What a Tangled Web We Weave

This is the first in a sequence of short stories I'm working on. The way in which they intertwine is the interesting part. However, each story is completely stand-alone in nature.

The picture mocks me. With its silver frame, it stares me in the face. It confronts me. Those smiles, so real then, now laugh at me. Or were they ever real? Squinting my eyes, I study the photo. My eyes dart back and forth between the two faces staring through me. In that moment, had they been real? Knowing that at least one had been, I search the other face for truth. Ha truth. The mere word disgusts me. In my life, truth is a four letter word never uttered and certainly never revealed.

            Tears thwart my ability to evoke truth from the smiling face. As my hand wipes away the reminder of the pain, my mind wipes away any doubt. There was never truth. That face changed. Truth is constant. Blinking away another tear, I force myself to look away. There is no truth to be found there.

            As I unconsciously stroke the material beside me, my eyes sweep the room. For the first time, I realize what surrounds me: lies. All of it… lies. I try not to look at all the pictures.  I attempt to drag my stare away from the source of my hurt. My will isn’t strong enough. My gaze fixates on the face. The eyes of the face look back at me as the lie holds me hostage.

            Why can’t I look away? Why does the lie captivate me? Finally, I tear my gaze from the face, from the lie. As my thoughts shift from the lies to the truth, I shift my weight and begin to stand up. The truth is that it’s all lies. All this time, I have been rooting my very existence in lies. Who I am is based on a lie.

            After standing up, I twist slightly back around. Oh yes, I look at yet another lie. Not just any lie, but the seed of lies. Where I thought all of the promises were affirmed, all of the lies were planted. I turn away from the couch of lies and turn my thoughts away from all the nights. I shudder to recollect those nights filled with whispered lies. Those lies were my truths and as I now know, all my truths were lies.

            I finger the handle near my hand and slowly close my fingers around it. As I tighten my grip, I try to choke back the pain. Hesitantly, I lift the large case off the bed and lower it to the floor. My gaze follows. By keeping my eyes fixed on the white carpet, I escape the view of the crimson wall. For I have no desire to look upon the false hopes, dreams, happinesses, and promises in which I have been living my life.

            I glance behind me at the suitcase. I lean down and extend the handle and begin to pull it behind me. Unlike my life and my heart, the suitcase is full. With minimal effort, I proceed to maneuver around the furniture toward the door. With insurmountable effort, I will attempt to pick up the pieces of my heart. God only knows if I will succeed. 

            Although I am careful not to look up from the floor in order to avoid any glimpse of the walls filled with reminders, pictorial manifestations of the face, I am still bombarded with traces of the lie. Well, rather, lack of traces. The floor is spotless. Unlike on a normal day, not a single shirt, pair of pants, or pair-less shoe litters the carpet. Thrown clothing marks normality. Lack of clothing signals lack of normality. By walking out of the room and out of my life, I am leaving the comforts of normality behind me.

            Goodbye, then, to comfort. I want none of it. I’m drowning in lies. I need air to breathe and unsoiled ground to tread. I need truth. For better or worse, whether I discover it or die in attempt, truth is my aim. I drag my gaze from the carpet to the escape route now directly in front of me. My eyes caress the pale wood. Never before did this seemingly everyday object appear so luminous, so welcome to my eyes. There, in the form of a pale wooden door, was my doorway to freedom. Now, I will take it.

            My hand strokes the cold, metal door handle. For the last time, I twist the handle and slowly pull it toward me. For the final time, I walk out the door slowly and softly. For the final time, I release the handle and let the door swing shut. As I hear the latch close, my heart catches in my throat. Although resolved to walk away, I am truly terrified. I stand still in this decisive moment. My hand gripping the suitcase handle starts to shake. Turning my attention to the beating yet broken core in my chest, I feel it pounding violently against my rib cage.

            Wait—can I do this? Can I walk away? Am I strong enough? Is it even worth it? Questions begin bombarding my thoughts. My head begins to swim as I realize exactly what I am doing. Stepping out on my own two feet for once, that’s what I am doing. Sounds easy enough to you I am sure, but you don’t understand. You can’t understand. Not until you have witnessed every moment in my life can you grasp the fear that cripples me.

            Unless you saw through my eyes and heard through my ears those things he has told me all along, you truly cannot comprehend my pain. When you have been lied to for ten years of your life, you will then have room to judge me. When you have been held in arms that longed for another, you will then have the knowledge to understand me. When you have rested in the love of a man whose heart belongs to another, you will then have the right to share in my pain. 

            As I roll my suitcase down the apartment stairs with some difficulty, I find it just as difficult to drag my attention away from my emotions. Although in my head I’m determined, my frantically racing heart is far from being as staunch. I finally reach that bottom landing of stairs. 

            As I look around and drink in my surroundings for the final time, I only notice one thing: the carpet. Crimson, like the walls of his apartment, the color seems to bathe every inch of the room. Will I never be able to escape it? Will the passion, lust, and love never be free from my view? Picking up my pace, I focus on the double door exit and the life that awaits me behind those doors. A doorman swings open the doors ahead of me and nods and kindly says, “I hope you enjoyed your stay, ma’am.”

            Taken aback by his words I stumble for a reply, “Uh yes, thank you, but leaving has been the best part of my stay.” The puzzled look on the man’s face is the last thing I see in that building. I do not plan on ever laying eyes on that carpet or wall again. Never again will I be consumed by those feelings. I stand resolute outside the apartment doors and take in the sunshine. Cars and people pass by as I stand still. Life is continuing. Nothing is affected. Although my life may be crashing down, the world remains in its course and people go on with their lives. I too must go on with my life.

            “Hey ma’am! You need a cab or are you just gonna stand there all morning?” The words halt my thoughts and I search for their owner. When I notice a man leaning against his yellow car with a cloud of smoke surrounding him, he continues, “So is that a yes or a no?”

            Finding words, I reply, “It’s a yes. Sorry, I’m just a little overwhelmed at the moment.”

            He rolls the cigarette to the corner of his mouth and smiles. His smile is accompanied by his laugh, “It’s quite alright ma’am. I’ve yet to come across a woman who didn’t appear to be multi-tasking in her mind. Why do women always have to think so much?”

            Stepping towards his cab I chuckle and respond, “I wonder the same thing from time to time. I think it’s our curse.”

            As he exhales the fumes and opens the back door for me, he adds, “Well, I find we’re cursed by it too.” Taking one last puff, he breathes in deeply then throws down the cigarette and continues, “You see, as men we’re expected to know what women are thinking. If my girlfriend jumps outta my car and slams the door in my face, I have to know what I did, or else I get slapped in the face when I follow her inside and ask her.” Before closing the door behind me he leans over the frame and concludes, “Your so-called curse is a man’s greatest obstacle.”

            My very amiable cab driver walks around the car and slides into the driver’s seat. Before he can ask me where I’d like to go, I give an answer to his claim, “It is true that sometimes we do not explain. Often, we just leave without a word, but we rarely leave without giving you some sort of clue as to why we ran away.” I fight the urge to look down at my hand and continue my explanation, “We normally leave behind a sign, something that is easily understood and needs no verbal clarification.”

            Turning around in his seat, my cabbie peaks around the glass and nods, “Every woman has a different justification. I’m doomed to never understand.” Smiling widely, he inquires, “So where can I take you this fine day?”

            My voice glossed with purpose rings out, “The bank about five blocks over.”

            As he starts the car he complies, “I know just where you mean. I trust you have cash?”

            Opening my purse, I pull out a handful of bills and wave them, “Well, if this is what you mean by cash then yes I have some.”

            He glances at the cash through his rearview mirror as he pulls out into traffic and comments in shock, “Damn!—oh pardon me. I meant along the lines of fives and tens. What’d you do last night, sleep with Bill Gates?”

            My face turns to stone and I reply blankly, “Something like that, except on a regular basis and not Bill Gates.”

            “Ah I see. You got you a rich man, eh? Well he’s lucky to have caught you. With your looks I bet you have many men chasing you.”

            I force a laugh and look out the window. The rest of the day is a blur. My broken state of mind hinders my ability to concentrate on the task at hand. I remember little of the transactions at the bank. After draining the joint account, I sign a few papers to terminate the account. As I turn to leave, the teller offers words of conciliation, “Goodbye ma’am and I’m sorry for your loss.” Without making eye contact, I curtly smile, take my money, and shuffle out of the building.

            His words stick in my memory. He’s sorry for my loss. What loss? Does he know all that I’m losing? Does he think someone died? His flippant goodbye puzzles me as I search for its meaning. Surely, he is completely unaware of the inner turmoil he sparks.  I wrestle with his words for the remainder of the day as I go about starting or rather continuing my life.

            I rent a room across town closer to my work. As I walk slowly down the hall I am relieved to note that the carpet is a dirty and worn blue hue. I navigate myself and my suitcase down the narrow hall and ignore the whistles and comments as I pass. I’m no stranger to this world, although I haven’t lived in it for many years. In no time at all, I’ll become consumed by it once again. After shouldering open my door and locking it securely behind me, I collapse onto the bed.

            Although I’m not looking at my hand, my mind concentrates on its nakedness. Inwardly, I kick myself for having left it. I could have sold it, sold away that life and everything that reminds me of him. Yet I left it. It is his sign that needs no clarification.

            My body, heart, and soul strain from exhaustion as my mind begins to wander over all that has happened today. Before the reminiscing takes hold, I yank back the covers and crawl beneath them. As I plunge my face into the pillow, I shut out the painful memories bombarding my crippled and vulnerable thoughts. Before switching off the lamp to my side, my eyes sweep the room and I sigh contently when I notice the color of the walls: white, pure and unsoiled.

---------------------------------------------------

            So, a month has past. A month ago I took the first step towards a new future and away from my past. I walked out of his life, and into a new life without him. How is it going?  Ha, you tell me. I figure I need not elaborate on the nights I sat and cried. Those nights I clung to my bed sheets for dear life. No matter how hard I squeezed, I could never wring the agony out of my soul. It didn’t matter how often I bathed my face in my tears; for it never came close to washing away the memories.

            During the day, I can keep it together. I go to work and leave with my payoff. Rarely do I allow my feelings to get the better of me. After all, I’m actually a strong individual, cold but approachable, closed but empathetic, confident but humble. Trust me, I’m no drama queen. I don’t pour out my heartache and sorrows to every breathing human being. I don’t seek sympathy and I despise pity. Mostly, I live by this code: judge not and you will not be judged. That’s all I want from others, nothing more, nothing less.

            However, sometimes my hard exterior cracks. As I walk into my favorite coffee shop on the way to work, I glimpse something that stops me in my tracks. As the boy behind the counter steams the milk for my latte, I witness a moment that perhaps should have been private. 

            Of course, judging by the glowing look on the woman’s face and the tears forming in her eyes, I doubt she cares who is watching. As she sheds tears of joy, she struggles to keep breathing as a ring slides on her finger. Clearly unable to find words, she simply drops her gaze to the diamond on her finger. As she listens to the words whispered in her ear, her eyes travel up to meet his. Pure joy and true love permeates from the look she gives. Trust and devotion is exemplified in her smile. 

            The sight almost breaks down my walls of togetherness. Thankfully, the boy fixing my coffee offers it to me just before I lose it. I make a beeline for the door. As soon as I exit, the spell is broken. The noise of traffic and people in a hurry cut off any contemplative thoughts that might have been brewing.

            For the next couple blocks I focus on not tripping over people and not dropping my latte. Klutzes like me actually have to consciously make efforts not to trip and drop things. Fortunately for me, that means I don’t have the brain space to process what I just witnessed. 

            Without one stumble or tumble, I arrive at work and slide my personal belongings underneath the counter. Thankfully, the hustle and bustle of the day hasn’t begun and I finish sipping my coffee before starting my shift.   

            “Let’s get a smile every now and then today. That too much to ask, sugar?” As soon as I hear his voice, I turn around and throw him a small smirk. Nodding sarcastically, my boss continues, “I hired you for your spunk and good looks. One of ‘em seems to have just disappeared.”

            “Oh, I’ve still got spunk, sir. Didn’t I make that pretty obvious yesterday?”

            Smirking and chuckling, the amused little man replies, “Smacking that lummox doesn’t count as spunk or attitude. However necessary it might have been, it could be bad for business if he’s a blabber mouth.”

            As I begin to organize my work area, I comment, “Not to worry. I’m pretty sure he won’t even remember what happened.”

            “That’s true, but just don’t make it a habit to assault the customers.” He straightens his jacket as he brings our conversation to an end, “It’s almost opening time. All I’m asking for is the attitude with a smile. That can’t be too much to ask, darling.”

            “Not at all, I’ll be sure to sport a smile and even resist assaulting the customers.”

            “Good girl.” He walks away and I’m left alone to warm up my smiling face. I can assure you that a smile is the last thing I want in my vicinity or on my face. Honestly, I’m just out of practice.

            Soon, customers come flowing in the doors and my thoughts go flowing out the same way. At least work offers an escape from the torture chamber of my heart. With the general chaos going on around me, there isn’t a second for me to wallow.

            As I go about my business smiling and serving, I find it easy to put on a front and even be quite affable. I can do this. I doubt there is a soul in this building flaunting their true colors. If they can do it, so can I. Sure, I may be dying inside, but why does the rest of the world have to know that? Since I know that no one cares, why do I insist on subjecting everyone to my misery? Everyone has problems. Everyone has issues. Everyone is good at hiding it. Well, I need to start following their examples. I inhale deeply and resolve to be as fake as everyone else. 

            In the middle of an animated exchange I’m encouraging with customers, I glance my boss to my right. I flash him a huge smile and he nods approvingly. A small sigh escapes my lungs. Although the rest of my life is collapsing in on itself, I can’t afford to lose my job. In reality, it’s all I have left; it’s the only piece to be recovered from the shattered mess I call my life. Part of me hates it while the other part of me is thankful for the frequent diversion it affords. Turning back to my customers, I slip back into the safety of the absence of contemplation.

            Some time later, I glance over the many tables and I suddenly recall why part of me abhors my job so passionately. Some couples make me sick. Seeing their happiness turns my stomach. Watching them touch grates on my heart. My eyes hone in on a particular couple and the pain and anger hidden inside me grips my very being.

            Judging by the woman’s smile, she adores the face she’s staring into. The strength of her adoration and love is clear in the way she slides her hand confidently into his. As her eyes steadily sweep her lover’s face, I can sense the trust locked in her gaze. Her entire face glows with truth and constancy. 

            A slurred and loud request resounds in my ears and tears my eyes away from the couple. Quickly plastering a smile on my face, I scurry to fill the order. Although my hands grab and pour capably as if nothing happened, I can’t drag my focus away from the woman. I just can’t understand how she can trust so blindly. How she can just sit there and love him? How can she allow him to hold her heart? Why does she trust him so implicitly? How can she do it?

            The questions continue to bother me for the rest of my work day but I refuse to let them interfere with my work. As I said before, this is all I have left. It would be nice for some of my life not to fall apart. Well, right now I’m about to fall apart. Yes, even after convincing myself to be fake and not to advertise my heartache to the entire world, I am finding it extremely hard to keep it together. When is work over? I need to get off now. Yesterday would actually be better.

            Finally, the little man walks over and whispers in my ear that my shift is over. When I almost throw my arms around his neck, I realize how desperate I am to leave. As my replacement walks up beside me, I offer a quick greeting followed by an even briefer goodbye. I grab my purse and maneuver through the people toward the door. As I brush up against people in my hasty exit, I whiff a mixture of cologne, perfume, and sweat. All I long for is fresh air but the only thing filling my lungs is humidity and heat emitting from the numerous bodies. Again, another reminder of why I hate my job at times.

            When I’m finally free from the crowds and the jammed building, I immerse myself in the clear air of the city with a deep breath. Turning on my heel, I put one foot in front of the other, making my way to my apartment. With each step, a new thought assails my weak mind. I’ve seen a lot today, much more than I wanted. Was the rest of my life going to be like this? Will I never be able to put my past behind me? No matter where I go, I witness something that flashes me back to him, to us. For a moment, I’m with him again with the same adoring face and trusting touch.

            By walking away, I lost so much. The teller at the bank had no idea the extent of my loss when he offered his “condolences” of sorts. I didn’t just lose his love, or rather, the outward expression of his love. So much more than his warmth, touch, and kiss no longer belong to me. I lost the only semblance of stability. I walked away from comfort and protection. I packed up and left order and structure. Without these, everything is tumbling down around me.

            Oh yes, how can I forget to mention that he saved me from what I’ve just returned to? I’m back to where he found me all those years ago. I’ll never forget when I first saw him. He didn’t stand out to me particularly in the crowd. He was just another face, just another customer. So maybe I don’t remember the first time my eyes passed over him. He blended right in, that is, until I saw his eyes. When my eyes first locked with his, my world stopped and all I saw was him. Those green eyes entranced me.

            Yeah, I know you’re reading thinking, “Yeah, uh huh, whatever. A little glance in his eyes just stopped you right in your tracks? Rightttt… that’s how all these romance stories are though: you see ‘the one’ and everything stops and you just know. Pffttt whatever, but I’ll keep reading because it’s pretty interesting.” Well like I said before, you can’t know until you’ve looked through my eyes. You can’t understand how my heart stopped and I reeled when my eyes met his. Until you’ve been lost in the green sea of his gaze, you cannot possibly get it. So don’t try.

            Regardless of you believing me, that long glance, heart skip, staggered step, and forced inhale changed my life. In that moment, I knew I would make a decision I could never rethink. The remainder of that night, we exchanged looks. Just before he left, he came over to me, leaned over the counter, and told me he would be back tomorrow.

            The visits were frequent. The looks were longer. The conversations were deeper. The rest is history. As I try to turn the key in the lock of my apartment, I return from my reminishes. The stupid lock is stuck. With a little more effort and determination, I jiggle and twist until the lock gives and the door swings open. He also saved me from cheap, hard-to-open locks. I took those for granted. As I slide out of my clothes and into my nightwear I chuckle as I realize that I do miss those locks. I shut out the more painful losses as I climb into bed and close my eyes.

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I greet the next day with a smile and a clear mind. Yesterday had been a little rough, but I’m back to wearing my mask like everyone else. Immediately, I begin planning out my day in attempt to head off any continuing thoughts from last night. After opening my refrigerator and noticing the obvious lack of food, I add “go to the grocery store” to my mental to-do list for the day.  

After I shower and dress, I’m ready to face the day. I haven’t quite put last night behind me but I’m determined to make this day better. I can’t let things hang over me anymore. Even if they do, I can’t let everyone see. So, I walk out the door and head to the grocery store. With my mask on, I’m ready for anything. At least I had some semblance of confidence as I amble into the small grocery store. Little did I know how fast it would fade.

As I approach the aisle I’m looking for, I head straight for the grape juice. Just as I’m about to grab my favorite Welch’s Grape Juice, a hand on my shoulder makes me jump and whirl around. I recognize the face. However, before my emotions catch up to my recognition, she speaks, “Hey, how are you? It seems like forever since I’ve seen you.” Not giving me a chance to respond, she throws her arms around my neck in the typical female, overly emotional, touchy feely way. Although slightly disgusted, I feign some type of affection with a small squeeze and back pat. Thank God she let me go. “Wow, how long do you think it has been?”

I tilt my head and furrow my brow as if I am having trouble recalling, but I know. I know exactly how long it has been. With an unsure tone, I reply, “Well, I’m not sure. My guess would be about eight years.”

“Yeah, that seems about right. It’s truly pathetic that I haven’t kept in touch with you.”

“Awww don’t feel bad. I’m sure you’ve been busy just living life. I assume you’re still married?”

Chuckling, she replies, “Yes, I am actually and to the same wonderful man.”

While inwardly despising her happiness and good fortune, I offer a smile and a curt, “Well, congratulations.”

“I’m sure you find it highly ironic and surprising.”

Not quite understanding, I hesitantly ask, “Why would you say that?”

“Oh you remember high school and college. I was the flirt who never stayed with any guy for more than a month. You even predicted that I’d never be able to stay married for very long.”

“Ah yes. You were definitely the biggest tart at the university.”

“Yet, I married right out of college and that was twelve years ago.” Looking slightly embarrassed, she softly admits, “You know, I was always envious of you.”

Snorting in disbelief, I ask the obvious question, “Uh why?”

“Oh please, like you don’t know. You, my lovely best friend and confidant, had everything together when it came to relationships. Throughout all of high school, you only had two steady boyfriends; and in college, you had the most amazing man your entire collegiate career. You were the supreme example of faithfulness! You possessed what everyone else only dreamt of having.”
            “That may be, and yet here I am now. Alone.”

“Really? I thought for sure you and—”

“No. It didn’t last. I left him after—after he was unfaithful.”

“Oh my—I am so sorry. How terrible.”

“Yes, but I’m fine. I’m over it. You remember I always bounced back fast.”

“Way too fast I always thought, but who am I to judge.”

“You have no idea how much I appreciate that.”

As she opened her mouth to reply, her phone in her purse starts to ring. She quickly digs through her purse and answers her phone. After a short conversation, she closes her phone and blurts hurriedly, “That was my boss. I’m running late. Stop by and see me sometime. I still live at the same place.”

“Ok will do.”

She gives me a quick hug and then bolts for the door. Wow, she must be really late. If I remember correctly, she always was late for things. Since she was my best friend, I knew her well enough to tell her to arrive places fifteen minutes before we were actually meeting. Then, she was always on time. Honestly, she was the drop dead gorgeous blonde airhead of my group of friends. I still have no idea how she got him. It still blows my mind that he married her. Well, I don’t judge. So, whatever.

Before a twinge of guilt can grip my soul, I grab the grape juice and toss it in the shopping cart along with everything else. When I finally get to the register I carefully place my items on the conveyor belt, I bite back harsh words when the clerk is less than careful with my groceries. How much can it really cost to find good help? When he hands me my change and receipt, he ends, or rather begins and ends, our conversation with, “Thanks and have a great day.” It’s funny how when clerks say that, its sounds to me like they’re saying, “Thanks for making me work. Now get out of my sight!” Or maybe that’s just me. I don’t particularly want them in my sight either.

When I get back to my apartment, I begin unloading my few items. Miraculously, all are free of dents. I place the grape juice in the refrigerator and close the door. Great, I don’t work until tonight. I have the entire afternoon to be bombarded by my thoughts. They’re hitting me pretty hard. Did I really have to see her today? I had a horrible night last night and I saw her today. It’s safe to guess that the rest of my day is going down the tubes.

It really has been eight years since I’ve seen her. In all honesty, I’ve been avoiding her for the past eight years. Since she’s a stewardess, it really hasn’t been that hard. I wasn’t ready to see her. I’m still dealing with so much. I start to chuckle. I laugh at her happiness. Yeah, she’s been married for twelve years. Too bad she’s too dumb to have never noticed.

I sink into my couch and almost break down in laughter. She really did hop boys in high school and college, and I was the loyal one with only a few steady boyfriends. I even dated one guy all through college. About two weeks before graduation, he proposed to me. I accepted with tears of joy and a full, warm heart. Did I love him? I still ask myself that. Since he cheated on me, I guess it doesn’t even matter. Before we could exchange vows that summer, I found out about her. Well, saying “I found out about her” is putting it lightly. I walked in on them. Okay, now that makes it sound even worse that it was. I really just overheard them having a conversation. He confessed his love for her and told her he would leave me. I saved him the trouble. I broke up with him.

Surprisingly, my life didn’t go to shambles after that. I just kind of moved on with my life, although bitterness polluted my mind. Although I wasn’t heartbroken, I was infuriated that he would be unfaithful to me. Things went downhill from there. Needless to say, the night I left the loser who cheated on me was nothing like the morning I left him. No, leaving him is still killing me. Actually, the night before is what’s really upsetting me. It’s what brings tears to my eyes and an undeniable ache in my heart. So what exactly am I talking about? I’m sure you’d like to know. Maybe it’s time to be honest. I don’t care what you think anyway.  So don’t bother judging me.

The night before I walked out of the room with the crimson walls, he gave me a gift. He pulled a ring box out of his coat and handed it to me. I shrieked with pleasure when I opened the box to find a ruby encircled with diamonds. He slid the ring on my right hand and I thanked him with a hug and a kiss, both full of love.

“I just wanted to get something for you, Sweetheart.”

“I love it! It’s so beautiful. Thank you so much.”

“It’s because I love you.”

“You better!”

“You know I do…”

“Well…,” I stopped myself before I said anymore. Although part of me wanted to ask him, the other part was terrified. So I stopped.

“Well what? Go on.”

“No no, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“Honey, if something is bothering you, just tell me.”

I looked into his eyes and with a lowered voice I said, “I think you just don’t want to know. Too much can go wrong. Everything is hanging by a thread. Because I love you, I’ve just been going along with it. I haven’t spoken my mind. I haven’t told you how I truly feel. You don’t want to deal.”

His eyes darted away from mine and glanced at the picture beside the bed. He stood up and said over his shoulder, “I think I know what you want to talk about and you’re right. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Suddenly filled with a burning resolve, I arose, marched in front of him, stared into his beautiful green eyes, and replied sharply, “Well, what if I do want to talk about it? What if I refuse to live this lie? What if I ask you to be honest, or I’m leaving? Can you deal with that?”

“I really don’t want to talk about this.”

“I just need you to listen, to forget about your wife, but you never do. You’ve refused to talk about this for the past ten years! If you love me so much, why can’t you leave her? Why can’t you be honest with her? Why can’t you be honest with yourself?”

“It’s more complicated than that. You don’t understand!”

Backing away in sheer disgust and disappointment, I sputtered, “I don’t understand? You really think that? That’s just incredible.”

“No you don’t. You don’t know what this is like. You don’t know what all is at stake.”

“Well, not to be cold, but in ten years, I thought you would have it figured out. You’ve been telling me since day one that you were going to leave her. Yet here we are now. You still haven’t left her. You’re still lying to her. You’re still acting like you love her.”

“You think I enjoy it?!”

Shrugging without concern, I curtly throw back, “Well you can’t hate it. You’ve had ten years to do something and I’m getting tired of waiting. I’m throwing away my whole life for you. I’m living a complete lie for you!”
            “So am I!”

“Why did you even start this if you were planning to just hang on to both of us? If you never intended to leave her, why did you keep coming back to the bar and whispering fantasies of you had of us in my ear? Why do I have to sneak around? You’re forcing me to lie to my former best friend! Now I’m her worst betrayer and she doesn’t even know it.”

“Ah, so you’re the victim here. I see. I’m to blame?”

“For lying to both of us for ten years, yes you are to blame. You can’t have us both. It just doesn’t work that way. Pick one, and walk away from the other. It’s that simple.”

“Nothing about this situation is simple.”

I threw up my hands in exasperation and yelled, “I just don’t care anymore. It’s her or me. You decide and let me know.” I spun around and stomped to the door.

“Where are you going?”

Not bothering to turn around, I reply, “I’m sleeping in the guest room. You let me know when you decide.”

“You know she’s coming home tomorrow morning right?”

“Yes, I’m constantly aware of where she is. I always have to know where she is at all times or all of this would fall apart. I’m sick of her haunting me. Don’t worry, I’ll be gone before she gets here.”
            “Okay, just… tell me before you leave.”

“Alright, goodnight.” I didn’t even wait for an answer as I opened the door and slammed it behind me. I crawled into the bed, but never slept. I just laid there deep in thought. I made a decision. The next morning, while he was showering, I acted. Gathering all my strength and my few belongings, I left the man who had lied to me. With one last gaze at their wedding picture, agony gripped my heart and gave me the determination I needed to walk away from him. He wouldn’t leave her. I laid the ring, the ruby encircled by diamonds, on the nightstand next to his wedding picture. I knew he wouldn’t need any explanation and I felt no obligation to give him one. 

So I left him, the liar. I freed myself from the face that held me hostage. Her face seemed to point a guilty finger at me every time I was with him. I’m done with that life, but my heart still bleeds from the pain. Did I do it to myself? Am I really to blame? I’ll never know I suppose; and I don’t care to know. I really don’t want to think about it. I’m here wallowing in my pain and sorrow. I just don’t want to be judged for my actions. Besides, who is to say that faced with the same situation, you would have acted differently? You could so easily be me.

 

 

Author's Note

Dialogue is by far my biggest weakness. I've had many people review it, but is the dialogue strong enough? It isn't supposed to be very important, but I would hate for my weak dialogue to take away from the work in general.