Chapter 41 - ALEX
ALEX
Waking up the next day feels like a dream. I walk to work, still unsure of my new reality, but it feels real once I see Theo waiting at my office to take the cameras out.
He looks miserable, which he should, and he brought me breakfast, which I only accept because he seems so miserable.
He takes the cameras out, shows me the camera feeds are off on his phone, and leaves.
Once he texts me with proof that the cameras are out of the rec center, I go to yoga and relax fully for the first time in months.
After work, I walk home, but he’s nowhere.
My life is just for me again.
It’s fucking awesome.
Everyone can tell I’m in a good mood, and I try not to let it bother me when Bailey asks about Theo. I answer vaguely and turn the conversation away from him.
When I get home, I take all the presents he’s ever given me and put them in bags under my bed and ignore them. I've run out of the food he bought, so I go grocery shopping for myself. I don’t cook dinner, and I enjoy eating canned tuna directly from the tin without being questioned.
I spend the night painting a big, abstract canvas in warm colors, and when I prop it up to dry, I notice the small painting of Theo reading, which also goes under the bed.
The next day, I chat with some of the regulars at my dance fitness class, just because I’m in a good mood and I can.
I get dinner at a brewery I haven’t tried and walk home slightly drunk.
I pull up the stupid Purple Ribbon Yoga video and recite the long-abandoned affirmations to myself.
I masturbate successfully for the first time in months, and I don’t think of Theo once.
I spend the rest of the night masturbating, thrilled to have control over my body back.
On Friday, I babysit Miles, and we play dinosaurs, hang out on the couch together with Biscuit, and watch cartoons. Bailey drives me home, and I stay up late, drink a bottle of wine, put on a face mask, and watch a dumb movie just because my time is my own.
I take the bus to Portland on Saturday, and since Theo’s not hovering over me, trying to see what I like or don’t like, I go shopping and buy myself whatever I want as a treat for being free again.
I see whatever movie I want, since I’m the only person I have to consider when I choose the movie.
There’s no leg bouncing out of boredom next to me, and no one reminds me it’s not real butter that they pour on my popcorn.
Anna, Jessica, and I get brunch on Sunday, and I finally feel like I can start being more open about myself and my feelings because Theo’s not hanging around, trying to listen.
I deflect when they ask about him, being as vague as possible without seeming suspicious.
After brunch, I swing by a stationary store downtown and buy a planner for the new year, almost crying when there’s no blocky handwriting in red ink anywhere in my new planner.
I go to Bailey’s for New Year’s Eve and tell everyone that Theo is sick when they ask about him, and then I don’t mention him again.
I get drunk on champagne and walk home drunk, open another bottle of champagne, play loud music, and dance around my apartment.
No one freaks out about my safety, or criticizes my music, or asks why I’m getting shitfaced, or makes a stupid little concerned face when I fall on my ass.
I show up to work the next day very hungover, and no one texts me to ask me if I’m feeling okay or shows up with lunch, ibuprofen, and a disapproving look.
My life is back in my hands, and I focus on how amazing it feels to be in control again.
I work hard to ignore any of the other feelings I’m having.
I go to trivia on Tuesday, and I run into Ben for the first time since Theo beat the shit out of him.
Anna and I ignore him, mostly talking to each other and Zach.
Ben seems nervous, looking around occasionally, but Theo’s nowhere to be seen.
He doesn’t text me or show up at the bar or at my house after.
I’m almost disappointed, but I become elated when I realize that it means he actually isn’t following me or watching me.
I go out to a wine bar with Bailey on Wednesday, thrilled I have so much time to socialize. After work on Thursday, I go to the small bookstore downtown and pick up a used copy of a self-help book about shame and vulnerability that Bailey recommended.
I reread the section on numbing yourself to keep from being vulnerable twice.
On Saturday, I go to the beach and paint, and I allow myself to think about Theo.
When I get home, I spend hours writing out color-coded pros and cons lists of reasons why I should or shouldn’t give him a chance, and every list has more red ink than green.
All the evidence points to Theo being a bad fucking idea, and I try to convince myself that should be enough for me to make the right choice about him.
The next morning, I go on a long run along the waterfront, not used to running alone anymore.
I walk back to my place slowly, and I finally stop ignoring the feeling I’ve been shoving down since I got back from Yachats.
I look at the pros and cons lists, but they don’t cover everything, so I throw them all out and start over, using a third column to list how I feel about him.
I know how I feel about him and the fucked-up mess he made of my life, but I don’t know what to do about it.
I want to give myself the time to fully consider every option, so I let myself think about it for another week.
I go through my routine, go to work, see my friends, but in the back of my head is a constant churn of what to do about Theo.
The next Sunday, I think I’m finally ready to see him, but I know I need to make up my mind before I talk to him. I spend my entire run trying to decide what to do, but by the time I get to his house, I'm still unsure.
I know what I should do, and I know what I want to do, but I don’t know what I’m going to do until I take the first step down the dead-end road that leads to him.
I twist the knob on his weird, vintage doorbell, but he doesn’t answer the door. His cars are all here, so I doubt he’s in Yachats. Maybe he’s out, but he knows what time I run on Sundays, and I don’t think he’d risk it.
I turn the handle and find the door is unlocked, which is unusual because he always locks his doors.
I slip off my running shoes and look around, seeing that his house is spotless.
Theo’s a neat freak anyway, but it had begun to look like someone might live here.
Right now, it’s basically a showpiece. I head upstairs to his bedroom, and it’s spotless except for a bag of my things set neatly in the corner with a thick envelope on top.
I stare at the bag and letter with apprehension, but I don’t touch either.
His office has a large, organized pile of brand-new therapy and self-help books on his desk, as well as a notebook and some highlighters.
There are some unmarked sealed manila envelopes and a few stacks of paper on his desk, and everything is tidy.
I resist the strong urge to go through his things, but I don’t like the look of the envelopes, which look exactly like the ones we put documents in at work.
I notice he’s got the Polaroid of us in front of the tree taped to one of his monitors, and I pick it up and look at it for a long time.
We look so happy.
I check the guest rooms he never uses, and they’re all perfectly tidy and recently cleaned, but he’s not there.
I open a small door that leads to a narrow staircase, which must be the entrance to the attic, and I get a little nervous as I climb the stairs slowly.
I keep my eyes on the rafters, but it’s just a cramped attic full of boxes and no Theo, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
I’m probably being ridiculous.
I check the rooms downstairs that he never uses, but he’s not in any of them. When I head into the kitchen and see that his fridge is empty, I start to panic.
I hurry towards the detached garage, but when I pass the basement door, I hear something, so I open it and head down the stairs.
His basement is a huge home gym, and Theo’s facing away from me with headphones on, shirtless and in workout shorts, jumping rope rapidly.
I know that he works out when he’s wound up, which is why he’s in such great shape despite the absurd amount of food he eats, but I just thought he ran a lot and had some dumbbells.
I’m pretty sure he’s got a nicer gym down here than the rec center.
He’s got a weird, curved treadmill, a weight rack, a cable machine, and a wide variety of other equipment, including a Pilates machine that looks untouched.
This is so excessive for one person, but I shouldn’t be surprised.
He’s not usually one for restraint.
He still hasn’t noticed me, so I sit on the steps and watch him over the low wooden railing.
On further inspection, the gym looks like the most used room in the house right now.
It’s almost messy, which is probably a bad sign.
I wait, watching the clock, and he only starts to slow down after about ten minutes.
God, he must be really stressed.
It’s a few more minutes before he finally stops, hanging the rope on a hook on the wall and breathing hard.
He puts his face in his hands and tilts his head back, his chest heaving, and I can see rivulets of sweat rolling down the lean, defined muscles of his body.
As I look at him, I become extremely aware of an ache between my legs that wasn’t there when I walked into the basement.
We need to get out of this house.