Soul Mate Sh*t - An Excerpt…

Excerpt from Amazon Bestseller, Soul Mate Sh*t, by Melissa Yvonne

I messaged Brayden and requested space to figure out the next steps in my life. “Anything you need darlin’. I’ll be right here when you’re ready to come back, if you want to come back.” I was instantly overcome by relief that I could have space without losing him. He was giving me exactly what I needed.

I put my phone down on the coffee table and asked my husband to sit on the couch with me. Before I could say anything, he fired off all the mundane questions: how did the service go, how were my friends and family, how was the flight. I took a breath and looked him in the eyes.

“Chase, I need some space.”

“Space from what?” he asked innocently.

Holding his eye, “From us.”

“Why do you need space from us?”

“I feel like I am suffocating, and I need some silence to get clarity on what is going on in my life. In our life.”

 “What are you saying?”­­­ As his voice rose, his face became still with anger. “Does this have to do with Brayden? What is that cocksucker telling you?” ­­­­­­­He spat out those words, unable to stop himself.

I looked at him with an open face; it was not a time for lies, only compassion. “I am asking for a separation.”

As if on cue, he stood up and marched into the kitchen. With his back to me, standing at the sink washing dishes that had to be done at that exact moment, he gruffly said, “Absolutely not. I am not losing my house or my dogs. If there is something to work out, we will work it out together, not separated. Space would only push us further apart.”

Wilting into the corner of the couch, I grabbed a blanket and rolled into a ball. I reached for the tv remote.

The next morning, my husband sat in bed with me. Looking away from me, he asked, “What happened, Melissa? What went on while you were in Pennsylvania? Did your friends plant this idea in your head? Does your mother know?”

“Nobody,” I calmly began, “planted this idea in my head. And yes, my friends and my parents knew that I was going to ask you for a separation.”

Agitated he stood up, walked across the room, and turned to look at me with desperation and determination. “What is that cocksucker telling you?” I could feel his anger toward Brayden, and I looked away for a second. “I can’t BELIEVE he got into my marriage. That motherfucker. We are not failing. This marriage is not ending, and we are not getting separated!”

“Chase,” I said, turning to look at him again, “this career has turned you into a robot. And it’s done the same to me. It’s not like I’m married to an insurance salesman. You are gone for 24 hours at a time, sometimes 48 or 72, risking your life regularly. I am alone ALL THE TIME, and, worse, I am lonely. It used to be that when you came home from work, you were able to compartmentalize the job and put the parts of your career that most people never see or experience into a box. The passionate side of you would walk in the door and be my husband for the next few days.”

I looked across the room, and for the first time, I saw on his face acknowledgement that he was partially accountable for this situation.

 “As you moved up the ranks and became an officer, things changed. You became responsible for ensuring that seven men and women went home safely to their families in the morning. You became robotic at home in the same way you are at work. Do you know why I never liked to visit you while you were on shift? Because I don’t like who you are when you’re there. Somehow I’ve found myself living with a man who is completely disconnected from me.”

Standing up and moving my arms around me in a circle to symbolize the life we built, I declared, “This is not the life I signed up for, and I need some space to look at what I want the rest of my life to look like. Because it ISN’T this.”

Firefighters are trained to check their emotions. Emotions have no place in the firehouse. Firefighters need the extreme ability to compartmentalize what they see on a daily basis. They file it away and have no connection to it. Psychological studies love to analyze the fire service. And here was a textbook case sitting right in front of me. As if checking off a box next to “listened to wife,” the robot stood up, gathered the laundry, and asked if I had anything that needed washing.

***

I stared at my reflection in the mirror facing me, sitting in a chair I’d been in every six weeks for the past 17 years. I’d seen the woman that stood behind me through three marriages, a stint in rehab, and more fallen friendships than I could count. My days were numbered–my turn to dance in the drama was just before me.

“I’m having an affair,” I said without hesitation and fearing no judgement.

 “I’m here for you when you are ready to leave.” She said it without hesitation, without even looking up from wrapping my hair in foil.

Turning to face her, I demanded, “What does that mean?”

She swiveled my chair back around, so she could focus on her craft. “If you decide to leave Chase, you can stay with me.”

For the first time since I decided to ask for a separation, an actual solution was presenting itself. I had somewhere to go on my own. I didn’t need him to leave in order for me to have space. “You would do that for me, Jen?”

Catching my gaze in the mirror, her face softened. “Of course I would. We have seen each other through a lot of shit, and you have been there for me. My home is yours. Well,” she laughed, “Tom’s home is yours. I’ll tell him tonight that he should expect you without notice. We have a spare room. It could be fun!”

I didn’t have words to express my gratitude. I sat in silence for minutes before I replied, “You just saved my life. Thank you.”

The next day, my screen lit up: “Your husband just showed up at Station 2.”

“WHAT?” I felt breathless. “What happened?”

“He took me outside, unleashed his rage on me, and told me to keep my dick in my pants.”

“Did he put his hands on you?”

“Shockingly, no. I was ready for it. Still a little surprised that I don’t have a black eye or a broken leg.”

“Did the other guys on duty see him?”

“Yup. Alex asked why the Captain looked so pissed. I told him Chase always looks angry. It was fine. No drama seen on their end.”

“Peacock.”

“Classic peacock.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ve been expecting it Melissa. No apologizes between us.”

Maybe he didn’t want an apology, but I did. The more Chase interfered with my plan of self-reflection, the more I felt like a caged bird that was ruled by a robot that lacked any self-awareness. Brayden’s last message only confirmed this feeling.

Pent up in my cage without the ability to be alone with my thoughts, unable to see what my next steps could be, I continued with my patterns. I connected with the soul that was feeding me, not suffocating me. The one person who wasn’t capable of ever putting me in a cage, the person who didn’t need to apologize to me: Brayden.

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