One New Message (A Dark Romance Novel)

by Vivian Ward

  “Let’s go sit down and talk about this,” he says, grabbing my hand, leading me to the living room.

  He takes a seat in his recliner, sitting up tall and straight; his back stiff as a board with his hands on his knees. I sit opposite of him, on the couch, and let him begin the conversation.

  “Madison, there’s something that I need to say before this goes any further.”

  I draw in a ragged breath, fighting back the tears, choking down my emotions.

  “When you started texting with Robbie, it wasn’t an accident.”

  My ears perk up, and my eyes grow wide as I begin to realize there’s a lot more to this story than I even know.

  “What do you mean?” I ask him. “Were you behind this? Do you know him?”

  “I’ll start from the beginning, Maddy. I felt that we’d drifted apart and I didn’t know how to talk to you anymore. It seemed like something was missing, but I couldn’t just come and speak to you. We’ve been so distant lately.”

  As I’m listening to him talk, things are starting to click.

  “I downloaded a text app to my phone and started texting you. Initially, I was only going to try to befriend you to find out what our marriage was missing, but then things kind of took a turn—one that I could’ve never predicted. Our conversations warped from friendship to something more,” his voice trails off.

  He won’t even look at me.

  This is bad. This is so much worse than I could’ve imagined.

  I told him my darkest fantasies—most of them, anyway. I confessed things to him and said things about him that I would’ve never said to my husband. I should’ve listened to myself when I thought it was his voice when he spoke to me in our room that night.

  Naivety, gotta fucking love it.

  My selfishness caused poor lack of judgment, and I dismissed those thoughts; those voices in my head. I knew that voice sounded all too familiar, but my lust kept me from believing it.

  Betrayal punches me in the gut, making me feel sick to my stomach. He lied to me—big time. He led me to believe that I was forming a relationship with another man and that I was cheating on my husband. I also believed that I had a connection to this other guy, someone who understood me.

  Oh. My. God.

  Not only did I tell him my deepest secrets, but I also talked very badly about him. On top of that, he saw me wearing that get-up that I bought just for ‘Robbie.' He was the one spanking me, biting me, pouring hot wax on me. He did it all. There was no other man.

  As he finishes recounting everything that transpired, my guts begin to twist in a knot. I feel like I want to puke. Hatred fills me, radiating from my core. How could he? How dare he?

  “You are fucking sick!” I snap. “You led me to believe that I was having an affair? What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Maddy, that’s not how this was supposed to be. I was only trying to figure out a way to make our marriage better. Please, listen to me. I would—,” I cut him off.

  Throwing up my hand, I silence him and shake my head.

  “No, you listen to me. Where ever you’ve been for the last week, I want you to go back there. I want you out of this house. Do you have any idea how I feel right now? Get your shit and get out.”

  I’m so pissed that I can literally see red. I want to hit him, but that’ll solve nothing. He duped me, and I feel so foolish and stupid; completely vulnerable.

  Here I was thinking that I was texting someone else; someone entirely different. All along, he was texting me from the basement. Instead of coming upstairs to talk to me like a human being, he tricked me and deceived me.

  “Madison, you need to understand that I’m just as hurt as you are. I know that you—,” he stops, not even finishing his sentence when he realizes that I quit listening.

  I shut him out as soon as I told him to leave. There’s nothing left to say between us and I don’t care to listen to him or what he has to say. He’s had plenty of time to talk to me; Lord knows Robbie sure did. At any point in time, he could’ve come up those basement steps and said he wanted to talk, but instead, he pulled the wool over my eyes and led me around like a lost lamb.

  I’m done.

  Slowly, he rises up from his chair with hurt and disappointment in his eyes. I know he wants to say more to me, but he knows it’ll do him no good. Trust me, there are plenty of things that I want to say right now, too. Some things are best left unsaid, or like my grandma always told me, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.”

  She was a smart woman—my grandma. I bet she would’ve never fallen for something like this. How could I fall for something like this?

  I was so stupid to talk to a complete stranger that I didn’t know and tell him everything there was about me. I remember when my friends and I were growing up, we used to call each other on three-way but the person we were calling would have no idea. The point was to get that person—the unknowing suspect—to admit things about the individual who was keeping their silence on the three-way call.

  All of us had been burned on that at least once or twice, and it really damaged a lot of friendships. But here I am, 20 years later, still falling for tricks just like that.

  Part of me dies as I watch Drew pick up his duffle bag and walk out of the kitchen door. I jump at the sound of him slamming his truck door shut as he starts the engine. Seconds later, I hear his tires squealing away.

  Now that I’m left all alone in our empty house with two plates of cold food on the table and spilled wine with broken glass all over the floor, I realize that now I have no one.

  There is no Drew. There is no Robbie.

  I desperately want to break things but all that will do is make a mess that I’ll have to clean later, and I don’t have the energy for that right now.

  So I do the next best thing.

  Making my way into the kitchen, I grab the bottle of wine off of the counter where Drew left it when he poured our glasses and head into the bedroom with my tablet.

  Trying to get my mind off of everything, I take a swig of wine straight from the bottle and don’t stop until it’s gone. It’s no use though because all I can think about is my night with him. Flashbacks keep coming to me, and I keep picturing the night that we shared when I thought he was a stranger but the present still haunts me.

  My husband knows what kind of person I am; who I’ve become. He knows that I was willing to cheat and have an affair. Worst of all, he knows what I think about him.

  What I truly think of him.

  He knows every ugly secret, every lustful desire, all of the disappointment of our marriage. Drew knows how unhappy I’ve been with him and our sex life for all of these years.

  It’s too much for my heart to handle because it all boils down to the fact that I love him.

  I really, truly love him, and now I’ve gone and fucked things up just like I always do.

  Deep down, I know that I played a big part in all of this, too. I could’ve just as easily gone and talked to him, but I didn’t. When that first message came through, I could’ve just ignored it. At any point in time, I could’ve backed out of things.

  Nobody was twisting my arm, nobody made me say the things that I said; all of the ugly, hurtful things that came out of my mouth. I’m sure that when he read my responses, he probably hated himself, too.

  Lying next to me, in the center of the bed, is Dublin.

  I think back to the memories of our first date and how happy I was. He’s always made me so happy. The day that we got married, all I could think was, “Oh my God, I’m getting married. This is really happening. I’m getting married. In just a few minutes, I’ll be Mrs. Brooks.”

  I was so scatter brained that day that I even fucked up my wedding vows. For some reason, the “I thee wed” part tripped me up, and I stuttered, stopped mid-sentence and asked the justice of the priest to repeat what he’d just said so that I could get the words right. The day that we got married, I was a blubbering mess. I w
as so happy to be his wife.

  But now I’m a blubbering mess for completely different reasons, and everything is wrecked.

  Wrapping Dublin tightly in my arms, I curl myself into a ball and hold him close. Sobbing uncontrollably, I drift off to sleep with my eyes still watering and swollen from crying so hard.

  Chapter 21

  Drew

  Driving back to the extended stay, I choke down all the emotions that are trying to escape.

  She completely shut me down, and she has every right to, but at the same time, we need to talk about this. I know that right now she feels betrayed, lied to and probably foolish. She was tricked, I get that, but we need to talk about the bigger picture here.

  The fact that she was willing to go outside of our marriage to get what she wasn’t getting at home is alarming to me. What if I wasn’t the stranger? She really would have been with another man. Some other guy would’ve been in my home doing God knows what to or with my wife.

  I pull over at a liquor store just a few blocks from where I’ve been staying and go inside to get a bottle of Jack and some Coke.

  Walking past the large glass windows of the storefront, I pass a bum who is sitting down, slumped over and leaning against the glass.

  At first glance, I just ignore him until he looks up at me. He looks so similar to me that it’s almost shocking. This man could easily be a relative, but it’s the sad look in his eyes that really catches my attention, probably because it matches mine. I recognize this look, and it’s complete and utter heartbreak.

  Offering him a fake smile, I nod in his direction and push the glass door open as I walk inside. Rummaging the aisles, I find what I’d usually buy for a great night, but tonight it’s to help drown out my sorrows. I don’t know if Madison and I will be able to get through this.

  The overweight, mid-fifties clerk sitting on a stool behind the counter looks annoyed as I approach the register. She snaps her magazine closed and sighs as she stands to greet me.

  “Is that all for tonight?” she asks.

  “Yes, please,” I say as she begins to take a brown paper sack out from behind the counter.

  I look out into the parking lot and see the front of my truck, and remember the bum sitting in front of the store. That guy’s probably lived through a hell of a lot worse conditions than I could ever dream of and he’s still alive.

  “Hold on,” I say, holding my finger up to the woman.

  Darting toward the back of the store, I open the door to the cooler and take out a can of Budweiser and quickly run it to the front of the store.

  “And this,” I say, placing it on the counter. “And can you throw in a pack of smokes, too?”

  She looks me over, eying me up and down.

  “You don’t look like a smoker,” she says. “What brand?”

  I know nothing about cigarettes and don’t have a clue to what’s good or bad. I don’t even know all of the brands.

  Shrugging, I smile at her.

  “What’s your most popular around here?”

  “Marlboro but if you’re looking for a bargain brand cigarette—,” I cut her off.

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll take a pack of Marlboro’s. You know what? Give me a couple of them.”

  She takes two packs down and rings them up along with my Jack and Coke.

  “Is that all?” she asks.

  Her voice is growing increasingly annoyed with each question.

  “One more thing,” I say. I take a lighter from the display case. “One of these.”

  Rolling her eyes at me, eager to get back to her smutty Cosmo magazine, she huffs.

  “I’m not asking you again. Your total is $31.84.”

  I take a couple of twenties on the counter and smile at her.

  “Thank you. Keep the change.”

  Grabbing the bags, I walk outside and stop by the man who’s still slumped over in front of the store.

  “Excuse me,” I say to him.

  He ignores me at first until I repeat myself a second time.

  “Yeah?” he answers.

  “Here. I bought these for you,” I hold out the cigarettes.

  Glaring at me, he squints his eyes and pushes my hand away from him, knocking the cigarettes to the ground. I’m tired of trying to do things to improve situations only for it to backfire on me.

  “Get out of here,” he says. “I don’t want your charity.”

  “It’s not charity. I thought I’d do something nice for you. If you’re having a day even half as bad as I am, you could use a pick-me-up.”

  “A day as rough as yours?” he laughs.

  His rough smoker’s voice comes through between coughing and laughter. He beats his hand against his chest in an attempt to clear his throat.

  “Son, you think you’ve had a bad day? Did you have a gang of smart ass little shits trying to piss on you and then jump you? Did you starve all day because these greedy bastards wait for me to leave before they throw any fucking food away? Tell me how bad your day was, please.”

  Looking at his torn blue jeans and his ratty shoes, I feel much worse for the guy than I did a few minutes ago. He’s got a point. My marriage might have just fallen apart, but his whole life has fallen apart.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” I turn to walk back to my truck.

  “Hey, asshole!” he stands up, nearly falling as he staggers over to me. “You could at least buy me a fucking hamburger for insulting me.”

  “I thought you didn’t take handouts?” I ask.

  “Yeah? And I thought you liked giving shit away.”

  Realizing that I didn’t eat, I don’t think it’s wise to drink on an empty stomach. Plus, I can feel a slight grumbling because I am a bit hungry. I’ve just been ignoring it.

  “Come on and get in. I know a place we can go,” I say.

  The man stinks to high heaven. The scent of sour, pissy trash fills the cab of my truck, and I feel like I’m going to puke. Rolling to a stop at the traffic light, I look over at him and notice the thick, dirty oil coating his filthy hair and crack a window to ventilate the truck.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “This ain’t no date. You’re not buying me a hamburger to get a piece of ass, so it’s best you don’t ask me too many questions,” he says.

  Wow. This guy is crude; I like him.

  “Just trying to make conversation,” I say.

  The light turns green, and I begin driving to a greasy spoon restaurant that’s just a couple of miles down the road. They’re open 24/7 and have the biggest portions you can imagine. The prices are reasonable, and it’s a clean little place with private booths so nobody will notice us.

  We take a seat in a corner booth at the back of the restaurant. The place is dead but the added privacy is nice. I’d imagine most people will start pouring in once the bars close because that’s what everyone generally does. That’s still a few hours away.

  “What can I get you guys tonight?” a young woman asks us.

  She’s in her early 20’s, short, and a little on the chubby side. She has a sweet voice, but the tattoos on her neck make her look a little rough.

  “I’ll have a Dr. Pepper,” I say.

  She turns her attention to him and flares her nostrils at his pungent odor.

  “And you?”

  “I’ll have the same,” he says.

  “And can we get a couple of cheeseburgers and fries?” I add.

  “Sure,” she nods, taking the menus away from the table.

  We’re half way through our meal before my new friend stops scarfing down his food and wipes his face with a napkin.

  “My name is Wallace, but most people call me Wally,” he says.

  “Nice to meet you, Wally. I’m Drew.”

  After a couple of more bites, he’s demolished his burger and moves onto his fries. I’ve hardly touched my food; only a few fries are missing off my plate, and my burger is still completely intact.

  “So you sa
id you had a bad day,” Wally says. “What happened to you? And why are you being so nice to someone if you’ve had such a rough day?”

  Leaning back in the booth, I draw in a ragged breath and exhale, folding my hands behind my head.

  “Well, Wally, I think my marriage ended today, and I’m being nice to you because I thought it’d make me feel better, I guess.”

  And it’s the truth. I know I sure wish I had someone to pick me up, but what I really want is Madison. I want her to call me or text me. I want her to say something to me; anything.

  Even though I’m doing a good deed and helping a homeless guy by buying him a meal, it hasn’t helped me feel any better; not in the least.

  “That was nice of you,” he sucks down the last of his soda.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “You’re welcome.”

  The waitress brings us each a refill and delivers the check, so I hand her my credit card. While we’re waiting for her to bring my card back, an idea pops into my head.

  “Wally, do you have a place to go tonight?” I ask him.

  “You can just drop me back off where you found me. I’ll get where I need to be.”

  She returns my credit card along with the receipt for me to sign. I scribble my name and tuck my card back inside my wallet.

  Walking out to my truck, Wally opens the passenger door and grabs one of the packs of cigarettes off of my dashboard and lights a cigarette as we stand in the parking lot talking.

  “Thanks for the smokes,” he nods, taking a drag from the cigarette.

  I watch the cherry light up bright red as the smoke faintly disappears for a second before he blows out a cloud of smoke.

  “No problem,” I say. “Listen, I’m staying at an extended stay hotel right now, and I have a full-size bed and a couch. How about you come back to the hotel with me, grab a shower, I’ll give you a change of clothes, and we can have a few drinks together.”

  He gives me some side eye as he considers my proposition.

  “And what do I get out of it? I’m not gay and I ain’t takin’ it up the ass.”

  For the first time in what seems like an eternity, laughter bursts out of me. This guy is so funny.