The problem was that there was absolutely no way to be sure. Did he really never want to see his father again? Or was there some part of him that wanted reconciliation? There had to be, didn’t there?
At the same time, I knew better than anyone that a parental relationship can be absolutely toxic. My own father was so set in his ways, and so firmly convinced of his wrongheaded ideas about me, that there was seemingly no way I could communicate with him. Maybe it would be the same between Daniel and his father. All I could do was guess. I’d never met the man.
What I knew secondhand wasn’t terribly flattering. But he’d been gone for so long. Maybe he’d changed.
Then again, he seemed to have only come out of the woodwork because he thought I was pregnant. If he really cared about Daniel, wouldn’t be have surfaced sooner?
And, of course, there was the distinct possibility that he was some crazy stalker and not Daniel’s father at all. But for some reason, I had a hunch that was telling me otherwise.
I laid awake for the next few nights, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft even sounds of Daniel’s breathing beside me. The lack of sleep wasn’t helping my day-to-day exhaustion, but I just couldn’t switch my brain off. There were too many hypotheticals to run through, too many possibilities, too many potential choices. I had to try and think through all the possible consequences of each one, because if I didn’t…
Well, I didn’t know. And that was what scared me.
***
We’d fallen into a routine. On days when Daniel had to work, after he came home, we’d eat dinner, and then retire to the living room and talk about his past. I took notes when he said something particularly poignant, but for the most part, I was confident I could remember it. I was hanging on every word. There were so many things about him that I still didn’t know or understand, and every story he told was bringing me closer to knowing him in the way I’d always wanted to. Oddly enough, even when he was talking endlessly about his father, I found it was easier to forget about my current dilemma during these times.
It had only been a few days since Gen had followed me to my yoga class, but I was already feeling the responsibility weighing down on me. After rinsing the dishes and wiping down the counter, I dutifully went to the armchair with my notebook, looking forward for a few hours’ respite.
But Daniel, instead of going to his usual spot on the sofa, came over and stood beside my chair, looking down at the notebook in my lap. “That’s not very many notes,” he said, softly.
“I’ll remember everything,” I said, looking up at him. There was a familiar glint in his eyes.
“Tonight,” he said, “I thought we could take a break.”
After all this time, my heart still thudded a little harder at the implication.
“Okay,” I said, looking up at him innocently. “What did you have in mind?”
He looked at me for a long time, as if this were the most difficult decision he’d ever made.
“Go upstairs,” he said, finally. “Kneel on the floor by my bedside table. Wait for me.”
I stood and walked up the stairs, slowly, not looking back. He loved making me wait. At first I’d found it annoying and frustrating, but once I’d finally given into his demands - which seemed ridiculous at first - I started to understand the point of the whole exercise.
It had taken me a long time to give myself over to it. The first few times he’d done it, I’d been defiant. I’d read a book, or played with my phone, not really “waiting” for him at all. I thought he was just on a power trip, and I wanted none of it.
After many, many months, I finally realized something important.
It was all about me.
All he wanted was for me to relax, and clear my mind, and think of nothing but him. Him and me, and what we were about to do together. It was like a strange form of meditation, something to prepare me and make me ready to really feel.
It was that way with everything that we did. If were ever forced to explain our bedroom dynamic I’d say that he “liked to be in charge,” but that wasn’t really the whole picture. He liked the way I responded to it. He appreciated the way I blossomed under his care, after being so long neglected by men who didn’t understand.
Some people might think that these antics were some sort of bizarre, grotesque posturing - almost a parody of the real-life power imbalance that would always exist between us. But I never felt that way about it. It was something private between us, something beautiful. It had everything to do with us as human beings and nothing to do with the fact that he was one of the richest men in the world, and that before I met him, I was buried in student loan debt and had never even touched a five thousand dollar fountain pen. Because in spite of all that, he didn’t own me and he never would. Never could. I think knowing that - both of us knowing that - was part of what made the whole play-act so exciting.
It gave me the freedom to let go.
When he told me what to do, I never worried about what he’d think of me in the morning. I knew that no matter what happened, the next morning he would just look at me and smile. There was no judgment in his eyes. I had absolutely nothing to worry about, when I was with him.
As I knelt on the carpet, I closed my eyes and tried to clear my head. I tried to push aside everything Gen had said to me, everything I’d been thinking and feeling, and all the worries I’d had for the past few days. I took a deep breath, held it for as long as I could, and then let it out slowly.
One by one, I let the thoughts drift from my mind. What will I…What if…When will I…What if he…
When they were all gone, I took another deep breath.
My mind was blank.
But deep in the void, there was just one thing left. Something ever-present. Not a thought, exactly; it was too deeply entrenched. It wasn’t even what I would call a feeling. It just was.
It was him.
I couldn’t have possibly explained it any better than that. It wasn’t an image or a memory or a smell or a sound. It was all of those things at the same time, and none of them. It was the way my arm shot out in the morning when I woke up, to feel if he was still in bed with me. It was the indescribable sadness that set in if we went days without talking after a fight. It was the curve of his smile. It was a thousand things I couldn’t name or remember but that meant more to me than anything else in the world.
Suddenly, I felt a stab of panic.
My breathing grew irregular. What was this? This wasn’t something that happened to me. I clenched my fists at my sides and tried to will my heart to beat slower, but I couldn’t control it. I felt my throat tightening, my whole body growing taut with panic and fear that I didn’t understand.
It wasn’t attached to any thought, or anything rational at all. My mind was still blank, yet it was somehow consumed with a nameless fear. Somehow, I felt as if I were separating from myself - my identity and my body no longer felt connected, drifting farther and farther away with each passing moment.
Still, in the midst of the chaos, I knew I was supposed to obey. I was supposed to stay here, still, and wait for him. I knew he wouldn’t be happy if I couldn’t fulfill such a simple request.
But at the same time, I knew this wasn’t what he intended for me. He never wanted me to be afraid.
I opened my eyes and stood, on shaky legs that didn’t feel like my own. As I walked down the stairs, I had the distinct sensation that I was watching someone else. I felt like my head was going to explode.
Daniel was in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of something. I ran to him blindly, throwing my arms around him and clinging tight. I jostled him enough that some of whatever-it-was in the glass sloshed on me, but it still felt like it was happening to someone else.
I realized that I was sobbing.
He set the glass down with a thunk and wrapped his arms around me.
“What’s wrong?” he said, softly. But I couldn’t answer, burying my face in his chest, crying and crying like I’d never be able to stop. Touching him had abruptly grounded me, forcing me back into an awareness of my body. I had no idea what had just happened to me, but heart was still hammering in my chest.
“Maddy, Maddy.” He was confused, I could tell, but he wasn’t going to pressure me. His hand rested on the back of my head. I felt an enormous sense of relief that he wasn’t going to be upset with me for not following his direction, even though of course I’d known that he wouldn’t be.
“What happened?” he asked, when I’d finally calmed down enough to speak.
“I don’t know,” I managed to reply. “I don’t…I was just…I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
I shook my head against his chest.
“I’m here,” he said. “You don’t have to be afraid of anything.”
It was a nice sentiment, but I was still shaking.
When I finally felt able to pull away, I saw the worry in his face and felt horrible for not being able to better articulate what was happening. Because despite how it felt, there was nothing actually wrong. Alone in the bedroom, I had felt like I was dying, but I now realized what a ridiculous sensation that was.
“I’m fine,” I insisted, forcing a smile that was probably more horrific than my tears. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He frowned. “Can you tell me what happened up there?”
“I don’t know,” I said, again. “I did the same thing I normally do. I just tried to…clear my mind. But after I did, I started to get scared and I have no idea why. I wasn’t afraid of anything. It was just…panic. I felt like I wasn’t…” I struggled to find the words to describe the feeling, which had only recently left me. “It felt…I couldn’t believe that I was real. Or that everything around me was real. Or…something like that. I don’t know. It was like I was controlling a character in a video game.”
His face changed a little. “Come here,” he said. “Come sit down.”
I followed up to the sofa, where he sat down beside me and held both of my hands in his own. “Have you ever felt something like this before?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Why, do you know what it is?”
“They call it depersonalization,” he said, simply. “It happens quite often when you have a panic attack.”
His calm, even tone was such a contrast to the horror I’d just experienced. I swallowed a lump in my throat. “Have you ever had this?”
“Not in years and years. But you never forget what it feels like.” He halfway smiled, a little dryly. “Are you sure you’ve never experienced anything like this before?”
I nodded. “Why?”
“It’s nothing,” he said, smiling more reassuringly now. “I just thought - but it’s nothing. It’s fine. I mean, it’s not, it obviously not fine. But you’re still alive. You’re still here.”
I took a deep breath. Oddly enough, just hearing those words was helpful.
“I’ve heard of the idea of a panic attack before,” I said. “Obviously. But I never knew…I didn’t realize it was like this.”