Chapter 3

We sat parallel to each other in silence, him outlining the pattern on the table cloth with his recently cleansed fingertips as I, replaying my toxic actions repeatedly in my mind, sat motionless. The sound of the grandfather clock that my uncle George had presented to us at our wedding began to sing its usual tune and with that, we both knew it was time to move on with our day. In sync, we rose out of our chairs and headed directly for the bedroom. It boggles my mind how in a split second, a room that had once been ours to share can turn simply into just four walls and a door.

I watched closely as my left foot followed my right making sure that there would be no uncomfortable eye contact, which explains why I nearly fell backward as I was suddenly stopped dead still in my track. Unaware of my actions, my chin began to rise until my efforts were no longer necessary for his hand had finished the job. There are no words that could explain the feel of those soft and delicate hands. One simple touch was enough to make my feet melt, however this time seemed awfully different from the rest.                                                                                                        He began to speak.

"What are we going to do? What do you want me to do? To think? To feel? What do you want me to do?!"

Silence.

"Autumn, tell me or walk out of this house right now. What do you want us to do? Me and you, us!"             

 

I smuggled up the courage to reply. "I want everything to be the way it was before."

 

"Well it can't. It never will." The irritation in his voice was noticeably increasing but due to my forceful stubbornness, I continued to tug on the problem. When we had an argument it was much like a game of tug of war, minus the fun, the smiles and the blow up pool filled with some sort of mysterious liquid in the middle. We each chose a side of the problem, grabbed on to the rope and pulled at each other until one would fall, and the other would walk away feeling superior and distinguished.  That person, ninety nine percent of the time, was me.

"I'm sorry"

"Is that really all you know how to say? I'm sorry? I'm sure you had a lot to say in Boston. Was it even a business trip Autumn? How am I ever supposed to trust you again?" I had never heard him with this tone of voice before. Spending ten years married, I imagined I would know every angle of him. I guess I didn't, and I guess he didn't know me either. Or maybe I didn't know myself.

"Ch..I mean Owen!"

"Wait… What did you call me?" By now his voice had reached a slight roar.

"I was beginning to say y.." I began to whisper.

"You were going to call me Chase weren't you?" There was no escaping. He caught me, and by now it was crystal clear that this time I was the one who would be covered from head to toe in the mysterious liquid.

Unsure of how to respond, I muttered the three words that had once been so important to us and lead myself into the bedroom to get ready for work, which I was already approximately ten minutes late for. With Owen standing lifeless, silence filled the apartment emphasizing my every move which made me curious as to what he could possibly be thinking. And though it was unlikely, I prayed that he loved me too.