Author Anonymous: A True Story

  “Do you understand what happened?”

  I shake my head again.

  “It’s an altered psychological state you can push people into. I started learning about it and experimenting with it when I was in my early thirties. I’ve never done it with someone who’s been emotionally attached to me though.”

  “Why would that make a difference?”

  “They say it’s more intense and quicker to take hold, which is what you just experienced,” he tells me. “But it can wreak havoc on your system if you don’t get any aftercare.”

  “Aftercare?”

  “This,” he says, strengthening his hold on me for a brief second. “Affection, touch, keeping you warm, talking to you until you regain lucidity. It all helps with bringing you back down.”

  “I didn’t even know this was a thing. It scared me.”

  “I’m sorry, baby. I got carried away,” he says, to which I counter, “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize.”

  Alec lays me down in bed next to him. With both of us on our sides, I stare into his eyes, feeling closer to him than ever before.

  “Did you like that?”

  “Yes,” I respond, and he kisses me, sealing what I never want broken again.

  He’s all that exists for me right now. Somehow, in the eye of the impossible, he’s taken the anguish of my marriage ending and magically made it okay. With Alec, I’m no longer in pain. I’m soothed, tucked safely in his arms, right where I’m meant to be.

  Me: We need to talk. I called and scheduled a session for us to meet with Dr. Lapinski this Thursday at 10am. Text me back and let me know if this time works for you.

  In three days, what was implied the night Landon left my hotel room will finally be voiced. In three days, there will be no turning back. In three days, we will write the closing sentence to our story.

  Our marriage therapist is also a divorce mediator. It’s my hope that Landon and I can keep this process as amicable as possible. The last thing I want is for this split to turn nasty. We don’t need anymore pain than what I’ve already caused.

  Landon: I’ll be there.

  We haven’t spoken since that night. And since that night, I’ve been staying with Alec. I came back to the hotel today because I needed to get some work done, and I’d left my laptop here with all the files I need.

  I’ve spent the morning getting updated sales numbers together for my agent on my self-published work. And now that it’s drifting past lunch time, I hop on social media to make a few posts. Filtering through my private messages, I respond to the ones that require my immediate attention. My inbox is completely flooded with the success of my latest release. Surprisingly, I’ve maintained excellent rankings, which should secure me a spot on the New York Times when the list comes out next week.

  After thirty or so messages, I grow tired, close out my Facebook, and open my email—another obscene inbox awaits me.

  Before I start reading messages, I scroll through and delete all the crap that’s nothing but advertisements for marketing products and garbage of the like.

  Delete.

  Delete.

  Delete.

  STOP.

  I freeze when I come across an email from FetLife with a notification that I have a message waiting for me. But it’s not me, really, because I set up that fake account for the sole purpose of spying on Alec.

  When I open the email and click on the link, I’m taken to the log-in screen. I quickly enter my information and then go to my inbox tab to open the message.

  Holy fucking shit!

  My hands fly to my mouth as everything inside me goes numb.

  It’s Alec.

  I look at the timestamp to see that he sent the message this morning. Freaking out, I wonder if he knows it’s me, but when I think about it, I come to the conclusion that, no, he couldn’t possibly know. My last account was set up through my personal email, and this new one is set up through my business email. I even altered the profile information, changing my user name and age. Plus, it’s not like he would ever know that this account had been looking at his page.

  ALEC107: Why so secretive?

  I question whether to respond to him since I know how important it is to him that I give him trust, and the last thing I want is to take another step back with him when we just made up from our fight. But he will never know it’s me, and Brooke is right, I should know who I’m dealing with if I’m going to leave Landon. And now that only three days remain before we move forward with ending our marriage, I go ahead and respond.

  I decide to go about this differently than before and take on a new personality that’s nothing like mine.

  BOSTONXGIRL: Got your attention, didn’t it? So, I guess secretive works.

  He responds immediately, and it upsets me to know that he’s on this site right now, seeking out other women after I told him I’m leaving Landon. He’s led me to believe we’re together and that he loves me. He told me he could let the casual sex go, but here he is, messaging a dupe.

  ALEC107: It’s a nice change from the women who get on this site and put everything out there without regard to their safety. I like that you’re protecting yourself.

  What the hell?

  These are pretty much the same things he said to me when we started talking. If I hadn’t deleted my original account, I would go back and read through our first exchange, but I don’t need to. I can remember that conversation as if it happened yesterday.

  BOSTONXGIRL: No need for me to put it all out there. I’m not a desperate woman seeking attention.

  ALEC107: Then what are you seeking?

  It’s not what I’m seeking, Alec. It’s what you’re seeking, and I’m determined to find out.

  BOSTONXGIRL: Someone who can teach me something different from boring vanilla.

  ALEC107: Anything in particular you’d like to explore?

  Clicking on his profile, I quickly read through his fetishes again, and pick one without having to go for the obvious choice of voyeurism.

  BOSTONXGIRL: Sensory deprivation intrigues me.

  ALEC107: Anything else?

  BOSTONXGIRL: A lot of things intrigue me, including you.

  I need to go for blunt because I don’t have time to waste building this fake relationship to get answers to the questions I have right now.

  ALEC107: You have a picture? I’d like to know what you look like.

  Shit.

  BOSTONXGIRL: Hold on.

  Without wasting a minute, I hop onto Facebook and quickly scroll through my list of friends until I come across the most decent and attractive person I can find. It only takes me a minute or two before I’m saving the photo. Clicking back to our message thread, I upload the photo and send it to him.

  Yeah, I’m that low that I would swipe one of my fan’s photos to send to Alec, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

  ALEC107: Fucking beautiful.

  “That’s what you say to me, dick face,” I seethe under my breath. I can’t believe that he’s doing this—that he has been doing this.

  I try not to think about how many women he’s sought out since I’ve been with him, but even if it were only this once, which I know isn’t the truth, it’s enough to make me question every damn thing about him.

  BOSTONXGIRL: You’re not so bad yourself. But if I’m being honest, I’d like to see more.

  It doesn’t take but five seconds for him to send a file through. I click on it, waiting for it to download, and when it’s done, my stomach convulses in a putrid wave of nausea.

  A picture of him lying in the bed I woke up in this morning appears. It’s a selfie of him holding his erection, but I know he didn’t just take that because he’s not even at his loft right now. This fucker has nudes stored on his phone, most likely for occasions just like this.

  My body chills in horror when I contemplate the idea that I’ve been nothing but a game to him.

  But why? Why me? Why a year?

  Maybe this is
his real fetish—seeking out inexperienced women, vanilla women, and getting them to fall for him while filling their naïve heads with lies.

  Fucking lies!

  And from a man who has given me so much shit about not trusting him.

  BOSTONXGIRL: Nice cock.

  ALEC107: Your turn.

  I go balls to the wall because I need to know the truth about this man I’ve allowed myself to fall in love with, the man I’m about to divorce my husband for, the man who has pulled the rug out from my whole world.

  BOSTONXGIRL: I don’t send nude photos of myself to anyone, but if you’d like to take a peek, why don’t you meet me for a drink.

  ALEC107: When and where?

  Through the storm of fury that’s raising my blood pressure to an all-time high, tears flood my eyes. The thorns I bear suddenly turn on me, puncturing my own heart, killing what I thought was so real. Because he made me believe in him. God, am I that fucking gullible?

  BOSTONXGIRL: You free tonight? Eastern Standard?

  ALEC107: I have I prior commitment, but I can manage a quick drink. 5:30?

  That prior commitment is me. I can’t believe he plans on meeting a girl before coming home from work to have dinner with me.

  BOSTONXGIRL: Looking forward to it.

  I don’t even wait for his reply before I slam my laptop closed. I want to send it flying across the room. I want to fucking scream and cry. I want to throw my fist into his face that’s so beautiful it should be sculpted in marble.

  Who the hell is this man?

  I don’t want to believe this is true. I want to believe he is exactly who he claims to be. I want to trust him, because to not trust him is to not be with him, and I want to be with him because it’s too painful to imagine not being with him.

  I have a couple hours before Alec will show up at Eastern Standard, and I can’t allow time to spiral my emotions out of control. I need to distract myself or otherwise I’ll do nothing but drive myself crazy in a panic of unthinkable outcomes to this situation.

  Grabbing my car keys, I force my body to move, because I have no other choice. I make my way down to the parking garage, get in my car, and head to Cambridge. Music blasts through the speakers in an attempt to muffle my thoughts as I drive to Brooke’s house.

  “What are you doing here?” she says when she opens the door with Anabelle tucked into her arms.

  “Thought I would surprise you,” I tell her, feigning my good mood because I’m too damn prideful to let her know that maybe she was right about Alec all along. “And I wanted to see this little princess.”

  I hold out my arms, and Brooke hands over the swaddled bundle of perfection. I follow Brooke when she heads into her bedroom and take a seat in the chair by the window.

  “You want to use this opportunity to take a shower and clean yourself up?”

  She flops listlessly onto the bed. “Are you saying I look like shit?”

  With her unbrushed hair and several spots of spit-up staining her shirt, I shake my head. “Have you looked at yourself lately? Or for that matter, smelled yourself?”

  “That girl has the worst acid reflux.”

  “I can tell by your sour stench. But seriously, I’m here, so get yourself cleaned up while Anabelle and I have a little girl talk.”

  Brooke rolls herself dramatically off the bed and drags sluggishly into the bathroom, leaving me alone with angelic peace. Nesting her in my arms, I stare down into her purity and wish for the world to delay its tarnishing upon her. I close my eyes and allow her innocence to console me. It’s an even exchange of pacification—a give and take—a shared need for comfort.

  The sound of the shower soothes even more, but it’s short-lived, and I know my moment of assuagement is over when Brooke shuts off the water.

  Wrapping up in a towel, she walks into the bedroom to grab some clean clothes. “You never told me what happened with Alec. What did he say when you questioned him about the whole job thing?”

  Losing all the relief I had just gained, I’m pulled right back into my miserable reality.

  “It’s him. He does business under his middle name, Harrison.”

  “What?” she calls out from the bathroom where she’s now applying moisturizer to her face.

  “Yeah, I questioned him and he pulled up the directory on his computer to show me. You didn’t know his last name, but it’s there, only with Harrison listed, not Alec.”

  “And you believe him?”

  She starts getting dressed when I respond, “Why shouldn’t I?” even though I know I shouldn’t at this point.

  “Didn’t you say he has brothers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any of them named Harrison?”

  Her question splinters the elasticity of trust I have in him even more.

  He’s never told me his brothers’ names—I never even asked. How is it that I’ve been with this man for a year and I don’t know the simplest things about him? It was just the other night when we discovered our mutual love of poetry. Have we just been so blinded by passion and excitement and living life one stolen moment at a time that we’ve skipped steps along the way?

  I lie, unwilling to admit all that I’ve missed to learn, and tell her, “No. None of them share that name. It’s him.”

  But what if it isn’t?

  The quiver of anxiety quickens, and the urge to find an excuse to leave builds.

  “I hope you’re right,” she says and then changes the topic, asking, “Did you and Landon ever talk?”

  “There wasn’t much talking.”

  “What was said?”

  I don’t immediately respond, because I’m scared to say it out loud. It was one thing for me to tell Alec, because I needed him so badly, and I knew with his touch on me that it wouldn’t hurt me to say it. But he’s not here to salve my aching plight.

  She senses my unease to her question and takes Anabelle from my arms before setting her in the bassinet. Brooke sits in front of me on the edge of the bed and coaxes me with a compassionate tone.

  “What happened?”

  With my fingers tangled in knots, I finally speak. “It’s over.”

  “Did you tell him about Alec?”

  I shake my head. “No. He came to the hotel and we wound up having sex. It was awful. I knew from his kiss that it would be the last time.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Do you hate me?”

  “For what?”

  “For everything.” My voice breaks around the words I shamefully own.

  Because I did this.

  It was by my own hands that I destroyed everything around me.

  This is all my fault, which makes it all that much worse because I have no one to blame but me and me alone.

  She leans forward and takes my hands in hers with eyes that shine brightly with harbored tears. “Life isn’t perfect. We aren’t perfect,” she says with compassion. “You’re not the first person who has found themselves in a situation like this, and you’re not going to be the last. You made vows to Landon, and I know you meant them at the time. But there’s one thing you never factored in, something I never even factored in when I married Chris—it’s the awareness that we’re not in control of our destiny. And sometimes we break promises to the ones we love the most.” She pauses for a moment, and I bear the excruciatingly painful knot that lodges itself in my throat. “The thing is, when emotions are involved, all hell breaks loose. It’s the single most powerful thing we have no control over. We can’t tell our hearts what to do or how to feel. They do whatever the fuck they want—good or bad—right or wrong. They are what lead us through life. I’m not saying you couldn’t have made better decisions, but I could never hate you for following your heart. And if it’s telling you that Alec is what you need, then I’ll do my best to be there for the both of you. But one thing you can always count on from me is that I will always have your back, no matter what.”

  I sit next to her on the bed and pull her into my arms. W
e hug. We cry. She just reassured me of what was there all along: that no matter what happens with Landon or Alec, she will be there to catch me if I fall with no judgments.

  “I love you so much, and I’m so sorry I’ve dragged you into this mess.”

  “It’s okay.”

  We continue to hold on to one another until familiar voices echo through the house. I jump back and deadpan into Brooke’s eyes that are startled wide.

  My heart jackknifes. It’s been almost four weeks.

  “What are they doing here?”

  “They’ve been staying the night when Landon has to work late,” she responds, and I can’t hold myself back when I run out of the room and toward the biggest loves of my life.

  “Mommy!”

  Oh, my God!

  I drop to my knees as they run and barrel into my open arms. The meaning of life returns to my soul as I hold my babies. I’ve been away for so long and have been so distracted and consumed with everything going on that I allowed myself to detach as a mother.

  How could I let that happen?

  Another pile of guilt dumps heavily on my heart. Even though Landon didn’t want to put them in the middle of this horrific situation, a decision that I too agreed with, I realize in this very moment that I not only abandoned my husband, but also Jill and Emily.

  Why am I so selfish?

  “I’ve missed you two so much.”

  “I missed you too.”

  “Me too,” Emily says before giving me a kiss. “Don’t ever go away for that long again.”

  “Never again,” I assure. “Mommy promises. Never again.”

  “Wait.” Jill pops her head up. “Does this mean we can’t spend the night here?”

  Looking between the both of them to Brooke, I hesitate. They think I’m back, but I can’t go home. I can’t be in that house with Landon knowing we’re over.

  “Girls, your mommy is really tired from her trip and—”

  “So we can still stay over?”

  I laugh, relieved by their innocence, that they’re more concerned about their slumber party than my so-called return. “Yes, you can stay the night.”

  “Yay!”

  “Thanks, Mommy!”

  Not two seconds later they are out of my arms and running upstairs with Ryder, leaving me on the floor, drenched in the worst mommy guilt.