I lay in bed, wide awake, as the sun begins to shine through our bedroom window. I hadn't slept at all last night. I reach over to where my husband should be, but it's empty—sliding my fingers over the cold fabric of our bed. Sighing, I sit up and stare at the empty bed beside me and say softly, "Why am I even surprised anymore?".
I slowly get out of bed and move towards my closet to find my robe. I slide the silky fabric between my fingers before putting it on. I have always loved the feeling of silk on my skin. It feels so luxurious.
Hearing some movement downstairs, I make my way over to the bedroom door. I try to open them quietly as possible so that whoever may be downstairs doesn't become aware of my presence. After much effort, I manage to open the doors with minimal noise, and I quietly make my way downstairs.
Once downstairs, I listen carefully for any sign of movement. Nothing. I can hear my heart pounding in my chest, the hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end, and I become aware of how sweaty my palms are. Suddenly I hear a noise coming from the kitchen. It's almost as if this person is trying to be quiet, but they are failing miserably.
My hands are trembling as I reach for the door when suddenly the door opens. I'm faced with my husband. His mouth was stuffed with the large bite of his sandwich and coffee in his other hand. He reeks of alcohol and smoke, his hair is a mess, and his suit seems to be stained. I shriek and take a few steps backwards, covering my mouth with my hands to muffle the sound of my obvious shock.
"Good morning darling, hope I didn't wake you." He says while chewing his food. After the initial shock wears off, I shout at him, "How dare you frighten me like that? Are you out of your mind! I almost called the police! You could have been a murderer!". I cross my arms and glare at him. Matt chuckles, "Oh, don't be dramatic, Rebecca! If I were a murderer, I wouldn't be in the kitchen making a sandwich. I'd be upstairs lurking in your closet." He winks at me as he takes another bite of his sandwich.
I brush past him into the kitchen and instantly stop in my tracks. The kitchen is a mess. There are dirty dishes in the sink, the fridge is open, and the food is strewn over the counter. It looks like a raccoon had found its way into my refrigerator. My hands are no longer trembling with fear but with rage. "What on God's green earth happened in here, Matt? Did you have to unpack the entire fridge to make one sandwich?" I say while staring at my beautiful kitchen in disbelief. Matt walks over to me and kisses me on my temple, "I trust you'll clean this up before you go to work? I would do it, but I was working all night, and I need some sleep". With that, he turns on his heels and walks out of the kitchen, and heads upstairs.
I sink to the floor with my head in my hands, tears streaming down my face. Why don't I stand up for myself? I lift my head and rest it against the cupboard behind me, looking up at the ceiling. I sigh and say to myself, "You allow this because you have been spoiling him for the last four years. You never let him do anything for himself." I sigh deeply one last time before getting up off the floor. I need to clean up this mess before I go to work.
After what seems like an eternity, I finally finish cleaning Matt's mess, and I head upstairs—walking up the stairs as slowly as possible. I have lost all enthusiasm I had for the long day ahead of me. While walking the stairs, my mind finally begins to wonder, where was he? Who was he with? Was he working late, or was that just a lie? What are those stains on his jacket? Why does he look like a bear mauled him? These are questions that I will probably never have an answer to.
I walk into our bedroom to find Matt passed out on our bed. His coffee is on the bedside table, his plate is on the bed, and his filthy jacket is in a pile on the floor. He didn't even bother to take his shoes off. I roll my eyes and sigh as I head to the bathroom to take a shower before getting ready for work.
I step into the shower and turn the water on. Once I'm satisfied that the water will burn my skin clear off, I stand under the scalding hot water and close my eyes as I feel the hot water roll over my naked body. The droplets rolling over my skin make me shudder. The only time I feel touched is when I shower. Matt hasn't come near me in months. Sometimes I wonder if he even loves me anymore. My hand drifts between my thighs as I delve my fingers between my folds. I have to feel something. Anything.
After a long shower, I dry off and walk over to my closet to decide on an outfit for the day. I am the personal assistant to a very important man running my father's company, and I cannot arrive at work looking anything less than perfect. Finally, I pick out a form-fitting black dress that doesn't show too much of my breasts but doesn't look like I belong in the nunnery. The skirt of the dress stops mid-thigh and has a thin gold belt that tightens around my waist. I pulled my favourite black suit jacket off the hanger, and I chose a bold red stiletto for my shoes.
Satisfied with my choices, I dry and curl my hair, do my make-up, and put on my outfit for the day. I walk back out into our bedroom and see that Matt is still fast asleep. His phone had fallen out of his pocket and onto the bed next to him. It took all the restraint I could muster not to pick it up and look through his phone. I look at myself one last time before heading out to work.