by Mia Asher
Good. I want to get things over with.
I’m about to ask if he is ready to leave, but his empty eyes rob me of words. I wonder how much he knows, and if he will hate me once he learns the truth.
There are two warring parts of me in this whole fiasco. The one who wants to do right by Ben, and the selfish one who just doesn’t care anymore. The Cathy who loves him wants to take him in her arms and beg for forgiveness, promising him that it meant nothing.
But that’s the thing…
It isn’t about the thrill anymore, the high Arsen makes me feel whenever he makes me come, or the numbness he provides me. Now it means something.
We ride together in the car in silence. He has an arm around my shoulders for the entire ride, sometimes leaning his cheek on top of my head, sometimes kissing my hair, inhaling the smell of it…I want to drown in the current of tenderness flowing between us, but what if he can smell Arsen on me?
I keep my head reclined on his shoulders with our hands linked together. It is uncomfortable with the console between us, but that is the last thing on my mind—I just need to feel him close. Looking at our hands intertwined makes me feel as if I am being sucked into a black hole of sorrow and pain. I know with certainty that this is going to be the last time Ben and I ride in his car together like this.
I lift my head and look out the window for a moment. The moon looks red tonight. Beautiful.
By the time we are home, our masks long gone, I’m about to tell Ben that I am going to take a shower, when he takes my hand in his and makes me follow him to the kitchen without saying one word. After turning the lights on, he lowers his body and embraces me in a hug so fierce in its nature that it leaves me breathless and a little shaken. When he opens his eyes to look down at me, he shatters me.
“How about a glass of wine?” he asks softly, smiling sadly at me.
I can’t do this tonight. I can’t do this to Ben. But I already have. Returning the hug, I stand on my tip-toes and kiss his chin as I feel a full blown panic attack coming on. I can do this. Just don’t think about it. Talk to him tomorrow.
“Would you mind if I shower first?” I need to take a shower and wash Arsen off. Will the guilt of what I have done wash off too? I doubt it.
When I’m out of the shower, Ben has changed into sweats and a Columbia t-shirt and is cooking something.
“Dinner?” I ask.
“Yes, I’m starving. I don’t understand how people expect men my size to be satisfied with hors d’oeuvres. It boggles my mind.”
Ben and I hardly speak through our late meal, but I don’t mind the silence. The last thing I want to do in what will be our last night together is make small talk. I don’t want to eat. I don’t want to drink the wine he served me. I just want to watch him. Memorize the patterns of his dark stubble, the way his dimple peeks at me every time he chews, begging me to kiss it.
After I help Ben remove the dishes from the table, I start to wash them. The hot water burning my hands is a welcome relief. Nothing like physical pain to numb you. The haunting voice of a man singing about how he can’t take his eyes off of his lover envelops the whole kitchen. I close my eyes and get lost in the singer’s melancholy voice telling his lover that without love there is no glory.
With a knot in the back of my throat, I feel Ben’s warm arms wrap around my waist from behind. Letting go of the dish, and wiping the soap on my yoga pants, I bring one hand behind his neck, pulling his face closer to the curve of my neck as my other hand rests on top of his on my stomach. With my back against his front, we sway to the gentle rhythm of the music…slowly…tenderly. Ben kisses my neck, my hair, behind my ear, showering me with kisses that feel final.
The knot in my throat keeps getting bigger and bigger until tears fall down my cheeks. Treacherous tears. I don’t know if Ben sees them. I don’t care. I just want to get lost in his touch, in his warmth, in him for one last time.
When the song ends, I turn around as Ben lets go of my body. Bending down, he lifts me with ease into his arms. Saying nothing to each other, I put my arms around his neck, and rest my head on his shoulder as I inhale deeply into my lungs, trying to absorb his smell. As he carries me, I can hear his breathing accelerating, becoming strained, and somehow I know it isn’t because of my weight.
He can feel it too.
Our last night.
Our grand finale.
I want to say something, but I can’t find the right words.
It isn’t until we make it to our bedroom, and he places me tenderly on the bed, that I know I have to stop whatever is about to happen.
But I can’t…
And not because I care that Ben may erase Arsen from my body. I don’t fucking care about Arsen at this moment. I can’t do it because I don’t want to sully Ben with my body. I don’t want our last time together to be the day I let someone else come inside me while panting his name in an empty room.
Slowly, Ben removes our clothes until there’s nothing left between us.
“So beautiful…” he whispers hoarsely as he runs a hand over my breasts. “You’re so damn beautiful.”
I’m about to stop Ben when he leans over me. What I see punches me in the gut, leaving me speechless. Taking my hands in his hold and looking down at me, I see the glimmer of tears in his eyes as he whispers against my mouth, “Please, Cathy…not tonight. Not tonight. Let us…let me just kiss you.”
He kisses my tears away, licking them off my face and swallowing them as if they are his own.
“It’s always been you, Ben…” I choke as deep emotion overpowers me. I want to tell him that it will continue to be him forever, but that would be a lie.
Ben lowers his forehead to press against mine. I feel the moisture from his tears, my tears, our tears. Together.
“I don’t want tomorrow to fucking come, Cathy. I’m afraid.” His voice is hoarse with pain as he pleads. He bends down to kiss my lips, my eyes, my temples, my nose. I try doing the same as my arms and legs wrap fiercely around his body. I want to consume him, absorb his body in mine and keep him that way. Just the two of us, filling each other, surrounding each other.
Holding both my hands over my head, he looks down at me as he slowly and gently slides inside me. He looks so lost, so hurt, so vulnerable…it is so tender, so sweet, and so painful. Our emotions guide us through the dance of two bodies trying to communicate at their most honest, vulnerable, basic, and raw moments together what they can’t with words.
I love you.
Please forgive me.
Don’t leave me.
How could you.
I hate you.
I love you.
I will fucking die without you.
You are mine.
Only mine.
I belong to you.
Only you.
It is beautiful. It is soul shattering. It is good-bye.
Late Sunday morning. I watch as my husband’s large and powerful body falls to the ground in surrender.
Broken…by me.
“I fucked Arsen,” I tell him quietly.
Earlier that morning.
After taking a shower, I wrap a towel around my waist and make my way to bed where an exhausted Cathy is currently sleeping.
Cathy.
My past, my present, and my future—my forever.
Or so I thought.
Watching her sleep with messy hair and no makeup in the aftermath of having fucked all night long, she can still manage to rob me of breath. I bend down and kiss her lips, lips that look red and swollen, and this time I know that I’m the reason behind it and not him. Cherishing the moment, I let my mouth linger on hers as I close my eyes and inhale the smell of jasmine and sex branded on her skin deeply into my lungs, savoring that, for once, she doesn’t smell like him. I grind my teeth and think back to all the times she’s come home, pretending to be too tired to stay awake and keep me company. Or on the few occasions when I’ve reached for her at night, and she turns away from my touch be
cause she doesn’t feel like fucking, all the while smelling like a different man.
I wonder…
I wonder how many times have I been fooled by her? By them?
Sometimes the need to know consumes me, driving me mad with jealousy. Yet other times, when I stare at her pretty face smiling at me, telling me that she loves me, letting me fuck her, I want to smother that need. I want to believe every single lie of hers so I can gladly continue living in denial. I love her that fucking much.
But this love, this madness has become the cross I bear on my back, pulling me down to my knees. My living purgatory. I can’t keep living a life where I question every word, every action of the person I should trust unconditionally. The constant doubting and the unanswered questions running through my head are fucking with my peace of mind. I can’t.
Is she with him?
Did she just fuck him?
Was she on the phone with him?
Where is she?
Why is she not answering my calls?
Is she thinking of him as I make love to her?
I can’t do this anymore.
It’s fucking killing me.
I really can’t keep fooling myself. I can’t. Watching her disappear with Arsen last night is the last blow my poor fucking heart…my pride…can take from her.
I’m fucking done.
I straighten and grab the sheet wrapped around her naked waist and pull it up, covering her shoulders with it. Her shiny blonde hair is spread over our pillows, surrounding her in a pool of gold. My Cathy.
I move away from her, get dressed, and head to the door. As I stand on the threshold, I take a last look at the room, my eyes scanning the perimeter and stopping on picture frames, pillows, furniture—all of our memories together. I don’t feel anything as I take in the room filled with so much happiness, heartache, love, hate.
I feel nothing.
I’m numb.
My eyes land on the bed and admire an unsuspecting Cathy. Her face, her rosy breasts…I memorize every single fucking curve of her body. They were once mine, but not anymore.
Love is never supposed to hurt. Love is supposed to heal, to be your haven from misery, to make living fucking worthwhile. But as I stare at my wife, I know it’s all fucking bullshit.
Love has the power to destroy you.
Love has the power to bury you alive in a coffin full of pain and despair, robbing you of air, of the will to live.
I close my eyes and bring the heel of my hands to rub my eyes. I suddenly feel so tired. My whole body hurts—my head hurts, my eyes hurt, my chest hurts. As I sit in my office, waiting for Cathy to wake up and join me, I realize what a fucking mistake last night was; the worst decision I’ve ever made. I knew I was going to pay dearly for it today, but I’d needed it. I’d needed her. I’d needed to spend one last night with my wife. I’d wanted to smell her hair, kiss the tip of her shoulder and hold her in my arms as if it were any other night, pretending that she was still mine. And I’d wanted to say goodbye to her—to our small family of two.
But as I wait for her, I’m sinking in a quicksand of guilt that threatens to swallow me whole. Here I am, waiting to face Cathy, demanding the truth from her when I’m guilty as well.
In search of emotional respite from the nightmare my fucking life has turned into, I’ve stooped to their level, and I can’t say that I feel any better from it. If anything, I’m disgusted with myself because I let weakness get the best of me.
I open my eyes as I recline my head on the back of my leather chair, looking up at the ceiling. Feeling sick to my stomach, I recall what happened Friday night. The night I didn’t come home.
After leaving work so I could come back here to receive the delivery of the new couch since Cathy decided she had better things to do than answering my calls, I stayed home for a couple of hours. But just being here while she was out and probably fucking Arsen filled me with so much anger. I knew that if I were here by the time she came home, I wasn’t going to be able to control myself around her, so I went back to the office to drown myself in work. It helped me to forget.
I was planning to stay and go over more cases when Micky and the interns asked if I was interested in joining them for drinks.
I didn’t refuse this time.
One drink turned into two, two turned into four.
In my alcohol-induced haze, I remember thinking that the interns, Clara and Kerry, were so fucking gorgeous. Both girls were trying to get me to dance with them, so I did. Why not? Soon it wasn’t going to matter… As we danced, I felt Kerry’s arms snake around my chest and I liked it. I liked feeling the warm touch of a woman, of someone wanting me. Looking down, I saw her smile provocatively at me.
Yes.
She wanted me.
And at that moment, I wanted her, too.
I watch as Ben’s lifeless body slides to the ground. When he looks up from the floor, he watches me with warm maple eyes that sparkle with unshed tears.
“How long has this been going on?” his voice breaks, “How many times have you fucked him, Cathy?”
“I-I…” I take a deep breath. I can’t stop now. I must go on. “It’s been going on for a while now.”
“I knew it. I knew it. I fucking knew it.”
Ben lowers his head in between his knees and starts pulling his hair with both hands, almost as if he wants to rip it out. When he looks back up, his eyes pierce my soul. “Do you screw him before or after you’re with me because you haven’t stopped fucking me.”
Silence.
Speechless by the hurt and betrayal I see in his eyes, I’m not able to form a coherent response. When Ben realizes that I won’t answer the questions or accusations he’s throwing in my face, he snaps.
“Answer the fucking question!” Anger makes the veins of his neck protrude, looking like they are ready to explode.
I can’t answer.
I can’t.
He will hate me.
The intensity of anger directed at me, anger that he’s entitled to feel, startles me, catching me by surprise. I have never seen Ben this angry before.
“Fucking answer me! I deserve a fucking answer, you cheating whore!”
Both of us flinch at his words.
“Both,” I croak.
The tears that are glossing his eyes spill over, and all I can do is watch them fall down his beautiful face. I want to go to him and apologize, ask for his forgiveness, but I can’t. I lost that privilege a long time ago. I deserve his fury, his disgust, his hatred.
As we stare at each other, letting the truth sink in, I face a stranger. Ben doesn’t look like the carefree boy I fell in love with. He looks like a ravaged man. A man who knows pain, the kind that can kill you, destroy you, drown you in a sea of darkness and hatred. I wonder if he will ever break through and heal?
“Do you love him?” He lets his words hang in the silence of the room. Lowering my gaze, I stare at my trembling hands. “For Christ’s sake, Cathy! Would you answer the damn question! Do you fucking love him? Yes, no? What is it going to be?”
“I…”
His body trembles as he groans.
“Yes. No…I don’t know. It feels like love when I’m with him. It feels…I’m happy when I’m with him, Ben. And that’s the truth.”
Ben gazes at me from the floor. I can see the tears in his eyes, hanging on his lashes, running down his cheeks. Licking some with his tongue as he wipes his face with the back of his hand, his stare never wavers.
“Do you love me? Do you still love me? And be fucking honest for once in your life.” Clenching his hands into fists, he murmurs to himself, “I fucking deserve it. This is bullshit. I can’t…I can’t.”
Well, here it goes. Maybe this will make him hate me, destroying all the love he has left for me. I don’t deserve it anyway. I need to destroy it so he can move on. And he deserves my honesty.
“I love you, Ben. I’m just not sure I am still in love with you.”
I see him flinch.
Good. I’m glad. This is the only way for him to be free of me. For a moment, I wonder if there’s something essentially wrong with me. How can I hurt someone that I claim to love so much? Why am I doing this? How did we get to this point?
Because you took the easy way out when things got tough, Cathy. You didn’t fight.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you do it? Why did you fucking cheat, Cathy? And why did you continue to cheat? Was the sex that fucking good? Don’t you think that I hurt just as badly when you had the last miscarriage? Don’t you think that I wanted that baby just as badly as you did?”
I want to tell him it is because of the miscarriage. It has always been about them. The miscarriages were the oil, and Arsen was the fire. Together it scorched my crumbling marriage, burning it to the ground. I want to tell him that I am so confused and that my emotions are all over the place. That I have doubted our marriage for a while now. That I thought the baby was our second chance, but that is gone now too. I want to be honest, but his cruel questions are the morphine I need to numb myself so I can answer without feeling any remorse.
“I slept with him for the first time the night I told you I was going to meet Amy for drinks. He called me and said he wanted to speak to me about th-the miscarriage…he wanted to be there for me. I was so numb to everything. I couldn’t stand seeing your face, being around you. Your perfection was driving me insane. I met up with him, never thinking that I was going to sleep with him.”
“But you were attracted to him. I saw it. You must have known…that fucking song—it was for you.”
“Yes.” Sitting down next to him, I continue, “It didn’t start like that, Ben. We were just friends. But somewhere along the line, it changed. The first time it happened made me feel so good, so alive that I knew right then and there that I wasn’t going to stop. He f-fucked me, Ben. He didn’t make love to me. He made me forget, he made the numbness go away, he made me feel wanted, needed. I don’t know…I felt young and beautiful again—not so broken.”
I stare into his eyes. “With him, it didn’t feel like work. With Arsen, I was able to cry, be angry, hateful even, and not care about hurting his feelings like I did with you. H-he didn’t treat me like a china doll; he treated me like a person. Every time I tried telling you how I felt, how fucked up I was, all you said was that everything was going to be okay and that we were going to get through it.