by Aidèe Jaimes
My own tears begin to flow down my cheeks and fall off my chin onto the top of his dark head. I cautiously bring my arms around him and cradle him to me.
“It’s not a matter of not believing that you will be faithful to me. It’s a matter of whether I can forgive you for what you have already done.”
He keeps his head down and his words are so muffled I can barely make them out. “I’ll do anything, Cris. Please don’t leave me.”
The plea and the pain in his voice are so evident that a sob bubbles forth from me. My fingers dig through his hair and I bring my face down to him, holding him to my breast.
“I don’t want to leave,” I cry into his hair.
“I love you, Cris.” His face still buried in my clothes, he begins to kiss his way up, first my stomach, then my chest, pushing me back on the bed as he climbs, his hands gliding up to cradle my head. He kisses my neck, then my cheeks and my lips so tenderly.
I let him because I miss him, because I love him. And because right now I can’t wrap my mind around choosing anything but him.
He pulls away only to look down at me. My tears sting and when I shut my eyes they roll down my temples. Owen rubs them away with his thumbs, then his lips are on mine again.
It’s too much and not enough. We both work fast to rid ourselves of any barriers, pants and shirts flying. When I’m fully naked he lifts me by the waist and tosses me further up the bed, landing on top of me hard.
He takes both my arms and pulls them above my head, holding me firmly by the wrists. His kiss is so deep and desperate it’s painful. Our lips never break apart, even as I hear him swallow back a sob. I hold on as tight as I can, because I’m terrified that if I let go now it may be forever.
Neither one of us climax, instead he stops, still inside of me, and puts his arms around me so tight, he lifts me off the bed a little. He’s trembling hard and buries his face into my neck. I hear him weeping, sniffling into my hair, and it’s so heartbreaking I forget my own pain and wrap myself around him tighter.
When it’s over he rolls on to his back and takes me with him, keeping his arm securely around me. We never lay like this. Neither one of us ever feels the need for it and right after sex usually we want to go to sleep or eat. As far as we’re concerned, cuddling is sweaty and uncomfortable. But not tonight. Tonight, we need this almost as much as breathing. We both know that if we don’t cling to each other we might drift away too far, completely out of reach, and lose each other forever.
7
There is sweat rolling down my forehead and between my breasts and thighs where my skin is rubbing against Owen’s. He is sweating too; I can feel the moisture caught up in the thick matting of hair on his chest as I dig my nails through it.
His hands are on my waist and he guides my movements, pulling me up and down as he thrusts into me. He stops for a moment, but I am so close that I start to rub myself on him.
“Cris, stop,” he warns. I don’t listen because I want this so badly and he comes, his arms wrapping around me bringing me close to him, just a second before my own orgasm hits me so hard I nearly black out.
We both stop moving and then suddenly SHE’s there again, looking at me, smiling.
Strangely enough, Owen and I have been boinking like rabbits. I would have thought it would be different, that his touch would be intolerable. It’s not like the idea of him cheating turns me on. But for some reason we are so hot for each other I’m actually sore. Two weeks of non-stop sex will do that.
And every single time, Cassandra’s face, the one I’ve created in my head, comes between us. It’s an image I can’t erase from my mind, him with her. Then I wonder if he thinks of her too, while he’s with me. Even worse, wondering if the sex had been as good as ours.
I was no innocent girl when I met Owen, in fact, I think I’d been with more men than he’d been with women. Never since him, though. He satisfies me in every way sexually. I know from my own experience that he is an amazing lover. But am I? Does he compare me to Cassandra?
My blood boils as I become angrier and then I can’t stand his hands on me anymore. I push off his chest. He tries to keep me there, but I throw my arms out against him and roll away. There is so much distance between us now, and even then, there is not enough room on this king size bed for the three of us.
Lying on my back, my forearm over my eyes, I let out an aggravated breath, willing myself to hate him a little less right now.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers with a hint of shame, reaching for me. I practically jump out of bed the moment his fingers make contact with my skin. He pulls back his hand slowly. “Cris, I…”
“Stop,” I whisper. My eyes begin to burn and I race to the bathroom before he has a chance to see me cry. He says nothing, nor does he make any attempt to follow me, simply lets me be for a long time while I shower and simmer down.
He’s in bed on his iPad when I come back. When he looks at me he looks so tired, the green of his eyes more of a muted brown than the usual green gold. “Do you feel better?” he asks.
I nod and climb into bed, coming a little closer to him, but still making sure not to touch. It will be better by the morning, it always is. Then it gets worse again. Will that ever change?
It has to. This cycle is so tiring, and it’s not only wearing me down, I can see it in Owen too.
When we are out I search for that woman in every face I pass, watching him carefully for any sign of recognition. My ears are constantly attuned, always listening for her name. Cassandra.
His attempts at distraction only serve to make me more suspicious. He reaches for me and I pull away. Yes, we fuck, but emotionally we are not connecting. Quite the opposite, we are so far removed from each other, I wonder if there will be any getting back from this.
Yes, he feels this as much as I do. There will come a point where he has had enough, and regardless of the direction, he will want it over.
Even knowing this, I have not hit that pivotal moment in which I myself have had enough. I do my best to compartmentalize my feelings and try to process them and work my way through them. There are days when I think that I have, that I can move beyond all this and fully forgive him. Then I have a breakdown and I know I am far from it.
I haven’t told anyone yet, not even my father. God, especially not my father, not after what my mother did to him. He would be here in a nanosecond if I told him. I just can’t bring myself to tell on Owen. My dad would hate him and I don’t want that. But I should tell someone, I think. This is building up inside, and I’m afraid I’ll blow up any moment.
Today is a good day. Owen and I had amazing sex last night, then actually had a conversation. There was no awkward afterwards, no anger. For the first time in weeks that woman never made it into our bed. It was just Owen and me.
When we lay to sleep, he put his hand on my lower back, just like he always used to, and I didn’t move away. When I woke up it was still there and it felt nice. Like home.
Breakfast is all about the flirting. I’m all giggles and he is all touches and soft kisses to the back of my neck. It feels good, like it was before, as though something terrible never happened to us. The thought hits me that this may finally be the turning point I’ve been waiting for, where I begin to heal and forgive.
It’s a Sunday and we spend most of the morning lounging, playing with Mia and watching TV shows. Owen tells me that his office is having a cookout this evening at Latta Plantation Nature Park, which is not too far from where we live.
I sort of cringe at the thought of the mosquitos that call that place home, the last time we were there I ended up with fifteen welts. And I’d also been looking forward to putting Mia down to bed early and enjoying more one on one time with Owen, exploring this renewed sense that everything can be okay between us.
Then again, grilled burgers and hotdogs sound so good and I know everyone in his office would be excited to see Mia.
The weather is absolutely perfect when we arrive, deep blue ski
es, sunny, slight breeze rustling through the trees, not a mosquito in sight. I made a fresh fruit salad, always a safe bet, and I am carrying that while Owen holds Mia. There are already a lot of people there, most of whom I’ve met before. Mia is immediately taken from Owen’s arms and passed from admirer to admirer, something which she loves. And of course, we do too because it gives us some freedom.
“Yo, Robertses, what’s happening!” I hear someone call from a distance and see that it’s Ramon, one of the managers that works under Owen, lifting his koozied beer bottle to us in greeting.
“Yo, Ramon!” Owen calls back with a wave, then looks back at me. “Will you be okay if I leave you for a bit? I want to talk to Ray about some work stuff before he has anymore beer.”
“Yeah, yeah, do your thing. I’ll just say hi to everyone in the meantime.” He gives me a quick peck on the lips and leaves me. God his feels nice. Normal.
I go around the tables saying hi to everyone I know and introducing myself to anyone I don’t. It’s not in my nature to be outgoing, but as the wife of their manager I have always felt it to be part of my job description. Sort of the First Lady of Crawford Co.
Owen sits with Ramon for a while, then I see him start to do the rounds too. He winks at me here and there, or comes and gives me a touch of reassurance, before moving on to the next conversation.
After a while I settle down at a table with my plate and Mia’s in front of me - a burger for me, a hot dog (no bun) for her - though I know there’s no way she’s going to sit down and eat now. She is having way too much fun with the other children there. She is the littlest one and the kids just love her. Her little legs can hardly be seen beneath her yellow sundress as she races around after the others, and she squeals each time one of them tries to pick her up.
I’m so distracted by everything going on around me that it startles me when I hear a voice right beside me.
“Owen’s in trouble. She’s one beautiful little girl!”
“Hey there, Mike! Long time no see.” I stand up and give him a hug. Mike is one of the company’s salesmen and travels so much we rarely get to see him. It’s strange that I like him as much as I do being that I’ve only seen him four or five times. Maybe it’s that he’s such a kid and he reminds me of my little brother. He’s a pretty man, tall with a swimmer lean body, black eyes and hair. I think he knows it too, but I forgive him because of his boyish grin. “Nice tan. What have you been up to?”
“Oh, I flew straight to Cali after Chicago. Me and some buds hit the waves.”
“Nice! New tat?” I smile and look to his right where I see a snake wrapped around his bicep, then I look to the girl wrapped around his arm and my eyes inquire, “New girl?”
Mike beams and pulls his shy date forward a little. “This is my friend Cassandra. She’s from the Chicago office and is in town visiting for a few days….”
He keeps on talking but I can no longer hear his words, as blood races to my head and all I can hear is the hard pounding of my heart.
“Cassandra?” I ask. In a split second my smile has vanished. All my attention is now focused on the one face I have been searching for six months.
“So nice to meet you,” she says extending her hand to me, but all I can do is stand there and look at her. “Everyone calls me Cassie, though.”
“This is Owen’s wife, remember, I don’t know if you remember,” Mike continues.
Cassandra has pulled her hand back and looks fairly uncomfortable, her smile wavering.
“Yeah, yeah, I think so.”
It’s her. It has to be. How many women have that name? It’s not that common that I know of. And she’s from the Chicago office. Owen lied to me when he said she worked at the hotel bar. My stomach turns and I feel bile rise in my throat.
I look over and spot Owen heading my way fast. He looks like he might faint too. After so many years together he can read me better than anyone else. That, and I have never been one to hide my emotions well, they are always written all over my face.
He is at my side in a matter of seconds, but it’s too late. I have taken her in, every detail. She is pretty, though she doesn’t look at all like what I thought. While I envisioned an exotic beauty, this girl looks very much the girl next door. Long strawberry red hair, blue eyes, porcelain fair skin and freckles that give her a look of sweet youth and innocence.
She looks nothing like me. Is that why he liked her?
“Owen, my man!” Mike greets.
Owen nods at him in quick acknowledgement then reaches for my arm. “Babe, can I talk to you for a sec?”
“No!” I pull away, not taking my eyes off her.
“I think Mia needs us,” he urges. I don’t move.
I want to tear her to pieces, to yank on that red hair and drag her to the ground. The images that come to my mind as I look at her are enough to drive me to tears right then and there. They stream down my face and I wipe at them furiously. His lips kissing her with passion, his teeth nibbling on that unblemished skin. His hands all over her. His body on hers.
I turn on him and slap him in front of everyone so hard my palm stings. Who cares what they think! I take off and grab Mia from between two other little girls, much to her dismay. She fights and screeches all the way to the car.
“Cris! Cris! Stop, it’s not her. I swear it’s not her.” He tries to take Mia from my arms but I put my body between him and her. “You can’t drive like this; you’re not thinking straight.”
I feel like I am about to lose my mind. He’s right. I can’t risk her.
Disgust rolling off me in waves, I face him. “Then I suggest you take us home right now unless you want everyone to know exactly what you did because I am not holding back, Owen.”
We are on our way home in less than a minute. I am crying, downright sobbing, looking out the window. Owen is saying something; I can’t even understand him. He’s rubbing my arm, trying to console me, but the contact is painful. It burns.
Several drivers passing by have seen me and look so worried. One man even mouths, “Are you okay?”
I mouth, “No,” back at him and he drives away fast when I cry even harder.
It’s near impossible not to scream at Owen. Not to let loose. Mia is in her car seat, clearly distressed over my state. For her sake, I need to control myself.
The moment we get home I run out of the car, slamming every door in my wake and when I reach my closet I lose it. I start to scream, just scream, like a crazy person. I AM crazy right now. Completely out of control. My heart aches to such a degree that my mind simply can’t handle it and it breaks down.
Owen races in after me with Mia crying, frightened by me. But I can’t stop screaming, loud as I can, the past months of anger and pain exploding from me. Then I am on the floor, hugging myself, trying to catch my breath.
He is next to me. “Cris, fuck, what have I done, Cris!”
He leaves me and then he is next to me on the phone. “Please help me,” … “I fucked up,”… I hear parts of his conversation.
Then I hear Jess’s voice, she’s yelling at him. “Don’t worry,” … “Fix this!”
Then Mia’s cries fade away.
He is beside me again and he is holding me, rubbing my back. His voice is broken and he is shaking. “It wasn’t her. I swear it, Cris. It was just a coincidence. But when I heard her name I knew what you would think. That woman will never come into your life again, I promise. It wasn’t her. Please forgive me. Please…” He repeats the words. Over and over until they begin to make sense to me.
It is a while before we both calm and then for a long time we sit there, huddled together. I hold on tightly to him. I want him vanished from my life, yet I don’t know if I could breathe without him. I hate him, and I still love him beyond anything.
It is him that finally breaks the silence when he asks the one question that has been weighing so heavily on my mind. He sounds tired. Resigned.
“What will it take?”
I don
’t answer. I don’t know.
8
Jess and I sit on the living room floor quietly watching Mia and little Daniel playing. They don’t actually play together, it’s more of a side by side thing, where they occasionally hand each other a toy. Or take one away and then we have a difficult situation on our hands.
It’s not as loud as it normally is with all the kids. Her eldest is at a friend’s house and her middle child is with his dad. It’s been an easy day except for this lingering thing of me not talking about the events of the other day.
I look at her. She is looking towards the kids smiling, and because I need to tell someone, it just comes out. “He cheated on me.” My voice is monotone. “It was only once he says, and I believe him. He loves me and wants us to work through this. He says he’ll do anything. But I just can’t…” I shake my head and sigh heavily, wishing I could breathe out all of my troubles.
She doesn’t turn to me. Her lips just sort of pull down at the sides and I know she heard me. “Yeah, I pretty much figured it out with what happened the other day,” she says, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She’s a little hurt. We have gotten close and I know she would have been there for me. But until now I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I blow out a breath – I do that a lot now a days - and brush my hair out of my face. “I don’t know. I guess I was embarrassed that it happened to me. And ashamed for Owen that he did this to someone he’s supposed to love. I haven’t told anyone else, not even my parents.” Though I suppose his co-workers are probably having a field day with the rumors I started the other day at the picnic. I do regret that!
She turns towards my fireplace and chews on her lip, something I have noticed when she feels a little anxious. I hope I didn’t make her uncomfortable. She’s silent for so long I look away from her too, until she says, “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Kevin and I went through the same thing.”
