by B. L. Berry
It’s the first moment I actually can’t sympathize with her. In fact, I kind of hate her right now. Simon and I didn’t just fuck. We had a relationship. We were in love. And how can she claim she doesn’t blame me when she is clearly laying accusations?
I stand a little taller and plant my feet firmly into the ground. I’m not about to let this woman come into my home and make me feel inferior.
“I didn’t ‘fuck’ your husband, as you so eloquently said,” I bite at her with air quotes. “And as shitty as this whole situation is, let me remind you that he didn’t just do this to you. He did this to both of us. Simon and I were together. And not just in the physical sense.”
“I know. I read the note, remember?” she says softly. And the bitter woman who was here moments ago slips away as quickly as she came.
I hate that she read the letter and knows more about my emotions than Simon does. I nervously pull the necklace out from underneath my shirt, thumbing it through my fingers, desperately trying to connect the dots. Connect back to him. Connect to anything but the pain that this woman and I now share.
“Your necklace,” she gasps. “I found the box in his drawer last month. I … I thought he was going to give it to me for my anniversary or birthday but he never did.” She exhales sharply as her eyes hone in on the radiant stone around my neck.
Oh, God, I’m gonna be sick.
My hands fly to the back of my neck, searching for the clasp. I’m desperate to take it off. Desperate to disconnect everything. Disconnect from myself … this moment. I’m so completely numb and yet I feel absolutely everything.
“No … don’t.”
But I ignore her and pull the chain tightly off my neck and tighten my fist around it, feeling Simon’s vicious betrayal sink straight into my heart.
“It’s over. Anything that he and I shared is done. I’m never speaking to him again. I don’t want to see him or even hear from him.” I stand and start to pace the room. Just when I think my life can’t get any more fucked, this petite, adorably pregnant woman proves it all wrong.
“About that, Elyse, he can’t know that we know.” Sharna is calm and calculated. She reminds me of Olivia whenever she’s coming up with a manipulative scheme.
“What do you mean he can’t know that we know?” My eyebrows knit together. She can’t possibly think I’m going to continue on like none of this ever happened.
She takes a small sip of water and steadies herself. “Listen, Elyse. I know you probably don’t want anything to do with this but I need your help. I think that Simon is too stubborn to admit defeat and he would never say his marriage actually failed.”
I keep my eyes trained on her.
“In order for me make sure that my baby gets the life he deserves, I need you to help me prove it …”
Oh my God. I know I should just get out and leave this all behind me. Sever ties and never see Simon or this woman again. But sick curiosity takes over once again and I know I’m going to regret the words that pass my lips next …
“What did you have in mind?”
Thirty-Seven
Blind
I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth and press my head against the cool, smooth porcelain. Ever since Sharna left, the tentacles of Simon’s lies have been choking me and I’ve toggled between fits of sobbing and vomiting in disgust, unsure of exactly what to do with myself. The demons and angels inside of my head fight for supremacy of my moral compass. And right now the battle is a stalemate. I want to make him pay for what he has done just as much as I want to cut all ties with him. Actually, the one thing I want to do is disappear completely and pretend that this isn’t my reality.
But I’ve become blind.
Blind to the fact I’ve been used, confused and emotionally abused.
One minute you’re flying high and then, inconceivably, impossibly, it all unravels with the ring of your doorbell. Only to discover that the person you thought was your savior had been carrying the knife all along. The knife that delivers your final blow when you least expect it.
How could I have been so stupid? Did I miss the obvious signs? His actions are proof that his words have been empty from day one. I mean, this double life shit only happens in the movies.
Anxiety courses my veins at the sound of my phone vibrating against the black and white tiles of the bathroom floor. I flip it over and see Simon’s photo. I took the picture late one morning after a long night of making love. His perfect body is shirtless and the smile he wears lights up my world ... er, lit.
I send the call to voicemail and push the phone away from me.
He disgusts me.
Hell, I disgust me for what I’ve done.
All I want is to reverse time but I’m not sure if I want to go back to life before Simon or back to a few hours ago before my entire world exploded.
Jesus, I was so naive.
I close my eyes to fight the rising tears and the urge to heave the nonexistent contents of my stomach back into the toilet.
When my phone rings again, I don’t even have to look to know who it is.
I take one more cleansing breath before I open my eyes. And I mean really open my eyes and actually start to see my life for what it really is. For what he made me become.
And even more, I am certain I want that fucker to pay.
Thirty-Eight
Gun-Shaped Heart
Today I died by a bullet called deceit. I put myself out there, took another shot at love, and ultimately bled out. Had I known he had a gun-shaped heart, I never would have set my sights on him.
But deep down I knew it would come to this. The inevitable heartache that comes with caring for someone so deeply. The pain of deceit. The scars of being let down in a way you can never recover from. Simon is no different from Jason. He’s no different from any of the men who have come to bed with me and tiptoed through the front door before the sun rises.
And what’s worse is that I let this happen to myself.
My head sinks into the same feather down pillow that Simon slept on time and time again. It still faintly smells of him and I don’t know if I should shred it into oblivion or cling onto it like a talisman. And I certainly don’t know if I should try and talk to him or follow through with Sharna’s plan like I agreed to do.
I hate that I’m incapable of hating him. I hate myself for loving him. But love or hate, it doesn’t matter. They are both staples of passion. And passion I am now without.
I would sleep it all away if I could. But no, sleep is a cruel bitch that likes to play hard to get. It’s most elusive when you want to be wrapped in its warm embrace. And when you feel you desperately need it, you’re not allowed to have it.
When I close my eyes, my brain pulsates in my eyeballs. I roll over and push Olivia’s number on speed dial. I’m half expecting it to go straight to voicemail, but she answers after the first ring.
“What’s up, bitch tits?”
I take a shaky breath and fight to keep my composure but I know it’s a battle I won’t win. And before I know it, the tears flow faster than my ability to pull together a coherent sentence. I fight to speak but the words just won’t come out.
“Oh honey, what’s wrong?”
“It’s … it’s Simon.” I say, gasping for air.
“What about him? Is he okay? What happened?”
I can’t form words. Hell, I can’t form a coherent thought without it stinging me to the core. “Can you come over?” I sniffle into the phone.
“Are you at home?”
“Yeah.” In the background, I hear Olivia scrambling for her keys.
“Stay put. I’m on my way.”
“He’s married? What do you mean he’s married? You told me his wife died!” I shut my eyes tight as Olivia’s voice reaches decibels solely reserved for stray mutts.
“Yeah, I did, but apparently that was a lie, too.” The moment Olivia walked through my door and crawled into my bed next to me, I gave her the sixty second dump of
every lie Simon ever told me. I can tell she’s struggling to process it all, too.
“What the shit? Did he come clean and tell you?” She passes me the bottle of chardonnay she brought with her. She hasn’t even been here for ten minutes and we’ve already downed half the bottle.
I laugh softly under my breath in disbelief. I cannot believe that this is my life. “No … ” I hate that it comes out as more of a question and less of a statement and take a long sip of wine straight out of the bottle.“He didn’t tell me. Simon accidentally called me Sharna.”
“He what?” The increasing decibels levels of my best friend is going to burst my eardrum. “Why are you only telling me this now? And what the hell did you say?”
“What do you think I said? I asked him who the fuck Sharna was!” I pause for a moment to catch my breath and take another sip of wine. “And do you know what he told me? He actually convinced me that Sharna was his sister! His estranged fucking sister!”
“Oh … my … God …”
“Oh, just wait, it gets better. This actually gets even better …” I cry out incredulously. “His wife, Sharna? She came here yesterday afternoon. She came to my apartment and sat on my couch and confronted me about everything. She read the letter, Olivia! She knows everything.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, El.” Olivia grabs the bottle of wine from my hand and chugs.
Of all the things to joke about, my love life certainly isn’t one of them. I take a deep breath and feel the heat of the wine in my cheeks. It surprisingly has a calming effect on me. “I wish I were. The funny thing is that she wasn’t angry with me. She practically expected this of him.” There’s really nothing funny about that at all.
“You know what we’re going to do? We’re going to hunt his pathetic ass down and go all Lorena Bobbitt on his dick. Slice that shit right off and throw it out of the car while we go speeding down the highway victoriously. This jackhole deserves what’s coming to him. Nobody fucks with my best girl.” Olivia has catapulted into protective best friend mode. I kind of like it. But I don’t dare tell her about the lengthy conversation with Sharna. She will never let me live it down. And she would certainly never approve of what I’m considering doing at her request.
“What the hell kind of name is Sharna anyway?”
“Well, it’s the name of his wife. His wife, Olivia.” The more I say it, the more real it becomes. I stop pacing and fall back onto my bed, not recalling the point in time I actually stood up and started moving. I blankly stare at the imperfections in the ceiling.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I know how much you liked this one.”
Loved. How much I loved this one. “My life is such a bitch.”
“Exactly. Because if life were easy, we’d call it a slut.” She nudges me gently, trying to coax a smile out of me in this horrible situation, but it’s a fruitless effort.
Maybe forever and always and happily ever afters don’t exist and we never really own the intangible things in life. I can’t own this man because he was never mine to begin with. The same way that my own love isn’t really mine because it’s something I’ve chosen to give away. Hell, even the air we breathe has to be given back as we exhale. Nothing is ever truly our own. Except the material bullshit. And the last thing I want out of life is more material shit that means absolutely nothing.
I sigh the kind of sigh that seemingly lasts forever until my lungs are completely void of air and Olivia gives me an apologetic smile.
“So what did she say? ‘Hi, I’m Sharna. I believe you’re fucking my husband?’”
Olivia has a way with words, that’s for sure.
I snort. “Something like that. Turns out she’s had her suspicions. She even had a private investigator follow him at one point. But she didn’t have any tangible proof until she found the letter I put in Simon’s pocket.”
“Okay. And …?”
I may as well come right out and say it. No sense in hiding it from the one person in this world who knows me the best. Maybe she can knock some sense into me?
I bite the inside of my cheek and then speak my next words quickly. “And she wants me to give her undeniable proof that he’s been cheating.”
“What do you mean? Like confront him together? Testify against him in divorce court?” I roll my eyes at her clear mis-education on just how our legal system actually works, though I wish it were that simple.
“It’s worse, actually.” I gnaw mindlessly at my thumbnail trying to keep my anxiety at bay. Olivia moves a loose strand of hair from her face and pulls a pillow into her lap with a smug, expectant look on her face.
“A few weeks ago, Sharna had him trailed by a private investigator. It was the night we were supposed to all go out dancing.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.” I mirror her words. “It turns out his paranoia was right. His wife was suspecting the worst, so she had him followed.”
Olivia’s face is full of disgust. And that’s one of the countless emotions I’m feeling right now. She takes another pull off the bottle of chardonnay and pushes it back into my hand. I drink.
“Yeah, I know. But apparently they were unable to get any photos of us together. We haven’t been going out lately.” My cheeks blush at the thought of all the compromising positions we’ve been in all throughout my apartment. “And most of the time we’ve spent together was here whenever he was in town. Er, whenever he made the time for me, rather.” I’m not sure how to phrase my home-wrecking tendencies.
“Oooookay? But that’s a good thing, right?”
“Not quite. She doesn’t want me to confront him or anything. In fact, he can’t know that I know he’s married. She wants concrete proof.”
Olivia cocks her eyebrow inquisitively. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“Undeniable evidence. Photographs. Video. Something of us … together. Clearly seen … me … and him together.” I pause and realize she’s still a little confused, and so I take a sip to finish off the bottle and then clarify for her. “Like together together.”
“No.” Olivia gasps and covers her mouth with her hands, quickly connecting the dots of Sharna’s request. “She doesn’t want you to take pictures while having sex with him, does she?”
“Not exactly. I offered her my cell phone full of texts and photos, but Sharna really has it out for him and wants me to help fuck him over ten ways to Sunday.” She hangs on my every word and the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach causes me to squirm. I feel violated by the mere thought of Sharna’s request. Though knowing what I know now, I can’t say I’m entirely shocked by it. “She wants video of us together to ensure things are iron clad. She was vague about the details but apparently they have a prenup and for her to walk away with everything, she needs to have undeniable proof of infidelity. Translation: Simon has to be caught in the act.”
“A prenup? What for?”
“Oh, he’s not a travel reporter. That was merely a clever cover for him not being able to see me so often.” Olivia’s face falls and for the first time ever, I have rendered my best friend speechless. “Say something,” I whisper.
“Do you know how crazy this all sounds right now, Elyse?”
“I know. And the fact I’m even entertaining doing this is insane. But I loved that man more than you can even comprehend. And worse, Simon made me believe that he loved me, too. I will never forgive him for that. I fucking hate him for what he’s done. But on some level I feel like I owe it to this woman to make things right since I’m the reason things went so horribly wrong.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Calm your tits, woman. Let’s get one thing straight. YOU are not the reason their marriage went to shit. Those two did that all by themselves without your assistance. You’re a victim here and don’t you dare believe otherwise.”
I grab my pillow and hug it to my chest, desperate to feel physically close to something. Anything.
“I just … I really thought we had something, Olivia. I honestly could s
ee a future with him. After all the bullshit I went through with getting over Jason, I really thought this was it. That I endured through everything because I was supposed to fall in love and be with Simon. He made everything all right.” I wipe the falling tears away from my cheek with the back of my hand and Olivia grabs a box of tissues from my nightstand. “And the worst part about it all? In spite of everything that happened, I still miss him. I still have feelings for him. You can’t just stop being in love with something. And that is shredding me from the inside out.”
My heart has betrayed my head. Everything I’ve ever known about relationships has been a lie. I can’t in good conscience put faith in my heart.
And it doesn’t get more tragic than not being able to trust your own heart.
Olivia’s arms are around me shoulders, holding me tightly. “Oh, sweetie. Men are cheating assholes.”
“Not all of them,” I quip feebly. I want to believe that not all guys are, but instead it comes out like I’m defending Simon and his unforgivable actions. Olivia gives me a wicked side eye. “Save the lecture, Liv.” The tears begin to cloud my vision again.
She exhales and pulls her knees to her chest. “Sweetie, I just don’t want to see you hurting. You’re an incredibly strong woman, Elyse. It’s okay to feel weak sometimes. Just because you feel weak doesn’t mean you’re not tough as nails. You’ve got this.”
Olivia is wrong though. I’m not strong. I’m not equipped to handle this. And I’m not tough as nails.
“I’m so broken.” It’s easier to admit than I thought.
“Oh, sweetie … no …” Olivia wraps her arms around me and holds all of my pieces together. “Don’t you know that the only way sunshine and happiness can get in is if you have enough cracks to let the light shine through? And you’ve got some pretty kick ass friends to drag you through this. Besides, you know what this means, right?”