Then Comes Marriage (6 page)

“I’m not running,” I tell him, though maybe that’s exactly what I’m doing. “Just staying busy.”

Andy looks at me with more concern than he ever has before. “As long as you believe that.”
 

“It’s the truth.” But is it? Fuck, I don’t know.

Chapter Seven

Rachel

I wake, curled up with an empty bottle of wine, a headache, and a broken heart. For a split second when the early morning light first hit my eyes, I thought today was like any other day. My fiancé next to me, begrudgingly getting up for work while I crack a joke about how I get to sleep in. He’ll kiss me and slip his hand under the covers, fondling me while debating if we have enough time for a quickie.

The tears come along with the realization that he hasn’t tried that in a while. When was the last time we couldn’t resist our primal urges to get down and dirty in the morning, making Travis late for work? That was back when being together, expressing our love, was more important than anything else.
 

The wine bottle clinks against my engagement ring, driving the stake further into my heart. I roll over, bury my face in the pillow, and cry until I can’t resist my basic human needs—eat and pee—anymore. I go straight downstairs, not wanting to use the bathroom where the defamation of our relationship occurred, and then head to the kitchen for a healthy fruit salad breakfast.
 

And yes, I mean sangria.
 

I struggle with the cork for a minute, and then sink onto the kitchen floor, sipping my “breakfast”. My skin itches from the dried sweat I never washed off, though just the thought of stripping down and stepping where
she
stepped, where she stood, bent over as Travis fucked her, is enough to make me want to vomit. I wash down the lump in my throat with more sangria, which oddly helps. I wait until the alcohol numbs the pain to stand, then I get a jar of chocolate frosting and a bag of pretzels, and retreat to the living room.
 

This wasn’t supposed to be it. The story was supposed to end with a kiss and a happily ever after.
 

Tears sting my eyes. The blank pages before me are terrifying. Will my love story turn into a horror? I probably won’t even get that lucky. People like a good horror story. My life will become a boring tale, one left at the bottom of a bargain bin. Angrily, I wipe tears from my eyes, wanting to feel the blind rage I felt last night. I want to smash shit and scream. But all I feel is defeat.
 

Defeat and blank pages. The totally random unpredictability of the future used to excite me. The unknown is terrifying when you have to face it alone.
 

I get up, drink some water and feel almost immediately better. Looking at the empty cup in my hand causes the rage to come back. Without thinking, I turn and throw the glass against the wall.

How could he do this to me?
In the end, I’ll be glad I got out before the wedding. In the end, I’ll get through this. But right now it’s all I can do to keep from shattering into a million tiny pieces like the cup that smashed against the wall.

I can’t stay here. I don’t want to see Travis again. There’s no way to divide up stuff fairly, but fuck being fair. I should take whatever the hell I want and if I leave him a roll of toilet paper the bastard should be happy. Though I don’t want anything from the house. The decorations…even my beloved couch. It’ll only remind me of him and bring negative energy with it wherever it goes.
 

But my personal shit, like clothes, shoes, jewelry…that stuff is coming with me. And crap I have a lot of it. Too much to fit in the new luggage set I purchased just for the honeymoon. I hate the idea of stuffing my clothes in garbage bags, but if that’s what it takes, then so be it.

I come across Travis’s laptop in the spare bedroom as I’m gathering stuff. I stop and stare at it, nervously twisting my long blonde hair through my fingers.
 

Logic tells me to leave it alone. Why deepen the wound? But I threw logic and reasoning out the window yesterday when I caught the man I was supposed to marry red-handed. I sit on the floor and open his computer. It’s password protected, but I know the password. I’ve known it. He told me it. Because we trusted each other. We had nothing to hide.
 

I feel like I’m not really in my body again as I log onto his Facebook. I should stop. The damage is done and there is no need to further the hurt.
 

Yet I need to know.
 

The compulsion drives me, and now I’m looking at his messages. The most recent—and unread—is from Shana Rosten. I know her. She’s Travis’s supervisor, and the last time I checked, has a husband. We’ve gone out to dinner with them a few times, even had them over here for drinks.
 

She was the woman Travis was having sex with in the shower last night. Vomit rises in my throat. He was cheating on me with a married woman. I scan her message. It’s frantic, afraid I’m going to tell her husband. I screenshot everything, send it to myself, but don’t act on it. Not yet.
 

I scroll up through the message, unable to stop myself and instantly regret it when I read Travis’s words.

The Mrs is stuck at work. Wanna come over and have some fun? I’m overdo for it ;)
 

“Overdue?” I say. “Learn how to spell, asshole.”
 

There are several other women sending him messages. I rub my eyes, wondering if it’s possible to run out of tears, and decide enough is enough. This has obviously been going on for a while, and with more than one woman.

I slam the computer shut. Not only does it hurt that I wasn’t enough for Travis, but I feel so incredibly stupid. How the hell did I not know this was going on?

My phone dings when a texts comes through, and my heart skips a beat. I do and don’t want it to be Travis. There is no going back, no forgiving, yet it would be good for my non-existent self-esteem to have him fight for me. I leave his computer on the bed, not caring to put it back where I found it. I want him to know that I know everything.
 

The world spins around me, making the descent downstairs super fun. My phone is almost dead, which might be a good thing. With no way for calls to come through, I can’t obsessively wait for Travis to call. Because no matter how hard I’m trying to convince myself I don’t care, I do. I care a fucking lot.

The text is a picture of a bracelet—that looks like it might be a FitBit—from Lauren. I open it, see on closer inspection that the bracelets are Disney Fast-passes, and read what she typed:

I came home to find these waiting for me!! Noah is taking us to Disney World for my birthday!!
I’m excited for her. Because I know what’s going to happen at Disney World, and there couldn’t be a more perfect place for Noah to propose. And on her birthday at that. Her birthday is about a month after my wedding. I should have been still reeling from honeymoon bliss, getting home after two weeks in Hawaii when she leaves for Florida to have her dream guy propose. I put the phone back on the counter, unable to write a genuine reply right now. Besides, there is no way I’m going to upset my best friend during what should be one of the best times of her life.
 

I close my eyes and wonder how long I can keep this a secret. Better to keep everyone in the dark as long as possible, right? Spare them the heartache while I can. Only I can’t hide it from myself, and sooner rather than later, I’ll have to start making calls to cancel all things wedding.
 

A few minutes later, another text comes through. It’s another picture from Lauren, and the image of her daughter wearing Minnie Mouse ears makes me smile, dulling the pain for just a moment. She texted me a message as well, and I almost don’t want to read it. Good news shouldn’t feel like salt in the wound, and I’m hating myself for even thinking that. It’s not that I’m
not
happy for Lauren, it’s that good things remind me of what I lost. There’s not much room for logic there, I know.

Since when are emotions logical?

I take a steadying breath before looking at her message.

He even got my parents tickets! (It’s so they can watch Ella and we can go have fun. Shhh…don’t tell!) We’ve been talking about going to Disney for a while, but I didn’t know if it would work with Ella. You know I can’t leave her. But with my parents going, it’ll be perfect! I’m seriously freaking out with excitement!
 

After a slew of heart and smiling emojis, Lauren asks how I am, and reminds me to address the invitations. Hah. They’re nothing but a charred pile of empty promises at the bottom of the garbage can.

I put the phone down and rub my eyes. I really need to shower. After taking another swig of sangria, I get up and go to the kitchen sink. I’m just drunk enough to convince myself that splashing warm water on my face is enough of a cleansing to make it through a few more hours. Basically until I’m sober enough to realize that I stink.
 

And then I’m back to packing. I shove all my scrubs into a garbage bag, tie it shut, then remember that I have to work this afternoon. Fuckity-fuck. I need to stop drinking, that’s for sure. And I can’t put off showering for much longer.
 

Stepping where
her
bare feet last stood feels gross. Maybe her bare ass and tits smashed into the shower wall. Maybe she even used my shampoo, my soap, my loofa! My eyes narrow. No one uses my loofa. I march back downstairs and grab a bottle of Lysol from under the kitchen sink.
 

Five minutes later, I’m coughing from the fumes of cleaning product. But now the shower is disinfected enough for me to jump in. Then I get out and do my hair and makeup. One, to pass the time. Two, to cover up how shitty I feel inside. As much as I don’t want to go to work, not being home when Travis gets back is a good thing. And there’s a good chance he’ll be asleep when I get home. Especially since I don’t plan to come straight home from work. I want to avoid this place for as long as humanly possible.
 

~*~

It’s nearing one AM when I walk through the door. Out of all the nights to get stuck at work, tonight was not one of them. In fact, Heather showed up fifteen minutes early to help me finish anything I had fallen behind on. The nice yet small gesture was almost enough to cause my tightly wound cover to come undone. I hadn’t told anyone because I didn’t want pity, and I know that as soon as the first word about my ruined relationship spills from my mouth, tears will follow.
 

So instead of going home, I drove around for a while, then went to a 24-hour diner, ordered a cheeseburger and fries, and ate in my car. I would have stayed away longer, but dammit, I need sleep.

The house is quiet when I step inside. The glow from the TV illuminates the entryway enough for me to see in. I take my shoes off, set my purse down, and lock the door behind me.
 

“Rachel?”

His voice is like a thousand needles and my heart is the pin cushion. I should have stayed at a hotel. I can’t do this, can’t face him and hold it together.

“Who else would it be?” I grumble. “Oh wait. Maybe Shana. Or Jade. Or Caitlin.” I get a bit more confidence with each name I speak. Holding onto my resolve, I walk through the house and to the stairs.
 

“Wait,” he says when my foot lands on the first step. “Can’t we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say without turning around. “We’re done.”
 

“You’re just going to throw away three years?”

If I was a vampire, my fangs would be out. “I didn’t throw anything away,” I hiss, whirling around. If I had laser eyes, he’d be a pile of dust. “
You
threw it all away! I did nothing!”

“Exactly,” he shouts, standing from the couch. “You did nothing. Do you have any idea how lonely I’ve been?”

Oh hell no, he did not just say that. If anything was in my hand it would be thrown against his face. Fuck! He’s turning me into a villain!
 

“Don’t you dare even try to say this is my fault. The only
nothing
I’ve done is anything wrong! This is all
you
! You cheated on me. You betrayed everything we built.” I come at him fast, and he takes a step back. Good. You should be scared. The Evil Queen takes no prisoners. “I left my friends, left my family, left a fucking job for you! And for what? For you to get lonely? Boo-fucking-hoo. Did you play a tiny violin while you had your affairs? Make those other women feel bad for you so they’d give it up easy? If you’re trying to make
me
feel bad for you, congratulations, you’ve only made it worse.” I stare at him, right into those brown eyes I used to get lost in. Then I step back, swallowing down the words that are threatening to come out.

Mean words.
 

True words.
 

Words that are meant to cause pain. Words that I’ll regret later. Not because I didn’t mean them but because I believe the last words we say to each other shouldn’t be malicious. Eventually, the anger will fade and I’ll move on. In like ten years—but eventually. And I don’t want to be haunted by our parting words.
 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. If I could take it back, I would. Rachel, please.”

All I can do is shake my head. “And I’m sorry. But this isn’t something I can live with. You didn’t just flirt with some chicks online to boost your confidence. You had sex with them. You kissed them, then kissed me. You stuck your—” I can’t finish. Pain hits me and I double over, tears falling like rain.
 

“Oh, Rachel.” His hand lands on my shoulder. Warm. Familiar.
 

“No!” I twist away. “No! You don’t get to comfort me anymore. You don’t get anymore of me! I’m only here because I haven’t figured out where to go!”
 

“You don’t have to go anywhere. Stay! Please. Please Rachel!” He reaches for me and I swat his hand away.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t you dare touch me!”