Lustly(4)

I was frozen, unable to respond in any way. How could this monster act as if nothing was wrong? How could he look at me and feel no guilt whatsoever?

“Sorry. The girls wanted food, so I stopped. Plus I need to go to the grocery store in the morning. We’re out of everything.”

Was I standing there talking to that douche like nothing had occurred?

Yes, I was.

The downstairs became crowded with children, and I knew it wasn’t the time or place. Using a headache as an excuse, I went up to bed a little while later. I wanted to soak in the tub, but walking into my bathroom and remembering what had taken place made me collapse to the floor in a ball. He’d tainted our home, our family, and most importantly all of my dreams. This man that I’d promised to love for the rest of my life, for better or for worse, had destroyed me, and I had no idea how I was going to find an inch of hope out of it.

My husband, whose real name is Charles, but we’ll go with Mr. Shit Stains for now, came to bed a couple hours later. By that time I’d turned to my side and pretended to be asleep. I was too exhausted from crying to talk about it. I just laid there, my eyes closed but never falling asleep, listening to him snoring as if nothing was wrong with the world.

I imagined all of the ways I could kill him while he slept, first by smothering him with a pillow. He’d be too strong and push me off of him. Then I thought about slicing his throat. The mess would be too hard to get out of my five-hundred thread count sheets. I imagined dumping drain cleaner or anti-freeze into his open mouth, all the while laying there calmly next to him.

Sleep never came.



Knocking made me jump off the toilet and look up from inside of the bathroom stall. “Ma’am, you alright in there?”

I’d been reliving the past night while still in the bathroom at the grocery store. I grabbed a wad of toilet paper before responding. “Yes, just finishing up.”

It was embarrassing enough to have to take a number two in public, but to have someone talking to you while it was happening was just ridiculous. I waited for the woman to leave before stepping out, and then I did what every woman would have done in my situation.

I hauled ass out of the store without going to the register or making eye contact with anyone I passed. Even though it was the most convenient to my house, I’d never go back there again in fear of personal humiliation from being known as the woman who got the shits.





Chapter 2


For the first two days I think I went into some kind of denial. I mean, if I blocked it out of my mind it didn’t hurt so much. I could pretend that nothing was happening and there was no way I’d ever have to move out of my wonderful home, and share custody of my beautiful children. They kept me busy, running them here and there, and for once I was grateful to have so much to keep me occupied.

My time in denial came to a direct halt when my husband had to go on a business trip. Where I should have looked forward to not having to pretend to have headaches, or be too tired to communicate with him, I found myself dwelling on the fact that my neighbor was also out of town.

I thought about burning her house down, dousing it with gasoline and watching the bitch burn to the ground. I mean, it certainly would have put a smile on my face knowing that in some ways I’d destroyed a part of her life that meant something, like she’d done to me. Even though I hated what he was doing, my heart still ached for that love that he was clearly giving her, which had once been all mine.

The last straw was when I finally decided that I needed to know how long it had been going on, and if she was the only one.

It took me literally two attempts to figure out his personal password on his separate bank account. Once inside I had to sift through charges that coincided with when we weren’t together. Sure enough, there were local hotel stays when he’d said he was working out of town, including the one he was currently staying at.

Two miles away.

That son of a bitch had been f*cking my neighbor in a hotel that was within walking distance of our house. Anyone could have seen him.

After pacing around the kitchen, flailing my arms and talking myself into a stupor, I decided that I had to get myself together. My mother, who was in a nursing home, after suffering from a stroke, was no help to me. My aunt, who’d always been the second person I’d turned to, was on a cruise with her new husband, and my brother was in Afghanistan working as a medical pilot.

None of them could help me.

I picked up my phone and sifted through my contacts, wondering who I could call for advice, but after considering that most of my friends were my children’s friend’s parents, I knew I didn’t want them knowing my business.

I was going to have to take matters into my own hands if I wanted my kids to be able to come out of this without having to go into therapy.

I don’t know what made me snap. Honestly I was fine one moment and the next I was in my mini-van driving straight to the hotel like a bat out of hell. Now, a smart person would have hidden their vehicle out of plain sight, or at least worn a disguise to prevent the person they were spying on from catching them.

Obviously I wasn’t worried about being smart. Hell, if he would have walked out of that hotel the moment I spotted both of their cars I think I would have run them over, repeatedly, and then sped off, while they bled out.

Reaching degrees for a boiling point was hard for me to do. I’d had years to practice being patient, tolerating more than a fair share of fights, sicknesses, and kid drama. I knew how to walk away and take a few breaths before losing control and doing something that I’d regret, but still some part of me needed a reason to feel empowered. I needed some kind of release, and I’m not talking about sexually.