I've decided to post the segments in no particular order as to make things more interesting:
I shut the bathroom door, sit on the closed toilet seat, and open my mouth for the secrets to flow. I can't control what comes out--the low, gravelly moan, painful to my own ears. I put my hands to my lips, sucking in air to quiet myself. I can't have him hear me. I can't let him know. In an instance of rage, I grab one of the yellow, sunflower towels off of the rack and chuck it across the tiny half-bathroom. It sloshes to the floor, and I feel no better.
"Stupid," I mutter to myself. The mantra makes me calm. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."
The sunflower wallpaper blurs and I wipe more tears from my eyes. I stand up, lean against the bathroom counter, and give myself the most fed-up look I can muster.
"You're going to be fine," I say, as I splash water on my face, then pick up the hand towel from the floor. "He's your husband. He's a good man. And you love him."
<3 Gina Blechman