ODAAT: Volume 1, Chapter 6

 

Chapter 6

Cotton Lavender Panties

I've spent three hours scribbling down nonsense on my laptop. But, there was nothing I could do to concentrate. So I closed my laptop and pulled out my notebook instead. My mind was whirling about what I had come home to. Hunter was playing video games, there was nothing strange about that. He was eating the pizza he had ordered. I had eaten dinner before coming home, because I knew I wouldn't eat once home. We went out with a bunch of his friends to celebrate the upcoming tour he's going on. Once home, I headed up to our bedroom. There, I found a pair of lavender cotton panties on the floor. I wonder if they were left there intentionally for me to see. I have to assume he left them laying there as a trophy. Letting me know what he's doing behind my back. They were stretched out, from being torn off the person who was wearing them. They don't belong to me, that's for sure. Hunter has an impressive talent when it comes to undressing someone. He'll slide one hand between a pair of legs, wrap it around the fabric and pull. They come off in a swift movement. It's paired with this look, a darkness in his eyes. When he gives someone that look, it's like he's looking deep into that persons soul. It leads to immediate submission, even from me. I am not the only one seeing these eyes. I know that. He knows that. I don't know if he knows that I know.

He didn't ask me where I had been. If he had, I would have said I went for a stroll. He knows that I tend to take midnight walks. But, they don't usually roll into the morning or afternoon. They never roll into the evening. I'm sure he's come up with his own ideas and I know he's not exactly wrong. He may believe I'm cheating on him. He may believe it's been going on for months. He did last time, too. He didn't ask, though. I think it's safe to say he doesn't want to know anyway. I know he's not faithful. He shouldn't expect me to be.

I shake my head, almost violently, looking at the final sip in the glass in front of me. I grab the bottle that's sitting beside the glass. I pour the liquid into the glass, filling it right to the brim. I pick back up my pen and stare at the spiral bound notebook in front of me. I can't help but laugh as my pen draws circles in the margin. Hunter is the reason I started using a spiral bound notebook in the first place. I used to have a PDA to write on. I kept notes and a detailed calendar. I preferred it that way, because it was portable. Now, it's old fashioned notebooks. He uses the spiral bound notebooks because they have more flexibility. Or so he once said. I know he's the king of what's flexible and what isn't. I take a sip as I toss the pen clear across the table. We've got a dining room table, but it's so rare that we ever have guests over. I wonder why we don't. He has so many friends. He has the money to throw a party. He bought this ridiculous house, after all. You would think he'd be having house parties every second night, like certain other people. He's trying to settle down, he'll say. I laugh internally when he tells me this. I laugh out loud as I'm thinking of it. He left shortly after I got home. He didn't say where he was going. Then again, I didn't ask, because I wasn't sure I cared either.

I think he knows that. I think we both know this is less flexible than it once was. Both of us. Together. Apart. Something isn't working. The sex wasn't even the first thing to go. It started with the conversation. Doesn't it always? We used to spend hours talking about nothing and everything. We'd stay up all night. Of course, on tour that's all there is to do while you're driving. You have sex, you talk, you drink. So we'd have sex of course. But neither of us were good at winding down. So instead of laying beside each other in silence, curled against each others bodies and waiting for sleep to come, we'd get up. We'd play cards and talk about everything. From books we were reading at the time to philosophers. We'd talk about the other bands on the tour. We'd talk about music and the lifestyle that comes with being a professional. We never ran out of things to say. But, then we stopped touring together. He kept touring for years after I stopped tagging along. When he finally announced his own retirement from music, I thought he would be happy. He had been touring for 8 months straight. He was so tired. I knew it wasn't what he wanted to do anymore. The band had been drifting apart, but the separation was fairly easy. They sat down and said "it's not working". No one argued. Nothing was smashed or thrown. There was just an onset of silent nodding. That was it. Contract over. We even moved to Illinois to start over and wind down.

That was a million years ago.

He never stopped playing music, though. No matter where we moved, he found himself gigs at local places. Right now, he had arranged himself a weekly gig. Every Friday, he'd head downtown and play to an adoring crowd. It wouldn't matter how long ago he retired, there would always be fans pouring into his performances. They hold onto the dream, the same way he does. He's still writing his own music. You'd think the conversation between us could focus on that. We could talk about the new songs he's been working on. Instead, we hardly exchange pleasantries. When we do, I can hear that there's a strain in his voice. I know he's not talking to me about the new songs because there's another pair of ears that his lips are speaking to. His voice is being shared with someone who isn't me.

I don't think he's fallen out of love. I believe, in my heart, that he's still in love with me. I can tell when he looks into my eyes. I know there's still a fire between us, burning bright and hot. But, I've realized we're coming to the end of camping season. The wind is getting cold and bitter and the fire is slowly flickering. We're both standing on opposite sides of the fire. When that flame goes out, there's going to be nothing left but the two of us. Alone in the woods, surrounded by unknown dangers. I'll probably be eaten by wolves in the darkness. He won't hear me calling his name, because that's how self-involved he's become. He always lived in his own world, but it's been getting worse. Still, I want to ride this out with him. I want to stand and support him, even if one of my legs is eaten off by those same wolves. I'll stick with him until he pulls himself together.

Then, I hear his voice echoing in the back of my head: what if he doesn't? I know that he's right. He's always right about things like this. Maybe, just maybe, I can tell him what he wants to hear the most.