I retrieved the cup of coffee and slowly sipped it as Claire slipped out of the room, forcefully shutting the door behind her.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I rolled out of bed and sauntered over to my desk, opening my laptop, blinded by its bright white light. I logged into my email and glazed over the four new emails I had from my sister. I knew she was angry with me for butchering the interview she had gotten me at the county clerk\u2019s office last week. The woman, Margaret, who was interviewing me had a deep smoker\u2019s voice that made me feel uneasy. She was in her 60\u2019s, and I couldn\u2019t stop staring at her snaggletooth as she spoke. With every question she asked, I noticed another one of her flaws. \u201cTell me about yourself.\u201d The grotesque mole on her left cheek. \u201cWhat are your strengths?\u201d Her unevenly applied lipstick. \u201cWhat are your weaknesses?\u201d Her sloppy mascara that made her eyelashes look like spider legs. \u201cWhy did you leave your last job?\u201d Her foundation shade was the wrong color. It was easy to pick out all of the things wrong about her. Noticing others\u2019 flaws was certainly a strength of mine. I left the interview feeling as empty as I did going into it. Despite Margaret and Claire being good friends and neighbors, meaning I was practically a sh<\/span>o<\/span>e<\/span>-in for the job, Margaret informed us that she was \u201cdeeply sorry, but the position has already been filled.\u201d\u00a0<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I opened one of the links, leading to a job listing for a data entry clerk at some bullshit enterprise. I started filling out an application, but my mind went blank halfway through. I opened a new tab and started browsing through gossipy tabloid sites. I didn\u2019t give a rat\u2019s ass about which celebrity power couple was going through a divorce, or which former model had been unflatteringly photographed on the beach, looking visibly heavier than in her heyday. But I ate those articles up like an exquisite five<\/span>–<\/span>course meal, rereading each sentence just to savor it in my mouth a bit longer. I closed out and switched to Facebook, seeing photos of old college friends getting married and having babies. I lethargically typed in \u201c<\/span>Rob Everhart<\/span>\u201d in the search bar, his In Memoriam page popping right up. Family members and friends all posted tributes to his page, sharing photos and funny anecdotes about him. I scrolled back far enough to find his own posts, ones that contained pictures of birthdays, vacations, our wedding pictures. Shutting the laptop screen, I retired back to bed, feeling defeated and heavy, closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep.\u00a0<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cCan I buy you a drink?\u201d The first words I ever heard Rob say. They now ring like sirens in my ear. I was at a bar alone in a college town after visiting my friend from high school, already tipsy off a Long Island <\/span>I<\/span>ced <\/span>T<\/span>ea that made the world fuzzy and warm.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201c<\/span>Sure,<\/span>\u201d I smiled. \u201cBut nothing as strong as this one.\u201d<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOh come on,\u201d he teased lightly. \u201cGo hard or go home, right?\u201d He bought us a few whiskey sours and made me laugh the entire night. He really did have a great sense of humor<\/span>,<\/span> and was spectacular at making you feel at ease. I can\u2019t say I\u00a0 felt entirely safe, though. There was something behind his amber eyes that I questioned. I\u2019d be lying if I said it wasn\u2019t exciting.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cLet me take you out for real sometime,\u201d Rob demanded towards the end of the night. \u201cWhat dorm are you in?\u201d<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOh, I don\u2019t go to school here. I was visiting my friend. I live about an hour south of here.\u201d I saw his smile deflate.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s a damn shame. Here,\u201d he grabbed my phone off of the counter and plugged his digits in. \u201cJust in case you\u2019re ever in town again.\u201d He gave me a smirk and waltzed off into the night, staggering towards his dorm room under <\/span>the<\/span> moonlight.\u00a0<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The next time I was in town, conveniently only a few weeks later, I decided to give Rob a call. We went out to a casual restaurant, opening up over shared appetizers and more whiskey sours. It seemed as though we really clicked; he was charming. I liked the feeling he gave me when I was around him. We started to see each other more frequently, driving back and forth, sometimes meeting in the middle. He bought me flowers and books and other little knick-knacks he thought I\u2019d enjoy. That version of Rob was sweet, kind, thoughtful. A 21<\/span>–<\/span>year<\/span>–<\/span>old with his whole life and heaps of hope in front of him. Somewhere along the way, that Rob got lost. But I kept trying to find him. I wanted someone to hold me at night. I wanted someone to call when my father was in the hospital, again. And so, an on-again<\/span>–<\/span>off-again relationship was born. We mostly explained to friends and family it was due to distance. Back then<\/span>,<\/span> an hour seemed so far away. But there was something far more sinister bubbling beneath the surface, something neither of us wanted to confront.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n We stayed together after graduation, and I spontaneously decided to move across the country with him, to fulfill his dream of living in the Pacific Northwest, and to fulfill my dream of getting away from my overbearing family. Things were good for a while. Great, actually. We both found jobs and an affordable, but still nice, townhouse. Our biggest arguments during this time were about which art print to buy and where to hang it. Dreams of this life danced around me like a ballerina. The good times were pure, perfect, preserved. Untouched like a time capsule.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n A commotion in the house woke me up with a start. Loud, enthusiastic voices echoed through the halls. I tapped my phone screen. It was four o’clock in the afternoon. That meant Claire\u2019s daughter must be home from middle school. Claire would soon be back up to check on me, so I shuffled back over to my computer and finished the job application, sending it out into the void. At least I would have something to show for my day, something to appease her. I told Claire about the completed job application over dinner, and she looked pleased. Afterwards, I parked myself in front of the TV in the family room, watching old reruns of <\/span>The Mary Tyler Moore Show<\/span><\/i> into the dark of the night, soon passing out on the cold brown leather couch.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The next Monday I received an email in response to the job application I sent out. They wanted me to come in for an interview sometime that week. Once I told Claire about this, she was beaming with pride. I couldn\u2019t help but think she was just proud of herself for feeling like she was helping me.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou can borrow one of my nice pantsuits!\u201d She promised me. I mustered up some kind of appreciation to fool her into thinking I was heading in the \u201cright direction<\/span>.<\/span>\u201d<\/span> I picked at the eggs she made for breakfast as I thought about how I could possibly get out of this interview, unsure if I really wanted to go. Then, the doorbell rang.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cCan you get it? I\u2019m about to go on a call,\u201d Claire yelled from her office. I begrudgingly walked over to the front door, unlocked the latch, and swung it open.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cBethany. We need to talk.\u201d There, in front of me, was the man I cheated on my husband with. His name was Adam, we had been friends since I started my old job. He always made me feel seen. If anyone spoke over me at meetings, he would interrupt to announce that I had something to say. Our affair started casually, getting lunch together as friends, then escalated to us taking afternoons off to be with each other. The vision of him took me right back to the day it happened. We were unclothed in the bedroom with the door shut during one of our Friday afternoon rendezvous. I heard Rob come home early. Adam stared at me with a questioning face, waiting for me to confirm what we were both hearing. I nodded once and he started to pick up his clothes, just as Rob opened the door.\u00a0<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cBeth? I saw your car in the drive-\u201d he paused, taking in what he was seeing. A cacophony then came out of Rob\u2019s lips. Yelling at me, yelling at Adam. For a second<\/span>,<\/span> I was afraid of what he was going to do. He raised his fist near Adam\u2019s face before deciding to punch the wall instead. He then collapsed in silence and blood<\/span>–<\/span>covered knuckles. Adam quickly shuffled out of the house<\/span>,<\/span> and I remained motionless, naked, feeling my limbs get heavier and heavier against the king-sized mattress. Rob whispered, \u201cGet out\u201d and I packed a suitcase and got into my car.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201c<\/span>Claire,<\/span>\u201d I sobbed into the phone, barely getting my words out, \u201cI fucked up. I fucked up bad.\u201d I filled her in on what happened, and Claire immediately washed the bed sheets for the spare bedroom and started preparing for my arrival.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I had only seen Rob two times since it happened, once to collect more of my belongings from our house, the second when he was in his coffin. I wasn\u2019t happy with Rob. Things started going downhill after he lost his job. We were suddenly living paycheck to paycheck on one income, constantly fighting. He refused to get another job in his field, each week declaring a new pipe dream he felt \u201cdestined to follow.\u201d He wanted to go back to school<\/span> and<\/span> take classes at the community center. He even bought an expensive camera with my money during his infamous \u201cI\u2019m going to be a world<\/span>–<\/span>renowned photographer\u201d stint. I tried to be supportive, but when that support started to wane, he noticed. He accused me of wanting him to be unhappy. I was \u201cjust like everybody else in this capitalistic hellhole.\u201d I was good at shutting my mouth. I learned that as a child every time my father came home drunk and eager to start a fight. <\/span><\/p>\n My father liked Rob a lot. I should have taken that as my first red flag. He reassured me he was a good man and that I would be lucky to marry someone like him. I remember my body feeling heavy on our wedding day, each fiber of my being telling me not to go through with it. I ignored those thoughts and let my father\u2019s mean grip lead me down the aisle. A few years went by, and each of his imperfections bothered me more each day. The way he chewed, his erratic behavior, his recycled jokes that I didn\u2019t find funny, his need to correct every little thing I did. He made me feel as useless as leftover crumbs from a mediocre dinner, waiting to be swept up and disposed of. I used to hate cheaters. Still do, I guess. I had even been cheated on once before. My first boyfriend in college slept with some Alpha Gamma <\/span>B<\/span>itch who always told me that we were \u201cso cute together!\u201d I felt disgusted, violated, heartbroken. There was no excuse for cheating on someone. It was unforgivable. But still, I did it. I didn\u2019t know how to deal with the emotional turmoil I’d caused, so I didn\u2019t try to repair things with Rob. I don\u2019t think I ever even apologized.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n When I saw Adam standing there, I desperately wanted to claw my way out of the doorframe and scramble out of suburbia, to catapult myself up onto a cloud and be whisked away, far out of sight of those who knew me. The fervor I felt within my body scared me; it trembled and exploded somewhere behind my rib cage like a wartime bomb. I felt the same way the day Rob\u2019s body was discovered, hanging from the ceiling fan in our old bedroom. And again<\/span>,<\/span> the day of his funeral,<\/span> I was<\/span> too numb to talk or cry or eat or drink or process what had happened.\u00a0<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I hadn\u2019t seen Adam since Rob walked in on that fateful day, and seeing him after all this time made the heaviness in my bones bubble up to the surface so violently that I thought I was going to be sick, purge up all of the dead weight that had been living inside of me for the past year. Maybe it had been living inside of me for far longer than that, growing musty and moldy in my intestines, curdling with each meal I swallowed. <\/span>Repress, repress, repress<\/span><\/i>, my instincts reminded me. Keep those feelings at bay. My insides grew exhausted from carrying it all, much like they were drowning. I started to hyperventilate, my lungs working double time, trying to allow air into them. Adam spoke again, but all I could hear were muffled, murky sounds. I huffed and puffed any last air out of me, any last lightness. It was all replaced with heavy water, my lungs filling with liquid as if I was at the bottom of the sea. I let myself sink. The last thing I remember was the sound of my body hitting the floor like a cold, wet sponge.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n
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