Chapter 4

By the time Adam heard the front door open downstairs—probably Larisa, meaning it had to be around 10:00 PM—he was a quarter of the way through storyboarding a new video. The premise he’d gone with in interpreting his dream was that the woman was the representation of sanity. The man with the axe was a traumatic event, and the man sitting beside her was the representation of madness—so close, sitting beside her, but so far, knowing the answers to her questions but being unable to give them. The gun was her only source of hope, the only string holding her to her sanity. With it and its one bullet, she could choose only one option: either embrace the trauma, or embrace insanity.

            Though he was almost half done with the storyboarding, he still didn’t know what she was going to choose. He felt that if she chose insanity, it would be insulting somehow. But if she chose to embrace the trauma, that was too boring. Whatever the outcome he chose, he had the concept, and it was one that he could work with. He was satisfied either way. It would be a project that he would work on over the next week or so, taking his time to see how the events panned out on their own.

            After he finished the last, rough-sketched frame of the woman (who he decided to refer to as “Sanity” for ease) turning her head in horror at the sight of the masked man (“Trauma”) and his fire axe, he set down his tablet’s pen and leaned back in his chair to stretch. Most of the day’s work had gone into figuring out his interpretation, and how he would even execute it. This video was more story-driven than his older ones. He had wondered if he should try making a script for it first, but then, deciding that there would be no actual dialogue in the video, decided against it. He just hoped that he wouldn’t alienate his viewers with the final product. It was so unlike anything he’d done in the past, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

            At the moment, all of the characters were nude, hairless figures with faces. He hadn’t decided on any actual designs for them yet, other than the fact that Trauma had a burlap sack over his face. But even that detail was one that he questioned. Perhaps the burlap sack mask concept was overused?

            He heard his wife climbing the stairs and turned his chair around, still leaning back in it. There were two gentle knocks on the door: Larisa making sure to be quiet in the instance that he was asleep. To let her know that he wasn’t, he called out, “Come in.”

            When Larisa’s head poked into the room, he grinned at her. It took her a second to realize why, and she looked at the screen, pleasantly, but hardly, surprised. Finally, she stepped further into his office.

            “Oh, you got an idea?” she asked with a smile.

            “It came to me in a dream,” he admitted, shrugging.

            Her smile turned coy, and then she sat down on his lap and snuggled against him. “Tell me what it’s about.”

            “Are you sure?” Adam laughed. “You usually think my video concepts are disturbing, and believe me, this won’t be an exception.”

            Smirking now, she looked up at him and scratched at his beard with the long, manicured nail of her index finger. “They’re strange, but always fascinating,” she crooned. “Strangely fascinating.” Then, she kissed his cheek.

            After pausing for a moment, considering this, he shook his head. “I think I’ll save it,” he said. “Leave it to be a surprise.”

            “When I got home last night, you were asleep,” she told him suddenly through a pout.

            “Yeah?”

            “Not that I’m not glad that you slept. But I wasn’t gone that long.” She reached up and tapped his nose, as if flirtatiously scolding him. “And you said that you were going to work.”

            It finally struck Adam, what Larisa was trying to build up to. He had to take it in and process it: the fact that she was again trying to seduce him. Had she learned nothing about him? But did he really want to push her away again? He was in a good mood for once.

            But she’s cheating on me.

            He wasn’t surprised to discover that this thought did little to sway his decision. He should’ve cared. He should’ve been angry, or at the very least, he should’ve wanted to confront her about it. But there was another thought, in the back of his head, that stopped him from doing anything about it.

            What if I’m wrong?

            Maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe she really did have to go back to work. Maybe she arranged meetings to do work with a co-worker, with her boss, with someone, but not to have sex with them.

            Don’t be stupid, Adam.

            As he dwelled on this, Larisa didn’t seem to notice the conflict in his eyes. She continued to beam at him, coy and flirtatious, wanting him regardless. Should he love her for that? That even if she was having an affair, that she still wanted him?

            “Larisa . . .”

            “Ssh.” She moved in and kissed him on the lips once, just a small peck. When she pulled back, she gazed deep into his eyes, her own moving back and forth as if searching his for something. “I love you, Adam,” she told him. She sounded honest—sincere.

            It took Adam a few seconds to get his bearings. “I love you, too,” he said. He couldn’t help but feel like his response sounded forced, but if it did, she didn’t care.

            Her hand ran itself along his face and caressed his cheek. “You’re still just as handsome as the day I married you,” she remarked with a light giggle. Her voice was ever-so-slightly deeper than usual, he noticed, and he recognized it as a sign of arousal.

            Is my voice deeper? Are my pupils dilated? Is my body language open? Am I showing her any signs of arousal at all?

            There had to be a reason that she kept coming back to him. Was it only because she found him attractive?

            Me, attractive? “Handsome”? Does she see the same man that I see when I look in the mirror?

            She stroked the side of his head, and then she kissed him again, deeper this time. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to accept her or push her away. So he did nothing. Taking this as consent, she wrapped her arms around him and leaned into him, pushing him back further in his chair and causing it to creak. But when he continued to show no reaction, she pulled back, worried.

            “Are you all right?” she asked.

            He stared at her for a moment, dumb. Then, he blinked himself back to reality. “Yeah,” he assured.

            “Really?”

            “Yeah.” Finally having made a decision, he returned her affection by kissing her. Both eager and pleased, she kissed him back. They made their way from Adam’s office to the bedroom, and all the while, he wondered if this was what he truly wanted. But what else was there? She was his wife. He couldn’t neglect her forever, and if she was cheating on him, it was only because he hadn’t given her what she needed. He was to blame, and if anything was going on behind his back, then perhaps he could put a stop to it by making love to her himself.

            The rest of the night was awkward for Adam, but not unpleasant. He enjoyed what he did with Larisa, but even though she showed no signs of this being the case, he always felt like he was doing everything wrong—like he was messing it all up. He couldn’t stop himself from feeling selfish. Surely, he could pleasure her more than he pleasured himself, but whenever he tried to focus on her and her alone, she somehow seemed to enjoy it less. Or was it just that he didn’t understand how she expressed enjoyment?

            Whatever the case, whenever he had sex with Larisa, he always found himself either distracted or guilt-ridden. That night was no exception. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy making love to her, or that he didn’t find her attractive, he just felt . . . detached from her. He loved her, he really did. But somehow, having sex with her felt less like having sex with a human than it did having sex with an enigmatic blowup doll. She seemed to enjoy it, but afterward, would never say anything about it. Not even a meek “That was great.” Not even a “That was okay.” Not a complaint nor a compliment escaped her lips after he made love to her. She never screamed or moaned during, either, only ever gasped and, even rarer, groaned in either pain or pleasure—it was impossible for him to tell which.

            So, he assumed that she enjoyed it. Why else would she so eagerly flirt with him? But he had no real sign that she enjoyed it, and she wasn’t going to give him one. He felt like, if he had to ask, that would prove to her once and for all that he was incompetent in bed, and despite everything, he didn’t want her to think that.

            The following morning, Adam was awoken by his alarm clock, set for seven to give Larisa time to shower and prepare for work. He hit the snooze button and was going to wake her, but then he felt her hand slink up to his chest. When he looked down at it, her head moved closer and laid against his right breast. She smiled up at him tiredly with her face almost makeup-less; what little was left of what she’d put on the day prior had smudged sometime during the night.

            “Good morning,” she croaked in a sing-song way.

            Feeling romantic, either because of the sex or because he had just woken up, he gazed at her for a moment before telling her, “You’re so beautiful.”

            With her mouth closed into a smirk, she laughed twice in the back of her throat before moving up to peck him on the lips. He returned the gesture happily, well aware that in a few minutes he would be unable to express his love in such a carefree way. She tapped his nose again, and then she got up and headed for the bathroom to take a shower. He decided to stay in bed for a few minutes. When he heard the shower start, he decided to get up. From the floor, he picked up his jeans and his briefs. First he pulled on his briefs, then he stood up and tugged on his jeans, and—

            “Hello?”

            He stopped moving, frozen in place, with his hands on his jeans. It took him a second to turn his head to the doorway, and another to realize that he hadn’t imagined the sound of Larisa’s voice, barely audible under the sound of the shower. He could hear mumbling, but couldn’t make out any words, so he neglected zipping or buttoning his jeans and crept to the bathroom door. He stood beside it and listened hard.

            “Sorry for not calling you last night,” she muttered to whoever she had called. “I know we had plans, but something”—she paused—“came up.” After a few seconds, a reply that Adam couldn’t hear: “Yeah, he and I . . .” She trailed off mid-sentence. Another pause. “Well, I mean, he’s good”—she paused once more. Then, in a lower voice that Adam could hardly make out, as if she’d been asked how good, she answered, “Not as good as you.”

            Adam tensed up. For a long moment, he zoned out, unable to focus on anything else she said. He hadn’t done anything; she’d gone back to the man she was having an affair with. And after he’d finally given her what she wanted . . . That was what she wanted, wasn’t it?

            All of a sudden, he was angry. But rather than act, he decided to determine why he was angry. He hadn’t cared when he first determined that she was cheating. He hadn’t even cared the first time he’s caught her calling someone like this, behind his back. Was it because he finally had proof that she was seeing someone else? Or was it because she’d admitted that her mystery man was better than him?

            He raised his hand to knock on the door, to let her know that he had heard her, but he stopped himself. Instead, defeated and hurt, he shook his head and walked into his office. He sat down at his chair and tried to act like everything was fine. He opened his video’s project file, and picked up his tablet’s pen, but couldn’t bear to draw anything.

            All right, no drawing, then, he decided. So, he checked Twitter instead. A few of his other fans had liked the apple-banana tweet, but the only substantial thing to be found there was another direct message from Evangeline. It had been sent at midnight.

            “Hiya! I’m about to go to bed, but I was just wondering if you’re already working on something new? I have a lot of ideas if you need any! If you are working on something, I’m sure it’s going to be great! I’m super eager!! Love you!”

            He stared at the message, but didn’t really understand it. He typed a reply: “I’m already working on something. – Adam”, but decided that he wasn’t in the mood to send it. Holding down the backspace key, he watched each letter get wiped away. And then, he placed his elbows on the desk and put his head in his hands.

            Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he’d misheard Larisa, or imagined the entire thing. The shower had been really loud. Maybe she wasn’t even talking about him. Maybe she was talking to her boss.

            Don’t be stupid, Adam!

            He shook his head at himself and let out a heavy exhale through his nose. The damage was done. He knew what he’d heard, and knew that he wasn’t mistaken. She was cheating on him. But he already knew that. What hurt, he supposed, was that she liked the other man more. That she could go to someone else so freely, as if she truly had no feelings left for him at all. He still loved her, but did she love him? Lamenting, but at the same time thinking nothing, he stayed like this—sitting shirtless in his office, cradling his head in his palms—for a long time.

            When Larisa came in at 7:30 to check on him, she asked if he was all right, and he told her that he had a headache. Then, she came closer and had the gall to kiss him on the cheek and the forehead before she left. If his pride had been damaged any further, he felt he might have started crying right there.