Free Unbearable by Sherry Gammon Page A

meant it as a playful gesture, but my head jerked sharply to the side, nevertheless.
    His obsessiveness carried over to the dirty laundry, of all things. The soiled clothes were to be folded in neat stacks in the hamper until they were washed. His dress shirts were to be dried for exactly forty-two minutes, then immediately pressed.
    “Why don’t we just send them out to be dry-cleaned?” I asked a few weeks after my anal retentive comment. I’d lost track of time while studying for a math exam and let a shirt sit too long in the dryer. He wasn’t happy.
    “Why? I think you know full well why, Terese. All our extra money goes to pay for your silly bachelor’s degree, in dance ,” he snapped. “Oh, and in business. Like everybody and their dog doesn’t have a degree in business. Great choice.” His snarky tone infuriated me.
    “Silly? My degree is not silly.” I took the shirt I’d been ironing and tossed it at him. I wheeled around to leave the room when his hand slammed down on my shoulder and he twisted me back to him. He planted his hands above the collarbone on either side of my neck, and with his forefinger and thumb squeezed my shoulders. The stabbing pain drove me to my knees.
    “I will not be spoken to in that manner, is that understood?” he said through clenched teeth.
    “Stop it, you’re hurting me,” I pleaded. His jaw ticked twice before he let go.
    I stood, rubbing my tender neck and shoulders. This had to end. I’d tried to make our relationship work, but his temper made our chance at a happy marriage impossible. I decided to broach the subject of counseling. He was more receptive and usually more reasonable after one of his outbursts.
    “Garen, I’ve been thinking.” I chewed on my bottom lip. “Maybe you should talk to someone about . . . about your anger management issues.” He said nothing as I unplugged the iron and neatly wrapped the cord up. I took a slow breath in then blew it out and continued . “Your temper seems to be getting worse lately. I’m questioning whether you and I will survive as a couple, you know? I mean, if you’re going to continue to hurt me—”
    “You’re giving up on us?” He stepped toward me. I planted my feet shoulder width apart, standing my ground, even if my hands trembled. “A few mistakes and you’re calling it quits? Terese, you’re a fighter, you never give up. It’s one of the reasons I married you. Even though your parents forced you to pick up lacrosse, you worked night and day to become the team captain.” He wrung his hands as he paced in front of me. His face was tight, and he looked worried. Knowing he wanted to make our marriage work took me by surprise since all he’d done was point out my shortcomings. I didn’t realize I had so many before marrying him.
    He continued. “Didn’t you tell me that you used to get only three or four hours of sleep, weeks on end, so you could keep your grades up because you wouldn’t give up dance? You maintained a four-point-oh through it all.” He stopped and turned to me. “I need a wife who’s going to stand by me. I mean, I know I struggle with my anger sometimes, but I can’t believe you want to call it quits already. I love you.”
    I felt terrible. And ashamed that I’d even considered divorce. He was right. I didn’t quit, ever. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t want to live in fear, either,” I said softly.
    He pulled me into his arms. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t take my bad days out on you. We have to stick together, Terese. A divorce is definitely not part of my Life Plan.” He kissed my forehead. “I can’t think of anyone who’d make a better first lady than you.” He apologized once more, insisting it wouldn’t happen again. “It wouldn’t bode well for my political future if it got out I had to get therapy for anger management. I’ll do better. I mean, it’s not like I’m one of those crazy actors who beat up paparazzi.” He chuckled.