Chapter Twenty-One
Peter
At first, I thought Ivan was joking. Niamh didn’t drink. She never touched a drop because of her parents, more importantly her mother. Only, Ivan wasn’t joking. My wife had been drinking through lunch, and when I arrived at my penthouse, it was to find Ivan sitting on the sofa, while Niamh held my bottle of expensive whiskey and danced on the wooden coffee table in the living room.
“Peter!” She let out a slurred squeal. “Peter is home. Peter is home!”
I’d never seen her like this and as Ivan got to his feet, I glared at him. “What did you do?”
“That, I don’t know. My suggestion is, the next time you want to get Niamh close to the other wives, take her out to dinner, and make it a date with the other men. Something triggered her.”
Ivan went to leave and I grabbed his arm. He looked down at where I held him. I wanted to ask him so many questions, but I also couldn’t leave Niamh alone.
“We need to talk.”
“You’re right. I’ve got a few jobs that need dealing with. I’ll call you tomorrow. Although, I think you’re going to be taking care of your wife.” Ivan smiled at Niamh, who waved back at him.
“Love you, Ivan,” she said. “Thank you for bringing me home.”
I could still understand her, even if her words were slurred as she spoke.
“I’ll let myself out,” Ivan said. He took a step away, but then stopped and turned toward me. “You know, if you don’t want her to leave at the end of all this, maybe be honest with her, and while you’re at it, be honest with yourself.”
And those were Ivan’s parting words, before he let himself out of my penthouse.
Niamh was dancing and she got close to the edge, causing me to suddenly rush toward her. She stumbled, about to take a fall, but I caught her, stopping her from hitting the table, and capturing her in my arms.
“Peter, you caught me. You are my hero.” She rested her head against my shoulder. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Yes.”
“I think I like beer.”
“Beer, or my whiskey?” I asked.
She took a sip of my whiskey and then groaned. “It’s so strong, but it makes me feel so good.”
“You’re not going to feel good in the morning.”
“Then, I better keep drinking. It’s what my mom did whenever Dad came around, or didn’t come around. She always had a reason for drinking or doing drugs. I was always the reason. I disappointed her.”
She swayed and I grabbed hold of her hips to keep her steady.
Niamh giggled, and tilted her head to the side. “I can now see why she drank as much as she did.”
“Why?”
“Because it made life easier.”
“Drinking doesn’t make life easier, Niamh. All it does is push the problems down the road.”
“But what if I want all my problems down the road? So far. So away.” She swatted her hands to the side and her face was scrunched up.
“What problems do you want down the road?” I asked, knowing there was a possibility I wasn’t going to like the answer.
She stopped swatting at the air and then placed her hands on my chest. For several seconds, she didn’t say a word. Just kept her hands on my chest, waiting.
I’d always been a patient man, but when it came to Niamh and her drunk, I had lost my patience, and now I just wanted answers.
“You,” she said. “Choices. They do suck, don’t they?” She sighed and then pulled away from me.
I had no choice but to let her go. While I’d grabbed hold of her, I’d also taken my bottle of whiskey from her, which she snagged again, and took a long drink.
She swallowed and then coughed. “So hot!” She wiped at her face. “I mean, this is all your fault.”
And here we g o— the blaming game. I was used to this. I folded my arms and knew I was going to be the villain in her story. Where she’d point the finger of blame at everything I’d ever done. That I shouldn’t exist.
“Why did I have to fall in love with you?”
I wasn’t expecting that. No one had ever blamed me for being in love. I didn’t believe in love. I stared at her, a little taken aback. I’d expected all manner of insults, and instead she just told me she loved me.
“You see, if I was like my mom, this would be so much easier. That money would be totally spent, and she’d probably rub it in my father’s face as well. It would be such an easy decision for her. She’d even sell her only daughter for that kind of wealth, at least if Ivan’s to be believed, and I have no reason to assume otherwise. Like you said, he always keeps his word.” She stopped and took another drink. “My life was going to be simple. Stay on the run, at least until my father died.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know if there is a hole in that plan, though, because from what I’ve been told, my brother is as big a monster as he is.” She started to pace, albeit not in a straight line. “But then you came to town, and I had this horrible feeling, but I figured my instincts were just failing me. But they weren’t failing me. What I felt was real, but by then it was too late, and you …” She stormed up to me. “You had to be so kind and so sweet, and yes, I know you don’t do love. So I know you can never love me back, so while I want to be pissed at you for lying, I know I can’t. I was just as big a liar as you.”
She stepped back and held her fingers out. “I’m still in love with you.” A finger went down. “I … like seeing you every single day and that means waking up with you.” Another finger went down.
“I love it when you hold me while I sleep. I’ve been woken up so many times in the past by a belt or my father’s fist, that I didn’t sleep well for a long time, but I know you can take care of me. That you won’t let anything happen to me.” Another finger went down.
“You’re my husband.” The fourth finger went down.
“And one day, I’d love to have your babies and be happy.” The thumb closed around her fingers.
“And then, on this hand, the only reason I can see to leave, is to set you free.” Her lip quivered.
“You don’t have to set me free, Niamh.”
“But you don’t do love. You’re not in love with me, and you don’t deserve to live your life like this, with a woman you don’t like.”
I closed the distance between us. I had no idea if she was going to remember this conversation or not. Strong, good whiskey had that effect on the mind. It was why it was such a good drink to lose yourself in. “I don’t hate you. I don’t not like you. I do like you, Niamh, and I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to grant you a divorce. I’d be very happy if you stayed.”
And, Niamh had been drinking for a very long time, and the effects of the alcohol were finally catching up to her. Her eyes drooped and seconds later, I caught her in my arms as she collapsed against me. Tomorrow, she would feel the aftereffects of the whiskey.
****
Niamh
It was official, I was never, never, ever, never, ever, ever, ever, ever drinking again. In fact, I’d like to throw in a few more never-evers. I didn’t think I was quite clear enough. I had no idea the toilet seat could become my new best friend, but I did have a sudden feeling to pet the damn thing.
I was going crazy. No doubt about it.
My shame was not just my own, though, nope, to help me along the shame trail, Peter had decided to stay. He’d laid beside me all night, and I hoped he’d been able to get some sleep. I knew from past experience that my mom’s snores got louder after a night of heavy drinking.
My mother also had the ability to forget her previous night’s escapades. She would often chuckle and gasp at all the right spots, but I must not have drunk enough, because I remembered everything. There was even a point where I jumped onto the wooden coffee table and began to dance. I might have invited Ivan to also let loose. Then of course, there was the truth-on-the-hand thing I told Peter.
I didn’t know if he was going to let me forget it or not. I was hoping he would, because I didn’t want to have to go through any of that.
He held my hair back as another wave of sickness washed over me, and this had nothing to do with a baby. Nope, I was throwing up my guts because I decided to wash down lunch with a ton of alcohol.
I was like my mother, even though I promised myself I never would be.
All I wanted to do was burst into tears, finish throwing up, and sink back beneath the covers of the blankets, and hope the ground would finally swallow me whole.
No more vomit was coming, and I moved to allow it to flush away. Peter rubbed at my back, and why did he have to be so sweet, so loving? This was not who he was, and yet he did it anyway.
I wanted to give him his freedom, it was one of the reasons I had started to drink, because having this choice was killing me. I did love Peter. There was no easy way that was going to fade away as if it didn’t exist, because it did exist, and I couldn’t just get away from that.
“There, are you okay?” Peter asked.
“I think so. I don’t think any more is going to come.” The entire contents of my stomach felt like they were now in the toilet. I’d already flushed the sick down, and now I glanced inside to make sure it was clean. Getting to my feet, Peter let go of my hair, and I pushed some out of my face.
“You need a shower,” he said.
I nodded. And also to brush my teeth.
Peter didn’t leave right away. He turned on the shower and checked the water. “I’m going to make you some breakfast. Do you think you can survive the shower without me?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I can figure it out.”
This was no joking matter.
He stepped up toward me, put both of his hands on my arms, and then leaned in and kissed me. I closed my eyes, as I felt his lips brush across my forehead. It felt nice. It felt good. Again, this wasn’t helping me to set him free. In this moment, I didn’t want to set him free. I wanted to keep him and never let him go.
I stared at him, not sure what to do or say.
He stroked my cheek, and then he spun on his heel and left.
Was there even a chance that he could love me? I didn’t want to be one of those women who forced a man to love her. Why did Ivan have to do this to me?
I stripped out of my clothes and quickly stepped beneath the hot spray of water, loving the feel of it as it washed over my skin. Closing my eyes, I allowed it to completely soak me, and tilted my head back. The spray, at first, felt almost biting, but slowly my skin stopped feeling so tender, and I got accustomed to the feel of it.
I opened my eyes, and stared across at the tiled wall. I kept seeing Peter last night. How he took care of me. The way he held my hips and I slid my hands down to touch where he had last night. I couldn’t feel his grip, even though I wanted to. So, instead, I took a deep breath and just allowed myself to breathe. That was all I could do.
Would it be so wrong of me to stay with a man who didn’t love me?
Pushing those thoughts and that damn choice to the back of my mind, I instead focused on getting washed. Peter was making food, and I didn’t want it to spoil or get cold. With my hair washed, I soaped up a sponge and ran it all over my body. Letting the suds rinse off, I turned the shower off, stepped out, and wrapped my body in a towel, as well as my hair.
Next step, brushing my teeth, because my breath smelled so bad. I needed to wash the taste of that whiskey out of my mouth.
Once my teeth were done, I swilled my mouth with some mouthwash, and then I cleaned up my mess and went straight to the bedroom. I still found it hard to call it my bedroom, or our bedroom. In my mind, it was still Peter’s bedroom, even though my stuff had been moved into the space available, and we’d not really talked about it going back.
So, for now, this was “our bedroom.” I didn’t know why I loved that title, but I did.
I was totally swaying toward large, oversized sweats, but instead, I grabbed a dress. I was going to make an effort. I wasn’t sure if Peter was staying with me, or if he’d find some reason to be as far away from me as possible. Not that I could blame him, because I pretty much sucked last night.
I’d become my mother, only caring about my own needs when it came to forgetting my troubles, and that was never going to happen again. If the uncontrolled vomiting wasn’t a sign, then certainly the splitting headache and general bad taste I had in my mouth would help me decide.
Once I had dressed in a light, pastel-blue summer dress with a floral design, I headed out to the delicious smell of bacon and coffee.
Peter was standing at the kitchen stove. He had his business suit on, apart from the main jacket. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, showing off the many tattoos he had.
“What’s it like to get a tattoo?” I asked.
I had looked at them many times, but the thought of having a needle stabbing my flesh was just a little more painful that I could bear. Also, where would I have found a tattoo artist willing to ink me? My father had a lot more control on me than I had even realized. It was kind of shocking.
“The same as any tattoo. You know what you want, he or she does it. You pay. That’s pretty much it.”
“Does it hurt?”
“I have a higher pain threshold, so it didn’t bother me, which is why I’ve got quite a few of them.”
“Why did you get them originally?” I asked.
Peter paused and I saw it in the way his elbow seemed to go completely still. He glanced over his shoulder toward me.
“If you must know, it was to hide the scars I’d gotten because of my dad’s … games.”
He’d told me what his father had done.
I had some scars from the beatings my father had given me. Reminders of what he’d done, and that I had survived.
“Do you think the person you used would be willing to … do me?” I frowned. “I mean, you know, give me a tattoo?” I felt my cheeks heating.
“I can get him to come here if you’d like. You don’t have to go to his shop.”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure what I want, but I was thinking, you know, ugh, like look through what he can do and see if there’s anything I like.”
“No problem. Once we’re finished here, we’ll go and get it done.”
“We will?”
“Yeah.”
“What about … you know, work? Don’t you have work to do?”
“It can wait. I’ll spend the day with you.” This was a surprise, but it was one I wanted.
I offered him a smile, and then watched as he finished serving breakfast. I looked forward to spending the day with my husband.