by Lisa De Jong
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.
Chapter 28
Ben
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 because 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.
; Chapter 29
Cathy
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.
“It was just too much, Ben. Too fucking much. Your perfection was asphyxiating me, and I couldn’t handle it. I think I grew to hate you, resent you, and Arsen made it all go away. With him, it was just me, Cathy. No wife, no failure, no nothing. Just me. And it felt so good. It was like a drug. I needed more, craved more, and the more I had, the more I wanted. The more I wanted him.”
I swallow hard because my next words are the hardest to admit, even to myself. “It started as sex, Ben, as an escape, but it’s not anymore. As everything was happening…I-I think I fell in love with him.”
Silence.
“D-Don’t think I’m trying to excuse my behavior because I am not. I know I was wrong, very wrong, b-but I’m trying to answer your questions as truthfully as possible.” I lower my voice to a soft murmur, “You deserve it.”
He begins to bang his head against the wall.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
The constant thumping is driving me crazy.
Sitting there, I watch him hurt himself until I can’t take it anymore. I’m about to touch him when he swats my hand away as you would do to an annoying mosquito.
It hurts.
But I did this. I did this to Ben and to myself. I can’t complain that he’s repulsed by my touch.
When he finally looks up, he grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me aggressively. “Were you fucking careful?” he utters with disgust and fear etched in every syllable.
At first I don’t understand what he means.
Oh.
Shaking my head no, the look in his eyes says it all. He wants to kill me. Or Arsen. Or both of us.
“So, let me get this straight. He fucks you, comes inside you, and then you let me do the same? Now I understand the constant showering. You must be shitting me.” Silent, I watch his face as sudden realization dawns on him. Pinning me with furious eyes, his breathing accelerates. “Last night…you fucking needed to wash him off, didn’t you?”
Nodding, I begin to cry.
“You make me sick.”
Ben lets go of me harshly and stands up, almost as if close contact with my body will cause him physical pain. The release of his strong grip causes me to fall back with just enough time to put my arms behind me to cushion the fall. Turning around, he begins to shout angrily at me, his face red with anger and
tears, “Did you ever think what this would do to me? Do you even,” he curses under his breath, “Do you even fucking care?”
My stomach tightens as he shouts at me. Each word is a punishing blow to the gut, robbing me of air, but I owe him the chance to get it all out—to punch me with his words, and break me with his anger. Call it atonement, but I must pay for what I’ve done. I just didn’t expect that honesty could hurt so much. That witnessing the consequences of your behavior and the mess you’ve made could be so painful. I alone should suffer the consequences of those choices. Not him. But sadly, he’s paying for them too.
“I did at first…b-but I stopped eventually.”
Ben is breathing heavily, and his stormy eyes are filled with anguish. “You need to leave. I can’t…I can’t…I can’t keep doing this to myself. I-,” He groans as he puts his hands around his head and begins to rock back and forth on his feet. In silence, I watch him for what seems an eternity, trying to give him space. After a few minutes, Ben looks at me.
“When you were broken, I loved you for the two of us, Cathy. For the two of us and I didn’t fucking care…I didn’t. I thought my love would be enough, I loved you that much. If you had asked me to cut my own arm off for you, I would have. I would have given you my whole fucking body, Cathy. Only for you. I should’ve never had to share you, Cathy. Never. I thought you were mine, like I’m yours. Or was. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This is so fucking unbelievable.
“You know what? Let’s have the fucking truth. I’ve heard your pathetic excuses, how about you hear me out now? Let me tell you something, Cathy, I hope you’re happy because Arsen may own your heart, your body, but you’ll always be empty because I own your fucking soul. Your soul is part of mine and it always will be. I will heal, I will learn to love again, but you…I pity you.
“You say that you’re walking away from me and our marriage because of the strain the miscarriages put on our relationship.” He hits his chest painfully, “What about me? You think I wasn’t hurting just as much as you? Every fucking time I close my eyes, I can still hear the blood-curdling scream from that day. Sometimes I’m afraid to fall asleep because images of you covered in your own blood haunt me even in my dreams. You miscarried and lost the babies, Cathy. Well, I lost those babies too and I also lost my wife. I was left with nothing but memories.”