F*ck Marriage(50)

“Why are you saying that?” I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders. The room feels like it’s shrinking in on us. Is this the way truth is supposed to feel—claustrophobic?

“Because I can see it all over your face. You’re falling for him again.”

If I try to deny it, Satcher will see right through me. I bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from lying.

“It’s none of your business, Satcher. You’re with Jules. Who I choose to spend my time with is not your concern.”

He’s in my face and I don’t know how it happened. One minute he was holding onto the doorknob, the next we’re virtually nose-to-nose.

“Say you want me. Say you want me and I’ll leave her to be with you.”

My pulse is pounding behind my ear; I can feel the flicker of it under my flesh. My mouth falls open ungracefully. I can smell his skin, his breath is lukewarm on my cheek. I’m tempted to reach out and pull his mouth toward me, but I’ve already made one mistake tonight by kissing Woods.

“No.” I turn my face away. “I can’t ... Jules…”

He’s already backing up, a sad expression on his face.

“I need another drink,” I say, standing up.

I make it out the door and halfway to the kitchen before I feel his hands on me. Suddenly the floor is no longer beneath my feet. I gasp as Satcher tosses me over his shoulder and carries me back to my bedroom. He tosses me on the bed and I glare up at him too angry to speak.

He points a finger at me. “No more drinking.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he turns his back to me.

“Sometimes, Billie, God sends an ex back into your life to see if you’re still stupid.”

He’s gone before I can throw something at his head. I cry myself to sleep. Sober.





Chapter Twenty-Five





There are all kinds of reasons people get divorced: they grow apart, there is abuse, they were never in love in the first place, they want different things…

But when two people get divorced because one of them let a third person into the marriage, the person who was left behind faces years of psychological warfare they launch against themselves. Your person didn’t love you enough. Do you know how devastating that is? To realize you weren’t loved enough. I spent two years asking myself what I could have done better, scouring my memories for signs that he was unhappy. Why didn’t he tell me? I could have changed, I could have tried harder, I could have…

Maybe I shouldn’t have waited to be better. Is that the problem with all of us—we need a reminder to be a decent wife, a decent daughter, a decent mother? It doesn’t matter now anyway.



On Monday morning, I head to work, my shiner hidden behind a pair of huge sunglasses I borrow from Jules’ closet. I tried caking makeup over it, but that just made it more obvious. To my utter dismay, Woods is waiting for me when I open my office door.

“God, you scared me.” I walk past him, tossing my things on my desk.

“I wanted to talk to you about—”

“Nothing to talk about,” I say dismissively.

My stomach clenches. I don’t want to hear how he regrets kissing me. Apologies of that sort make the heart hurt.

“Stop, Billie, queen of avoidance. We need to discuss what happened.”

“No.” For a moment, I forget about my black eye and look directly at him.

“What happened?” He’s on me in a minute, pulling off my sunglasses and examining my eye.

“Nothing. It was an accident.”

He has my chin between his fingers and I can feel his breath on my face.

“What type of accident?”

I pause. “I took an elbow to the face, it’s nothing.”

Woods’ face darkens. “Whose elbow?”

“For God’s sake, Woods,” I say, pulling away from him. “No one beat me up if that’s what you’re insinuating. Aside from you, of course. But the heart is easily hidden.”

I drop into my chair, but Woods stays where he is.

“Billie, what happened at the bar—”

“Stop it…” I cover my ears with my hands, and when I realize how childish I must look, I drop them. “You—we were drunk. You don’t need to say anything.” I wiggle my mouse and my screen jumps to life. I’m praying that’s enough for him and he’ll leave, but when I look up he’s still standing there.

“That’s just it. I wasn’t that drunk.”

I stare.

“I wasn’t that drunk,” he says again.

He walks over to the chair facing my desk, the one Satcher always sits in, and drops into it. Outside my window it starts to rain, water beading the glass and then trickling away.

“You left so quickly after … we never got the chance to talk. I wanted to explain.”

I raise my eyebrows. My mouth is dry, my heart pounding out my grief.

“You knew where I was.”

“You’re right. I was a coward. After what I did I was afraid to face you, especially on your turf.”

I fold my hands on my lap so he can’t see them shaking. Why am I like this? I need to be stronger ... harder. I came back here to prove myself and I can’t even control my body’s reaction to him.