Everything She Never Had // Chapter 10

Back to life, back to reality... or something like it.

“Sam. Saaa-aaaam. Samantha!” I hear my name in the distance, and it pulls me out of dreamland and back into reality and I wake up to Chris nudging me with one of his crutches from where he’s standing in the aisle, leaning on the other.

“We landed. Come on, let’s go.” he prods me, barely looking in my direction.

“Okay... o-kay!” I reply groggily, slightly annoyed, confused and still half asleep.

Wow, that cocktail really hit me hard! I think, as I look around realizing Finn is gone, realizing that everyone is gone and the plane has completely emptied out.

I swing my purse over my shoulder and pull my carry-on bag out from beneath my seat. “I can’t believe I slept almost the entire flight… Now I know why you like the window seat.” I say to Chris, winking sarcastically, trying to lift the mood, now following behind him, watching him limp and hobble in front of me – but he doesn’t respond.

Oh, so THIS is how it’s gonna be? I think, knowing that I’m the one who will be punished, even though he ruined our honeymoon.

Normally this stonewalling would send me into overdrive, trying desperately to regulate his emotions, to keep the peace, but not this time. My therapist told me that although this feels noble on my part, it’s actually a selfish gesture, simply a trauma response from childhood, a way to remain safe in volatile situations where I feared I’d be rejected or abandoned. So instead of allowing him to feel his consequences or emotions, which he obviously avoided anyway, I’d usually swoop right in and try to fix everything so I could relax and feel safe again.

“Thank you.” I say, smiling at the flight attendants and the pilot as we step off the plane and onto the jet bridge. Chris remains silent and doesn’t even acknowledge them. Rude! I think, still following behind, half asleep, but more alert now.

Waiting for our luggage at baggage claim is no different but now I’m stuck carrying all the bags because he’s on crutches. He doesn’t even offer to help.

“Chris, wait! Slow down!” I beg, trying to keep his pace as we’re making our way through the airport.

Even on crutches, he HAS to walk in front of me!? I think, trying to keep up.

“Chris! I'm carrying everything and it’s heavy, I can’t walk that fast.” I plead, but he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he picks up his pace, leaving me behind, without looking back… and he’s gone.

By the time I finally make it outside, Chris is pulling up curbside, but instead of getting out of the car to help, he just pops the trunk so I can load everything myself. Oh, so his ankle is fine to drive but not to carry bags? Got it! I think, as I struggle arranging everything so it fits in the trunk.

My frustration is building now, but deep down I know he’s just trying to spark a reaction out of me. I know this game all too well. I catch myself thinking, surprised by this sudden awareness. How did I not see it all sooner? I think, slamming the trunk and getting into the passenger side.

“You don’t have to slam it, Sam, God,” Chris says, “Calm down.” He finishes, knowing I’m already holding back, trying not to explode, and pushing every last button he can to make it happen.

“You’re always just leaving me like that, without telling me where you’re going!” I reply. “Why couldn’t you just slow down a little and walk with me?” I ask.

“I mean, you knew I was going to get the car, Sam, come on, you’re not an idiot, where else would I be going? Besides, I did it for you, so you wouldn’t have to wait once we got outside, or worse, walk all the way to the car, carrying all that stuff.” Chris replies, with a fake playfulness, as if everything were fine, and I was overreacting and he did me the favor.

I didn’t respond.

This is gonna be a fun ride home, I think, wishing I had another drink so I could fall asleep and avoid it all. Seems like sleeping had become my new escape hatch without even realizing. Whatever works, huh? There are certainly worse coping habits than sleeping. I think to myself, suddenly remembering my cigarettes in my purse and wishing I could light one right here and now.

Chris turns the radio up full blast and starts driving erratically. Luckily there’s traffic; the one and only time I’m grateful for traffic so he can’t speed, but he still finds a way to scare me. We merge onto the freeway, and he begins changing lanes back and forth to maneuver ahead of each next car and now I can feel my frustration turning into fear as I grab hold of the door handle and steady myself, rigid and wide-eyed, focused on the road ahead of me.

Traffic lifts after a few minutes and Chris immediately hits the gas, speeding and changing lanes, matching another car’s energy on the road. The two of them seem to be in a race now, each trying to one-up the other, while I’m holding on for dear life, trying desperately not to say anything when another car randomly changes lanes in front of us and breaks —hard. “CHRIS! STOP!” I yell, frantically.

Chris slams on the breaks and my body arches forward, stopped only by my seatbelt, then falls back into the seat and whips my neck back so hard it hits the headrest – and I start crying uncontrollably, unable to contain my emotions any longer. Frustration, anger, sadness, fear and now shock, all pouring out of my eyes like a waterfall and I can’t stop it.

“Dammit, Sam! Don’t scream at me like that when I’m driving!” Chris yells at me, “I saw the car coming!”

“I’m sorry, but I was scared! I AM scared,” I tell him, weeping uncontrollably, “You’re driving like a crazy person! Can you please slow down? We’re not in a hurry to be anywhere! Please!” I beg, “Slow down!”

“Driving like a crazy person?” He responds, “Ha! Why are you being so dramatic, Sam? You don’t have to cry.” He tells me, laughing now, resuming his fast-pace. “I’m not even driving fast!”

“Yes, I AM scared!” I respond, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Can you PLEASE slow down? I’m starting to feel sick.” I say, still holding onto the grab handle for dear life now.

“Oh my GOD, Sam!” He said, “Scared!? What, you don’t trust me or something?” He continued, mocking me, now swerving the car back and forth in the open lanes on the freeway – on purpose to really show me just how scary it can get.

“Why are you acting like this, Chris? You’ve been so distant and downright mean to me ever since we got married. What the fuck happened to you? Why have you changed?”

“I haven’t changed,” he yells at me, “you’re the one who’s changed, Sam! “You’re the one who’s acting different, not me!” he continues, “I’m in so much pain right now, you don’t even know. Can’t you see that? I’m driving fast because I want to get home because I’m hurting everywhere!” he finishes, suddenly using his injuries to thwart the conversation and guilt me for calling him out for his impulsive behavior.

“Whatever, Chris. I’m sorry you’re in pain.” I say, staring out the window, sadder and more confused than anything now.

Sure, SURE, that’s why you’re driving fast, you fucking asshole! I think to myself, resting my head back, stiff from holding on for my life and as we maneuver the rest of way through LA traffic.

As we’re heading off the freeway, I remind Chris that we have to stop at my mom’s to pick up, Riley, my 30lb Boston Terrier and true love of my life, who I had before moving in with Chris, and who had been staying with my mom while we were gone. Mom was the only person I ever trusted to watch him.

When we got there, Chris waited in the car while I ran in to get him. Seeing him so excited to see me brought a smile to my lips, and I wiped the remaining tears from my eyes. Coming home to a beloved pet is like coming home to yourself. A reminder of all that is good in the world and a reality check on what matters most in this world.

“Hi mom,” I say, hugging her, “Thanks for watching Riley, was he a good boy for you?” I ask.

“Hi Sweetie,” She says, hugging me back “Yes! He was a very good boy!” She finishes, looking at me, smiling. But her smile fades quickly. “Sam, what’s wrong? Why do you look like you’ve been crying? And why on earth are you home so early from your honeymoon? Is everything okay?”

“I’m okay, mom, but I don’t have time to talk now, Chris is in the car, and he’s hurt and in a shitty mood,” I tell her.

“Hurt?”

“Yeah, I’ll fill you in tomorrow when I get a chance. I’ll either stop by or call you, okay?”

“Okay, Sam, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, mom, I'll be fine. I love you! Thanks again!”

I give her another hug as she hands me Riley’s leash and food, and bowl and we run out the door. I look back to see her waving with a worried look on her face.

Great timing, I think to myself, how am I going to explain this and why is it ALWAYS something? Why can’t Chris and I ever do ANYTHING without it turning into a damn shit show? IS this normal? Does every single thing have to turn into an event, a circus, a crisis or an emergency? I started thinking back on our lives together, realizing how he turned everything and anything from peaceful to painstaking and how I used to think it was so exciting. But it isn’t exciting, it’s dangerous and exhausting and feels like a nightmare, I’m always on the edge of my seat, waiting for the next ball to drop, and it’s only gotten worse over time.

Thankfully, mom only lives about ten minutes from us, so we were home as fast as Riley could lick my face with a hundred stinky kisses, distracting me and lifting my mood instantly. I was so happy to be back home after such a horrible week.

Once I carried everything in, basically just throwing it all on the bedroom floor, I hopped in the shower… What happened? What changed? Why was he so different? I wondered, ruminating, but feeling a sense of safety just being back at home.

After my shower, I fed Riley and took him for a short walk around the block and upon returning home, started unpacking, separating laundry from the clothes I didn’t wear, just to stay busy. I grabbed Chris’ bag out of habit and started doing the same, when out of nowhere, Chris walked in.

“OH, hey, I'll do that,” he says, grabbing his bag right out of my hands and zipping it back up, tossing it into his closet and closing the door. “You don’t have to worry about my stuff, Honey.”

Well, if that isn’t suspicious, I don’t know what is! I thought, stepping back and throwing my hands up as if to say, YOU WIN, closing my eyes and shaking my head in disgust.

Either there’s something else in that bag that he doesn’t want me to see or it’s the earring he thinks I don’t already know about. Either way, I’m keeping that to myself until I have more information. No sense giving up my hand just yet, I resolve.

“So, are we going to discuss what happened in Mexico, or are you going to continue giving me the silent treatment?” I finally say, now that he’s on the offense, seemingly more approachable since he’s trying to hide whatever he doesn’t want me finding in his bag.

“What happened in Mexico?” Chris asks, pretending to be confused. “You mean, how YOU cut our trip short and then YOU sat in FIRST CLASS, leaving me all alone with my broken leg and all my injuries, to fend for myself?” he said in a pathetic yet accusatory tone.

I knew it! I thought, trying to compose myself instead of reacting like a scorned woman.

“And tell me, Chris, WHY did I cut our trip short?” I ask, calmly, trying not to be patronizing, but with the slightest hint of passive aggression, folding my clothes and hanging my dresses back in my closet to stay one step removed.

“I don’t know, Sam, maybe because I got beaten up and didn’t come home?” He retorted, ever the victim.

I was fuming inside. The way he could always turn everything around so that he looked innocent and somehow made me out to be the horrible person for not seeing that he’s just the poor little boy that isn’t responsible for any of his actions and it’s everyone else’s fault. Seriously, how does he do it?

“First of all, Chris, if you would have just come home with dinner and woken me up to eat, we could have spent the night in the room together and none of this would have happened. So no, I’m not going to accept your little guilt trip.” I replied, resisting the urge to scream in his fucking face.

“YOU WERE ALSEEP!” Chris yelled, “And you always get mad at me when I wake you up, so I didn’t want to make YOU upset, but I also didn’t want to just sit in the room all night either. What was I supposed to do, Sam, just wait around for you? How controlling can you be?” He finished, yet again, making me the scapegoat for his choices.

“Oh, give me a giant fucking break, Chris!” I respond, now visibly heated, “This is different! We were on vacation, on our HONEYMOON, remember? . . . and I was WAITING for you to bring our dinner back, like you said you were going to do! Don’t act like I was the reason you HAD to go out!” I yelled back, refolding the shirt that had just come undone in my hands. “Annnnnd partying with other girls ON OUR HONEYMOON, Chris? What happened with that?” I continued, staring him down but trying desperately not to cry.

“What other girls?” Chris yelled back, turning his back to me, walking to the other side of the room, “I don’t even know what you’re talking about, Sam! Did you bump your head? You sound like a crazy, insecure girl now…” he said, pacing around the room, “What about you and Javi? Seems like he was ALWAYS suddenly there to save you whenever you needed anything! Your knight in shining armor!” Chris said, mimicking a knight drawing a sword and pointing it at me. “What REALLY happened with you and Javier, huh Sam?” he questioned, accusingly, staring at me without blinking like a damn psychopath, just to see if I’d take the bait.

“What the actual fuck are you even talking about?” I yelled back, now angrier than ever. The way he could instantly flip any accusations back onto me, was like some kind of magic, or sorcery, more like – pure evil, and I fell for it every single time!

“Maybe he noticed how fucking horribly you were treating me, and he was just being nice! SOME men are just nice, Chris. SOME men are gentlemen!” I yelled back. “Don’t I deserve to be treated nicely, and with some hint of respect? Or no?”

“Oh, I don’t treat you with respect, huh? I treat you SO horribly, huh?” He screamed back at me. “If I treat you so bad, Sam, why do you stay with me? Why don’t you just leave if I’m SO FUCKING HORRIBLE?” He continued, getting angrier and louder with each sentence. “Do you want to see what HORRIBLE treatment is?” He yelled, rushing towards me, his face red with rage and now screaming inches away from my face while forcefully stepping his body towards mine, sending me staggering backward instinctively until my back was up against the wall.

Terrified and suddenly in an animalistic rage, I started pushing him back away from me, screaming right back in his face. “Oh, are you gonna SHOW me how bad it can get? Is that what you’re trying to do, Chris? Show me how much worse it COULD be? You want to hit me? Threaten me with physical violence after ruining our honeymoon and cheating on me in Mexico! How many others have there been, Chris? HOW MANY?” I screamed back at him, pushing him back away from me, red with fury and tears streaming down my face until he hobbled into the bench at the end of our bed, falling backwards over the edge and taking me down with him.

All the anger and sadness I had suppressed over the last four days of our trip was releasing now. The way he spent more time with strangers than he had with me, the snorkeling trip I didn’t even want to go on, and how he left me out there all alone, when I was already afraid, telling me he’d be there for me, but vanishing as soon as I needed him most and then disappearing and not returning home and landing himself in a hospital where I had to pick up the pieces along the way, finding bits of evidence of the story of betrayal he left behind. I was in shock, I was in disbelief, and I was confused more than anything, as to why this behavior all started getting so much worse now, after the wedding. I couldn’t tell if I had just overlooked the red flags or if he hid them so well, lying about who he was and gaslighting me into thinking I was crazy for even noticing anything that ever felt off, that I was asking for too much, or if something snapped once the contracts were signed and once the “I do’s” were said.

We lay on the floor as one, unmoving, trapped in a moment we should have shared minutes, days, even weeks prior to this, but without all the chaos and drama. Is this his way of testing my love for him? I thought, wondering if he was truly insane or if he needed me to be insane to prove that I loved him.

Chris hugged me tightly and we lay there, on the floor, me sobbing on top of him, soaking his shirt in tears.

“I’m sorry, Sam.” He finally said, almost whispering. “I’m sorry I ruined our trip and I’m sorry I went out and partied with those girls, Sam, but nothing happened, I swear. It was just like I told you; we went to the other club and had a few shots and then those guys started a fight with me that landed me in the hospital, that’s it. There has been no one else but you, I love you and I don’t want to lose you. I’m sorry.”

I just laid on his chest, sobbing, frantically sucking in air, after nearly hyperventilating, hiccuping, listening to him confess. I’m not sure I believed him, but I wanted to. I wanted to believe I had made the right decision by marrying him and I wanted to believe that he hadn’t cheated on me, even though my gut was telling me otherwise. I wanted the dream life we planned together, the future he promised and I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet, even though I felt so betrayed by everything that had happened. I wanted to believe he was good, and that we were meant to be and that we could still be happy —so I kissed him... and he kissed me back, and without saying a word, we made love right there on the floor next to the bed, my salty tears mixing with his salty skin left over from the Mexican humidity.

This is all I wanted on our trip, but for some reason, he refused to connect with me, always pulling away when there was real closeness at stake. I couldn’t help but wonder, why now? Why this terrible fight? Was it all in my head? Maybe now that were back home, things would be back to normal, I hoped, because this isn’t the man I thought I was marrying, this was a monster.

We laid on the floor, embracing as one, in silence for quite some time, both in our own heads, thinking our own thoughts, connected, but disconnected and finally he said, “Maybe it’s time we start trying to have a baby..."

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