To him it was just one beer, but to me it broke my heart.
Last night, Frank came home. He seemed normal. He woke me up in order to reach across me and move Note into her toddler bed. He got ready for bed himself, and as he did so, he asked, “Do you want to have sex?”
Heck yes. But first, I had to pee. I’m 33 weeks pregnant, after all. Go do my business, climb back into bed. Roll over, with great effort, in order to face Frank, lean in for a kiss and…
“Why do you smell like beer?”
A moment of silence, seconds stretched out beyond recognition, each heartbeat an eternity.
“I had a beer.”
Oh no. My worst fear. I feel sick to my stomach, bile rising in my throat as my heart beats wildly. What do I do? Swallow. Breathe. Focus.
I know what this means. He knows what this means, has to had known as he put the glass to his lips and took a sip. How many sips until he thought of us? Did he care? Did he even think about it? He has done things like this before without giving us a thought at all.
Of course the argument comes next, and it comes as no surprise to me that he attempts to blame this on me.
“I’m a submissive. Why aren’t you more controlling?”
And in the same breath, “I have a problem with authority and I feel like I have no freedom.”
I feel sorry for him, but I’ve always felt sorry for him. That’s why he never has to deal with the consequences of his actions, that’s why he never learns.
Maybe it is my fault.