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in too deep, can’t think about giving it up.

larry.

The pads of her feet were soft thumps against the floor. They, however, didn’t wake me. It was her exit from the bed ten minutes ago that had pulled me away from my less than blissful slumber.

The bed barely dipped under her weight but the duvet rustled and the sheets tugged. The disruptive behavior of the bedding was enough to make her pause and cautiously eye me.

I could feel her gaze. Heat fizzled over the surface of my skin under it but I wouldn’t dare open my eyes. Nowadays the only way I got to see a genuine Marlee was when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.

Our dreaded doctors appointment had been four days ago and Marlee had been on a roll, acting like nothing happened ever since then. I let her – because I didn’t know what else to do.

I wouldn’t force her into talking to me because I didn’t even know what to say. I wouldn’t force her into making a decision because I didn’t even know what I wanted. We were both – confused but I was the only one embracing my true emotions.

I’d been with Marlee for all of my adult life. I knew her. Her containing her feelings behind multiple layers was nothing new to me. However, this felt different. It felt urgent. It felt final. Now was not the time for her to be building walls and hiding her vulnerable nature.

In the past I’d resented her ability to shut me out and in turn chronically neglected her. Most recently, with the involuntary reset to our relationship. I’d been working on respecting her need for space but also making it very apparent that I was present. Now – now I didn’t know what to do.

I wanted to push, and plow through the layers she’d so carefully constructed but I knew that would only urge her to build up more walls – stronger ones. At the same time I wanted to support her and do whatever she needed me to do. And apparently what she needed from me right now was Denzel level acting skills that matched hers.

She needed me to pretend so that she could carry on with her fictitious shenanigans.

So I did. I pretended to sleep as she stared me down, making sure that her return to the bed hadn’t shaken me out of my slumber.

It took what seemed like a million seconds for her to look away from me and a million more for her to lay down.

She settled on the edge of the bed and when I slyly peeled my eyes open I found her back to me. An unimaginable coldness consumed me, snuggling against my every bone, and I wanted to do nothing more than crowd her body with mine but I couldn’t. If I did she’d step into character and go back to pretending that everything was alright.

It took three sniffles for me to realize she was crying.

I chewed my lip, wondering if I should go to her. I wanted to wrap her in my arms and squeeze all her worries away. I wanted to wipe away her tears and erase the trails they created with soft kisses. I wanted to lull lullabies in her ear that translated to promises – promises I knew I couldn’t fulfill.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I laid still and pretended to be sleep. I told myself there was no comfort I could bring. I told myself that she needed to let whatever she was feeling out. I told myself everything in an effort to not feel terrible about ‘ignoring’ my wife’s pain.

Eventually she cried herself to sleep, leaving me up. Her sniffles. though nonexistent now, echoed throughout the room. I felt like I was suffocating. The room was cool yet I felt hot despite only wearing briefs and not being under the covers. Sweat quickly began to tattoo the surface of my skin and when it got to be too much I took cues from her and rushed to the bathroom to avoid waking her.

“Gooood morning,” Her being up before me was a surprise but her being in the kitchen, cooking, was even more surprising.

We’d both had rough nights but it didn’t show. I’d silently praised her acting skills last night but mine too were quite impressive. It was shameful.

We were doing exactly what we said we wouldn’t do when we decided that fighting for our marriage was our only option. We weren’t being honest with one another. We weren’t openly communicating but then again neither of us were prepared to have to communicate about a pregnancy that we hadn’t planned for.

“Morning,” I smirked, rounding the island that separated me from her. Dropping a kiss onto the back of her neck, I peered into the griddle. “What you cook?”

“Crepes.” She turned and grinned proudly, revealing a face dotted with white shit.

“You lie!”

“I did,” She shifted so that I could see her work. “Look.”

Before me were five perfectly crafted crepes. They were golden in color, light in texture and folded, concealing sweet surprises.

“They look good?” She quizzed, folding the last one and setting on it a plate before handing it to me.

“They so beautiful.”

“Forreal?!” She chirped and then kissed her teeth. “Don’t gas me!”

“I not! They look good.” I reached out poking the tip of her nose. “I’m so proud of you.”

Her smile was wide and genuine. It nearly made me forget that for days now she’d been giving Viola Davis a run for her money.

Marlee was so good at masking her emotions that sometimes it left me wondering if I’d imagined certain things.

“Come on. We gotta eat before they get cold.” She led me over to our neglected dining table.

Years ago whenever I was home we always ate breakfast together at this very table. It had once been our thing but as time passed it faded into the background just like majority of our other good habits.

I wondered if she remembered and if so what memory had triggered this act. There had been so many. We shared a million laughs here. I revealed some of my biggest news. She laid out her goals. We argued here, sexed here, planned here…

“Why are you looking like that?” It was when she spoke that I realized that she was already seated, leaving me hovering awkwardly over the table.

“You remember when we get this table?” I quizzed as I sat.

She paused, bit into her crepe and moaned. “No.”

“Oh.”

“You gonna tell me?” She pressed, eyeing me from under the fan of her lashes. “Or are you still listening to the doctor’s orders?”

The mention of a doctor was an instant reminder that she was pregnant and refusing to talk about it at the moment.

“We just see somethings like this – in Italy but it’s so expensive and even more money to ship,” I trailed off, not caring much for the story but for the matter at hand – the one my wife wanted to ignore.

“And?” She pressed.

“We just get it.” I shrugged leaving out the part about Marlee shooting the owner’s daughter wedding for free in exchange for the table.

“That was uneventful.” She grinned, amused.

I opened my mouth to spit out an excuse or maybe the rest of the story but she beat me to the punch with her own set of words.

“Speaking of Europe,” Her eyes were bright as she spoke. “I was looking at some flights to Paris today and they’re soooo cheap.”

My mouth opened to ask why leaving the country was on her mind but I quickly shut it.

This was her thing, and Paris her oasis.

When things got heavy for her, France was where she sought solace. I never could quite understand it.

“Do you and Lau have anything major coming up?” She quizzed before forking food into her mouth.

I’d yet to touch my own food. I was far too distracted.

Her refusal to acknowledge the elephant in the room wasn’t new to me but it wasn’t any less annoying.

“Nope.” I tried to keep my tone light as not to give away the fact that I was annoyed.

Lately Lau and I had been in talks with our management about doing TV. Dance competition shows were on the rise again and since we hadn’t gotten as far as we wanted with our own show idea it seemed fitting to do someone else’s.

Exposure was important and our constant relevance would make securing our own dance competition show much easier.

I hadn’t told Marlee about it because things were still up in the air. We also had a lot of our own shit going on, even before we learned about her pregnancy.

We were rebuilding and very fragile – talking about a show that would require me to relocate to LA for a few months just didn’t seem all that important.

“Larry, you haven’t even touched your food!”

Smiling sheepishly, I grabbed my fork. “I listen to you, and get distracted.”

I was distracted but not by what she was saying. I was distracted by everything that she wasn’t saying.

“Just tell me what you think.” She waved my excuse off, motioning towards the plate she’d made me.

Saying nothing, I cut into the crêpe and stuffed a hefty amount in my mouth.

The flavors danced over my tongue as I chewed. I looked up finding her eyes wide-set and on me. I smiled despite my sour mood because it was impossible not to.

“Is good.” I chuckled, amused at how she was watching me. I knew she was anxious – she’d talked about making crepes for years.

“Really?!”

“Yeah,”

“How good?”

“I teach you good.” I stuffed more into my mouth. It really was good.

“Nigga please,” She cackled. “You taught me nothing. All these years – you barely let me watch you make them.”

“They taste like you know my recipe.” I watched her roll her eyes.

“They taste like you’re not the only one in the house who knows how to cook.”

“Since you say like that I hope now you cook more then.”

“I never said all that.” I chuckled but continued to eat in silence.

She had actually done really well. I would even argue that her flavor profile was a bit better than mine. But the good tasting food wasn’t enough to jerk me away from my thoughts.

I tried to imagine what life would be like if she said she didn’t want to go forward with the pregnancy. I attempted to mentally prepare myself because truthfully I felt like that was the road she was going to go down – especially now that she was caught up on her painful past.

It would hurt but I understood.

She didn’t want to suffer and I didn’t want her to. Though the doctor had said technology had advanced, I knew that Marlee’s past pregnancies, and the abortion, would put her at risk. I didn’t want any risks – we couldn’t afford them.

I needed her.

Marlee’s body couldn’t take another failed pregnancy but most importantly her psyche couldn’t take it. The physical effects would be detrimental but the psychological effects would be catastrophic.

I know she blamed herself, and she expected me to blame her too.

I didn’t.

“Why are you frowning?” She quizzed.

“How you think of LA?”

Confusion contorted her features. “It’s fine.”

“To live?”

Her brows scrunched. “Larry, what are you talking about?”

I frowned at my bad timing. This wasn’t the time but talking about the direction my career was going in was the only thing lofty enough to shadow my other thoughts.

“Is not in the rock yet but,”

“What?” Confusion sewed itself to her pretty features.

“How that saying is about set rocks?”

Her eyes narrowed then widened before laughter pulled her mouth open. “It’s not set in stone, nigga?”

“Yeah,” I flushed. “Shut up. That’s what I say.”

“Mmmhmm,” She hummed still smiling.

“Is not set in the stones yet but World of Dance do a dance competition show and me and Lau maybe do it.” When she was silent I went on. “It tape for two-three months… in LA. But it’s not in the st– we don’t know yet but I wanted to say to you. We just start talk about it.”

“When would it tape?”

“Less than two months.”

“You wanna do it?”

“Only if you come with me.” Our eyes caught and I was shocked to see the surprise in hers.

“You want me to come?” The question threw me even more than her expression.

Why was she shocked?

“Of course,” I deadpanned. “Why I not?”

She shrugged and then forked food into her mouth, stalling. I watched her chew, wearing a mask of patience. However when she went for another fork of food I huffed out, cutting my eyes at her.

“I’m hungry, Larry!” Her defenses went up.

“You stall.”

She opened her mouth to defend herself but she knew I was right.

“In the past – and don’t say that this isn’t about the past,” She warned. “You would go away for extended periods of time and I would stay home and I know I worked but there were times when my work wasn’t constant and I could have been with you but – the offer was never on the table.”

My silence prompted her to go on.

“I know that wasn’t an option for tours and such but there were times when I could’ve come – I wanted to but I don’t think you wanted me to. I don’t know.” She sighed, shoving more food into her mouth. “Maybe you needed a break or something. We weren’t all that good… I don’t know. I’m rambling – I’m just shocked that you want me to come with you.”

She was right. I hadn’t wanted her with me. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Larry. I’m just telling you whats on my mind.” She sighed. “We are supposed to be doing that, right?”

“We are.” I agreed, willing my face to remain neutral. “We supposed to talk for everything we feel – that’s what we say.”

“We did.” She nodded, glancing down at her now empty plate.

“You say everything to me?” I pressed, unable to help myself.

I wanted to know everything that was happening in that head of hers. I wanted to know how she truly felt about our current situation. I wanted to know what she wanted. I needed to know.

“I’ll gladly come to LA with you.” She smiled a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

I stayed behind in the kitchen to clean up the mess Marlee had created after turning our kitchen into a creperie. She was always messy in the kitchen, dirtying more dishes than necessary. I had a habit of cleaning as I cooked, making the aftermath minor. Marlee was the opposite.

It looks like a toddler got loose in here, I thought glancing around at the mess my wife had made. My thought made me pause. I relished on the fact that had our other pregnancies been successful we would indeed have two toddlers right now. I then silently acknowledged that Marlee was indeed pregnant now.

I dipped my hands into the hot, sudsy water I’d prepared, attempting to cleanse my brain of its current thoughts. I was bound to drive myself crazy if I kept this shit up.

I finished the kitchen faster than expected and headed to the bedroom to get dressed. We had an important appointment and I didn’t want to be late.

I expected Marlee to be dressed or halfway there since she’d left me in the kitchen to do just that several minutes prior. I was more than surprised when I heard the shower running.

I inwardly ranted about her ability to always make us late as I stripped in route to the shower. Steam engulfed the bathroom, leading me to question just how long she had been in the shower.

I approached the door and pulled it open, wordlessly reminding myself that getting distracted by her body was not an option. We had shit to do.

“I shower with you to save time.” I smirked and then forced my eyes up to her face.

My smirk instantly fell when I caught sight of her reddened, tears rimmed eyes. Reacting immediately she pushed her face into the spray of the water, disguising the fact that she’d been crying.

“Marlee?” I called, concerned – annoyed.

“You can have it, baby. I’m done anyways.” She forced a smile on her lips and moved past me for the door.

I didn’t miss the raspy quality of her voice or the way she dropped her eyes when mine continued to search her face.

She was out of the shower before I could press her, leaving me stewing in frustration as the syrupy scent of her body wash swirled around me.

I showered quickly, anxious to see her before she secured her facade on. Perhaps I was being a bit of a masochist for wanting to catch her in the act of her pain, or a sadist for not attempting to ease it.

It was torture for me and felt completely out of my control. It felt wrong to force my comforting gestures upon her especially when she was clearly going through great lengths to hide what she was really feeling from me. At the same time it felt wrong to pretend nothing was happening – as her husband I should have been acting as her anchor, her peace.

In some sick and twisted way I needed the confirmation that she was actually feeling – that she was truly affected by what was happening. Her outward displays of emotion were sort of comforting because I felt the same. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how I’d feel if I hadn’t witnessed her true emotion state spilling through the cracks.

I’d feel alone.

Did she feel alone, I wondered, pausing. She hadn’t caught me crying or witnessed me restlessly tossing and turning at night due to my less than savory thoughts. How did she know that emotionally we were on the same page? I mean, I hadn’t said anything because she was going through such great lengths to hide her pain.

I was left to wonder if she was hiding her pain because she wasn’t sure where I stood emotionally. I hoped not.

I would put an end to this today, I silently promised as I dressed, determined to take the wheel of what would eventually morph into a deadly crash.

The drive was silent and as comfortable as it could possibly be given the circumstances. We were both lost in our own thoughts. Mine were dark and cloudy and I’m sure hers were the same.

“Nervous?” She quizzed as we walked hand in hand towards the towering building in Midtown Manhattan.

“Not really.” I answered honestly. I felt many things and nervousness wasn’t one of them.

“You were so quiet on the way here?’ She pressed.

“I just think of a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

I smirked. “Why you nosey?”

“I just wanna know.” She shrugged smiling a small smile. “Whats on ya mind?”

“You,” Our eyes locked. “LA and everything with that – the show, an apartment, Paris–“ I shrugged, wanting to leave it there.

“You wanna go?” Her smile was wide – we were talking about her oasis.

“We can – you say is cheap, yes?”

“So cheap!”

“…Okay.”

I managed to tune her ramblings about Paris out as we made our way up the elevator to the 29th floor where our marriage counselor waited.

The room was bright and airy – white walls with white curtains and splashes of pastel colors here and there. It was calming and it evoked peace, which made all the sense in the world. Marriages often turned to war zones and this was were people came to fix them – peace was necessary. On the walls were minimalist artworks compromised of mere lines and a few certificates, speaking to the experience of the highly recommended doctor.

Introductions were brief – cheerful. Refreshments were offered. Words of encouragement were recited.

“Mr. Bourgeois, what are you feeling right now?”

I briefly wonder why she targeted me first. Was my depressive state apparent? Could she see the weight of my reality weighing me down? Was Marlee that much of a better actor than me?

“I feel like,” I paused glancing at my hands and then Marlee. “Confused, sad, frustrated… so many things happen in my mind right now. Is like – I don’t know.” I huffed, hating that I couldn’t tell the person who was here to help us exactly what I was feeling.

“Tell me what you’re frustrated about?”

I sighed, as my thoughts raced. I knew this was the time and the place but exposing Marlee, especially when I’d done nothing to remedy her woes felt wrong. Maybe she should have been frustrated with me.

“She won’t let me in,” I started, glancing at my wife who was now staring at me. “I want to help – and maybe I can or should have but she hide everything – from me.”

“Is there something specific you’re talking about?” Dr. Fagan quizzed, looking between Marlee and I before resting her gaze solely on me.

“She cry.” Out of my peripherals I saw Marlee shift, displaying her discomfort and shock. “In the middle of the night she cry when she think I’m sleep. She do again today after we eat breakfast.”

I looked over at her, frowning when I found that her eyes had widened..

“How does that make you feel?”

I shrugged, never removing my stare from Marlee. “Left out.”

“Lar–“ Marlee began in a whimper.

“I know I will never, ever understand what she go through because is not my body – I know this. She have emotional pain and physical pain,” I winced at thought. “I know I can not fix it – I can’t even fix myself but to me, for me is feel like maybe we get through it better if we talk about us feelings about the ba… this pregnancy.”

Marlee dropped her face into her palms and I hated the fact that it was my words that triggered her agony. I reached for her, placing a not so steady hand on her knee.

“Mrs. Bourgeois, do you want to discuss how your husband’s words made you feel?”

They’d made me feel like shit so I know they’d ripped her to shreds. I stooped low but my desperation made it feel necessary. Throwing her under the bus and plastering what she was trying to hide on a metaphorical billboard was necessary.

“I’m pregnant, and I don’t know if I want to be.” She breathed and though I wasn’t looking at her, I knew her face was coated with tears.

The room was quiet – too quiet. I could hear my heart drumming in my ears. The bass was stronger – harder than any beat I’d ever danced over.

Within five minutes of being here, our biggest issue was splattered across the room. Dr. Fagan had no prior knowledge of our past or even our present and looked mildly shocked by us divulging our issues so quickly. But we were desperate.

Desperate to fix us.

Desperate not to experience pain…

I waited for the counselor to speak, to counsel but she said nothing, prompting me to look at her.

Her stare was glued to Marlee which made me look. I winced when I found my wife shedding silent tears.

The tissue box was pushed gently across the table towards Marlee and I immediately grabbed it, plucking a few of the soft facial papers from the bunch.

“Chink, please stop cry,” I begged, softly gripping her chin.

My eyes sought her out but she wouldn’t look at me even as I dabbed the tissue delicately at her face.

“Please,” I pressed. “Je déteste quand tu pleures,” (I hate when you cry) I whispered.

“Mrs. Bourgeois, can you tell us a bit of what you’re feeling?” Dr. Fagan pressed gently.

“I— I don’t… know,” Her voice was clouded with her agony.

“What about Larry’s admission triggered you?” Same question, different words.

The mention of my name drew my wife’s tear stained gaze to mine. Tears nearly came to my own eyes. She looked pitiful and it was killing me.

It was because of me.

I briefly wondered how things would have gone had I not brought up the fact that Marlee was hiding her true feelings from me. Had I not forced her out of her emotional hiding. Would she have eventually come to me to have an open and honest conversation about our future? Or would she have sprang her final decision on me at our follow-up doctors appointment.

I didn’t know with her, and I was desperate to know. So – I acted, yanking her out of hiding. And now it was clear to me that though it was necessary, I wasn’t prepared for the fall out.

“I– I don’t want to disappoint him.” She cried in a voice that reeked of shame.

“Chin–“ I started only for Dr. Fagan to call out to my name softly, gesturing for me to remain silent.

“Why do you feel you would disappoint him?”

Marlee’s face curled in despair at the question. “I know he wants children and I can’t give them to him.”

My eyes glazed. She sounded sure. Nothing the doctors had told her – us about new techniques and technologies resonated with her. The past weighed on her mind, overruling the optimism of the medical professionals.

“In the past,” I was surprised when she continued on. “We had issues carrying a pregnancy to term – there was never an issue with conceiving but–“ She paused, looking off into a vacant corner of the room. “I just couldn’t carry them… healthily, and we lost them.”

Silence consumed the room, sliding down the length of the walls. It was heavy – thick, making it hard to breathe.

Marlee’s words painted a gnarly picture. I saw us on the bed, me holding her, as contractions beckoned by medicine instead of nature yanked her body through the flames of hell the night before we lost our first son. I then remembered myself holding my son, Laurent, I heard his ragged breaths and saw his pale cheeks. I looked down at my hands almost swearing that I felt his sweet warmth going cold on the very tips of my fingers as I held him.

I shook my head and balled my fists, clearing my thoughts – or hoping to. And then Marlee spoke again.

“I terminated the third pregnancy.” My heart stuttered and eyes watered, prompting me to shut them.

We’d talked about this, I’d forgiven her but it stung. The what ifs would never leave the surface of my brain.

“And you know,” She chuckled dryly. “I’m sure that fucked my reproductive system up even more.” The guilt would never leave the core of her heart.

“I feel like a fucking walking cemetery.”

“Marlee,” I whispered her name because I didn’t have the strength to use my full baritone.

“I know you have hope,” Her eyes lazily drifted to mine. “I don’t.”

“The doctor say–“

“They said good things the last time too.” She interjected, reminding me that the past was fresh in her mind.

Her memory had been rebranded by the blazing steel of her past and the area was still consumed with blisters. I, on the other hand, had worked for years to forget – healing my scars.

“For Men’s Fashion Week – they want us?” Lau quizzed as though Karine, our manager, hadn’t just gave a thorough explanation.

“Yes. January 16th for Berlutti and January 17th for Jacquemus.”

“And Jordan – January 19th,” I beamed repeating the news I was most excited for.

For years I’d been obsessed with everything Michael Jordan and Jordan brand affiliated and now we would be working with them, and going to a party hosted by Mr. Jordan himself.

I couldn’t be happier.

“Oh yes!” Lau sang, equally as excited as me.

We’d signed the contracts weeks and ago but the awe still hadn’t left. I’d nearly passed out when Karine delivered the news but instead I’d used my last bit of strength to tug my phone from my pocket.

It was as my finger was hovering over the name that was first on my favorites list that I realized I couldn’t call it.

She would never answer for me.

“Also Dior sent over some stuff,” She glanced at a neat tower of boxes in the corner of the room. “And Larry, I need to speak with you.”

The cheer left her tone and her eyes offered no more brightness. I nodded and it was shaky. I was too consumed with trying to imagine what could possibly be wrong to present steady movements.

Last week I’d had a less than cordial encounter with a shitty judge at a Berlin battle – was it that? Or was it about that club in Turkey that kept trying to book us despite them having a very racist staff?

Lau, distracted by his phone, hadn’t left the room but he’d already checked out of the conversation.

Karine peered carefully at me from across the table before reaching for her prized Hermès bag and extracting a manila folder.

With a sigh she slid it across the table. “Came this morning.”

My eyes danced over her face, in an attempt to read her but I couldn’t – so I gave up and dropped my gaze down to the folder. Contracts often came in folders like this but what contract would lead to her solemn expression?

Annoyed with the hot curiosity seeping from my pores, I flipped the folder open and signed, finding the tiniest of black words. Without my glasses I was left to squint.

“What is this?” I murmured more to myself than the other parties in the room.

“What is it, bro?” Laurent decided to mentally join us again.

I ignored him as concentration narrowed my eyes further, causing strain that went right to my temples. I opened my mouth to complained about my lack of understanding when words I never wanted to see paired with a name that I’d cooed and sang and hissed and moaned for years became clear.

“Larry?” Lau pressed, standing from his seat and towering behind mine.

His vision was perfect unlike mine. It hadn’t taken him long to find the words that’d powered my heart down to nothingness is mere seconds.

“Petition for Divorce.” He read and my heart blackened, turning to dust in the cavity of my chest.

never knew love would hurt this fuckin bad..

#swbffic #lt fanfic