Self Preservation

Self Preservation

You must think I'm crazy,
The way that I hold onto you,
....It's when you walk away, I go crazy
And now I'm wasting all my love on you...

- Art Of Sleeping, 'Crazy'



Charlotte sat in the living room, nervously tapping her feet on the floor.  Dinner was on — the pork was roasting slowly in the oven, filling the house with warm delicious smells. She’d gone all out and done crispy potatoes, butter carrots, baked beets, and crackling. She knew he’d be impressed especially with the fern and gourde table setting, but would he really be happy with her? She tried so hard, still, sometimes all the things she did were not enough. Sometimes…

Charlotte crossed one leg over the other and checked herself. Hair neat and straight; dress pressed, and cardigan buttoned; heels shiny; neck watermarked with his favourite perfume. She glanced up at the clock on the living room wall — he’d be home in half an hour. Charlotte needed distraction. She needed to busy herself. After checking on the pork which was a pleasing golden brown, she made him a dry martini with two olives.  She placed it in the freezer and continued to fret quietly in the kitchen until she heard the front door unlock and creak open. She hurried to meet him.

“Avery darling.” Charlotte took his bag and leant in to kiss his cheek.
Her husband hummed a happy Hello and pulled her body into his — he was in a good mood and she couldn’t help but smile secretly to herself.
“Smells good sweetheart,” he said as he let her go and went into the living room. She closed the front door and set his bag on the entry table.
“What is it?” he called.
“Roast pork hun. And vegetables.”
She came into the living room and he motioned her over, “Come here. Let me have my wife.”
Charlotte did as he asked and giggled when he pulled her down onto his lap and kissed her neck playfully.
“Mmm, you look nice tonight. Special occasion?”
“No,” she lied.
He held her close and she felt his fingers at the zip on the back of her dress.
Charlotte pulled away. “The table is made,” she protested, “and I need to get the pork out.”
Avery sighed, “Fine, but you’re all mine later.”
She scrambled off him and straightened herself while Avery rolled his eyes dramatically, “A guy tries to have a little fun,” he teased, crossing his arms, “and all he gets is rejection.”
A little fun. Charlotte felt a few small, bitter thoughts creating a bad taste at the back of her throat, but she smiled and bent down to peck him on the cheek before her face could betray her. She retreated to the kitchen, heart pounding. Please let it be good enough. Please let her be good enough.

She turned off the oven and opened the door to let the pork rest as she reclaimed Avery’s martini from the freezer and gathered the pieces of herself together again.

“Oh, you read my mind,” he beamed as she handed him the frosty glass and sat down on the edge of the opposite couch.
“Tell me about your day?”
He shrugged off the question, “It would only bore you my love. Need a hand with dinner?”
“No, no, you just relax.”

Back in the kitchen Charlotte carved the meat and dished out the vegetables. Everything had turned out very well and she was pleased, relieved even. Everything was done. Everything was ready for him.
“Avery!” she called, “dinner is served.”

They ate quietly, as they always did. Avery said that, to enjoy a meal, was to focus entirely on the food without distraction or haste. Charlotte supposed he was right but she always felt nervous around dinner time, fearful that he…
No. She shook the thought from her mind — she was confident tonight. The meal was good, if she did say so herself, and everything else would be good as well.

When he was done, Avery finally looked up and almost laughed, “Jesus Char, those potatoes were amazing. Duck fat?”
“Mmmhmm,” she nodded.
He pressed his lips together with a smacking sound and finished his drink.

Charlotte cleared away the plates and had already poured him another when she felt Avery behind her, warm, hands slipping around her waist.
She giggled, “Stop! I’ll spill.”
He laughed in kind and as she turned to hand him the glass, their eyes met.
“I’ve got something for you,” she said, as he touched a hand gently to her face.
Avery sipped the martini, but kept her pinned against the sink with his body, “A gift?”
She smiled, “For you.”
There was a glint in his eyes then, but as she saw them settle on the yellowing bruise that was high on her cheek he pulled away a little, “Is this about…” he hesitated, “Lately? Because you know I’m sorry. I get…”
She looked down but didn’t shake her head, “No. It’s okay.”
“It’s not though. I get…carried away.”
Charlotte could see him trying to remember how she’d got the bruise, and failing. He often forgot.
She never did.
Avery was retreating — putting space between them. It was cold space that she never liked. He was trying to undo things in his head that couldn’t be undone. Charlotte was on the verge of tears.
“Come,” she took his hand in hers, “Don’t you want to see your gift?”
He looked sheepish and bit his lip. Avery was almost like a child at times.

They slipped out through the back kitchen door and Charlotte kept hold of his hand until they were right in middle of the long back porch, looking out into the cool night. They had nine, beautiful, sprawling acres of uncleared land, teeming with birds and old gnarled trees — a veritable sanctuary.

Charlotte turned Avery to stand so he was looking out at the huge oak that sat in darkness behind the house. It was a kind of gateway between the manicured lawn and the unruly acreage. “Ready?” she asked.
He nodded silently.

She flicked the switch on the wall and the lights came on. They ran in an amber half-moon from the ends of the porch up to the oak. They took a few moments to brighten enough, but when Avery saw his gift, the smile on his face was enough for Charlotte. She could finally breathe — it was enough.

“Oh. Char,” he breathed.
She returned to him and took his drink to put it on the porch table, “All yours, baby. I tried hard this time. Do you like?”
He took her face in his hands then and whispered I’m sorry, before he kissed her mouth. He was coming back to her. The bruise on her cheek ached, but it was nothing now. Nothing, compared to the relief she felt; nothing compared to the devotion she felt. Conflicting and harmonious. To have him back and to know, at the same time, that there would always be another bruise.

But not tonight.

“Would you?” Avery asked.
Charlotte smiled,  “Of course.”

The kitchen scissors were already pushed down into the front of her dress but Charlotte had that awful moment, like she always did, when she swallowed hard, and spread a hand out to touch her guilt. She quietly brushed it aside.

Her heels sunk into the damp earth of the lawn as she made her way over to the oak. It was tall and noble. It served them — as the stake to which they could tether their lamb.

She felt her hands shaking as  she cut through the rope that was taught against the tree. And then she knelt, not caring that the grass was staining her dress under knees or that the cold air was goose-pimpling her skin.

“Best run now,” she whispered to the dark haired girl who had fallen forward onto the grass. The girl who didn’t deserve any of what she was about to suffer.

The girl who would be Charlotte for a night.