AFTER MY SECOND RESTLESS NIGHT at Maddie’s place, Jack’s unanswered calls and texts are becoming a full-out assault on my endeavors to have a quiet morning. My forced attempts at levity in the couple of phone calls I had with him last night faltered badly and I know I have to get the paperwork I can’t do without out of our place and move out, preferably without having to confront him in the process.
At 10 a.m. I find myself sitting with Kevin on the terrace of a trendy brick-walled SoHo coffee shop. His work as an interior designer allows him to have days off here and there and today, as I talk about leaving Jack, I’m eternally grateful for his no-nonsense rhetoric which is stopping me from losing my nerve.
“Have you told your parents yet?” he asks, stirring glistening crystals of amber sugar into his tall coffee.
“No, are you kidding? My mother would have a heart attack. They’d probably show up or something. It’d be a mess. I’m going to tell them once it’s all done.”
“I doubt they’re going to take it well. I’m guessing it took them a while to get on board with their Valedictorian daughter getting married at the age of twenty-two after just a year of dating—”
“Yeah, it took some convincing to say the least.”
“I bet,” he mumbles, chomping down on a log-like sandwich that looks like it should be served with a miniature chainsaw on the side. He offers me a bite, but I turn him down. Apparently, a side effect of separating from your husband is losing all desire to consume food.
“I think seeing the way Jack dealt with me being sick for so many months reassured them a lot. And then as they got to know him, he won them over with his…” The memory of Jack’s unfailing love after the accident I had just six months after finishing college makes my voice waver. Kevin puts his hand on mine. “I feel so guilty,” I resume. “They were so against the idea of us getting married in the first place. I made them spend so much time getting to know him. They absolutely adore the man now. I’m honestly dreading telling them it’s over.”
“I know, baby.” He gestures towards the yerba mate I’ve barely touched and I take a sip.
As a group of tourists ambles past us, maps in hand, my phone buzzes on the table, signaling the arrival of another text message. Kevin snaps it up.
“Jack again,” he sighs, reading the message. “Jesus, he really is a piece of filth, you know. I mean, my God, he actually thinks you’re going to that thing…”
I frown as I reach for the phone, taking in Jack’s message:
Reminder baby, the gala is next Friday.
The thought of going to the same gala I’ve happily attended for the last two years makes me shudder. Milling with some of the biggest names in Manhattan—politicians, businesspeople, bankers, lawyers, people of influence—is usually an amusing exercise that gives me lots of material with which to make my friends laugh the next day. But today, the thought of being observed by people when I feel so broken makes me sick to my stomach, especially given that the benefit is usually co-sponsored by one of New York’s oldest and richest dynasties, the O’Neill family, whose brightest and most accomplished scion—my former friend Cameron—I do not wish to run into right now. Not to mention that the gala takes place in the same Wall Street skyscraper that Jack works in—the building I worked in until I took my leave of absence—and the idea of mingling with colleagues who may know all about Jack’s infidelity is not appealing, to say the least.
“Well, at least I won’t have to go to that fucking thing now,” I mutter flatly.
“He obviously wants to have his cake and eat it too, and thinks you’ll play along as the dutiful wife,” says Kevin, raising an eyebrow as if to make sure I’m not faltering in my decision to leave Jack.
I finish my drink and put my phone in my beloved old oversized purse. “I’ll have to get going, Kev.”
“You sure you don’t want me to go with you?” he asks as I pull my navy boyfriend jacket on over my scruffy T-shirt and blue skinny jeans.
“No, best not. I’m gonna try and be as inconspicuous as possible. Jack tips the concierge like a Rockefeller. He practically owns the guy. I don’t want him thinking anything weird’s going down just in case he calls him or something.”
“And you’re sure he’s at work?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Well, I’m expecting a call from you in one hour to tell me everything went well. If I don’t get it, I’ll be hot-footing it over there and will kick that son of a bitch’s ass myself.”
I throw my arms around Kevin, hugging him tightly against me. “You know you’re my first true love, right?” I breathe into my friend’s ear.
“And I love you more than that asshole husband ever could, so just remember that while you’re packing,” he smiles.
“I will.”
Ten minutes later, Kevin hugs me again as I get in a cab we’ve managed to flag down. The second he closes the door behind me and blows me a kiss, frenzied butterflies flutter in my chest. Glancing at the meter, I find it’s almost ten-thirty. It’ll take me less than an hour to get in and out. I’ll walk straight through the lobby, past Tom, the overly vigilant concierge, with a relaxed smile plastered to my face.
It’ll be a breeze.
Thirty minutes into packing, it’s time for a well-earned break. After packing up the clothes, shoes and jewelry that have some sentimental or practical value to me and carrying my suitcase downstairs, my legs go wobbly as the lack of food consumed over the last few days and the stress hormones coursing through me do a number on my system.
I head to the kitchen and glug down half a bottle of carrot juice and nibble at some flaxseed crackers I made in the dehydrator last week before going to our office to collect some essential paperwork. Jack and I have two separate desks and storage systems and I head for mine and start to take out the paperwork I can’t leave here without—my marriage and birth certificates, diplomas, bank, insurance and mortgage papers, and the bills that I’ll have to get taken out of my name. I drop them into a large plastic box and rifle through other files, haphazardly throwing as much stuff as I can into the container.
As I finish, I look over to Jack’s side of the office at the neat custom-made steel and glass desk and the stunning ebony storage cabinet. As my eyes wander over it, I think back to a night just a few weeks ago when I climbed under the desk as Jack was taking a late-night business call and unzipped his pants, put my mouth over his large, hard manhood and took long, teasing, leisurely licks for several minutes until he couldn’t concentrate anymore and had to make his excuses, finishing the call way before he should have. He ripped my satin pajama bottoms to shreds before bending me over his desk and taking me roughly from behind as he groaned my name into my ear, leaving exquisite pleasure vibrating through my body in a quivering wave that never seemed to end. The virility of that male machine still makes me tremble, though I know now that he was fucking those women the night I did that. I wince at the memory, a cold sweat coming over me as I wish I could turn back the clock and take his hands off my body.
As I jolt myself out of the thought and get ready to leave, I remember my photo albums and grab an empty sports bag, hurriedly shoving my photos into it. As I dump the last one into the bag and zip it up, I’m shaken to my core by a terrifying sound that I desperately did not want to hear.
“Jessynia?”
I jump up, dropping the bag as a gasp escapes me. Spinning around, I see my husband standing in the doorway of the office, his fiery eyes locking with mine, a look of anguished confusion clouding his stormy face.
“What’s going on?” he asks, taking a step into the room, his imposing frame completely blocking the way out.
“Stay away from me, Jack,” I assert, trying to mask the fear my voice is betraying.
“What the fuck is going on?!”
“I’m leaving.”
He stares at me, his face pallid, the color drained from his lips.
“Why?” he asks, his chest rising and falling heavily under his crisp shirt.
“I’m not getting into it now. I want to get my things and get out of here. I need you to leave.”
“Is this some kind of joke?”
“Does it look like a joke?!” I shake my head as he stands unmoving before me. “Why are you here, Jack? Fucking Tom, is it?”
“If you think I’m letting you leave without knowing why, you’re wrong.” He takes another step towards me.
“Stay away from me!” Panic rips the words from my throat.
“I want to know why, damn it!” His breathing is rapid, his face pained with a frown etched upon his forehead. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this look before. Jack isn’t usually the type of man that does fear, and certainly not desperation.
“Why? Because I know about Lydia, Jack. And the other woman that you’re fucking… and I can’t be with you ever again. I’m leaving.”
His dangerous eyes scour mine and he swallows hard. “Jessa, whatever you think you know, you’re wrong. Lydia’s just—”
“Stop it!” I shout. “I’m not some brain-dead moron wife who’s going to fall for this shit! I know, Jack.”
Darkness twists his ashen face as he studies me for long seconds. “How did you find out?”
“Does it really matter?”
“You found the phone, didn’t you?”
I nod and he looks down, staring at the floor as he tries to calm his breathing. He looks like a politician that’s just been snapped snorting cocaine in a brothel and is trying to find a way out of the mess while simultaneously wanting to rip the face off the person who exposed him.
As furious as I am, part of me hopes to see some expression of regret, some remorse, for him to break down, to explain it all away as being the biggest mistake of his life. Surely there’s an outside chance someone put a gun to his head and made him do it in some bizarre blackmail plot, right?
“It’s not what you think,” he says. “She came onto me and I—”
“And what, she forced herself on you? She’s a foot shorter than you. What, does she have supernatural strength?”
“I… I tried to get rid of her. There’s more to it than—”
“Oh, spare me, Jack. Just stop! This is beneath both of us. There’s nothing you can say that can make this go away.”
“Jessynia…”
“Why did you do it?! Why?! Was it really worth it?”
“No, baby, please—”
“Then why?!” I yell, my tearful eyes wild. “What possible justification could you use to rationalize fucking that woman? When was the last time I ever turned you down? We have sex almost every fucking day. I gave myself to you every day last week. Is that not enough for you?!”
“It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t about that.”
“Not about that? I read those messages. What else is it ever about with Lydia Bulgova? Or are you in love with her?”
“Jesus Christ, no!” he exclaims. “I can’t stand the bitch! She’s a piece of garbage.”
“Then why?!” I shout as hot tears trickle messily down my face.
“It’s… complicated.”
“Complicated?! It didn’t have to be complicated, Jack. You meet someone, you fall in love, get married, and do everything within your power to make it work, and only give up when there is no more hope. Jesus, did I do something that could justify this?”
“No, baby. It’s not you,” he responds, his eyes misty.
“And who’s the other woman? AAA. Who is that?”
“It’s nobody.”
“Nobody?” I scowl, wiping tears from my flushed cheeks.
He takes a step closer to me. “Jess—”
“Stop! Don’t come near me!”
“What the fuck did you expect, Jessynia?!” he shouts, his eyes suddenly cold. “Do you have any idea how many women I turn down on a weekly basis? Any fucking clue? Do you know the amount of fellatio I get offered every time I go to a bar, a restaurant, a fucking business meeting?”
I shake my head and wrap my arms around my waist as if to protect myself from the onslaught of what he’s saying, my eyes pleading with his as his words cut me open.
“Do you want to hear that I fucked Lydia?” he shouts. “Yeah, I fucked her. Many times. Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Then why did you beg me to marry you?!” I shout back. “Why bother going through that if you knew you were going to do this? Do you think you’re the only one that deals with temptation or something?”
“Jesus Christ. Isn’t it enough that I’m madly in love with you? I come home to you every single night. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved in my entire life. I didn’t even see that bitch’s face when I was fucking her. I saw yours. Is that not enough for you? Did you have to go through my things like some crazy, jealous—”
“Stop,” I plead quietly, picking the bag off the floor. I don’t want to hear any more before it sullies every memory I have of our marriage. “I’m leaving, and there’s nothing you can say that will stop me.”
“Don’t bother,” he says, wiping a solitary tear away from his face. As he turns to leave, he looks back at me. “I’ll do it for you.”
Later that night as Maddie is taking a shower, I turn on her television and stare at it blankly. Scantily dressed twenty-somethings with inappropriate footwear are being chased by zombies hell-bent on eating their guts out. I empathize.
When people talk about your heart breaking, they’re right. My body feels like it’s physically tearing into a thousand bloody pieces, tissue ripped apart, veins snapped, arteries gushing blood.
I ache as if in mourning. Well, I guess it is a bereavement of sorts, one that takes away a piece of you and turns your life into something you didn’t want, leaving behind a fragile shell of a person that has to try to get back up again.
All I can do is pray that tomorrow I’ll wake up and some of the pain will be gone.
