Diary of a Mistress

by Miasha

  “Monica, I am your friend,” Rita said, taking a step toward her. “I wouldn’t do no shit like that. I knew you since the fourth grade!”

  “That’s the sad part, Rita! You were my best friend since I was nine years old. You was there when I met Carlos. You was my bridesmaid! You’re my kids’ god-mom! Don’t fuckin’ come near me, Rita! I swear to God, Rita. I will fuckin’ hurt you!”

  Rita took another step toward Monica. She knew Monica was upset, but she doubted her friend would do as she threatened. First of all, Rita was sure she could beat Monica. Monica wasn’t the fighting type, and besides, Rita had about fifty pounds on her. Second, she didn’t believe Monica had it in her to swing on her again.

  “Monica,” Rita said as she held her arms out as if to hug her.

  Monica swung her hands at Rita, and grazed Rita’s extended arms.

  “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” Monica screamed. She picked up a framed picture of Rita that sat on the same side table as the lamp Monica had thrown.

  “ALL RIGHT, ENOUGH IS FUCKIN’ ENOUGH,” Rita shouted, no longer able to control her anger.

  “What the fuck are you going to do?” Monica asked, further provoking Rita.

  Rita leaped at her friend and grabbed for the picture. But Monica quickly threw the picture at Rita, hitting her in the face. Rita went off. She started swinging on Monica. Monica swung back wildly and out of control. The two of them ended up tumbling over Rita’s recliner chair, knocking it on its side, and landing on the floor. Rita was on top, pushing Monica’s face into the carpet. Rita had tried to get up off of her, but Monica had a grip on her hair. So, with one hand she held Monica’s face to the floor, and with the other she tried to detangle Monica’s delicate, manicured fingers from her hair. Rita stood up and quickly reached for the phone. Meanwhile, Monica was getting up and gathering her things that were scattered about, including the diary.

  “I’m calling the police,” Rita said, out of breath, pressing 911 quickly.

  “What the fuck, you gonna have me arrested?” Monica shouted, as she looked around for her pocketbook.

  “That’s right! I’ma have ya ass arrested,” Rita said. She had lost any sympathy she had for Monica. She looked around at her trashed living room and Monica became her worst enemy.

  Monica put down the diary and jumped at Rita, starting the fight again. Rita defended herself, raising the phone against Monica’s face. Monica tried to block it, but failed. The phone clocked her right in the mouth, drawing blood. Monica was furious. She started swinging on Rita again, striking her all over. The police dispatcher could be heard screaming hello repeatedly, while the phone lay faceup on the floor. All the while Monica and Rita were brawling in the middle of Rita’s living room.

  Within a short period of time the police arrived at Rita’s front door. Rita was right there to greet them.

  “GET HER OUT OF HERE! GET HER OUT OF MY HOUSE!” Rita demanded of the police officer.

  “Ma’am, would you like to press charges?” one of the officers asked Rita as the other officer removed Monica from Rita’s front steps.

  Rita thought about it. She knew if she said yes, Monica would be hauled off to jail, and even though she was pissed enough she couldn’t care less if Monica spent the night in a cell, she really didn’t want that. She still had love for Monica. She was her best friend; she was family.

  “No, I don’t need to press charges. Just get her the hell away from here,” Rita responded.

  “Let me get my stuff!” Monica yelled from the pavement.

  “Does she have belongings here?” the officer asked Rita.

  “Here,” Rita said, handing the cop Monica’s pocketbook.

  “What about my book?” Monica screamed, crying uncontrollably.

  Rita walked back inside her house to retrieve the diary.

  “Here! Take this shit. It got you going crazy, looking like a damn fool!” Rita shouted. She threw the diary down to Monica from her porch.

  The officer put his finger up to his lips, signaling Rita to keep quiet. The other officer picked the diary up off the ground and handed it to Monica.

  One officer turned to Monica and began to explain, “Now, she’s not gonna press charges. So you won’t be going to jail tonight. But you’re gonna have to leave her property.”

  “That’s fine. That’s fine. I wanna go home. I wanna see my children. I just want my children,” Monica cried.

  Chapter 10

  “What do I owe you?” Monica asked.

  The taxi driver pointed to the meter and said, “Five twenty.”

  Monica pulled her wallet from her pocketbook and counted out seven one-dollar bills. “Here you go,” she said, then got out of the cab.

  “Thank you,” the driver said, before pulling off down the empty street.

  Monica walked up her driveway, glancing inside her car as she passed by it. She approached the steps to her house and grew anxious. Through the window she could see that the living room TV was on. She had hoped Carlos would be asleep. She was too upset to face him. She knew that one word out of his mouth was likely to set her off, and she didn’t want another fight. But she desperately wanted to see her boys. She needed them in her arms.

  Monica carefully unlocked the door, leaving it cracked. She peeked in the living room and noticed Carlos was asleep on the couch. She crept past him and up the stairs into one son’s room. “Chris,” Monica whispered as she nudged his arm. “Wake up, honey,” she said, and she picked Chris up and put him over her shoulder.

  “Mommy?” Chris asked, wiping his eyes, still half asleep.

  “Yes, baby, it’s me,” Monica said, holding him tight.

  With Chris in her arms, Monica walked down the hall to C.J.’s room. She woke him from his sleep and held his hand, guiding him down the stairs.

  “Mom, where are we going?” C.J. asked with a yawn.

  “Shh,” Monica said. “We don’t want to wake up Daddy.”

  “Monica?” Carlos whispered, as he awakened to see his wife picking up the car keys from the coffee table.

  “Monica, what are you doing?” he asked, confused.

  Monica ignored her husband. “Chris and C.J, go wait in the car,” she said, and she walked over to the front door. She pressed the unlock button on the car’s key remote. Carlos followed his wife and sons to the door.

  “Monica, what are you doing? It’s one o’clock in the morning. The boys need to be in bed.”

  “Me and the boys are going to my mom’s,” she told him sternly. Then she mumbled, “Don’t act like you know what’s best for them. You’re the reason they had crabs at three years old!”

  Carlos had a confused look on his face.

  “Listen, Monica, you need to talk to me and get whatever information straightened out. Our kids don’t need to be woken out of their sleep in the middle of the night for this nonsense!” Carlos stated.

  Monica knew she was too upset to have a civilized talk with him. She just wanted to take her kids and leave.

  “Good-bye, Carlos,” Monica said as she started toward the car.

  Carlos grabbed Monica’s arm and turned her to face him.

  “You’re not taking my children anywhere this late!”

  Monica shrugged away from him. “Don’t put your hands on me!”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Carlos asked, still confused.

  “All right!” Monica said. “You wanna know? I can handle you messin’ around on me. I can handle you gettin’ another woman pregnant. And somehow, I was able to handle the fact that my kids got crabs from their trifling, cheatin’-ass father. But you went and fucked Rita! My best friend for years!”

  Carlos was perplexed. “I did none of the above, Monica. Rita? Come on now, I would never disrespect you like that. Somebody lied to you. And until you’re ready to hear me out, you are not leaving this house,” Carlos said.

  “You would say that, Carlos!” Monica said, becoming more upset. “Of course you’re gonna deny it!
That’s what you men do! Now, I don’t want to discuss this with you right now. I just need to be with my kids and away from you!” she shouted, and turned away from him.

  Carlos grabbed Monica and again she shrugged away from him, this time with more force than before.

  “I SAID DON’T PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME!” Monica screamed, with hate in her tone.

  “Quiet down! We have neighbors, and it’s too damn early in the morning!” Carlos said, becoming frustrated as he headed toward the car where Chris and C.J. were sitting in the backseat. “I’m putting the boys back to bed. If you want to take them to your mom’s, you can do it tomorrow. They need to be in their beds asleep, not put in the middle of your madness!” Carlos said. He stormed past Monica.

  “Leave my kids right where they are!” Monica shouted, and she gripped Carlos’s arm.

  “They’re my kids too!” Carlos said as he broke loose from Monica’s grip.

  Monica walked up on Carlos and grabbed him by his T-shirt.

  “Leave my kids where they are!”

  Carlos turned around and shoved Monica slightly. Then he moved to get his children out of the car. But right before he could open the car door, he heard the click of the car’s lock mechanism. Monica had pressed the lock button with the remote.

  Chris and C.J. looked confused and scared at the sight of their mom and dad fighting.

  “Monica, open the got damn doors!” Carlos commanded.

  “No! Let us go! I’m not staying here with you tonight! Why can’t you accept that?” Monica responded.

  “Well, then, you go to your mom’s. Leave the kids here!” Carlos ordered.

  “I’m not leaving my kids here with you!” Monica shot back, her voice dripping with attitude.

  Carlos was beginning to lose his temper, and his patience was wearing thin. He turned around to face his wife, who was a few steps behind him. She tried to brush past him and get in the car, but he wasn’t about to let her take his kids. He gripped her and pinned her against the wall, leaving her feet dangling slightly off the ground. He forcefully snatched the car keys out of her hand and then let her go. He pressed the button to open the car doors.

  “Y’all go back to bed,” Carlos instructed his sons as he approached the car again. “Everything will be all right; your mom and me need to talk.”

  Meanwhile, Monica yelled, “No! Get back in the car.”

  Not knowing who to listen to, the twins started to cry.

  “This has gone too far!” Carlos shouted, pulling Chris and C.J. from the backseat.

  “Mommy,” Chris cried out as Carlos breezed past Monica carrying both the boys. Monica followed behind Carlos cursing and screaming: “I CAN’T STAY IN THIS HOUSE WITH YOU! GIVE ME MY KIDS AND THE KEYS AND LET ME LEAVE!” she yelled at the top of her lungs.

  All the while, the twins were still crying. Carlos put them down and used his hands to wipe their tears. “Go back to bed,” he told them as he walked them up the stairs. Monica continued to fuss, begging Carlos to let her take the keys.

  Carlos walked into the kitchen, trying to get away from his wife. He opened the refrigerator, took out a jug of water, and started to drink straight from it. He needed to cool off. Monica entered the kitchen, still at it.

  “GIVE ME THE FUCKIN’ KEYS! GIVE ME THE FUCKIN’ KEYS! LET ME LEAVE! WHY ARE YOU TRYIN’ TO KEEP ME HERE! LET ME GO!”

  Carlos was sick of hearing Monica rant and rave like she was crazy. With the force of a pitcher throwing a fast-ball, he threw the car keys straight at her. Carlos didn’t budge when the keys hit Monica in the face. Instead, he continued drinking from the water jug. Monica was furious already, and getting hit in the face with the keys just added fuel to the fire. She lost control of herself. She lunged at Carlos, knocking him to the floor, and started pounding him in the chest with her fists. He was squirming, struggling to move from beneath her, but it seemed she had the strength of a man. She kept pounding him with her fists, pouring all of her anger out. Eventually Carlos just stopped. His body had shut down. He was unconscious. He was lifeless. Finally, Monica regained control of herself, bringing her hands to a halt. She started experiencing a piercing pain in her hand. Her eyes widened with fear when she realized she was covered in blood. She looked down at Carlos’s limp body. It too was bloody, and there were a bunch of puncture wounds in his chest, shoulder, and arm. His eyes were half closed, and his head was drooped sideways.

  “Daddy!” Chris and C.J. yelled out from the entrance-way to the kitchen.

  Monica quickly stood up and turned to face her sons. She ran over to them and hugged them tight, trying to keep them from seeing what she had done. She backed them out of the kitchen and took them up to the bathroom. Then she ran bathwater as she undressed them individually.

  “Oh goodness, Mommy got blood on your clothes,” she said softly, tears streaming down her face.

  “What happened to Daddy?” the boys asked, frightened.

  Monica ignored them, mumbling under her breath. “Mommy’s going to get you two nice and clean and in some fresh pajamas.”

  “Mommy,” C.J. whined, “why were you and Daddy fighting?”

  “What happened to Daddy?” Chris asked again.

  Monica continued to ignore her sons’ questions, rambling on about getting them changed. They cried and whined to their mother, asking about their father.

  “Is Daddy hurt?” Chris asked.

  Monica stopped what she was doing and looked up at Chris. She saw fear in his eyes. She suddenly rushed out of the bathroom, leaving her boys behind.

  “Carlos!” Monica yelled over the banister.

  “CARLOS! CARLOS!” Monica screamed louder.

  Monica began to panic. She rushed into her bedroom and scrambled around in complete darkness, knocking things over and tripping over unpacked luggage looking for the telephone. Meanwhile, the boys’ cries could be heard from the bathroom, along with the running water.

  Her mind was racing. She needed help. More important, her husband needed help.

  “CARLOS! CARLOS!” Monica yelled, hoping for a response.

  No response. Monica gave up trying to locate her phone and walked frantically into the bathroom, where she turned off the running water. She grabbed both of her kids and cuddled them into her chest, trying to comfort them.

  “Stop crying, everything is all right. Mommy and Daddy are fine. Shh, shh,” Monica said, rocking her children in her arms.

  “CARLOS!” Monica screamed while still holding her children. “ANSWER ME! CARLOS!”

  Monica released her children. “Listen, you two stay in here until I come back upstairs, okay?” She rushed down the steps and went into the kitchen. It was a mess. There was blood everywhere. Glass from the jug was scattered about. Monica made her way carefully through the mess and picked up the kitchen phone. Beside the phone was a note with a phone number written on it, reminding Monica of the dinner reservations she had made for their ten-year wedding anniversary. Her emotional pain worsened.

  “Hello,” Monica sobbed.

  “Hello?”

  “Mom!”

  “Monica?”

  “Mom, I need the police,” Monica managed to say.

  “Monica, what’s wrong?” Monica’s mother asked, extremely concerned.

  “Mom, Carlos isn’t moving,” Monica sobbed.

  “Monica, stop crying. I can’t understand you,” her mother said.

  “It’s Carlos, Mom. He isn’t moving. I keep calling his name. He won’t answer. I need the police.”

  “Monica, I’m hanging up and dialing 911,” Monica’s mother told her, not completely sure what was going on but knowing something was seriously wrong.

  “Hurry up, Mom, please,” Monica pleaded as she leaned her back against the wall. She looked over at her husband’s still and bloody body. She looked at her hands. They were cut up and smeared with blood as well. She dropped the phone, letting it dangle, bouncing off the wall. Slowly she slid down the wall to the floor, where she remained, s
cared to death, weeping, and screaming.

  “CARLOS!”

  Chapter 11

  Angela stared out of the van’s window, watching the busy early morning traffic. She was being transported to Norristown State Hospital to learn her fate. She smiled as she watched a group of teenage girls cross the street in their school uniforms. They reminded her of her own school days. Back when she and her now ex-husband were voted cutest couple and she and her friends were always joking around in class, cutting school and going to the mall, or participating in the school shows. Her happiest years were spent in high school, and she missed them dearly.

  The driver pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. He and Angela entered the lobby and proceeded to the conference room where the hearing was to be held. The butterflies in her stomach were making her feel sick. She was praying to God every five seconds in her head. Please God, let Dr. Whitaker be here. Please let Ashley be on time. Please let them let me go.

  The conference room was empty, with the exception of a young black guy dressed in a suit. He was sitting at the end of a long table, sipping coffee and reading a newspaper.

  “Good morning,” Angela greeted the unfamiliar man as she sat beside him.

  The man said hello and continued what he was doing. Angela couldn’t help peeking over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the headlines. As she was scanning the paper, she came across an article about a woman who had almost stabbed her husband to death after finding out about an affair. Oh my God, Carlos? she thought to herself as she attempted to read the article thoroughly.

  “Excuse me, sir, I don’t mean to be invading your space or anything, but can I read that article right there?” Angela asked, pointing to the page. “If you’re not reading it,” she added.

  “Oh sure,” he answered, removing the page and giving it to Angela.

  Angela’s worst fear was confirmed: Carlos Vasquez, a Temple University aerobics instructor, is in critical condition in Frankford Torresdale Hospital, where he suffers from multiple stab wounds allegedly inflicted by his wife, Monica Vasquez.