to Alec, I would get a drug-like rush—a high. I was instantly addicted to the feeling, which explains my constant craving. All it would take was a simple text from him, and I’d light up with excitement. But the craving is still there, something I refuse to mention to my therapist because I don’t want to create any more friction in my marriage, so I hide it.
We go to therapy every week.
I sit there.
I listen.
I say all the right things, most of them lies.
And then I get in my car and daydream about Alec.
I’m starting to think the therapy is why I can’t eradicate him from my head. Alec won’t die because of all the endless talking about what I did with him and exploring all the whys.
But it isn’t just the talking, it’s the complete loss of trust. Landon is constantly suspicious of who I’m talking to, who I’m texting, where I’m going when I get into my car, and what I’m doing all day while he’s at work. He’s now linked all our phones and computers to the same account so he can monitor my calls, texts, and even my location through a GPS app he’s installed on his phone. He can pinpoint my location and track my every move through my cell—and he does.
I’m a prisoner in my own world.
I know I deserve it, but that doesn’t mean I like it. I don’t. I hate it. It makes me want to run away even more. Makes me crave freedom over and above what I used to.
If there were ever issues in our marriage before, they couldn’t come close to how many we have now. And the lack of trust has driven the biggest wedge of all between us.
This is another reason why I lie in therapy. I need the trust back, all the while knowing I’m the last person Landon should trust. But I want his trust to do untrustworthy things.
I miss my drug.
I miss my high.
I miss Alec.
I’m constantly wondering where it would’ve gone if Landon had never found out. It’s like watching the most incredible movie ever, and right before I hit the peak of the plot, the electricity goes out and never comes back on. And there I am, left on this high I can’t find my way down from, forever wondering what happens next. So I create my own version of the story. I keep it alive in my head, unable to let it go because it’s constantly tormenting me. It’s a story left unfinished. That’s what Alec is to me.
I know I’m a horrible person. Every day I can feel myself growing more and more selfish. But every day, I can also feel myself growing more and more resentful of Landon. And again, I’m completely aware that this is all my fault. I created this world I now inhabit. A world of lies and mistrust.
I hate it.
I hate living this way.
“I hate this part of your job,” Landon says from the bed as he watches me pack. “And the fact that you’re going alone—”
“What am I supposed to do? Brooke is in her first trimester and has been extremely sick. There’s no way she can make this trip.”
“I know, but it doesn’t help with my anxiety.”
Because of my betrayal, Landon is in a constant state of worry, fearing his world could come crashing down again at any moment. I do what I can to assure him while I silence the devil inside me that’s eager to come out and play. Landon has so many restless nights, so much stress, so much uncertainty.
“It’s a quick trip. In on Friday, out on Sunday,” I tell him before walking into the closet to pick out some shoes.
“Are there going to be male models at this signing?”
I walk back to my suitcase, which is sitting on the bed next to him. “Yes.”
He huffs in frustration, leaning back against the headboard.
“Landon, try to use this as an opportunity to build some trust in me.”
“I’m trying to do what Dr. Lapinski told me to do. I’m trying to give you my trust, but it’s not easy.”
“You have nothing to worry about. I love you,” I assure him, and at least that’s the truth. No matter what we are going through, I do still love my husband. I then try to lighten the mood and tease, “Plus, those twenty-something-year-old models can get any hottie of their choosing, so why would they choose a middle-aged housewife with stretch marks?”
“That’s your