Diary of a Mistress

by Miasha

  “It’s nice, isn’t it,” Carlos asked as he crept up behind his wife and wrapped his arms around her.

  “Carlos, nice? This is amazing,” she exclaimed.

  Carlos and Monica stood there in the middle of the luxurious setting, paralyzed by the beauty around them.

  Angela entered the Taylor’s Institution for Behavioral Health accompanied by two emergency medical technicians. She was taken to the admissions room, where she was met by a psychiatric technician. After answering a few questions, Angela was introduced to a nurse who did a quick examination. When she was finally settled into a room, a counselor bought her some dinner. The next day she was scheduled to see a psychiatrist, who would determine whether or not she needed to be put on medication. It was all routine for Angela, who had traveled this road several times in the past. She just went with the flow, wanting to get the process over with as quickly and smoothly as possible. She wasn’t going to give anybody any trouble like she had in the past. They weren’t going to have to restrain her this time around. She knew the fastest way out of the institution was through displaying cooperation and stability, so she strictly followed all the rules. Her plan was to be discharged as soon as possible so that she could get back to living her normal life, and to her that meant being with Carlos.

  The next day a staff member woke Angela and told her that she was scheduled to meet with the psychiatrist that morning. Angela washed, got dressed, and was escorted into the doctor’s office at the end of the hall.

  “Good morning, Ms. Williams. I’m Dr. Whitaker,” the forty-something dark-skinned woman greeted Angela.

  “Good morning,” Angela responded casually.

  The doctor pulled a folder from beneath a couple of books on her desk and opened it. She picked up a pair of reading glasses that sat nearby and placed them over her eyes.

  “I’ve noticed your evaluations so far have been good. You slept through the night without any incident. You didn’t demand anything that could have been harmful to you. That’s a plus. If you keep it up, maintain your behavior, and follow our directions, you could be discharged after the court hearing,” the doctor told Angela as she jotted something down in the folder.

  “That’s my goal, Dr. Whitaker,” Angela said.

  “Oh, it is, is it?” Dr. Whitaker probed as she stopped writing and looked up at Angela.

  “Yes, I don’t intend on being here any longer than a week,” Angela said with confidence.

  “So what’s your goal once you do get out of here?” Dr. Whitaker asked, removing her glasses.

  “Well,” Angela began, “first, I plan to go back to work.”

  “And what kind of work do you do?” Dr. Whitaker asked.

  “I was an executive VP at a major marketing firm.”

  Dr. Whitaker’s face wrinkled. “How on earth did you end up here?”

  Angela blushed. “You know, I’ve asked myself that repeatedly, Doctor, and I never come to a real answer. All I know is I let a man get the best of me, once again.”

  “A husband?” Dr. Whitaker said.

  “Yes, just not my husband,” Angela responded.

  “Let me guess, you were waiting on the sidelines for him to get a divorce and when it never happened you snapped?” Dr. Whitaker said.

  “I wish that were all,” Angela began. “It got to the point where he was dictating my life. I would stop whatever I was doing and rush home just to be by the phone when he called, and when he didn’t call, I blamed myself. I would think I wasn’t fast enough and missed the call or something. Then I wound up getting a phone with caller ID,” Angela explained.

  “What brought you to your breaking point?” Dr. Whitaker probed.

  “To be quite honest, I was far gone before he told me he couldn’t see me anymore. You see, I was on the other side of the fence with my own husband, and that’s what started all this craziness.” Angela grew upset as she thought about her ex-husband. Tears fell slowly down her cheeks. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to deal with the issue of Carlos and her mental state.

  Dr. Whitaker handed her a tissue and told her, “We don’t have to go any further, today.”

  “Thank you, because I don’t want to talk about it. It just might be good for me to leave it alone,” Angela said as she sniffed and held back her tears. “Besides, I’m concentrating on me now, on how I’m going to get out of here.”

  Dr. Whitaker smiled. She put her glasses back on and made another notation on Angela’s chart.

  “Well, that’s perfectly fine, but let me offer a suggestion,” Dr. Whitaker said. “Start a journal, a diary, something in which you can write all of your feelings down. This way you’re getting all of the emotions and pain out of your system. You can release without actually talking.” Dr. Whitaker dug in her desk drawer and pulled out a diary, then handed it to Angela and said, “Try it.”

  Angela took the diary and dabbed her eyes again with the tissue. “Thank you,” Angela said softly.

  “Now, I’m going to prescribe a small dosage of Zoloft just to balance you out. But, Ms. Williams, you have nothing to be ashamed of,” Dr. Whitaker said as she looked Angela in her eyes. “There are plenty of normal, everyday people who end up in places like this. We get so caught up in living normal that we don’t realize what things in our lives are making us abnormal, and it’s not until we snap one day that we realize we’re only human and there’s only so much we can take before we lose it. That’s why it’s important to rid ourselves of all the pain, all the negative feelings, all the bad vibes that we may get from people. It’s important to get it off of us and transfer it someplace else. We can’t bear the burden of other people’s ill intentions. So you use that diary. Write in it all the time. Get all of the feelings you store inside of you out and put them on those pages. Slowly but surely, you’ll feel renewed.”

  Chapter 3

  “Rise and shine,” Carlos said softly as he entered the bedroom where his wife was still asleep.

  It was Carlos and Monica’s fifth day on Marco Island together, and Carlos had decided to surprise his wife with breakfast in bed. He was carrying a tray of food toward the king-size bed where Monica was curled up.

  “Um,” Monica sighed as she opened her eyes and stretched. “Aww, honey,” she mumbled. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “You deserve it,” Carlos said as he placed the tray on his wife’s lap. “It’s all your favorites: a cheese omelet, smoked turkey sausage, a side of home fries with onions, and a bowl of ambrosia,” Carlos listed.

  “And my cappuccino?” Monica asked. “You’re such a sweetheart,” she added.

  She sat up in the bed and scanned the suite. She looked over at the bathroom, which had a glass door so that she could see straight through to the marble Jacuzzi tub. On the other side of the suite, French doors led out to the balcony, which overlooked the sandy beach. In front of her was a stacked-stone fireplace. Finally, she raised her head toward the ceiling, which seemed to go on forever, reaching far up to a skylight. She wanted to etch the beauty of the house in her memory, hoping never to forget a single thing.

  “This is what I’m talking about,” Monica said as she cut a piece of her omelet. “Um, um, um, I must be a hell of a wife to get all of this,” she joked, placing the bite in her mouth.

  “You are,” Carlos said with a straight face. He stretched out across the foot of the bed.

  “And you are one hell of a husband,” Monica said, tickling Carlos’s arm with her toes.

  Carlos smiled at her. It was obvious he loved making his wife happy. It seemed as if he felt the most joy when she was pleased at something he’d said or done. Monica relished the thought of how deeply in love Carlos was with her and felt blessed to have a husband like him.

  “I’m still amazed at all of this. I mean, I can actually hear the waves crashing against the shore. This is my life. My husband did all of this for me.” Monica spoke with a humble smile.

  “You never saw this coming, did you?” Carlos asked, stil
l wanting his credit for planning such a thorough surprise.

  “Never. Not at all. Not even when you begged me to meet you at the airport for lunch,” Monica responded, sipping her cappuccino.

  “Well, I’ve been planning this since last year,” he said. “I spoke to your boss and asked her to put you down for a vacation this week. I even made sure to schedule the trip a week before the actual anniversary date so that you wouldn’t suspect anything,” he bragged.

  “Well, I must say, all of that planning has paid off, because you definitely caught me by surprise. This was the most well-put-together plan I’ve ever heard of. I mean, this has to be up there with God’s creation of earth,” Monica joked, stroking her husband’s ego.

  “Ten years. Can you believe it’s been that long?” Carlos asked, reflecting on their marriage.

  “I know, it seems like yesterday,” Monica said in the same reflective mode.

  “I love you, Monica. I do, and I am going to love sharing ten more years with you,” Carlos said, with the type of sincerity Monica knew all too well from her husband.

  “I love you too,” she responded, “and this has been a wonderful vacation so far,” she added, leaning forward and kissing her husband on his lips.

  “Angela, it’s time to take your meds!” shouted a short, heavyset, brown-skinned nurse.

  Angela walked out of her room and slowly proceeded beneath the bright fluorescent lights down the wide hallway. Her fellow mental-health patients were scattered about in the sitting area playing cards, watching television, and talking with one another. She didn’t say anything to any of them as she walked to the nurse’s station to accept her medication. She had been institutionalized for five days thus far. She’d spent her first day and night on suicide watch, her second day being evaluated by a psychiatrist, and the remaining three days in her room writing.

  “Thank you, Vanessa,” Angela said as she gulped down the water and the two tiny pills.

  “Thank you, Angela,” the nurse responded. “You’re behaving so well this time. Keep it up, and you may just be outta here after seeing the judge on Monday.”

  “That’s my plan,” Angela said with a grin.

  “Oh, yeah? Is that why you stay in your room? You don’t want any run-ins with anybody, huh?” Vanessa quizzed.

  “Exactly,” Angela responded. “The last time I was in here, the judge only committed me to thirty days, and that turned into ten months, all because of fighting with these people. I’d rather stay in my room all day and avoid that drama and be able to walk out those doors immediately after court than mingle with fake friends and risk having to be in here for a whole year.”

  “I hear that,” Vanessa said. “What do you do in there all day, though? I know you gotta get bored.”

  “I exercise, read, and mostly I write.”

  “What, poetry or something?”

  “No. A diary.”

  “Oh, yeah? I used to keep a diary back when I was in college,” Vanessa said.

  “Well, Dr. Whitaker suggested I start one. She said since I have a hard time talking about my feelings, it might be best to write them down in a diary. That way I’m getting things off my chest. You know…out of my system,” Angela explained.

  “Yeah, that makes sense. Well, go ahead. I won’t keep you. If you need anything, just give me a holler,” Vanessa said as she scribbled something down on a sheet of paper.

  Angela began to walk back down the hall toward her room. She stopped midway and turned back toward Vanessa. “Oh, Vanessa! I’m going to need you to mail something for me.” Angela spoke as if the thought had just popped in her head.

  “Oh, okay,” Vanessa said, “I’ll take it with me when my shift ends.”

  “Thanks,” Angela replied, then continued back to her room. Once inside the small square room, Angela retrieved her diary from under the twin mattress. She turned to an empty page in the back of the book and started writing. She had to hurry if she was going to finish it by the end of Vanessa’s shift at three that afternoon. As she was writing, she was thinking. It seemed like forever since she last heard Carlos’s voice—a lonely, hectic time. She wanted Carlos more than anything, and she knew that if she only had the opportunity to see him again, she would be able to win him over. The relationship had started as a casual one. She had a companion without the hassles of a commitment. But it quickly turned into something serious. She had begun to arrange her life around Carlos, missing work and signing up for all his classes no matter how they conflicted with her schedule. She fully expected that one day the two of them would share an exclusive relationship. All of her dreams were to come true with him. They would get married and have children, and he would be the one to finally rescue her from her past, bringing an end to her fear of being alone for the rest of her life. Carlos made her feel comfortable and secure about herself. He made her forget all of the shame, embarrassment, and pain that her ex-husband and other men had caused her. Carlos became her drug, allowing her to escape her reality. Now she was over the deep end for him, ready and willing to do anything to get him and keep him. She thought she was woman enough to make him leave his wife, but it seemed as if she would need to cause havoc between him and his wife. And she had just the plan.

  It was a beautiful Monday in September. The leaves on the trees were that dusty end-of-summer green. The sun was shining bright, giving just enough heat to offset the breeze. One couldn’t ask for a better Labor Day. It was also the day that Monica and Carlos got married exactly ten years ago. The happy couple had just returned from their anniversary vacation. They picked up their car from the airport parking lot, packed their bags in its trunk, and drove off. They missed the sandy Floridian beach, but they were happy to be home and eager to see their boys.

  Carlos dropped Monica and their luggage off at their home in northeast Philadelphia’s Rhawnhurst section. He was going to pick up their sons from his mother-in-law’s while Monica got a head start on the unpacking.

  “Hey, Monica. Hey, Carlos!” an older female yelled as she waved to her neighbors.

  Carlos beeped his horn and waved at the woman as he backed out of his driveway.

  “Hi, Mrs. Janice,” Monica called to the woman.

  “I have your mail,” Mrs. Janice said, motioning for Monica to come over.

  Monica started across the lawn to the driveway that separated their houses. Mrs. Janice met her halfway, carrying a bundle of mail in one hand and a package in the other.

  “Thank you so much, Mrs. Janice,” Monica said.

  “No problem, love. How was the trip? Were you surprised?” Mrs. Janice asked with a big grin.

  “Yeah, he got me good. But it was beautiful. We had a good time,” Monica told her, blushing.

  “That’s good. Listen, I’m cooking on the grill and having some people over. You, Carlos, and the kids are welcome if you like. My daughter’s coming down from Connecticut. She’s bringing my grandbabies,” Mrs. Janice said, smiling.

  “Oh, that sounds nice,” Monica said. “But I have so much unpacking to do, I think I’ll have to pass. Thanks for the invitation, though.”

  “No problem, but if you want you can send the boys over. I’ll keep an eye on them while you and Carlos do what y’all have to do,” Mrs. Janice offered, then started to make her way back over to her house.

  “Okay, thanks, Mrs. Janice,” Monica said, and headed to her own front door.

  “Oh, and Monica, I’ll send you two over a plate!” Mrs. Janice yelled.

  Monica smiled and thanked Mrs. Janice once more before retreating into her house. She walked past the luggage that cluttered her living room and jogged up the steps. Plopping down on her bed, she started rummaging through the handful of mail she had gotten from Mrs. Janice.

  “Oh, it feels good to be home,” she said under her breath. “Junk, junk, bills,” Monica mumbled as she skimmed through envelopes and circulars.

  Monica came across the white box that had “Priority Mail” marked on the front. Her na
me and address were written in a fancy cursive on the mailing label. The return address was illegible. She wasn’t expecting anything from anybody, and she hadn’t ordered anything online, so she had no idea what it was. She then immediately thought it was yet another surprise from Carlos, and the expression on her face went from confused to excited.

  “This man doesn’t know when to quit,” she said to herself as she shook the box gently. It had a little weight to it, but nothing rattled around inside. Was it jewelry? Her favorite perfume?

  She got up off the bed and walked over to a chest that stood against the wall. She pulled a pair of scissors from the top drawer, sat back on the bed, and started poking the creases of the box with the scissors. When she opened the box and saw one of Carlos’s sweatshirts folded neatly inside, her smile grew bigger. But confusion returned when beneath the shirt, still inside the box, she noticed one more item. It was a diary.

  Chapter 4

  “Can I have my phone call before we go outside?” Angela asked the tall, thin brown-skinned girl who sat at the office window in the center of the unit.

  “Your hour isn’t until later this evening, Ms. Angie,” the girl responded as she peered over a chart that was taped next to the telephone.

  “You can give her the call now. It’s okay,” Vanessa butted in from inside the office.

  The girl shrugged her shoulders and handed Angela the telephone through the Plexiglas window.

  “Be quick though, because we’re going out in ten minutes.”

  Angela rolled her eyes and started dialing numbers on the telephone. After a few rings her sister picked up.

  “Hello,” Ashley answered loudly.

  Angela momentarily moved the phone away from her ear and frowned. “Goodness, you’re loud,” she said.

  “Oh, hold on, Angie,” Ashley said. “Turn that radio down some, please!”