Tom hadn't always been like this. Sam remembered when they first met. He had been a gentleman; sweet, kind, considerate. When they were dating, he had made her feel like she was the center of the universe, the only person he cared about.
There was a flicker of something behind his eyes; something dark, haunting him, something from his past maybe. But every time she thought she saw a glimpse of it, his eyes were soft again, like the shadow had never been there, and he was showering her with affection.
Since they had been married, though, the darkness had grown. Slowly his warmth cooled, and his eyes went from soft to hard. He wasn't abusive, but he was blunt, firm. She didn't like to admit it to herself, but deep down she new it was true; he was dominating her. It was subtle, and not exactly forceful, but he had stopped asking questions and started making statements. He made decisions for the both of them without asking her first. Discussions with him were short, beginning and ending when he decided, and in bed he was always on top, always running the show.
Though she had long grown accustomed to it, it was stressful, and beginning to wear her thin. She was having more trouble denying to herself that it was a problem.
The only time she ever really saw traces of his old softness was once a month, when, after a long week at work (he worked for an accounting firm, she was a graphic designer) the two dressed up and went out to the local theatre to see the ballet. It was he who had initiated the tradition, of course, but Sam didn't mind; she was relaxed at the ballet. Part of it was the graceful dancers, moving effortlessly through space, and part of it was the sensitivity it seemed to bring back out of Tom; she'd steal glances at him while he watched the dancers. His eyes were large, starry. His shoulders relaxed.
During one such outing, at an intermission in the show, Tom stood in the lobby while Sam used the bathroom. He ordered a glass of champagne from the bar and turned, sipping, when he saw something that froze him in his tracks.
There, standing not five yards away from him, in a black cocktail dress that showed off her toned, tan shoulders, long brown hair tied in a ponytail, was Rachel Marsh.
Before he knew what was happening, he was making eye contact with her. She grinned and approached him. Tom glanced around, looking for anywhere to go, but there she was, standing right in front of him.
"Hey there Tom." She looked at him, sipping her own glass of champagne.
His eyes ran down the stem of her glass and continued down her arm. Flashbacks of those arms came pouring in; squeezing the life out of him, holding him defenseless, controlling him.
Rachel smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Cat got your tongue?"
Tom felt sweat condensing on his forehead. "Rachel."
Just then, Sam appeared at his side, taking his arm.
"Who's this, Honey?"
Tom blinked, looking at his wife, who looked back at him expectantly.
Rachel extended a hand to Sam. "Rachel Marsh. Tom and I went to college together."
Sam took the hand. "Is that right? We've never seen you around!"
Rachel looked at Tom. "My husband and I have just moved into the area and are learning the ropes. I'm a dancer myself, so I had to check out the local ballet."
Sam beamed. "Oh, that's wonderful! We love the ballet, they're fantastic."
Tom was staring at Rachel's feet, cradled in sleek black heels. From her feet rose her legs, a slim bit of calf exposed before disappearing under her dress.
Legs like vice grips; they had bruised him, beaten him, trapped him.
The crowd in the lobby began to roam back into the theatre.
Rachel looked over her shoulder, "I'd better find my seat."
Sam nodded. "I guess we'd better, too. We need to catch up sometime!"
Rachel smiled at her. "That'd be wonderful! It was a pleasure to meet you, Sam." She looked at Tom. "Tom, I'll see you soon."
Her eyes cut right through him. And she knew it. He knew she knew it. This woman had owned him; defeated him, broken him.
She turned and headed back into the theatre. Tom stood staring after her. Sam tugged at his arm a little. "Should we go back in?"
Tom turned to look at her, eyes glazed. "Let's go" he said, and turned for the exit.
"What?" said Sam, swerving to keep up with him. "Is everything okay?"
He kept his stride forward, not looking at her. "I'm fine. Let's go."
In the car on the way back, Tom kept his eyes glued on the road. Sam leaned her head against the window, glancing at him occasionally. She wanted to ask him what was up, but it seemed like a closed topic of conversation.
Later that week, Sam was at the gym, using the arm station. She wore a teal sports bra, her black hair tied back in a ponytail, and her body glistened with sweat. She breathed hard, pushing herself through a set of reps, staring intensely at the empty leg machine across from her.
Finally, completing her reps, she exhaled deeply, letting her arms relax. An arm reached down with a towel and wiped off the leg machine. Looking up, Sam recognized Rachel, in a purple spandex tank top and yoga pants.
"Rachel! Hey!"
Rachel looked up. "Oh, hey! Sam, right?"
"Yeah! You gonna be using this gym?"
"I think so! Membership suits me."
They shot the breeze for a bit, then Sam brought up something that was still on her mind.
"Hey, when we saw you at the ballet, did Tom seem to be acting... strange? To you?"
"Oh yeah. Definitely."
Sam raised her eyebrows. "Why do you think that is?"
Rachel swung her legs over the machine and began her workout. "We got in a fight once in college. I kicked his ass."
Sam blinked. "Really?"
Rachel smirked. "Yep. He was begging by the time we were done."
Sam looked at the floor, considering this. "Maybe that's why he's so... domineering."
Rachel stopped her reps. "What? Domineering?"
Sam didn't respond.
"Don't put up with that. Not from him."
Sam looked at her. "That's just kind of... our relationship."
"And you're okay with it?"
"I... don't know."
"Then take control."
"How?"
"Look. There are weak people, and there are strong people. I don't mean that to be degrading... it's just like there are short people and there are tall people. Weak people don't wear the pants well. Your husband is weak."
Sam bit her lip.
"And weak people don't fall; they crumble. When Tom disrespected me, I took what I wanted from him and taught him his place."
She looked at Sam. "You look like a tough gal. If he's trying to call the shots, challenge him for supremacy."
Sam looked at the woman in front of her. She had a hard body. Sam pictured this woman handling her husband, forcing him into submission.
She felt something inside of her buzz, tingle.
She looked at her own body. She noticed that, aside from her skin being much more pale, it was very similar to Rachel's. She was no bodybuilder but she was toned, strong. She could see the outline of abs on her stomach. She had worked long and hard keeping herself in shape.
On the way home from the gym, Sam turned over her interaction with Rachel in her head. Challenging Tom was an absurd idea. But the more she let herself think about it, the more excited she got. She imagined her husband beneath her, looking desperately up into her eyes.
At home, Sam washed up and put in a few more hours of design work.
She heard Tom come in through the front door.
"Hey Honey!" she called.
He appeared at the doorway to her office.
"Hey" he said.
"How was your day?" she asked.
"It was fine. What's for dinner?"
