Arsen: a broken love story - Asher Mia - Страница 69

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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.”

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