14
Alec
Standing in the kitchen, I spread butter over a piece of bread and put iton a plate. Filling a glass of water, I remember that Sorkin requested milk this time but I am not so benevolent that I care.
When my phone rings, I put it under my chin, wiping off the knife I used to cut the bread. “And?” I snap and there’s a nervous coughing in the background.
“Yes, it is me, Ludwig. I am only calling to say that the session with your wife went well.”
Lyla is seeing a therapist. She thinks I don’t know but I do. Keeping a secret from me is impossible and on top of it, it is dangerous. I have to know my wife’s business in case someone would try to hurt her to get to me.
And I need to know what she says about me to a stranger. What she says about Sorkin. Am I jealous husband? Obviously and I grind my jaw.
“I am going to need more information than that,” I say and I can hear him getting up from his chair.
“She is happy,” is the first thing coming out of him and I’m flooded with relief, clutching the edges of the counter harshly. “And from what I can tell she truly does love you.”
Rubbing a hand down my mouth, I painstakingly close my eyes. She loves me. My wife loves me. If only the little ballerina, knew how much I love her back.
“What did she tell you about me?”
“That she considers herself to be a lucky woman.”
My lips curve into a smile and I rub my chest to soothe the frantic beating of my heart. Taking my hand down I curve it into a fist adding, “And what did she tell you about Sorkin?”
“That she misses him and that she worries about him...”
Just like that my heart turns into stone. Rage overcomes me and I kick one of the chairs so hard into the wall that it breaks in two. She misses him? Misses him. Misses him when she loves me? Fuck, then she is really going to miss him when I kill him.
“Mr. Dolokhov,” Ludwig carefully says, “she also told me that she for some reason feels unnerved in your house. That it sometimes makes sounds and noises that spook her. If you could tell me what that is about it would be helpful...”
No, he doesn’t need to know. Nobody but me knows Sorkin is in my basement.
Ignoring him I ask, “Did my wife express any kind of love for her friend?” I clench my hand around the phone, glancing at the knife, prepared to walk down the staircase and finish the object I share my wife’s affection with.
“Love?” He clears his throat again. “No, I wouldn’t go that far. It is obvious to me her feelings for him are strictly platonic. It is you on the other hand, she seems infatuated with.”
But not infatuated enough. I want her to be only mine. I don’t want to share. But as long as Sorkin is in the picture it looks like I’m going to have to.
Unless...
I glance at the knife again, picking it up and it glimmers in the late afternoon sun.
“One thing I’d like to add though,” Ludwig says and I perk my ears. “Your wife is a very, lovely and emotional girl and I understand that you are afraid of losing her. But may I suggest that you don’t take your love for her so far that you end up pushing her away.”
This man doesn’t know us. He doesn’t know what he is talking about and I don’t take his advice.
Hanging up, I drop both the phone and the knife, leaning against the kitchen island. When Lyla first came here, I told her that if she crosses my threshold, she’ll dig her own grave. What I didn’t know then was that I had dug my own, by imprisoning Sorkin.
But now it is too late to simply let him go. Fuck, what am I going to do?
My eyes roam around the kitchen and I take in the white walls and navy gables. It looks the same here as it always does. When Lyla moved in with me I told her she was free to do whatever she wanted with the place, change anything that wasn’t to her taste. She declined, naturally being more interested in dance than interior decoration.
The only thing she expressed thoughts about changing was one of the guestroom’s that’s right next to our bedroom. She coyly told me she wants to turn it into a nursery. Eventually. I drum my fingers against the table, frowning. Once we decide to have children, there can no longer be any secrets between us.
I am going to have to come clean. It is my only option. My only other one is to get rid of Sorkin, dump his body and never tell my wife anything about it. Let her think that her husband deep down is a good man.
Yes, the more I think about it the more tempted I am to choose the second option...