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His stupid head just continues to shake. “You weren’t drunk, Grace.”
“I was. I have no memory of any of it.”
“You weren’t drunk. And I’ve been trying to tell you—”
“You’ve been trying to tell me?” I stand up and he reaches for my arm. But I smack his hand off. “You were trying to tell me what?” I walk across the room and stand near the window where the cat is now curled up in a ball, fast asleep. “You did not marry me knowing full well that I never wanted to be married. You did not.” He stands up and starts towards me, his arms reaching. But I put a hand up. “Stop. Don’t. Tell me right now, what the hell happened that night?”
“Grace… you were so insecure. You were talking about your parents—”
“I never talk about my parents, Vaughn. And all that was before the media ambush. That’s the only reason I talked about them this weekend, OK? So I know—”
“You don’t know, Grace.” His words come out stern and strong. They stop my outburst mid-sentence. “You don’t know anything. Because you don’t remember. I was there. That,” he says, pointing to the TV, “proves everything I’ve been telling you.”
“Telling me? You haven’t told me anything, apparently.”
“I’ve been telling you how I feel. And that wedding was proof. I married you. You,” he stresses, “married me too. We got married.”
“No. How could you? After everything I told you?”
“Everything what? I don’t get your aversion to marriage. Haven’t I proved I’m in this for real? What more do I have to do? I told you I love you.”
“Oh my God. You told me that because you married me. You told me that so when I found out, I’d think it was real!”
“Grace! Listen to yourself. It’s real. We’re married. We signed the license. You,” he stresses again. “signed the license.”
But I’m not listening. My mind is reeling from this fact. I’m married.
No! I am not married. My mind says it over and over and over again. I’m not married. I’m not married.
“Grace.” Vaughn grabs me by the shoulders so hard it hurts. I push him off and fall to the floor, my head spinning. “Grace? What’s wrong?”
I crab-walk backwards across the floor as he moves closer. “Stay away from me!”
“Grace, please. Just… calm down and listen.”
“No. Get out.”
“What? No, I’m not getting out. That’s bullshit. You’re done running, baby. You’re done running. We’re talking this out like adults and you’re going to tell me exactly what’s going on.”
“What’s going on? You fucking married me!”
“I love you.”
“You don’t love me. You don’t even know me!”
“Why are you freaking out? Just tell me.”
“You know why.” I stare at Vaughn, the tears burning the back of my eyes until they burst forth in long streams. Not drops. Streams. Rivers of tears run down my face. “He tried to convince me we were married. He brainwashed me. He had me so convinced I was his wife, I fucking wept for him on the front lawn of the hospital when he let me go!”
Chapter Sixteen
#TheCouchIsMyFriend
HER WORDS echo in my ears.
I was right. He fucked with her head and when he left her, she didn’t know how to process it.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Grace, just relax. OK? We can get an annul—” I stop before the word finishes. But it’s too late. She heard it and I can’t take it back. “I don’t mean that.”
“You do mean that, Asher. You do mean that. Because now that you know how broken I am, you don’t want to touch me.”
I shake my head, force myself to stay calm. “That’s not true. I want what’s best for you.”
She covers her ears like a child and shakes her head so hard her hair whips across her face. “Leave.”
“Grace—”
“Leave!”
“I’m not leaving.”
She stops her childish tantrum and says very clearly, “You are leaving. Get out!”
I weigh my options. I can stay and fight with her. Or I can go wait in the hallway for a little bit, give her a chance to calm down and keep an eye on her.
I opt for the hallway.
“OK, I’m gonna go out in the hallway. But I’m not leaving, do you understand? I’m not leaving. I’m gonna give you space to calm down and think this through, see that this is nothing like what happened to you as a child, and then I’m going to call you. Do you understand? We will talk about this. I refuse to go home until we talk about this.” I start backing away from her, towards the door. “I’m gonna be right outside.”
She shakes her head. “No. If you stay in this hallway, I will call the police. I’m not fucking around.”
“I own this building, Grace.”
“You do not own me, Asher.” She says it with such venom I recoil.
“I know that, sweets. I do.”
“Then leave. Respect me. For once. Respect me.”
That hurts, I have to admit. I do respect her, but I’ve got no good excuse for why I didn’t tell her what we did that night besides fear that she’d react badly. And why did I fear that?
Because I knew it was wrong when we did it. I knew.
And she knows I knew.
I give in and retreat. I walk to the door, open it, step through, and close it behind me. The chain lock engages and I force myself to walk towards the stairs. I take them slowly, telling myself the whole way down to the lobby that once she cools off, we will talk about this and figure it out.
But until then, I walk over to the chair in front of the fireplace I had refurbished for the building lobby and take a seat. Until then, I will sit right here and wait.
Chapter Seventeen
#NotMyInvisibleMan
THE BUZZING of my phone wakes me. My eyes are so swollen from crying, I have a hard time opening them to see the screen.
Unknown number.
Vaughn.
Meet me on the roof.
Jesus, can’t that guy take a hint? Why doesn’t he ever give up?
Do I want him to give up? I ask myself honestly. Or is this whole freakout a test to see how committed he is? Isn’t it a good thing that he’s still hanging around? I know he was down in the lobby because there’s reporters outside now. I was watching TV for hours as they set up camp in front of my building. If Vaughn hadn’t put in the new security features, they’d probably be camped out in my hallway.
“I was. I have no memory of any of it.”
“You weren’t drunk. And I’ve been trying to tell you—”
“You’ve been trying to tell me?” I stand up and he reaches for my arm. But I smack his hand off. “You were trying to tell me what?” I walk across the room and stand near the window where the cat is now curled up in a ball, fast asleep. “You did not marry me knowing full well that I never wanted to be married. You did not.” He stands up and starts towards me, his arms reaching. But I put a hand up. “Stop. Don’t. Tell me right now, what the hell happened that night?”
“Grace… you were so insecure. You were talking about your parents—”
“I never talk about my parents, Vaughn. And all that was before the media ambush. That’s the only reason I talked about them this weekend, OK? So I know—”
“You don’t know, Grace.” His words come out stern and strong. They stop my outburst mid-sentence. “You don’t know anything. Because you don’t remember. I was there. That,” he says, pointing to the TV, “proves everything I’ve been telling you.”
“Telling me? You haven’t told me anything, apparently.”
“I’ve been telling you how I feel. And that wedding was proof. I married you. You,” he stresses, “married me too. We got married.”
“No. How could you? After everything I told you?”
“Everything what? I don’t get your aversion to marriage. Haven’t I proved I’m in this for real? What more do I have to do? I told you I love you.”
“Oh my God. You told me that because you married me. You told me that so when I found out, I’d think it was real!”
“Grace! Listen to yourself. It’s real. We’re married. We signed the license. You,” he stresses again. “signed the license.”
But I’m not listening. My mind is reeling from this fact. I’m married.
No! I am not married. My mind says it over and over and over again. I’m not married. I’m not married.
“Grace.” Vaughn grabs me by the shoulders so hard it hurts. I push him off and fall to the floor, my head spinning. “Grace? What’s wrong?”
I crab-walk backwards across the floor as he moves closer. “Stay away from me!”
“Grace, please. Just… calm down and listen.”
“No. Get out.”
“What? No, I’m not getting out. That’s bullshit. You’re done running, baby. You’re done running. We’re talking this out like adults and you’re going to tell me exactly what’s going on.”
“What’s going on? You fucking married me!”
“I love you.”
“You don’t love me. You don’t even know me!”
“Why are you freaking out? Just tell me.”
“You know why.” I stare at Vaughn, the tears burning the back of my eyes until they burst forth in long streams. Not drops. Streams. Rivers of tears run down my face. “He tried to convince me we were married. He brainwashed me. He had me so convinced I was his wife, I fucking wept for him on the front lawn of the hospital when he let me go!”
Chapter Sixteen
#TheCouchIsMyFriend
HER WORDS echo in my ears.
I was right. He fucked with her head and when he left her, she didn’t know how to process it.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Grace, just relax. OK? We can get an annul—” I stop before the word finishes. But it’s too late. She heard it and I can’t take it back. “I don’t mean that.”
“You do mean that, Asher. You do mean that. Because now that you know how broken I am, you don’t want to touch me.”
I shake my head, force myself to stay calm. “That’s not true. I want what’s best for you.”
She covers her ears like a child and shakes her head so hard her hair whips across her face. “Leave.”
“Grace—”
“Leave!”
“I’m not leaving.”
She stops her childish tantrum and says very clearly, “You are leaving. Get out!”
I weigh my options. I can stay and fight with her. Or I can go wait in the hallway for a little bit, give her a chance to calm down and keep an eye on her.
I opt for the hallway.
“OK, I’m gonna go out in the hallway. But I’m not leaving, do you understand? I’m not leaving. I’m gonna give you space to calm down and think this through, see that this is nothing like what happened to you as a child, and then I’m going to call you. Do you understand? We will talk about this. I refuse to go home until we talk about this.” I start backing away from her, towards the door. “I’m gonna be right outside.”
She shakes her head. “No. If you stay in this hallway, I will call the police. I’m not fucking around.”
“I own this building, Grace.”
“You do not own me, Asher.” She says it with such venom I recoil.
“I know that, sweets. I do.”
“Then leave. Respect me. For once. Respect me.”
That hurts, I have to admit. I do respect her, but I’ve got no good excuse for why I didn’t tell her what we did that night besides fear that she’d react badly. And why did I fear that?
Because I knew it was wrong when we did it. I knew.
And she knows I knew.
I give in and retreat. I walk to the door, open it, step through, and close it behind me. The chain lock engages and I force myself to walk towards the stairs. I take them slowly, telling myself the whole way down to the lobby that once she cools off, we will talk about this and figure it out.
But until then, I walk over to the chair in front of the fireplace I had refurbished for the building lobby and take a seat. Until then, I will sit right here and wait.
Chapter Seventeen
#NotMyInvisibleMan
THE BUZZING of my phone wakes me. My eyes are so swollen from crying, I have a hard time opening them to see the screen.
Unknown number.
Vaughn.
Meet me on the roof.
Jesus, can’t that guy take a hint? Why doesn’t he ever give up?
Do I want him to give up? I ask myself honestly. Or is this whole freakout a test to see how committed he is? Isn’t it a good thing that he’s still hanging around? I know he was down in the lobby because there’s reporters outside now. I was watching TV for hours as they set up camp in front of my building. If Vaughn hadn’t put in the new security features, they’d probably be camped out in my hallway.
