She backed away, stumbling into the dining room table and sending a vase of silk roses crashing to the floor.
Peter pushed himself away from Tyler, his eyes never leaving his wife's face. "Kacie, wait..."
She fled from the apartment, the front door slamming behind her with the finality of the lid on a coffin.
Peter stood staring after Kacie's line of retreat, realizing what his and Tyler's embrace must have looked like.
"Peter, I never dreamed..." Tyler said, stricken, her hand on his arm in mute appeal.
"I've gotta go after her. Tyler, just leave. This isn't your fault, but please, just leave, OK?"
He ran out the door, pressing an arm against the pain in his chest as his body immediately protested the extra jarring. His heart thundered in his ears as he waited apprehensively for the elevator to take him to the parking lot. He knew he didn't dare risk the stairs. The glazed-over look of shock on Kacie's face terrified him. Unbidden visions of the twisted wreckage of a car and a bloodied, lifeless form leapt into his brain.
The elevator doors opened and he stepped out quickly, scanning the parking area. He noted with relief that both cars were still in their parking places, but he could hear an engine start up and saw the taillights of the pine green Camry flash on.
Heart in his throat, he ran to the car and jerked open the driver's side door. "Turn off the car," he gasped breathlessly.
Kacie ignored his command, and her trembling hands kept slipping off the steering wheel, as she shook too badly to maintain a steady grip.
"Turn off the car!" He repeated himself more sharply, but when she still made no move to obey, he reached inside and turned off the engine himself, snatching the keys out of the ignition.
She attempted to take them back from him, but he batted away her hands easily. He stood up and put his arms down on the roof of the car, resting his head on top of them as he swallowed back the bile rising up into his mouth. He listened to the harsh sounds of labored breathing, and realized they were Kacie's and not his own.
Putting a hand on her arm, he tugged her from the car and thought sickly, {I can't remember the last time I touched her.}
She stepped out on trembling legs, and nearly went down. Peter reached out a steadying hand, and she submitted to it woodenly, her movements as stiff and jerky as a marionette's. He quickly turned off the car's lights and locked the door.
Afraid that she would try to run away again, he kept his hand securely on Kacie's arm, waiting until they were safely enclosed in the elevator before letting go. They rode without saying a word. Kacie huddled in a corner, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other elbow propped against it. Her hand was over her mouth as she teetered on the verge of hyperventilation.
When the door opened on the appropriate floor, Peter kept a hand on Kacie's shoulder, urging her to accompany him into the hallway. As they neared the apartment door, she balked at entering.
"There's no one there," he rasped hoarsely. He opened the door and followed her inside.
As they walked in, the aroma of Tyler's perfume still hung heavily in the air. Kacie's nose quivered at the familiar fragrance, and her already pale face turned an ashen hue. "My God," she gasped. "Is that why you always liked it when I wore Opium? Because it made you feel like you were with her?" She clamped a hand over her mouth and bolted for the bathroom as she gagged.
Peter trailed after her and attempted to follow her in, only to find the door locked against him. He rattled the doorknob, calling out, "Kacie? Let me in!" He heard the sounds of her violent retching, and his own stomach very nearly followed suit.
"Come on, Kacie. Open the door!" He stood with both hands gripping the door frame and forehead leaning against the door itself. After a few moments, he heard nothing at all from the other side. "Kacie, let me in. Are you all right? Kacie?"
Hearing the lock spring, he opened the door carefully. Kacie leaned against the bathroom sink, splashing cold water on her face, sucking some of the water into her mouth and spitting it out. She turned off the faucet and stood over the basin, drops of water trickling off her face. Her teeth chattered, as she shivered uncontrollably.
"Kacie, I know what you thought you saw, but nothing was happening. And nothing was going to happen." Peter kept a grip on the doorframe, feeling none too steady on his shaky legs.
She caught his eye in the mirror briefly. "Sorry if I came home sooner than you expected." Her anguish was a tangible thing. She reached for a hand towel, burying her face in it momentarily.
"She just showed up at the door. She-she brought us a wedding present." Peter raked a hand through his hair and rubbed the tense muscles at the back of his neck.
She laughed a short, ugly laugh, and dropped the towel to stare at him disbelievingly. "You mean brought you a wedding present! And I saw what that was!" There was a bitter twist to her mouth and she shook her head.
"Listen to me! Nothing happened!" He advanced a step further into the bathroom, and she retreated from him.
"Nothing happened," she repeated slowly. "No, Peter. 'Nothing' is what's happening between us. Do you remember the last time you held me? The last time you kissed me? I can't!" A note of hysteria crept into her voice as she wrapped her arms around herself.
"I keep telling you: nothing happened. Tyler is a part of my past." He reached out his hands and steadied himself against the bathroom counter top.
"Isn't that all we have, Peter?" She asked, stricken. "A past? What do you call what we have now? I call it hell." She pressed her hands to her temples and closed her eyes briefly before picking up the wastebasket and pulling toiletries from the shower shelves and bathroom counter, throwing them into the trash.
"What are you doing?" Peter moved around the small room, keeping out of her way as he watched in confusion.
"I can't stand this smell," she said raggedly, and pushed past Peter to continue culling fragrances and oils from the small vanity in the bedroom. When she finished, she thrust the wastebasket into his midsection. "Here." Her lips started crimping as her chin trembled. "Maybe your 'past' would like these. I'll never be able to wear Opium again without wanting to throw up." She reached under her pillow for her pajamas and started to walk out. "If she's what you want, then go to her!"
"I don't want her." Peter stood motionless, staring at her and clutching the wastebasket to his chest.
She turned and looked at him, eyes bleak with desolation. "Well, I don't know what you do want, Peter. But you've made it more than obvious these past few weeks that it isn't me." With that, she left their bedroom.
Peter didn't move until long after the door to the spare bedroom had opened and closed.