Page 60 of The Illusion
He sets his briefcase down. "Now you do this? Now? When I’m under pressure like never before, you think it’s time to have a temper tantrum. You're acting crazy."
The words come at me in a way that feels a lot like being spit on. The disrespect is so infuriating I swear I can feel my blood pressure spiking. "Do notevermake the mistake of calling me crazy again," I seethe. "I'mnot the one ignoring my spouse and spending all of my free time with a goddamn teenager."
He clenches his jaw, his eyes cold. “Don’t do that. Don’t fucking do that. Don’t blame Devon. There is no problem here that isn’t one you made up. I’m busy, but I'm not ignoring you. Nothing is wrong."
If I were a violent person, I’d punch him in the face. That’s how angry I am right now. And through it all, I’m counting. We're almost two minutes in and he still hasn't said no. He's letting the question hang there. "Can you be serious, or are you just going to lie to me?"
His shoulders sag. "I've been under a lot of stress. My father died. Devon is grieving. I'm trying to hold everything together."
"Funny that everything didn't includemeorour marriage." My voice stays level. "Just ball up and tell me you want out, because it’s clear we're broken."
He looks affronted. There's a flash of anger. "I don’t fucking want out, Julie. Stop it. I love you."
"Then why does it feel like I don't exist?"
He runs a hand through his hair. "Things have been hard. I haven't been as present as I should be. But I'm trying."
"You are?"
"Yes."
"That's bullshit. You've checked out. You're here physically, but you're not here. And I don't know if it's grief or if you just don't want to be married to me anymore."
"I want to be married to you."
"Do you?"
"Yes." He steps closer. "God, Julie. I fucking love you."
The words should feel like relief. They don't. They feel hollow. "Then why don't you act like it?" I ask. "Why don't you touch me? Why do I feel like I'm competing for your attention in my own marriage?"
"You're not competing."
"Then what is this?"
He looks away. His jaw tightens. "I'm struggling. You know I'm having physical problems."
This. Motherfucker. He means his inability to get hard. Which is a goddamn lie. "You fuckingliar.I saw you in the shower last night."
He goes completely still.
"You wereplentyhard," I spit. "So it's not that youcan't.It's that youwon't. Not with me."
His face drains of color. "Fuck. Julie."
"Who were you thinking about?"
"Stop it." His voice is sharp. Defensive. "Don't do this."
"No. I'm done. Who were you thinking about?"
His jaw clenches. For a second it looks like he might start yelling. "It's not like that. I was thinking about you. About our honeymoon in the Maldives. Months of stress and I can't justturn it off when I want to. You don't understand what I'm dealing with."
"Then explain it."
"I can't." He runs both hands through his hair. "Devon is barely functioning. The company is a mess. My father's estate is a nightmare. You're miserable. I can't fix any of it fast enough. Sometimes I jerk off in the shower and pretend I'm normal."
He's deflecting. I know it. "That's not an answer."
