Everything She Never Had // Chapter 12

The opportunity.

My urge to escape has been high lately – emotional stress keeping up at night, metaphorically pacing in my mind. I imagine the act of physically pacing around our bedroom at four in the morning might alleviate both my anxiety and my insomnia, but I wouldn't dare wake Chris at this hour. I’ve learned that asking for his support often evokes the opposite of what I’m seeking, which is love, safety and comfort. Instead, I receive dismissiveness, a lack of concern and ultimately a brush-off, leaving me feeling unimportant and unworthy of his time and affection and oftentimes feeling worse than if I had just dealt with it on my own. The confusion of the contradiction—his hot and cold behavior, the ups and downs, the everything all at once and then nothing at all, has left me off balance, constantly doubting myself in not only our relationship but in other areas of my life too. My work and my friendships, which have always been so important to me, my light and my ease, now seem heavy and complicated, too much effort to suffer through the anxiety that inevitably comes, and I’ve found myself avoiding invites and opportunities to leave the house altogether.

It’s been months since our honeymoon and although we’ve been going through the motions of newlyweds, pieces of me have been slipping away almost daily. Chris, on the other hand, seems fine, but maybe to him, I seem fine too. But it seems to me that he’s happier when I’m unhappy, but that feels silly to say. The truth is that I’ve lost trust in myself, and don’t feel safe in my own skin. My confidence in my own abilities, my lust for life’s possibilities have dwindled and I’ve somewhat retreated inside myself, inside this house and outside on the patio, smoking.

I hate him for this, I thought, taking a drag from my cigarette and blowing it out into the hazy morning sunrise, bleary-eyed and wrapped in a couch blanket, huddled on a patio chair in the backyard. I hated him for tricking me into marrying him under false pretenses. I hated him for lying to me, betraying me for all those years, conning me into believing he was someone he is so clearly not.

How could he keep up that charade for so long? I wondered, he must be relieved now, in a way, that he doesn’t have to wear that mask anymore.

I hated how focused I had become on “him and us and our relationship” instead of enjoying my life or our life, together—it felt like a colossal waste of time physically and emotionally. Mostly, I hated him for who I'd become.

I took another drag and then tapped my cigarette butt out in my tiny ashtray, which was overflowing with ashes and bent butts, but I didn’t care. I was up to a pack a day, but I didn't care about that either. Smoking had become my only escape, the one ritual that made me feel like my old self, before all this shit happened and almost allowed me step outside the relationship rumination and what it all means. They helped me shut out the noise, the inescapable quest for answers—it was the only way I could disappear without leaving. And so lately when I couldn’t sleep, I’d find comfort and a tiny sliver of peace and maybe even a little bit of joy–-alone, outside. Just me and the sky and my cigarettes.

Fortunately, I have the freedom to set my own hours and schedule my days however I please. Lately, my insomnia has me back to working nights instead of days, which truthfully, I prefer—and as a bonus, it helps me avoid Chris almost entirely.

There were only a few hours a day now where we’d see each other—when he’d come home from work and we’d eat dinner together—where I’d actively avoid any conversation about babies and family and us. I tried to keep it surface-level, which was like nails on a chalkboard for me, but necessary to avoid conflict and fighting. It all just felt pretend now, and it was exhausting playing this game. It’s almost like we had switched places and now I was wearing the mask.

“Well! Good morning, M’lady!” Chris said, sarcastically, “What are you doing up so early?”

He walked over and kissed me on the forehead.

“Hey,” I half-smiled back at him, “I haven’t really gone to bed yet, I guess.” I said, “Well, I tried. I couldn't sleep. I didn’t realize how long I’d been out here though... what time is it?”

Riley jumped up on the chair next to me and leaned over for a few kisses, then circled the cushion and laid down, staking his claim for the remainder of the morning.

“My sweet boy,” I said, petting him, and resting my arm on his bulky little muscular body. What are we gonna do? I thought, looking at him, my eyes welling up with tears.

“It’s seven thirty, I gotta go!” Chris said, enthusiastically, leaning down to kiss me again, staring at me, until I tilted my head back so he could kiss my lips this time.

“Hey, do you wanna go out to dinner tonight?” he asked, “We haven’t been out in ages. Let’s get sushi!?”

Before I could answer, he kissed me again abruptly and then headed back through the slider door and into the house. I heard the front door slam and listened for his car to start and drive off before finally relaxing again.

No, I do not want to go out to dinner with you, I don’t want to go ANYWHERE WITH YOU, I thought, mindlessly lighting another cigarette to quell the adrenaline rush, carelessly throwing my lighter onto the table in a tiny fit of annoyance rage.

“Oh Riley, baby,” I said, out loud, playing with his soft ears, “What are we gonna do?”

I was no closer to understanding what my future held now than I had been on the day we said, “I do”. On that very day, and on all the days leading up to it, I was bursting with love for Chris and hope for our future together and I would have agreed hand over fist to a baby, no questions asked. Hell, I’d have wished and prayed I’d gotten pregnant on the honeymoon, hopelessly devoted to Chris and the little family we were creating, but everything has changed now, and my hope and wonder has turned to constant swirling anxiety—fear thoughts ruminating about how things used to be compared to now, what Chris might still be hiding from me, and how to move forward, together—or not.

Exhausted, I fed Riley his breakfast and then we both went upstairs and curled up in bed where I could finally get some rest.

Though I never liked the idea of sleeping the day away, I’ve always been a night owl, not by choice or conscious intention, but by something much deeper, almost instinctual. I preferred the quiet darkness to the busy daylight and found my creativity truly expand in the still hours where most people slept. There’s something exciting—thrilling almost, about being awake and creating art while the rest of the world, at least on this side of the hemisphere, sleeps; like a secret kept between me and the moon and the stars and the other creatures of the night—it just always felt natural, like my body knew something I didn’t. Or, it could simply be the lack of distraction and the way I can open to complete self-expression when no one is around and am able to focus better at night, but either way, I’ve done my best work, gotten my most incredible ideas and started all of my most successful projects between 10pm and 5am and have never felt ashamed of it until Chris came along and mocked me for it endlessly finally convincing me to change my routine to match his schedule, but honestly, it never quite fit me right and I hadn’t been as successful artistically ever since. Because of this, I’d come to rely on his income in the past few years, which he didn’t seem to have an issue with, but now I felt completely trapped financially, so even if I wanted to leave—I couldn’t.

I could see now how my anxiety, smoking cessation and desire to avoid him had allowed me to get back to that version of myself that I gave up for him, spawning from an act of rebellion and coping through the stress of our honeymoon, and I was starting to get into the flow of my artwork again, which felt like relief after years of being blocked.

I felt the bed shaking and couldn’t tell if it was happening in real time or part of my dream, but suddenly I was on a large boat, or ship maybe, and the waves were crashing big and hard, and there was water everywhere, everything was wet and I was holding onto a railing, steadying myself to the heavy bobbing with the ups and downs of the ocean at night, only a bright light to illuminate the whitecaps and another massive wave felt like it was about to overtake the entire ship and I woke up startled, realizing it was just Riley scratching that was moving the bed.

I looked at the clock, 1:20pm, and counted back to determine how much sleep I’d gotten. “About five and half hours,” I said, looking at Riley, “Good enough for you, Ri?” I asked, getting up and straightening the pillows, haphazardly making the bed while Riley watched, waiting to follow me downstairs.

Why did I ever listen to him? I wondered, pouring myself a cup of coffee and opening my laptop to check my email, Riley at my feet, as usual, chewing on a bone.

“Delete... Delete... Delete...” I said, talking to myself out loud sipping my coffee—and then I opened one from my colleague and friend, Elise, whom I met at a gallery we both used to work at.

Dearest Sam~

Hello! How are you, sweet friend? Long time...

I have exciting news! I’ve opened a small art gallery of my own in Palm Desert and I’d LOVE to showcase your work! I have an opening in the fall for a three-month exhibition. When can you meet me and chat? I’m in LA tonight through the weekend if you are free, let me know!

xo, Elise

“OH MY GOD, RILEY, DID YOU HEAR THAT?” I asked the dog, picking him up and twirling him in excitement! “We have been asked to exhibit our work!”

I couldn’t contain my happiness. It had been years since I’d had any type of showing, and this just felt serendipitous, after finally feeling the flow of my work again as of late.

“You see, Riley, even through the depression and anxiety and all this shit, the moment I stepped back into myself, the Universe supplied me with a sign that I was on the right path!”

Riley just stared back at me, but he knew what I meant. We have a running dialogue around here that never stops. Riley is involved with all my decision-making and most important life events, obviously, he’s my most trusted advisor.

I hit play on my iTunes radio on my laptop and “Unwritten” by Natasha Bedingfield started playing and I instinctively just started dancing, right there in my kitchen. I hadn’t felt this type of joy in so long that I worried I didn’t have it in me anymore—or maybe feared that I just couldn’t access it anymore.

Oh, what a wonderful feeling, I thought, getting a little emotional and singing along, “Feel the rain on your skin. No one else can feel it for you, only you can let it in. No one else can speak the words on your lips, Today is where your book begins. The rest is still unwritten.”

I emailed Elise back immediately after my little celebration and agreed to meet her that evening at 4:30pm for cocktails and an early dinner at Casa Vega, then bounced up the stairs and hopped in the shower.

I hadn’t felt this high since the first day of our honeymoon, again full of hope for my future. I felt like I suddenly had a new lease on life, a new purpose to focus on my work and since I’d already been feeling the flow, I had so many ideas for new paintings already spinning in my head. It’s almost like I couldn’t get my canvases ready quickly enough, couldn’t get the paint on the brushes and out of my head fast enough to quell my drive. I wanted them all done now! It was the most bizarre feeling, but it was a good one, and I felt blessed after months of darkness.

Elise offered me a new opportunity to get out of the house and into myself again, away from this relationship and back into life after feeling so trapped for the last few months.

As I was toweling off I heard my phone ding in the distance and realized I’d gotten a text from Chris.

Sushi? At 5? When I get off?

Oh no, I thought, I’d forgotten he wanted to go to dinner.

Sorry Babe. Didn’t think u were serious abt dinner. I have a work meeting at 4:30. Sushi tomorrow?

No response.

I waited another few minutes, staring at my phone but nothing came through. I didn’t think much of it, shrugged it off and then snapped my phone shut and started blow-drying my hair. It was only about 3pm, so I had plenty of time before meeting Elise, although I’d have to leave around 4, factoring in traffic.

I finished my makeup and fed Riley and while he was eating, sat in my usual smoking chair on the patio and lit a cigarette. It had become a habit again, which I honestly wasn’t mad about – yet. I knew I’d get to the point where I’d feel guilty with every puff, urging myself to quit again, but I was in no rush at the moment. Sure, it wasn’t healthy, but neither was the stress I’d been under in this marriage, and with no pregnancy or baby to consider, I figured the stress might kill me before the lung cancer would and I needed it as a crutch to get through these hard times.

I knew Chris didn’t get off work until 5, so I was happy I’d miss him by leaving at 4 to meet Elise and wouldn't have to sit through a dinner with him. Thank God! I thought, putting my cigarette out and opening the slider for Riley to do his business.

I hurried back upstairs to get dressed; kept it casual with my low-rise 7 for all Mankind wide-leg jeans, oversized buckle belt and leather boots and finished it with a simple white t-shirt and vintage grey blazer, which was my go-to look when I wanted to feel effortlessly cool, without trying too hard. I grabbed my Marc Jacobs leather hobo and swapped everything from my daily bag into it and headed out the door.

Traffic was light so I got there a few minutes before Elise and was able to grab a table and order margaritas and chips, which the server was setting down just as she walked in. We hugged and exchanged quick “long-time-no-see” greetings and sipped our cocktails and nibbled chips and salsa while catching up on the last few years of our lives.

I left the gallery when Chris and I moved in together because I had been successfully selling my artwork on the side and had saved quite a little nest egg for myself as well. He offered to cover our rent and bills so that I could stay home and work on my art full-time, which was a huge opportunity for me, even though in the end, I felt trapped and isolated by our arrangement, drained by our relationship and lacked energy to create anything substantial in the last year or so.

I told Elise how horrible it’s been since we got married, and she was shocked based on what she knew of Chris.

“It just doesn’t sound like him,” she said.

I agreed, of course. The validation was a relief—proof that I wasn’t imagining it, that Chris really had changed. That the person he was now felt like a complete 180 from who he used to be, from who I knew him to be, from the man I fell in love with all those years ago.

“Anyway,” she said, changing the subject, “So… are you in?”

“You mean, showing my work at your gallery?” I asked, wide-eyed and grinning.

“Yeah...” she replied, a hint of nervousness in her voice—like she was afraid I might turn her down.

Hearing that only made it better. She wanted my work badly enough to worry I’d say no.

“OF COURSE, Eli!” I exclaimed, excitedly, “I couldn’t be more IN if I tried!”

She let out a relieved sigh. “Oh, I’m so glad, Sam!” she said, beaming. “I was worried you might be too busy—or that the drive to the desert would be too much—but I’m so happy you’re in!”

She filled me in on the rest of the details, letting me know that the exhibition would begin near the end of September, “Is that enough time for you to get your new collection together?” she asked, “I’ll need at least 15 works minimum on display, more if you have them, and of course you can include some of your older works, but I’d love some new stuff too, works no one has seen—large scale and smaller works on paper, to hit multiple price points for buyers. You’ll be on display for at least three months – most likely until the end of the year, which is prime selling time through the holidays, so hopefully, we’ll sell you out!”

“Oh, Elise,” I said at last, wiping the tears before they slipped down my cheeks. “I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am. It’s been such a hard stretch lately. And just recently, I finally started to feel that spark in my work again. And now, here you are—like the Universe is confirming I’m finally back on the right track, after what’s felt like years of being so off the rails. So thank you… Truly. You’re doing me the favor, not the other way around.”

She smiled. “Well then, I guess it’s a tie, we’re helping each other. And honestly? You can’t ask for better timing. I’m just so happy we get to work together again.”

We finished our cocktails and dinner and chatted for a few more hours and lingered at the table until about 8:30pm, but it was a Tuesday, and no one seemed to mind. We left a hefty tip anyway and thanked our servers and headed out where I lit a cigarette so we could stay a little longer and chat in the summer breeze.

“You started smoking again?” Elise noticed, as she lit up as well.

“Yeah, just a few months ago during the honeymoon,” I said, “I bought a pack in Mexico and haven’t looked back.”

We lingered a little longer before saying our goodbyes, both knowing we’d be in touch often—and that in just a month and a half, I’d be driving to Palm Desert with a truck full of canvases, ready to hang my work in her gallery. I was so happy, I could hardly contain it.

When I got home, Chris was in the kitchen, leaning against the cabinets with a bowl of cereal in his hands and a mounding spoon dripping milk above it.

“Hi!” I said, cheerfully, and with a little hop in my step. I set my purse down and walked over to kiss him, but he turned his head abruptly, making an obvious swallowing gesture, then turned back to me, smiling and puckered his lips to kiss me.

“You’re in a good mood,” he said, taking another massive bite of cereal, “what’s up?” he asked with his mouth full.

I proceeded to tell him everything—the email from Elise, her new gallery, the invitation to exhibit my work, all the way through to our celebratory dinner. I could bare contain myself, talking a mile a minute, thrilled to finally have good news to relate, but Chris didn’t seem to match my energy or share in my excitement at all.

“Palm Desert?” he said, disapprovingly, “like in Palm Springs?” he asked.

“Yeah!” I said, joyfully, “that’s where her new gallery is.”

“That’s lame,” he said, condemning her and me, “who is gonna go to an art gallery in the desert?”

I could feel my high energy start to drain as the words came out of his mouth.

“Uh, lots of people,” I said, “Palm Springs has a huge art community, and honestly, I don’t really care where it is, I’m just happy to get to work again, have an opportunity to be showcased in an exhibition with the possibility of gaining new collectors and buyers, not to mention a renewed passion to paint again!”

I felt myself deflating—a balloon losing air, leaking out slowly like when you hold the opening flat and it makes that horrible squeaking sound as you let out the air bit by bit.

“Well, I dunno,” Chris said, flippantly, “seems like it would be cooler if it was here in LA or Santa Monica or something... somewhere closer, anyway.” he finished, as he rinsed his bowl out and set it, wet on the counter.

“Well, dont’ worry,” I said, “you don’t have to come.”

“Oh, okay, Sam,” he said, sarcastically, “don’t be so dramatic, Honey!” he continued, patronizing now and laughing at me, but walking toward me, arms outstretched to give me hug.

I turned away. “No, it’s fine, Chris,” I said, “I wouldn’t want you to lose cool points by associating with an artist showing outside of LA. It’s not till fall anyway, so...”

“Sam, come on,” he said, trailing me out of the kitchen and into the backyard, where I sank into my usual spot on the patio chair—the cushion now molded with the familiar dent of my butt. Riley followed me and jumped up, taking his position in the chair next to me.

I lit a cigarette and tuned Chris out, letting his voice blur into the background as he pretended he hadn’t just rained all over my fucking parade. Classic, I thought, taking an extra-long drag and exhaling slowly, dissociating.

I drifted into my own little world, focusing on me for a change, and what I was going to create in the coming months to prepare for the exhibition, visions and colors and ideas now swirling through my mind in the open spaces as Chris continued to babble in the background.

What a relief, I thought, after months of focusing purely on him and this stupid relationship, I have space for creating again, and it was so obvious to me now how much Chris had been the reason I had lost it all in the first place. He hated it when my sole focus wasn’t on him, and it all added up now—all of his actions were simply meant as distractions, to keep me small and under his thumb and it worked! How easily I fell for it all, how easily I lost myself in order to comfort his lack. How happy he was when he looked at me like I was nothing. How sad it truly is knowing that the person who claims to love you the most is your biggest enemy—but I’m not sad anymore, because now that I know, now that I understand, now that I see it clearly for what it is, now that I know him for who he truly is, I can take my power back and quietly plan my escape.

Everything She Never Had is a work of fiction, inspired by some facts and some true events, based lightly on the timeline of my life. All names have been changed. Chapters are released once a week (Thursdays, usually) and (most) are available to read for free for up to two weeks before they are locked and only available to paying subscribers. 💌

• Read: Chapter 1

• Read: Chapter 2

• Read: Chapter 3

• Read: Chapter 4

• Read: Chapter 5

• Read: Chapter 6

• Read: Chapter 7

• Read: Chapter 8

• Read: Chapter 9

• Read: Chapter 10

• Read: Chapter 11

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