Chapter Five – Fawn
Last year
Jason’s been completely MIA today — hanging out at his friend’s place, watching football, probably drinking.
In his absence, I’ve vacuumed the apartment from top to bottom, cleaned every nook and cranny, double-mopped the kitchen. I basically became Chief Cleaning Officer by default after I moved in. It was a total bachelor pad — clothes lying around on the floor, dishes piled up in the sink.
And today? Well, the apartment shines like new, with a few feminine touches added of course, like fluffy throws and plants that stay alive.
Typically, after a deep clean, I would plop onto the couch with a sore back and be in an awful mood. But today? I’ve got this weird energy rush, like I’ve had a double espresso shot. Or perhaps it’s from the beer.
I understand it’s a little sneaky, but I snatched one of Jason’s beers while cleaning. Now, as I inspect the apartment, taking in my handy work, I roll the bottle between my fingers, taking another swig. It’s cold and refreshing. A gentle buzz hits me, making me feel floaty.
I’ve never been much of a drinker. Maybe the one beer has got to me, but in this moment, I feel confident: sexy, even.
I know this is rare, and I don’t want to let go of the feeling, so I decided to do something I hadn’t had the guts to do in quite a while: I slip into one of my deep red lace lingerie sets.
I adjust the straps and smooth the fabric over my hips while looking into the bathroom mirror.
For the first time in a long while, I don’t feel fat or self-conscious about my body or stretch marks. How could Jason possibly resist me?
The sound of the front door opening catches my attention, and I’m brought back into reality.
Here he is.
I can feel myself grinning from ear to ear. This apartment smells like citrus and clean laundry.
Hopefully, when Jason walks in, he’ll notice the clean apartment — and me.
Shuffling out of the bathroom, I cinch my robe loosely around me. Jason steps inside, and the faint scent of beer and fried food wafts in with him.
“Hello,” I tease. I can’t help a grin from upturning my lips, threatening a giggle. “How was your evening?”
Jason’s dull brown eyes narrow as he sets down his car keys. “My team lost.” His voice is croaky. “Anyway, why are you standing there with a grin on your face?”
I feel guilty about his team losing, and I completely understand how Jason is after a bad football game, all grumpy and sullen. Perhaps once he sees what I’ve got on, it’ll make him feel better.
I let out my breath and freeze for a split second, summoning the last shred of my bravery to untie the robe, letting it fall open. Out comes the lace set, and I bite my bottom lip, giving him my sexiest look.
For one moment, his eyes shift from my stockings right up to my face. My ribs can barely contain the sudden, frantic beat of my heart.
He is looking at me.
Really looking at me.
My God, I feel so sexy.
Jason edges closer, his expression unreadable. I shut my eyes and purse my lips, readying myself.
Instead, I feel a sharp pinch in my stomach. I tense up, eyes flying open, and look down. Jason stands there nonchalantly pinching one of my rolls between his fingers, flexing it before derisively snorting. “Looks like Freddy Krueger has been tearing up your stomach.”
What? My eyes start to water as my heart shrinks. I feel like I’ve been punched in the chest; the little confidence I managed to build up in an instant is shattered. The refreshing taste of beer turns sour in my mouth.
Jason lets go of my stomach and turns on his heel, leaving me standing in the middle of the living room, exposed and feeling so small. I pull the robe back over my body as tears threaten to spill over, but I hold them back.
“Oh, by the way, red is not your color,” he adds before stepping into the bedroom.
Funny, last year, when I was picking it out in the store, he said it was my color.
But that’s beside the point. How dare he make me feel like this?
My heart hammers with desperation, as I follow him into the bedroom.
He’s already unbuttoning his shirt, moving with the same disconnected routine as usual.
“Did you really just comment on my stretch marks?” My voice quivers, yet I try to sound firm.
Jason rolls his eyes and tosses his shirt over the corner of a chair. “Seriously? Fawn. It was a joke. Plus, I’m tired. My team just lost, and you’re wanting sex.”
I can’t help it — my voice cracks. “This isn’t about sex. How do you think it makes me feel when you grab my stomach? You know I hate my body.”
“It’s not my fault you’re insecure. That’s a you problem,” Jason says casually, unbuckling his belt.
Is it a me problem?
Wait! No! Seriously, what am I even thinking?
He walked in and didn’t even notice how clean the apartment was. Nope, instead, he came in late, stinking of beer, and then he thought it’d be funny to ridicule me about my stretch marks.
I’ve been really striving to feel good about myself, but one glance from him made me feel worthless. For a moment, yeah, I did believe that, but no way! This isn’t a me problem.
“I felt confident for once, and you—” I choke as my anger turns into tears falling down my cheek.
My words are no use; Jason doesn’t care. He strips off his pants and slips under the blanket, as if nothing happened, as if I’m nothing but a background murmur.
He reaches across to turn the lamp off by the bed. The room drops into darkness, and I stand there in the silence.
****
The moonlight breaks through a crack in the curtains, illuminating the room as I lie in bed, staring at the wall.
Jason lies on his side, facing away from me, and the gap between us feels massive. I curl up at the edge of the bed while my mind circles, as it does this time every night.
The mattress shifts beneath me, and I can sense Jason drawing closer. I catch my breath for one second as he curls up behind me, his body against mine. He slings his arm over my side, and his warm breath grazes my ear as he says, “You know I love you.”
The words kind of float around like they are meant to mean something.
They’re funny, aren’t they? Those three little words. I love you. As if they have the ability to fix problems and heal the hurt between us. Jason says them like they’re some sort of Band-Aid, thinking it will fix what’s messed up between us.
They should bottle those words and sell them. ‘I love you’ is the magic elixir for everything screwed up.
But I know they are only words, empty coming from his lips.
Hugging me is the substitute for the ‘I’m sorry’ that he never says.
It is a custom of his, an attempted silent maneuver.
It’s not affection — it’s strategy. I let silent tears stream down my cheeks.
I don’t lean into his touch or back away either.
He’s just a warm body beside me. Enough is enough.
I can’t stay with him. I’m too young to waste my life on someone who makes me feel worthless.