Coda by Liza Gaines

Coda
    I’m usually pretty good at lying to myself.
Some would probably say that’s how I got myself in trouble now, and
they’d be right. But it’s time to be honest. I’m in love with a man
who doesn’t love me. That’s a hard thing to admit because I’d
always assumed things would work out in the end. Worse, I’d
embarrassed Todd and he didn’t deserve that. I owe him an apology.
Actually, I owe several people an apology, but Todd is the only
person who will get one. Not that I wouldn’t apologize to the
others if given the chance, but, realistically, that’s not going to
happen. No doubt, after the way I behaved, my call wouldn’t be
accepted and, even if it would be the right thing to do, I can’t
quite bring myself to apologize to an answering machine. So, Todd
will get his apology and the others can think whatever they like.
It’s not like I’ll ever see them again anyway.
    Todd called a while ago to tell me he was on
his way home. He should be here any minute and I wish he would
hurry. I’ve been moping around feeling sorry for myself since he
dropped me off yesterday morning, but now I just want to get this
over with. It’s going to be difficult and I’d like to get it behind
me. I suspect Todd is dallying for that very reason. He wants to
let me suffer for a while, let me think about what I’ve done. Well,
I have and I’m ready to move on. But first, I want my apology to be
perfect.
    Since I expect him at any time, I’m naked and
kneeling in the foyer waiting for him. He’s going to punish me, of
course, and as regretful as I am for my behavior, for embarrassing
him, I’m looking forward to the punishment. I always do. That’s one
of the things that made our arrangement so successful.
    When the front door opens, I resist the urge
to look. I’d like to see his face, to gauge his mood. But I don’t
dare sneak even the smallest peek. I know he doesn’t want me to
look at him. He never wants to be looked at during a scene. He just
stands there staring at me for the longest time and I can barely
stand it. I feel itchy and anxious; it’s interminable. Did he see
my bags packed and sitting by the door? Maybe that’s why he hasn’t
said anything.
    I’m about to crawl out of my skin, the
waiting is making me that crazy. The silence, too. I hear his
breathing, see the toes of his tennis shoes in my peripheral
vision. I know he’s here. It’s driving me a little bit mad
that nothing is happening. Words start to jam up in my throat,
trying to fight their way over my tongue in such a rush they
probably wouldn’t come out in the proper order if I let them
escape. Just when I think I’m not going to be able to hold them
back any longer, he finally speaks, putting me out of my misery. Or
rather, putting me out of one misery and tossing me directly into
another.
    “Look at me.”
    I’m startled by his request and it takes me a
moment to comply. When I do, my heart plummets straight to my toes.
He looks awful, tired and worried. But what bothers me most is the
look in his eyes. He’s calm, frighteningly so. Anger I can ignore,
but disappointment eats at me until I can’t stand it.
    I want to ask him what happened but I’m
confused and not sure if I should. Normally, he’d say don’t speak
unless spoken to. That’s one of his bedrock rules, right next to
the one about not looking at him. But now he’s told me to look at
him and I don’t know what the rules are anymore. Maybe I am allowed
to talk? Dammit. This was one of the things I always liked about
Todd. Structure, routine. Clear rules that I could rely on.
Discipline. I don’t know why but I get so upset when I don’t know
what to expect, I can make myself sick thinking about it. So, while
some might have found Todd’s rigid expectations cold and unfeeling,
I adored it. It grounded me and removed a lot of the nagging doubt
from my psyche. But that one order— look at me —is like a
weight tied to my ankle, pulling me deeper in a