FEAR CONDITIONING (noun): a behavioral paradigm in which organisms learn to predict aversive events.

The heavy, rhythmic tapping of torrential rain pulled me from my sleep. Inhaling through my nose and stretching my legs deep under the covers, I arched my back, slowly bringing my arms up over my head until I achieved a full body, satisfying stretch. Relaxing against my pillow, I exhaled slowly and laid there for a moment as my eyes adjusted to the grey light cast by an early morning rainstorm. I was drowsy and comfortable in my warm bed, and I felt good. Still sleepy, I rolled over to face his side of the bed and reached over to drape my arm over him, as I always had. Opening my eyes as I snuggled against him, I propped up on my elbow to drop a kiss on his cheek, and I saw he was laying there, gazing out the window, with his phone cradled loosely in his hand.

The fog of sleep gave way sharply and I was immediately awake. You said you left your phone in the car. The sight of that phone in his hand, after he’d told me it was in the car, yanked an invisible cord, releasing a violent swarm of butterflies … and they fluttered into my chest, smashing into each other and every nerve inside of me. Every part of me surged and the warning sirens that I disconnected let off their dreaded shrill terrible shriek. Just from the sight of that phone in his hand.

Already feeling my heart race, “Hey,” I whispered. “Hhmm? … Hey.” He answered me and reached his hand over to the night stand, placing his phone face down. “Morning. We should probably get going soon,” he said. “Yeah. You found your phone?” I asked. “Huh?” he responded. “You … you said last night that you left your phone in the car. But … so … ” “Why would I tell you that?” he asked, flatly. “Because I asked if you needed to charge it overnight and you said you left it in the car.” “Ahh. I was so exhausted last night that I don’t even remember saying that,” he chuckled. “Why were you so tired?” I asked. He rolled to his back and rubbed his hands over his face, yawning deeply. “I was up all night Friday night. Got like 3 hours of sleep. I told you that,” he said. Don’t do it. Don’t lie to me. Don’t you dare start this again.

“No,” I said softly, cautiously, willing my voice to not give me away. I reached over and pointed the remote at the t.v., clicking it on. I casually said, “You texted at 10 and said you couldn’t keep your eyes open for another moment, that you were exhausted from the day and that you were shutting your phone off for the night. … that was at 10. But … but you were up all night after that? What … what were you doing?” I asked as I stood up and reached for my robe. Silence. I glanced over at him and saw he was intently watching the t.v. What are you watching? I looked over at the screen and saw it was a detergent commercial. “Babe?” I said. “Hmm?” he mumbled. “What kept you up all night long?” “Oh,” and I could see him mentally reaching for an answer. What in the world … ? “I got a call around 11 that there was a problem with the doors at the restaurant. They said the lock wouldn’t catch and the restaurant was closing for the night, but they couldn’t lock up. So I had to fucking get up and go all the way there to fix it,” he said, feigning frustration. Liar. “I had one fucking night to sleep and then that happens.” It took you all night long to fix a lock? You weren’t breaking into a safe. It was a commercial glass door lock. “How’d they reach you?” I asked. “You said you shut your phone off.” He sighed heavily. “Hun,” he said as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. “That was a figure of speech.” He slid his shirt on and mumbled under his breath. “We just wasted a fucking half hour talking about what I was doing that made me tired.” Now angry, he said, “Can we just focus and start the day? We have to go up and back today and it’s a fucking 6 hour trip all together … 6 hours out of our day just fucking driving.” “Well, I offered to drive last night,” I interrupted. “Shannon. Enough. Keep it up. Keep pushing. Keep accusing me of shit I’m not doing and you’ll see how fast I leave. I don’t put up with that bullshit.” He shook his head and laughed. “Every fucking time, you do this.” Oh no, you don’t. “No no no. Uh uh. No,” I said, walking right up to him. “I simply asked you why you were so exhausted when you told me you were going to sleep and shutting your phone off. I didn’t ‘accuse’ you of anything,” I said, raising my hands and shaping air-quotes for emphasis. “Go yell at one of your whores. Don’t yell at me. It’s not a fucking reach for me to be concerned that you looked like Hell and you are inexplicably exhausted. Are you sick or something?” He laughed sarcastically and shook his head. ” … and you punctuated that with an insult. I looked like Hell. Awesome.” I raised my eyebrows and shrugged. “Yeah. You did. You looked like you hadn’t slept at all, let alone for only a few hours. Excuse the Hell out of me for being concerned. Jeez.” And excuse me for now being able to spot your lies and having the guts to call you out on them.

He hung his head and placed his hands on his hips. “Okay. Okay,” he said, chuckling. “Start over. Shannon, sshh. Everything is fine. I’m not sick. I didn’t sleep. And that’s because I was watching a porn with midget clowns. That’s the truth.”

Taking the proverbial exit ramp with him, I shook my head and dropped my mouth open. ” … and you didn’t invite me?” “Well, I couldn’t invite you. You were busy making spinach dip, which I am really looking forward to.” He kissed my forehead and reached around to pat my bottom, ending the round. Good. I didn’t want to fight and especially when we had a long drive ahead of us. And that restaurant has been nothing but extra little fix jobs since it opened, so it did make sense the lock would break. … but deep inside of me, the black sludge bubbled and began rising in my body, up through my heart and it oozed out through every crack that I thought had sealed shut. I couldn’t help it; and I wondered if this was intuition or a purely Pavlovian response. Was I actually sensing something “off” or had I become used to doubting him and expecting him to lie to me? Everything had been so good for such a long stretch … why do I do this? I decided I was sabotaging this repaired relationship and I had better knock it off.

“Hey,” he said, interrupting my thoughts, “You said you forgot french bread for the dip. Why don’t you run and get it now so we don’t have to stop?” ” Well,” I answered, “… why don’t we stop here in town on the way? I mean, if I go now, I have to double back and it makes more sense to … ” He walked away mid-sentence, head bent down, looking at his phone, completely dismissing me. He walked to my bedroom, sat on the bed and was lost inside of whatever he was reading. The black sludge deep inside of me was rolling now, large popping bubbles as it began it’s low boil. I knew what I was looking at. “Hey,” I said. “Hmm?” he mumbled, not looking up. Shaking my head and breathing through my nose, I answered, ” …. nothing. Nevermind.” I shugged on my jacket, grabbed my keys off the coffee table and opened the door, wincing as the cold rain blew into my doorway, stinging me. I stepped back inside to get an umbrella, and hearing me back in the house, he called out, “Why are you still here? Go go go go. We’re already behind schedule.” “It’s really raining,” I said. “I just want to grab my umbrella … ” “What, are you walking? So you’ll get a little wet on the way to the car. Aren’t you an Oregon girl? Just GO. Hurry back,” he said. What? He was being very uncharacteristically sharp and rude and obviously trying to get rid of me. My stomach rolled inside out and my heart was already dying. I could feel it. I knew what was coming. I stepped outside without my umbrella, and walked to my car, rain running down my face, wind blowing my jacket open, soaking my shirt. Here we go again.

When I got back, he was still sitting on my bed, gazing at his phone. He looked up at me, cleared his throat and he brightly said, “Did you get what you needed?” His mood had shifted into effervescent, happy and bubbly … very light and … weird. He was dressed and waiting for me, and he began chatting about this and that, just sort of rambling on and on about whatever popped into his thoughts. Sirens shrieked in my head. Red flags flapped angrily in the gale force winds as I could smell the change in the air. This “happy guy” always follows attention from her. He turned into a giddy 12 year old boy when she tossed him a crumb, and it had happened enough times that I knew what it looked like. Crushing disappointment flooded me as it all began to make sense. She’s back. She’s back. Oh my God. I looked at him, with his shining eyes and unfiltered happiness. I have never ever made him look like that. Never. He walked up to me, dropped a kiss on my mouth and took my keys from my hand. Swinging the keyring around and around on his finger, he said, “Ready?” I stood there silently, just taking it all in, unable to break my gaze from him, completely crestfallen. Suddenly noticing me, he said, “You’re soaking wet. Is it raining?” Unbelievable. He’s completely gone. I exhaled and blinked my eyes a few times in utter disbelief. “Yes,” I whispered, still looking into his happy, lying eyes. “Quick quick, go change your shirt, at least, so you’re comfortable on the drive. … why didn’t you take an umbrella?”

… but as we drove, “he” slowly returned. He was slowly descending from his artificial high and he was floating back down, returning to the man I knew. His voice was warm, he was focused on what we were chatting about, and he was holding my hand, just like he always did. Crossing over in Pennsylvania, I watched the road in front of me curve and rise and fall to the shape of the country, and I began to seriously doubt my own doubts. He was acting fine now, he was totally back to normal. I shook my head as I internally scolded myself for refusing to allow this to work, with my stupid suspicions and fears. Once again, I could have ruined a wonderful weekend. It really was Pavlovian; like the dogs salivating when they heard the bell, if I saw him with his phone, then I automatically assumed he was messing around again and I got an actual physical reaction to it. How stupid and childish I was. I decided that he wasn’t doing anything, that she wasn’t really back again, and that it really was all in my head. He’s right. If I keep accusing him of things he’s not doing, he’ll leave me again, and I almost caused that to happen. Ashamed of myself, I lifted his hand to my mouth and held it there in a long kiss. He squeezed my hand in response and winked at me. “Hey,” he said, interrupting my thoughts, “There’s a Starbucks. Stop? Get your $49 coffee?” “Really? But you hate stopping and you don’t like Starbucks!” “Well, you like Starbucks, and we’re well over an hour away.” “Okay!!” I said, feeling so loved. “This is Pennsylvania country,” he said, ” … not sure it’s quite the same as your beloved Portland Starbucks.” “Oh, but they’re corporate, so it WILL be,” I laughed. Playing along, he chuckled, “Ah yes. Wonderful corporate.” My heart was bursting. Everything was going to be okay. He’s back.

As we finally entered his family’s property, after such a long drive, I said, “Baby, you go in. I need to run to the store real quick because I forgot your mom needs butter. I’ll be right back.” “Ok,” he said, giving me a quick kiss before he got out of the car. I opened my door, got out and walked around to the drivers side. Driving slowly over the gravel driveway, I heard a rattle in the driver’s side door. As I pulled onto the main road, I picked up speed, and with my eyes on the road, I reached into my door pocket to move whatever was rattling. Blindly feeling around, I recognized a familiar shape and pulled it out of the door pocket. It was his phone. He forgot his phone. I was alone with his phone. Right on cue, my heart began racing and my stomach rolled over and twisted up. I didn’t want to look at it because I promised I wouldn’t but I knew that I absolutely had to. I had to know. At the next street, I turned and drove in the opposite direction of the store, so he could not find me, so I could have time to look and find what I already knew I would find.

Pulling over on the side of the road, my hands shaking and my heart slamming, I swiped his phone open and went to his texts. There it was … a long stream of texts back and forth, with the Showgirl. When I saw her name and the long conversation, hurt and betrayal stabbed at my heart. It hurt me with physical manifestation. I scrolled all the way down, and with my hand over my mouth, I read their exchange in utter disbelief. Friday night, the night before the derby, she texted him and said, “Hey, I know we haven’t talked for a while, but I still love you. I love you.” The sensation that came over me cannot be described. I almost threw up. I couldn’t believe it, yet I was expecting it … and instead of shutting her down because he was with me, he dropped to the ground and picked up her stale, tiny crumbs and began following her trail, just like always. “Hello,” he wrote back. “Why are you saying this? What made you say this after being apart?” He was obviously seeking validation and repair for her most recent rejection. He needed to hear her tell him because he never got over her. What about me? Why aren’t you telling her that you’re with me now? Hot tears streaked my face. I didn’t even bother wiping them away, and I continued reading. “Because I still have feelings for you,” she wrote back. “I think about you all the time. Do you remember the last time we went to the Borgata? What did we do while we waited at the table?” So that’s why you never took me there. That was your special place with your beautiful Showgirl. I shook my head, lightheaded from holding my breath. He replied, “We played hangman,” and he went on, “and your word was ‘Amazing’. It’s the word you always use. You say Amazing all the time.” “That’s right,” she answered. “I can’t believe you remember that.” “I remember everything about you, and I will forever. But you know that.” Gag me. “I miss you,” she wrote. “I miss you, too. So much,” he responded. “I told you I still love you,” she went on. “Do you still love me?” Please tell her about me. Please. Please tell her how good I am to you and that I took you back and we’re together now. Please tell her. “Yes I love you. You know I still love you. I’ve never stopped loving you.” Oh my God. Oh my God. Vomit launched up into my throat and I pushed the car door open and threw up in the grass, choking on vomit and tears. This was a nightmare. I knew it. I knew. I fucking knew it. Spitting into the grass, I gathered myself and turned back to the phone. “What went wrong? What happened? I want to see you. I miss you so much,” she wrote. “Let me call you,” he answered. “I’ll be up all night and, well, I just want to hear your voice.” I looked at the time of that text: 9:59 p.m. You son of a bitch. You dirty no good scumbag lying son of a bitch. I remembered how he texted me at 10 pm Friday night to tell me he was going to bed because he was exhausted and that he was “shutting his phone off”. No wonder; he was cutting me off and making sure I wouldn’t call or text and interrupt his rendezvous with the Showgirl. Lying bastard. No wonder you looked like Hell. No wonder you were so exhausted. You were talking to her night long. And then I closed my eyes and covered my face with my hands as it occurred to me … he probably just got into his car and drove straight to Atlantic City to see her. She tossed him a crumb, and once again, he hungrily lapped it up, desperate for her attention. Of course that’s what he did. He probably went to see her, fucked her all night, and then drove back in the morning, after pulling an all-nighter. If he didn’t have plans to see his mother for Mother’s Day, he would’ve stayed the weekend with her. But he couldn’t, so he probably held her until the sun came up and he came back in the morning, blowing kisses to each other all the way up the parkway. What a scumbag. That’s why he looked awful. He hadn’t slept. That’s why he wanted to go to bed after the derby and not drive to PA like we planned. And that’s why he went to bed with a shirt and pajama pants; he was back in love with her after fucking her all night and wanted nothing to do with me. And that’s why he was trying to get rid of me this morning and making up lies about why he was so tired. I’m so stupid. No, I’m not stupid. I saw it. I knew it.

Leaning back in the drivers’s seat, hurt gave way to anger. Searing, white-hot anger. I know that he’ll just deny it after he erases the texts. It what he always did. He’ll tell me those were “old texts” that I hadn’t paid attention to the dates and I’m getting upset for nothing, accusing him of things he’s “not doing”. So I opened the texts again and took pictures of them with my phone, capturing the dates and times. It was the only way to shut him up and show him I knew he was lying. I put my phone away and slipped his phone into my coat pocket, and drove to the store to get the butter, and then back to his mother’s house. I was alarmingly calm. No tears, no drama.

When I arrived, I walked in to find his mother in the kitchen, smiling brightly at me. “Hi!”, she said. “What on earth kept you so long? Did you get my butter?” “I sure did!” I said, smiling and hugging her. “Happy Mother’s Day.” I placed the butter on the counter and walked into the living room, where I found him sitting alone in a chair, looking straight ahead at the t.v., obviously and purposely ignoring me. Yeah, you know you left your phone in my car and you know I found it. I stood there for a moment, fuming at just seeing him sitting there, knowing he was only upset that I had again found out, not that he had broken my heart by lying to me.

I walked in front of him and directly in his line of vision, blocking the t.v. He lifted his eyes and looked at me with a flat and cold expression. He was already bracing and clearly angry, knowing exactly why I was gone so long. The thickness in the air was palpable and we both just stared at each other.

I reached in my pocket and held his phone out toward him.

“You left this in the car.”

Shaking his head, he sarcastically chucked and replied, “You couldn’t resist, could you. You couldn’t just stop yourself. You said you’d never do this again. I said I would never trust you again if you did this even once more.” “Funny,” I answered. “I was going to say the same thing to you.” Our eyes burned into each other’s, seething and angry.

His mom walked in and set a few platters of snacks on the coffee table, interrupting the atmosphere. “I’ll help you in just a second,” I said to her, brightly. Not wanting to make a scene on Mother’s Day, I leaned over him while he sat in his chair and kissed him sweetly, then slid my mouth to his cheek where I kissed him again, then brought my lips and placed them against his ear. In a voice barely audible, I whispered, “You and your whore deserve each other. And make no mistake … ” I leaned in so my mouth was pressed against his ear. “You … lose. And by the way, I think it’s time she hears from me.”

To be continued …