Off the Record (Off #3)
Sawyer Bennett
Five years ago...
He’s gone.
I can’t believe he’s really gone.
Maybe he’ll come back. Maybe he’ll realize what a stupid, selfish decision he’s made and he’ll come back. He’ll beg forgiveness and after we make him grovel just a bit, we’ll open our arms up and tell him it’s okay. We’ll assure him that a moment of weakness is all it was. I know my mom can’t do it, but I’ll give him the strength and fortitude he’ll need to get us through this family disaster. I’ll take care of both him and mom, and he’ll see...that as a family, we can handle anything.
But deep down...I know he’s not coming back.
My tears have finally dried and I sit up in my bed. I rest my hand on my pillow, which is soaking wet from the rivers of sorrow I cried. My brain is thumping like a brass band has taken up residence inside. Cocking my head slightly, I can still hear my mom’s muffled sobs in her room next door. I think her tears may take a little longer to subside than mine.
Swinging my legs over the side of my bed, I stand. I’m a little wobbly but I guess that’s to be expected after lying here for almost two hours...just crying. My head feels fuzzy and my body weak. There is no time for that, however.
I need to go to my mom.
Opening her bedroom door, I see her lying on her side. She’s curled in a fetal position, with one of her pillows crushed to her chest. She’s trying to hold on to something, and sadly, a pillow is all she has.
I walk to the edge of the bed. Her eyes are closed but wet rivulets seep out from beneath her dark lashes. Her nose is bright red and her lips are dry.
With extreme gentleness, I pry the pillow out of her clutches. She doesn’t even open her eyes, but a warbled sound comes out of her throat, and fresh tears start pouring. I slip into bed and replace the pillow with my body. Her arms come around me, desperately clutching to my warmth. She buries her face into my neck, and now I can feel her tears streaming from her skin onto mine.
I reach up to stroke her hair, which is thin and brittle. I’m surprised it doesn’t break off in my hands.
“Shh, Mommy. It will be okay.”
My mom just sobs harder, and for the first time, my own grief starts to subside. In its place, I feel a boiling hatred start to manifest. It starts in the middle of my chest, and I can almost imagine liquid lava bubbling and expanding in my heart. It overflows, running through my veins. I can almost feel the heat in my fingertips and toes.
My mind turns dark. Angry, vicious thoughts consume me for the man who has just destroyed me and my mother.
My name is Ever Montgomery. I am sixteen years old and I vow to myself...I will never let something like this happen to me again.
Present day...
I quietly shut the door to my apartment, forever closing out a chapter of my life. I lean back against it, sighing to myself. I wait for the onslaught of tears to come but they don’t. My eyes remain dry and my heart remains cold.
On the other side of the door, I can hear my ex-fiancé walking away. His steps sound sure and confident. But then again, Marc has always been sure and confident. It’s without any bitterness that I admit Marc’s healthy ego is what attracted me to him in the first place. He was one of those men that always got what he went after. He pursued me mercilessly when we were undergrads at Duke and I eventually fell to his charm. He talked me into transferring to Columbia my senior year after he landed a swank job on Wall Street. He even had that knowing look on his face when he presented me with a three-carat stunner at Christmas...already knowing that I’d say yes to his proposal.
Marc’s confidence infused me with confidence that I could actually be in a healthy relationship. He had finally convinced my jaded heart to open up to the possibility of a happily ever after. My last semester at Columbia found me walking around with a dopey grin on my face while my diamond glinted in the Spring sun. I was marrying the man of my dreams and I had been offered a job at The New York Post where I had interned the previous summer. All was right in my world and my life was perfect.
But I should have known it was too good to be true.
Just three weeks shy of my graduation from Columbia’s School of Journalism, I was given a healthy dose of reality to bring my head back down from the clouds of love. My afternoon class was canceled so I was practically giddy to be going home early. I was so ready for college to be over with so I could join the real world. That place where I would have a satisfying career, I would marry my one true love and we would have two-point-three kids to raise in a posh, Connecticut suburb. I was relishing an afternoon of laziness and then I would cook a romantic meal for when Marc got home from work.
I should have figured something was wrong when I opened the apartment door and heard a banging noise coming from the bedroom. But I didn’t understand what it was. So I walked down the hallway, seeking out the cause. I remember thinking stupid things to myself. Like maybe the building manager was fixing something in the bedroom, or maybe Marc was home early and was hanging a picture on the wall.
I was so stupid. So naive.
Even those first few seconds, when I opened the door and found Marc’s naked body pumping away in between two tanned legs, I thought maybe intruders had broken in and were having sex in our bed. But then awareness crept in as soon as I recognized the small birthmark Marc had on his lower back.