Page 2 of Remnants

Kaitlin

ONE

PRESENT DAY

My body continues to shake involuntarily as I stare at the horrific numbers blinking back at me.

How?

How is this even possible when I’ve been doing everything right?

I feel the prickly heat and pressure building behind my eyes.

No . I can’t cry, not with him standing right here.

It’ll only anger him further. I stare at his clean-shaven face.

His perfectly squared jaw ticks and his thin lips tighten into a line as he glares at the number on the scale.

I’ve failed my weigh-in, again. I haven’t lost any weight and the disappointment is clear on his face.

“James,” I breathe softly as I step off of the scale, quickly grabbing my robe. I don’t want him to see me in my underwear, and by the look on his face I would say the feelings are mutual on his end. “I am sorry, I tried so...”

James holds up his hand, silencing me. He shakes his head in disappointment, his short brown hair styled and unmoving.

“I am at a loss for words.” He lets out a sarcastic laugh while walking away.

He only gets a few steps before stopping and spinning on his heel back toward me.

He takes a couple long strides, forcing himself into my personal space.

I hold still—it’s easier to let him run his course rather than fight back.

I’ve had to learn this the hard way over the years.

“I give you everything, Kaitlin. A new Mercedes in the driveway of your expensive dream home, a shopping allowance, hair, nails, makeup, all of it. And I ask so little of you. Clean the house, cook, and stay fit so that I can take you to events without having to feel embarrassed. Kaitlin, do you know what it’s like, being at the top of my field and having a wife who looks like…

” He doesn’t have to finish his sentence.

I’m not the wife that belongs on the arm of the leading cosmetic surgeon to the elite and famous.

I chew on my bottom lip and look down as my arms go to wrap around my torso.

James growls in irritation as he heads toward the door again.

“Five pounds by next week or I will put you back on those diet pills. Stop making me the bad guy, Kaitlin. I want to love you and you’re making it so difficult. ”

My bottom lip quivers as I whisper another apology before he leaves the bathroom. I stay still for several minutes in silence. Not daring to move until I hear the garage door opening, my signal that he is definitely out of the house.

Once I am sure he’s gone, I feel my perfectly measured breaths becoming labored.

My panting rattles my entire core as I stare at myself in the mirror.

Poker straight blonde hair pulled tightly back into a sleek bun.

My blue irises look like crystals due to the tears that are filling my red-rimmed eyes.

My skin is fair, perfectly buffed, and hairless in every part that matters.

The parts that aren’t “unsightly”. I can’t show my upper arms as they’re fuller, my tummy is soft and has stretch marks, my thighs rub together, and it’s caused such a problem that I’m not allowed to wear jeans around James as the noise of the fabric sets him off.

I make a noise of disgust at myself while looking in the mirror as I pull my fuller, soft jaw tight with my fingers.

Why didn’t I lose the weight? I tried so hard and followed his ridiculous diet plan—not a single pound.

Sighing, I walk from the large, very white bathroom, to the master bedroom.

It’s a large room, complete with a giant walkout balcony.

Against the wall opposite of the balcony is a huge decorative four-poster king bed, perfectly made and unslept in.

James and I haven’t slept in bed together in nearly two years.

This room is for show and to hold our clothes as I alternate between the guest room downstairs or the couch, and James will usually sleep in the basement on the nights he actually comes home.

I look at the tablet on the nightstand, reading the date.

Only three more days and he will be off to his conference for an entire week.

I hate the feeling of relief I feel at the thought of him being across the country.

When James is gone, I get to wear my hair down.

I get to pull out my sweatshirts that I hide with our wedding album because god knows he would never look there.

Hell, I might even sneak a baked good or a sweet iced coffee while he is gone.

A smile forms on my lips at that thought as I walk into my closet and pull out my outfit for the day—a vintage inspired 1950s dress in a light blue with white polka dots.

I grab my shapewear and begin the exhausting task of forcing my body into the undergarment before slipping on the god awful dress.

I hate dressing this way. It isn’t practical or my style in the least. I prefer leggings or jeans, and I love sweatshirts with little puns on them.

But I am James’ dutiful housewife, and these are the clothes I am expected to wear—my uniform.

I slip on my low heel Mary Janes in white and go back to the bathroom to begin applying my layers of makeup.

As I pass by my balcony door, movement causes me to stop. I turn and my heart stops at the sight outside. No, this can’t be happening.

I jerk open the french doors and step onto the balcony as I stare at the house across the street in shock.

A moving truck has pulled up outside, but the truck isn’t what has my heart ramming against my ribcage, it is the massive, black dog that’s letting out excited barks as the movers carry boxes into the small house.

This street is a divided area. A developer had bought our side out and flattened it to make room for overpriced homes such as mine, while the other side refused to sell, so there are three bungalow homes that are rented out.

James hates them and has tried on numerous occasions to buy the homes, but the owners refuse to sell.

Something else James hates—dogs. I love them, but have made peace with the fact that I could never have one for fear of it upsetting my husband.

And now with every bark that dog lets out in playful glee as a large, heavyset man throws a tennis ball, I feel my anxiety climb higher and higher.

James will take this out on me and eventually, the dog will mysteriously disappear.

Finally, they go inside and the barking subsides, allowing me to take a deep breath.

As I release the cleansing breath, a tingle runs down my body.

Opening my eyes, my gaze locks on a woman holding a moving box.

Her very short hair is covered with a black bandana.

She’s tan, in all black, and what skin isn’t covered in clothes is covered in tattoos, though from this distance, I have no idea what the designs are.

Her stare holds me frozen, save for the pounding of my heart. I hear a male voice call out. It must be her husband because she turns and starts walking away, giving me one last look as she slowly goes up the steps to the door. I furrow a brow noticing she’s limping. I–Is her husband like James?

I shake my head, ridding myself of that thought. I don’t want to think about having my dark secret in common with anyone else. As I go to walk inside, I look back at the house one last time.

Maybe I should make them a welcome plate.

Letting out a small nervous breath, I smooth out my dress—it’s already smooth.

I would sooner die before walking outside in public without looking my best. After all, I’m representing James, and he requires perfection.

I ring the doorbell of the small dark green house.

The burnt orange stain of the door holds my attention.

It’s such an odd color. In fact, the entire house is an odd mix of colors, but somehow they all tie together in a very warm, welcoming way.

I glance behind me toward my own house. Over the top, with light grey bricks, crisp white accents, towering pillars and cold metal balconies. A large statement piece—like the Mercedes, like what I’m supposed to be, though I’m failing miserably.

The front door opens, causing me to jump as the large man from earlier takes up the entire door frame.

He’s covered in tattoos, black facial hair down to his massive chest, and a silver hoop in his nostril.

He looks me up and down with his chestnut eyes and gives me the softest, kindest smile I’ve ever seen. It’s disorienting to say the least.

“Can I help you?” His voice is as uncharacteristic as his smile. I would assume a man of his size and stature would have a loud, dominating, boom of a voice, but his is soft and warm. It’s a calming, comforting sound. I blink a couple of times before holding out my dish.

“I umm… I saw your moving truck. I just wanted to welcome you and your wife to the neighborhood!” I feel heat rush to my face, instantly feeling stupid for invading their home.

James would scold me for this if he were here.

I am always doing things that make me look like an idiot.

How am I a grown adult and I don’t know how to act in social situations.

This is why he always tells me to stay quiet at parties.

The man’s grin widens and I see he has yellow-gold canine teeth. How peculiar. I want to ask him about them but I know it would be rude.

“Wow!” He laughs lightly. “Well, this is very sweet of you. Would you like to come in?” I go to say no, that I have a mess at home to clean up before errands, then working out, cooking dinner, and preparing for my husband's return.

But the man steps back, holding my container and motioning for me to come in.

“My name is Mac,” he says while leading me into his quaint, dated kitchen. I go to introduce myself when I hear paws hitting the tile, and before I know it I am very nearly face to face with a black Great Dane.