Bereft (Seven Year Itch #2)(11)

He took in the room, noticing two glasses on the table and a bottle of bourbon. “Are you drunk?”

I rolled my eyes and glanced in another direction. “I wish.”

“We need to talk. I’ve been calling you all day.” I knew he was staring at me, even though I couldn’t peer in his direction to prove it.

“When I’m ready to speak to you, you’ll know it. Until then, I have nothing to say.”

He sat down anyway, ignoring my comment. “I haven’t slept, and I’ve been sick since I last saw you. Please, babe. I know you’re angry.”

“Angry? Is that what you’d call it? You disgraced me. You ruined our lives.”

“We can fix it. It meant nothing to me. I swear. You have to believe me.”

“All I have to do is get away from you. Don’t you understand? Can’t you see how much you’ve destroyed our relationship. Nothing can erase the images I have in my mind –nothing. You’ve made your bed. Go lie in it with your little whore of a girlfriend.”

His sobs didn’t surprise me. I’d seen him emotional before, but this time I couldn’t empathize. “Please forgive me,” he begged.

“No. I won’t.” I started to cry. “I can’t. I’ll never be able to trust you again. Maybe it’s best if we just call this what it is.”

“What?” He asked.

“It’s the end of us.” My teeth were chattering as the words exited my mouth. It hurt worse than anything I’d ever experienced in my life. It was as if every single beautiful moment we’d shared had been removed from my mind. The only thing to remain was hate and betrayal. He’d killed my ability to see beyond his so–called mistake. Within the past twenty-four hours I’d lost too much. I couldn’t consider patching things up, not now, and possibly not ever. “I need you to go,” I managed to say.

“Tell me what to do,” he continued. “Tell me what I have to do to make this right. I’m not giving up on us. You’re everything to me. I’m so sorry, Rachel.”

I covered my face with my hands, unable to control the emotions I was experiencing. As angry as I was with my husband, I couldn’t bear to hear his pleading and not feel some kind of remorse. After all, he was the only man I loved, and even though he’d broken my heart, that kind of attachment didn’t disappear. “I don’t know. I can’t answer that. I can’t even look at you without feeling like my heart is being ripped from my chest. This isn’t fair, Grayson. It’s not fair to sit there and ask me what to do. You made this mess. I’m not the one who has to fix it.”

My husband was bawling. He stood and walked into the kitchen to wash off his face. I managed to get up and make it into the bathroom, where I filled my hands with toilet paper and blew my nose. When it got quiet I headed back out and found him sitting on the couch with his hands folded. His eyes were bloodshot, and it was obvious he hadn’t been to sleep. “Rachel, I love you. It’s always been you.”

I nodded, but didn’t respond to his statement. Instead, I simply put on a brave face and sat down across from him. I placed both hands on my knees and held my head down to stare at the glasses on the table. “Like I told you before, I need time. I can’t handle this. If you came here for forgiveness, you’re not going to get it, at least not now.”

“Tell me there’s still a chance. I’ll do anything. We can go to therapy. We can move to another location.”

“Wait,” I took a second to comprehend what he was willing to do. “You want me to uproot my life because of your mistakes? That’s never going to happen.”

He acknowledged my reply and stood to leave the room. I remained in the same position, stunned this was happening. A part of me believed it was all a terrible nightmare, and at any moment I’d wake and find him snoring next to me. I’d still have my job, and our happy life. I’d still have hope for a future with the two people who I loved with my whole heart.

I listened to him climbing the stairs. I heard the sounds of his dresser drawers opening and shutting. I even recognized the sound of a suitcase zipper. Then his feet were coming back down the steps, one by one, getting closer to leaving again.

A part of me wanted to beg him to stay. I wanted to take his ideas and run away where we could start over. I needed to be able to forget. I wanted to cross an ocean of sand, erasing the past with each mile we traveled. Then the rational part, whatever was left, knew it would never be possible. This would forever be etched into my brain, constantly reminding me of the pain, and broken promises. I had to be strong, for my dignity, for my sanity, but mostly for my future, if I wanted to have one.

“This isn’t over, Rachel. I’ll give you space, but I’m going to keep stopping by until you change your mind. We’ll fix this, no matter how much time it takes.”

“Goodbye, Grayson,” I managed to get out before he closed the door behind him. It killed me inside knowing each and every time I pushed him away he could be running to be with her. I hated myself for thinking it. I wanted to believe he was sorry. More than anything I wanted him to hold me and make the pain subside. It just wasn’t going to happen, because he was the cause of the pain. He was the reason I couldn’t sleep, eat, or go into public without breaking down. I feared running into someone I knew who would ask about my family – about Grayson. We lived in a small area in the suburbs of Baltimore. Even though Maryland was a tiny state, it was overpopulated. Thankfully, we found a little historic town located near the train station, where I could ride into D.C. instead of having to commute by car. Amenities were an easy drive as well. The grocery store was less than a mile away, and there was a family-owned hardware store next to it. If we wanted to go big time shopping, or to a mall, we’d have to drive about thirty minutes. The people I didn’t want to run into were the neighbors – every one of them. People were nosey. Most of mine were friendly to a fault. They knew everything about everything. I wondered how many had seen Kyla at my house and wondered if she was screwing around with my husband. I was curious to know if they’d been seen in public. The thought caused me to cringe. There was no way I could face the scrutiny I’d receive. I couldn’t hear their whispers and not assume they were talking about me. I didn’t want to.