I can’t help looking at Sarah’s sleeping face. Studying it, rather. The full brows. The thick, luscious lashes. Her small, straight nose. The pouty mouth.
I don’t know if it’s the sun or the intensity of my gaze that wakes her up.
“Good morning, Lyle!”
I smile at her and take her in my arms. Like always, she smells like berries. It’s been four years since we’ve been together, I’ve already done the proposing and she’s said yes – and we have a nice house, I like to think, and somehow Sarah isn’t happy, and she doesn’t want to get married.
“Marriage is legalized prostitution,” she keeps repeating. I can’t argue with that anymore. I’m this close to bashing my head in when she says she hates the words “marriage”, “family”, “couple”.
You know how it feels to be in a relationship where you do everything for your woman, and you can still feel the hatred come off her like some evil stench? That’s how I feel.
I thought I ticked all the boxes.
I mean, come on, I work out. I take care of my grooming. I shave down there, exactly how she likes it. I get my chest waxed. I have excellent oral hygiene. I’m okay looking. I mean, I think I look okay – Emilia from work keeps hitting on me and trying to touch my ass all the time – I have to look more than okay, right?
Apparently not enough for Sarah. Who I love so much so that everything I talk about right now would make me look like the biggest cliché on earth. But you know what? I don’t care.
What does bother me though, is how she won’t tell people. How she acts all flirty around everyone. How she shuts me out. How she doesn’t include me. I’ve overheard her talking to her best friend on the phone about how I don’t give her space. Thing is, if I give her more space, she might as well become an astronaut. I’m the big grizzly bear of a guy that always takes her shit and what do I get in return? “Lyle suffocates me.”
This is not done, I tell you. And then I actually did snap, and this other Lyle emerged. This one doesn’t like being the doormat.
Sarah’s snuggling into me and I kiss her on the top of her head. It’s day three of my plan. I get out of bed and tell her I’m getting her some tea. She smiles and says okay and immediately starts texting God knows who.
In the kitchen, I make her a cup of green tea and crush some benzodiazepines into it. Benzodiazepines are prescription tranquilizers. People like Sarah? They need “jabs”. They need to be taken down a couple notches. I’m sure as Hell not gonna hang around and watch her take me apart. I won’t let her leave, I’ll just tone her down till she turns into a frigging vegetable.
That’s my plan, for now.