I know this has taken forever to update and it isn't even that long of a chapter, and I'm sorry- school and then summer laziness kicked in. I probably won't update soon again because I'll be in Alabama, then I'll be a day-camp counselor and come home dead every day, and then I'm going to Europe for 2 week :)

Definitions

I’m home and curled up on the couch when the John comes home. I get up to greet him, but even though I’m not crying now, past tears have laid waste to my voice, and I’m still unable to speak.

He looks at me and drops his bags in the foyer. “Oh, Lorelei,” he murmurs, and he hugs me. I wish he wasn’t touching me, but find comfort in his embrace nonetheless. He pulls away after a moment, and hands me a bouquet of flowers.

“Thanks,” I manage to say.

“You’re welcome. Now come on, I’ll put these in water and get you a glass of tea,” he’s learned by now how I like my tea, and I’ve learned how he likes his coffee. He leads me into the kitchen and sits me down. I watch him as he pulls a vase out of the top cabinet, the one I can’t even reach, and then pours me a glass of tea.

“I’m sorry I’m like this,” I say. “I’m sorry I’m not stronger, and I cry so much. I wish I was.” I haven’t admitted that to anyone, but he’s the one who really deserves to hear it.

He hands me my glass of tea. “You aren’t nearly as weak as you think you are,” he tells me. “Considering everything that has happened to you in the last few months, you’re handling everything really well.”

Yeah, maybe. “Thanks,” I say, and he flashes me a smile before an awkward silence descends upon us, and then he stands up.

“I’m going to unpack. Just holler if you need me,” I watch pick his bags back up and then walk down the hall and out of sight.

I rinse my glass and then walk back into the living room. I curl up on the couch again and put in a movie, and half-watch it for a while.

John comes in and sits down on the other side of the couch, another bowl of popcorn in his hand. He groans when he realizes what the movie is, and throws popcorn at my head.

“It’s a classic,” I inform him, but he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, which is why I was forced to watch it in high school and with Kathy and with Christina. I am Pride and Predjudice-d out.”

I stop the movie and throw the popcorn he’s been throwing back at him, and it’s a rain of yellow buttered artery-cloggers on his head. I almost ask who Christina is, but then don’t; I think Kathy mentioned that Christina was his ex-wife at some point.

“You can pick the movie tonight but then you have to watch an episode of Bones with me tomorrow.”

“Yeah, because archeology is so much more interesting. Thanks, Lor.” I can’t help but to laugh. He stares at me a moment like I’m insane, then just rolls his eyes, because he’s used to it by now. I can’t wait to tell Iris.

“Bones is a detective show,” I tell him between fits of laughter.

He turns slightly red with embarrassment even though he’s trying not to. “Well, I’m sure it’s still boring and girly. Girly crap now or girly crap later?”

I throw more popcorn at him. “Pick your poison, buddy.”

“How about I just buy you lots of chocolate?”

“How about we compromise now and fight more about this tomorrow?”

“Sounds good.”

We watch The Chronicles of Narnia, and it sort of becomes an unspoken habit; almost every night we sit down to watch a movie, and sometimes we bicker, and sometimes neither of us is paying much attention with my grading and his general business, but it’s our habit, and it’s kind of nice.

“What do you want to watch tomorrow?” I ask a few weeks later, after convincing him to watch Bride and Prejudice (though he deserved it after Texas Chainsaw Massacre).

“Tomorrow we’ve got to go the stupid office summer party, remember?”

I think I knew that, actually, just caught too caught up with my summer school class to remember. I vaguely remember trying on the dress Kathy ‘helped’ me pick to make sure it still fit last week.

“Oh yeah,” I’ve noticed that I’ve become more forgetful, and I think it’s the hormones.

“You okay?” He asks, and I know I worry him more than I should.

I start to say that I’m fine, but he’s made it abundantly clear by now that he’ll just pry until he gets something more than a perfunctory response. “Whatever you do, don’t let them give me electroshock therapy when I’m in the wacky shack,” I tell him sincerely, though I’m not really being sincere. It’s a nice diversion tactic, though.

He sees through it and rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Lorelei. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

We go to our respective bedrooms. I wake up early the next morning, get to school, get weird looks from my students (I’m starting to think they think I’m strange and hormonal, which probably isn’t far from the truth), and then go home and start working on my hair. I don’t understand why the party had to be on a Friday, though I guess it’s better than a Saturday; I certainly wouldn’t want to spend my Saturday night at my office- it’d be like homecoming all over again, and once was enough.

John comes home early and takes a shower. I should get out of his bathroom, but I can’t see anything, and it’s not like he minds, anyway. Besides, my bathroom doesn’t have enough outlets for all the electronic crap I’m using to make myself look ‘pretty’- Kathy gave me some tips and instructions, but, in my own opinion, I think more like an amateur prostitute.

John takes about half an hour to get ready, which I loathe, and he looks at me smugly as he finishes and I just glare, but we’re still on good terms. He waits in the living room watching TV as I put on my dress, then realize I can’t reach far enough to put my shoes on, and then take off my dress and pull on my shoes. I make him zip the back of the dress up, he makes me fix his tie, and then we’re ready.

“You look good,” I tell him. He smells good too, but that’d be a little too much to tell him.

“Thanks. I figured at least one of us should,” I roll my eyes and kick his shin lightly. He smiles and pats my head like the weirdo he pretends he isn’t. “You look gorgeous,” he says.

“Thank you.” Apparently, then, amateur prostitute is the new classy.

The party’s actually on the other side of town from his office, on a roof terrace overlooking the water. It’s gorgeous in the fading sunlight, and I wish I could enjoy it, but I can’t; meeting everyone from John’s office shouldn’t terrify me, but it does.

I know John is in charge of the Boston branch of his father’s business, so basically he’s the boss of everyone here, which makes me the boss’s wife. It’s almost like being the preacher’s wife- I feel like everyone expects me to be so perfect, even though I don’t fit in this world at all.

Some higher executives are here from out of town, and they partially alleviate the situation. Their wives are perfect trophy wives in an almost a stepford way, but sluttier. I know I shouldn’t be judging them, especially considering who I am, but I’ve found that I judge others most when I’m feeling insecure about myself, which fits the situation.

John introduces me to the people from his office. Lucy, his assistant, stands on his other side, whispering to him the names of the people he doesn’t remember. It vaguely reminds me of The Devil Wears Prada. Lucy even resembles Anna Hathaway, but I don’t say so.

We eat first, on round tables with white table cloths and vivaciously colored napkins. The first course is a soup; everyone but me has Italian wedding, whereas mine is tomato. I smile at John and he gives me a wink.

“I told them it was because you’re vegetarian,” he whispers under his breath, and I smile; he’s got to be the sweetest non-husband ever.

Next is salad, then grilled vegetables, then chicken kiev (too bad I’m vegetarian), then a cleansing sorbet. Everything is wonderful, but then again, I can’t say I’m surprised, given that it’s John’s family.

My dad had a company picnic or two when I was a kid, but that was potluck, with hamburgers and coleslaw and brownies. This is a few dozen steps above that, and with more people, and I have a feeling that this isn’t the zenith of the fanfare.

Dancing ensues. John, Lucy and I skip the dancing and socialize, which is somewhat of a blessing, though every once in a while Lucy ships us off to the dance floor. I don’t like how close he holds me, but I can take it; I’ve progressed quite a bit since we first met and I couldn’t stand for him to touch me.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I whisper in his ear a few hours later. It’s gotten late, and the sun set long ago. Strings of lights and Chinese lanterns adorn the terrace, casting a demure haze over the rooftop.

“Do you want someone to go with you?” He asks. I just look at him and he rolls his eyes. “Oh, right. You’re a big girl, I get it.”

I give him a peck on the cheek for show and set off for the nearest bathroom; I think I need to go past the bar to the elevator and down one floor. There’s only one couple at the bar, and they’re arguing, or else just talking very angrily.

I get to the elevator just fine without an escort. The bathroom is equally uneventful, and the ride back up the elevator goes off without a hitch. The guy from the bar is standing by the elevator doors when they open, though, and looks at me like a cross between his next victim and a sex toy.

“Hey babe,” he says. “I’m Nick.” He’s wasted. He reeks of alcohol, and everything about him, from his height to his bulky build to his proximity makes me nervous.

He holds out his hand, and I shake it, not to be polite but because I don’t want to get him on edge. “Lorelei,” I say.

“You’re gorgeous, Lori,” he says as he looks me over.

This dress is rather modest, but I suddenly feel really exposed. He steps forward and I step back, and he ends up between the exit and I. “What do you say we ditch this bunch of dressed-up corporate robots and find a room somewhere?”

I take a step back, and he takes another one forward. “I’m married,” I tell him, and hold out my hand to prove it; for once luck is on my side, and the one time I had to wear the ring was the one time it has proved to be useful.

“Me too,” he says, and holds up his own hand, mimicking me. “But that didn’t stop my wife from getting with me to begin with.”

That’s low and cheap, but I can’t say that. “Oh,” I reply lamely.

“Sweetheart, you look too innocent and vulnerable to be out here with these sharks. Let me take you home.”

“That’s okay, thank you, though,” I can’t move back any farther- I can already touch the wall behind me.

“Am I scaring you, Lori?” he asks, reading my mind- or my facial expression.

“Um, no, you’re just very blunt,” I evade. What’s the best way out of here?

“Now you’re lying to me, darling,” he says as he touches my arm. The contact doesn’t last long, but then his hand squeezes my hip, and if I kick him down there right now and run, could I make it away from him quickly enough?

Then he screams and blood is spurting from his nose and John is standing in between us and punches him again, in the gut, and he howls again, and I exhale deeply and lean into the wall, because I don’t think I can support myself right now.

“Don’t you ever touch my wife again, you rotten bastard!” John screams, followed by some obscenities.

The noise outside stops as everyone peers into the vestibule. A big man in black comes and hauls Nick away, and John turns to me. There’s rage in his eyes and in his voice, but his touch is soft as he grabs my wrists and examines me.

“Did he touch you?” He asks harshly.

I pull my arms back. “No. Well, yes, but I’m fine- he didn’t hurt me.”

“You’re okay?” He asks, calming down.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

He holds me a moment, and this time the contact is comforting and almost welcome, and then kisses my forehead. Nick has started screaming obscenities, and we turn to see him yelling at the two guards restraining him and Lucy, who seems to be instructing them to take him away. They lead him down the stairwell and out of sight, and Lucy just looks at John wearily.

“Thank you for handling that,” he says.

She takes a step closer and keeps her voice low, but she’s livid. “What the hell was he doing here?” She asks. “And she was here too! John, I swear to god, you will have a mutiny on your hands if he is not fired, no matter who his father is.”

“I know.” They’re both exasperated, and I can tell they’ve had this argument before, but I’m lost.

Slowly, movement outside resumes, although it seems the party’s hit a quick and unexpected end. John hits the button for the elevator and ushers Lucy and I inside. None of us say anything, though I’m burning with questions and confusion.

We ride down to the lobby in silence, and then walk to the street in equal silence. I see the woman and Nick out of the corner of my eye, but John’s hand is on the small of my back, and so I don’t look. Lucy waves and says a perfunctory goodbye before turning the corner for the subway station, and I take that as my cue to turn and stare at John.

“What?” He says, after a minute of playing eye-tag, where I continuously stare at him and he nervously looks at me out of the corner of his eye intermittently.

“What happened?” I ask, but that’s not enough. “Who was that guy, and why was Lucy so furious?”

“That was Nick,” he says, not looking at me again.

“Why was Lucy ready to spit fire?”

“Because he hits on every female at the office. He was moved to the New York branch a few years ago, but it didn’t help. He came with the executives.”

“Why wasn’t he fired?”

“Because his dad owns half the company.”

“I thought your dad…” Oh. His dad and Nick’s dad started the company, which means Nick and John have known each other for quite a while.

I don’t say anything for a moment, but he does as he steps on the accelerator and we speed away from the building. “Congratulations on meeting my ex-wife without incident, by the way,” he says bluntly.

I don’t say anything- I don’t know what to say. I watch him as he drives, and I can tell he’s trying to be nonchalant and fine, but the façade is crumbling quickly, and he’s upset.

I touch his hand. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “You can be upset.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

We don’t say anything else until we get back to the apartment building, and we’re in another elevator. “He’s got some nerve,” he says, almost to himself.

“He’s a jackass,” I agree, because even if I only know part of the story, I know that much.

“It’s not bad enough that he sleeps with my wife, but then he has to marry her, and hit on my new wife!” The elevator doors have opened to our floor, and we’re already walking down the hall when he turns abruptly. “I’m gonna go beat the hell out of him.”

I grab his arm. “No, no, you’re not.”

“That’s what he’d be doing right now, if he were me,” we’re playing a mini-game of tug-of-war, except it’s not fun and if I lose, he does something potentially stupid.

“Well, you don’t need to be like him.”

“He breathes, doesn’t he? If I can breathe like he does, why shouldn’t I do this too?” Except he’s only tugging half-heartedly now.

“John… just don’t. Let’s go home.”

He lets me pull him down the hall to our-ish apartment. He takes the keys out, but I take them from him, because he’s fumbling with them. I think he’s about to start crying. I lead him back to his bedroom and he collapses onto the bed. He is crying now, and I don’t know what to do.

I rummage through his clothes to find sweats or pajamas or something. I find flannel pants and a shirt that isn’t brand new, and I take them back to the bed. I unbutton his shirt for him and put the new one on, but he takes over for changing his pants, which is good, because I don’t think I could. I get him a glass of water, and when I come back, he’s up and pacing.

“Lay down,” I say gently, and I push him back into the bed after I put the water on his nightstand. “Sh… just lay down.”

If this were anybody but us, pushing him onto the bed would have a much less innocuous connotation, but it doesn’t mean anything, and I don’t think anything of it. He pulls me down with him and he keeps crying.

“A real man wouldn’t be crying right now,” he says, but the tears are subsiding, and I’d give anything to know what’s going on in his head right now.

I touch his forehead. “Well, real men are asses.”

He tries to chuckle, and even though it doesn’t work out too well, I can tell he’s feeling better. I move to get up, but he touches my wrist. “Stay with me,” he whispers. “Please…”

I lie beside him in my dress because he needs me to, and I owe him for being supportive for me when I needed him to be. I stroke his forehead and listen as his breathing evens out and when fall asleep above the comforter, but none of it matters because he’s better now.

Ow… crap… my head… what’s that ringing? I try to roll over, but something’s there, and the ringing keeps going. I try to swat the damn alarm clock, but can’t find it and – oh! It’s the phone! I roll out of bed and blindly search for it, because it’s too early to open my eyes and – ow!! I try to open my eyes to see what I just stepped on, but all I can do is squint in the bright morning light, and I think I just stepped on the back of a high-heeled shoe.

I pick up the phone, but it pricks me- it’s a hairbrush. I open my eyes a little more – why am I in John’s room? Phone, phone, where’s the phone? There! I pick it up the hook on the wall and then lean against the wall as I answer.

“Hello?” I try to say, but it out very groggily.

“You okay?”

“I just woke up,” that time it’s more coherent.

“Where’s John?” I dunno, where is he? I look at the bed. Oh, there.

“Asleep,” I say as I walk into the hall and shut the door so I don’t bother him. I collapse on the couch and pull a pillow over my head to block out the light. If only the pillow could do the same to the person on the other end of the phone.

“Is he drunk and passed out, or really asleep?”

I yawn. “I dunno. If you’re planning to rob the apartment, then he’s just asleep, and there’s a gun under his pillow.”

There’s laughter on the other end. I roll over and cuddle up to where the back of the couch meets the seat, because it’s darkest and quietest that way, but I don’t hang up the phone.

“This is Kathy, Lorelei.”

Oops.

Oh God, I feel stupid. “I guess I don’t have to worry about you robbing the apartment, then.” I am never answering the phone without being fully awake ever again. I roll out of my burrow and stand up to get dressed, because between shock and embarrassment, I’m up now.

“Yeah, I’ve already got all the chrome products I need,” she quips back, and maybe it isn’t so bad, but I’m still a moron. “So a little birdy told me you had an interesting night.”

I manage to unzip the dress and pull on sweat pants. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“How’s John?”

It never occurred to me that I could ask Kathy to tell me the pieces of the story I’m missing since I can’t ask John, and that, moreover, I can ask her how to take care of him. “He’s not too good,” I tell her. “He came home and convinced himself he was a loser for not fighting Nick, and then cried some. He asked me to stay with him.”

“Do you know who Nick is?”

“I know he married John’s ex-wife, and he’s a perverse Neanderthal whose father c-founded the company,” aka, scum of the earth.

She sighs. “Nick was also John’s best friend from when he was two until John caught his wife, Christina, with Nick when they were 23.” Oh my god. “And it was partially my fault, because I was the one who played matchmaker with John and Christina in the first place when they were 17.” So that’s what she had meant. Oh god.

“You know, actually, it’s a little bit strange that he punched Nick last night for touching you; when he found about Nick and Christina, he just walked out of the apartment where they were in the middle of cheating on him in his living room and he stayed at my place, cleaning, for a week.”

I don’t know how she knows about the fight, but it would make sense for her to be a gossip queen. “What should I do?” I ask, because John has his strange moments that clue me into the fact that he’s a little broken, and I know his life hasn’t been perfect, but I never imagined this.

“Just be nice to him, I guess. But don’t talk to him about it; he’s never liked talking about it much,” she pauses a moment, but there’s an audible noise as she opens her mouth to say something, but then hesitates. “I’m glad he’s got you, Lorelei. Of all the women he could have married from a bar, I’m glad it was you- you’re a good girl, and I know you won’t hurt him.”

I can’t promise I won’t hurt him, but I know I won’t try. I tell her so, but more eloquently, then make an excuse to get off the phone, because I want to be near him now.

He’s still asleep when I get back to his room. I clean his and my clothes and shoes off the floor, but then run out of quiet activities I can do while still being near him, so I lie down on the bed again. It’s rather creepy, but I find myself watching him sleep. He looks peaceful, and almost happy. I hope he’s having a good dream.

He’s young- not even 30 yet- and I find it amazing that he’s as sweet and kind as he is with all that he’s been through. I kind of want to hold him and tell him everything will be alright, but I know in a minute or two he’ll wake up and say something, and then he’ll just be John again, a real person and my friend, instead of this semi-disassociated person I’m making him out to be in my head.

I watch him sleep and wonder what else he hasn’t told me. There was that thing that one time where he freaked out about the bruise- is there a story behind that? And what else just hasn’t come up yet? I wonder what's going on inside his head, because I know he doesn't tell me every thought that comes by; I wonder if he ever tells anyone what's on his mind all the time.

I feel like a freak just staring at him while he sleeps, but I can’t help it, because I've begun to realize that he’s not just one person; he’s not just the unwitting antagonist of my story, he’s not just my husband, he’s an actual person who transcends just one definition or epithet. I just don’t know what other terms could denote him in yet as he crawls out of the clean little box I put him inside in my head.

I was really looking forward to writing this chapter, but I don't think it came out how I wanted. I hope you liked it, though!