And as for Devan... he might have been the best sex I’d ever had; we’d fit perfectly together, and though he only had two hands, it’d felt like I was being touched all over by a thousand. But that one night was all we could ever have. One night that I’d pretend to regret for the rest of my life.
After all, once a cheater, always a cheater, right?
With a bitter, sad smile, I got up, took a deep breath and exhaled again. The air in the room still smelled like Devan. I went to open the window.
My phone rang, cutting the tension that had been building in my fidgety body with its shrill melody. I checked the number and saw it was work and I finally answered the call, wondering what on earth could be so important on my day off. Nevertheless, I was grateful for the distraction.
20
Devan
My marriage was finally over.
I sat in the kitchen, a glass of bourbon, dark umber in appearance, in front of me as I pondered this fact. Only minutes ago, Monique stormed out of the house, again, but for good this time.
Forcing myself to breathe and not just knock back the alcohol, I rolled the liquor over my tongue and let it slide down my throat and waited for the burn to ignite in my stomach. I detected remnants of its smokiness on my tongue and as I did, the fight came back to me in violent flashes, her voice screaming obscenities in my mind.
Hours had passed before she finally left, no longer having the energy to argue anymore. There was one point when all her rage dissipated and I saw the exact moment she gave up. That she’d had enough and realised she didn’t know what she was fighting for anymore. And I felt like a prick because I felt... relieved, glad that it was over, even though it took the best part of the morning to come to its conclusion.
I honestly never thought I’d feel that liberated when she stopped shouting at me and walked out the door.
“You didn’t even come after me,” she accused me when I got back into the house. No hello or good morning, just straight to the point, accusing me of something that wasn’t even true, playing the victim while lying to my face.
It was still so vivid in my mind... my wife in her boss’s car, kissing him while he removed her clothing. Cheater.
But I was just as bad, I realised guiltily. It was probably the reason why I’d let the fight go on for so long, why I let her shout and scream at me for hours.
As Monique’s voice began to get raspy and tired, I found my balls and realised this was the time to set the record straight, to stand up for myself, instead of always letting her walk all over me in the name of love. I didn’t always have to swallow my comments. I knew what I wanted anyway, and Monique wasn’t part of the picture I’d painted in my mind.
So I spoke up. That was my first mistake.
“I went after you,” I finally said, my voice quiet but full of venom. “I followed you, wanted to talk things through.”
“Oh yeah?” she asked with a snort. “I didn’t see you, so stop lying, you piece of shit.”
“You were at the motel on 32nd Street,” I told her matter-of-factly. “I saw your car.”
Monique crossed her arms in front of her body defensively. “What on earth would I be doing at a seedy motel? You saw someone else’s car, you lying prick.”
“Will you stop lying, Monique. Doesn’t it tire you out, telling all these lies?”
Finally, I’d had enough. I stepped up to her, menacing and so frightening she stumbled back. I hadn’t meant to scare her, and I would never hit her or any woman, but it felt good to have the upper hand for once. To have her listening to me for a change.
“You don’t think I can recognise your car, the plates my money paid for?” I asked her with a snarl. “I know it was you. And if that wasn’t proof enough, I saw you and Alan in his car two rows over. And you weren’t just kissing either.”
Her eyes widened in shock at my admission, and for a second, I really thought I’d been wrong. I thought she might deny the whole thing, give me a good alibi. But a moment later, guilt registered in her gaze and my world came crashing down at my feet.
“Oh,” she said stupidly, nervously picking at her finger nails as I finally backed away. It was a habit of hers I had always hated. She looked so put together, prim and proper, but her cuticles were torn to shreds.
“Indeed,” I replied coldly. “I hope he gives you the baby you want so badly, because I sure as hell won’t be doing that after seeing you eat his face. I want a divorce, Monique.”
I seemed to have awoken a beast inside her as she stomped towards me, her eyes blazing with fire.
“You? You want a divorce? You can fucking have it. At least he’s a real man,” she spat in my face. “And don’t think I’m blind, Devan.”