This is a piece of autobiographical fiction. Space and time have been rearranged to suit the convenience of the book, and with the exception of public figures, any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s.
This story is written as an example to anyone who wants to believe that we are more than the patriarchy deems us to be, more than our limitations, and more than our fears.
4th January, 2020. Mountain Home, Idaho.
We’ve just finished dinner. It’s Gideon’s birthday and we celebrated it together.
Since arriving in the U.S, we haven’t fought. We’ve treated each other like friends. We’ve been going to Walmart together, watching alot of movies together. We’ve been picking out furniture for his apartment together and having dinner with his friends. On the outside, to everyone else, we’re still husband and wife. Legally, we still are.
It’s late at night and Gideon is fast asleep in the bed next to me.
Marianne had requested for us to sleep in separate rooms but I wouldn’t allow it. I hated sleeping in hotel rooms alone and so he relented but asked me to stay out of the room so he could video call her.
I have jetlag and I can’t sleep. So I’m reading a book when suddenly, the front door of the hotel room creaks open. Omg omg omg, I’m scared.
I have stayed in haunted hotels before and only had bad memories of hotels. Now, why would a locked door suddenly creak open??? I didn’t dare to go to the door to close it, so I crept out of my bed and shook Gideon awake. He doesn’t wake up.
I flip open the covers and crawl into bed beside him.
Suddenly, he’s wide awake and realizes I’m beside him. He starts grabbing me and says to me, “I just wanna fuck you now.”
I can’t think straight. But the only thing on my mind is that my husband finally wants us to have sex.
After we’re done, I smile to myself – I thought that this meant we were getting back together. I thought that it meant he had changed his mind.
After 8 months of not sleeping together, we’ve finally done it.
“So, what does this mean?” I ask him.
“Uh….uh. nothing. This doesn’t mean anything. I’m sorry – I thought you were Marianne.”
I feel the pain in my chest and it’s too big. It’s too much to bear. So I bolt out of the room with only my pajamas and a jacket.
It’s snowing outside in the parking lot and I cannot feel the cold. The rage inside of me has heated up every living cell in my body. “I thought you were Marianne.” His audacious words echoed in my head.
He has followed me out but doesn’t let me cool off. Instead, all he can say is, “I’m super cold, can we please go back in?”
Even after he has done such a despicable thing to me, all he can think of is HIMSELF.
All he can think of is HOW HE FEELS.
He could have grabbed us both more jackets, some scarves, even just the blanket. But he completely wasn’t understanding what I was going through.
He couldn’t empathize. He didn’t want to.
Instead of saying, “I’m sorry, you have every right to be angry.” He said, “I’m cold, can we please go back in.”
Back in the room, I ask him. “How can you not know that I’m not Marianne??”
“I….I don’t know. I was asleep and then when I woke up, you were next to me but I was still very groggy so I just grabbed you. I thought you were Marianne.”
“At some point while you were fucking me, did you realize that I wasn’t her??” I shouted.
“Yes I did.”
“Why didn’t you stop?”
“It was too late by then.”
I never knew that the first time after 8 months of not touching me……
I didn’t know that I was so repelling, I was so unworthy of love, I was such an unlovable creature – that my husband would only have sex with me because he thought I was another woman.
If he really did love me once. I wish I could have returned it. I don’t want this kind of love. This is not love.