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“No.”
“Then where did this happen?”
I refuse to answer that and now I do look him in the eye to let him know that I’m serious about that. Dear lord, if I said it was at the Jensen’s he would have a heart attack. And worse, he would know it was Bo I’d slept with. What if they confronted each other? What if he went to the Jensen’s house and had it out over there? As if I’m not horrified enough that Lydia heard me humping her son!
Luckily Owen doesn’t push the issue with that one. “Had you slept with him the entire time since New Orleans?”
“No.”
“Have you slept with other men?” Though there is definite anger in his tone, not that I wouldn’t have expected it, it’s a controlled anger. There’s something else there, too, that I can’t place my finger on. The questions are beginning to sound like some sort of interrogation. Maybe it is, and this is some sort of trial, and he’s here to judge whether or not I’m worthy of another chance. If this is what it is, he’s certainly playing the role to the tee, his face stoic, unfeeling. I think more than anything, this is what makes me explode.
“No! Jesus, it was only this time!”
“Not counting New Orleans, of course,” he adds sarcastically.
“New Orleans doesn’t count, and you know exactly why that is.”
“Yeah, well that may not have counted, but this one does.” He gets up and goes to the closet, me close at his heels. Hangers whack and break as he tears through them, looking for whatever he’s trying to get, any semblance of control gone. I’m not so sure I like this any better.
“Owen, we need to talk about this.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Oh, so you can have an affair and I’m supposed to find a way to forgive, but I can’t make a mistake?”
He spins on me so fast I jump back and hit the closet door hard. He’s not too concerned with whether I hurt myself or not. There’s so much resentment, perhaps even hate, rolling off him in waves that I think this may not be the time to talk after all.
“Let me ask you something, Cris.” He spits out my name like it’s poison. “Was this a mistake? To you, I mean? Come on, be honest. Because what I did was a mistake, I knew it from the moment I did it. And I have not fucked Cassandra or anyone else since then. But you! I wasn’t even gone one fucking day and it’s enough time for you to spread your legs for the same man again! It’s almost like you were waiting for me to leave so you could do him again.”
“You know what, Owen? Maybe we should calm down before we say something we don’t mean,” I tell him, afraid he’s going to start calling me a whore or something worse. He won’t be able to take that one back; I don’t want him to go there.
His eyes are red, whether it’s the fury that has enveloped him, or the pain I know I’ve caused, I don’t know. My own eyes are prickling, and I fear I may come apart at any moment.
“Owen, please,” I beg. “I am so sorry. I swear it wasn’t something I thought about doing. It was only once. I’ll do anything you want me to do, please, I just don’t want to lose you.”
He shakes his head. “Why don’t we skip this shit, and jump straight to the part where I leave.”
“You’re leaving?” I ask, surprised, though really I shouldn’t be.
“Wouldn’t you? Oh, right, you did. I think I’ll just take a page from your book and follow the steps. What was it, drive around crying, find a hotel, worry the shit out of you. You can come find me tomorrow, but I won’t talk to you for a few days, then I’ll finally let you fuck me, but all the while I’ll make you hate yourself. Actually, you’ll hate yourself to the point where you won’t know if you should continue to fight for me, or if you should just kill yourself and end it because you know you’re just a piece of shit anyway. How’s that? Does that about cover it?”
If I was on the verge of falling to my knees and begging for his forgiveness, he pretty much wiped the idea right out of my head. “Yeah, I think you covered it all.”
Without another word, he takes whatever he had in his hand, and leaves. The moment I hear the front door slam I drop to the floor, my head against the wall as I look at the ceiling.
What have I done?
He follows that page he took from my book, for sure. All night I pace the bedroom, walk down to peek out windows, checking every room as I go, just in case he’s come back and I didn’t hear him.
In the office, I check online to see if there have been any credit card charges anywhere that would give me a clue as to where he’s been. At about two in the morning he checks in to the same damned hotel I’d stayed at. It’s a jab at me, a purposeful slap in the face, as it were.
Well, if his intent is to make me feel like garbage, a cheater and the lowest of scum, it’s working. I definitely feel that way. Though I think it’s worse for me than it was for him. Unlike Owen, I have to make myself suppress very real feelings for another man. And that above all, is what takes my betrayal to a much higher level than his.
My head aches. Why is everything so complicated? One man to love, that’s all I wanted. Not two! With fisted hands, I wipe the wetness from my eyes. I didn’t even know I was crying, that’s the worst part. If this had happened before last year, I’d have been devastated. A complete wreck, just as I’d been when it was Owen that cheated on me and the possibility of losing him was more than I could bear. Now the pain is numbed. It’s definitely there, but it’s muted a little, almost like I’m on some sort of Novocain for the heart.
It could be a good thing, making it easier to deal with. Or it could be a disaster for me later, when the “drug” wears off and everything hits me full force.
I let my head drop hard onto the surface of the desk, my arms dangling loosely at my sides, and take deep breaths. Between this god-awful heartburn and the tightness in my chest, I feel like I can hardly breathe. Why oh why did I have to see Bo again? How is it that I had absolutely no will power with him? The moment he touched me, any semblance of fidelity, of integrity, flew out the window.
