The Mistress, Part Two (13 page)

Marissa found herself in Preston’s hotel room, and they were talking. Talking, not screaming, not accusing. It surprised her that their words were civil, and she was glad of it. She knew that she had to deal with whatever was happening between the two of them before she drowned in her own mess. She didn’t want to lead Joseph on, and she sure as hell didn’t want to lead Preston on.

They talked, and they talked some more. There were tears, and he admitted that he hadn’t told her everything. When he was going to, she stopped him. She didn’t care to hear any more. She didn’t need to. She knew what she needed to know, and it was that he was not the man she needed as her husband.

She took a sip of the coffee he had graciously had made for her in his room and shifted in the uncomfortable desk chair. He spoke – more than he ever had before – and she listened. She didn’t just hear him, she actually listened. He told her he needed help. He told her he didn’t want to be married to her, because he knew – and had always known – that they weren’t going to work out.

              He fed her something along the lines of “you’re too good for me”, and she wanted to punch him in the face. It sounded like bullshit, but then he broke down. See, she had known he needed help, and she had already been researching therapists for him, and Joseph had recommended one. “Joseph suggested this really great therapist if –” she began, but was interrupted. He completely lost it. Their civil conversation was obviously over.

“I do have a problem, and I do need help, but you’re always ‘Joseph this, Joseph that – Joseph, Joseph, Joseph’. Well, how about you ask Joseph what his issues are and what he’s lying about!” he screamed, his jaw shaking with what looked like a mix between anger and a resentful knowingness. She wasn’t quite sure what he was getting at, but she sure as shit wanted to know – she didn’t want to repeat her offense of choosing the wrong man.

She was curious as to what Preston had to say about Joseph. She wanted to know – and he had been hiding things, she knew that. He had been strange, but she assumed they would come out in time. Probably her naïve mistake, she thought, but nonetheless she had no claim on Joseph, and some of his business was just that – his business. It had nothing to do with her. But if Preston had something to say, she damn well wanted to know what it was.

              “You’re asserting blame where I don’t really see any, unless you have something to share?” she challenged, and he looked at her as if she was an idiot, and maybe she was. But it didn’t mean that he had the right to look at her like that. She fumed, and just as she was about to kill him with angry words, he spoke again. “You saw Joseph’s resume, right? Ask him what he did before he worked for you! Just ask him.”

              “Why don’t you just tell me?” she challenged again, getting more frustrated by the second.

              “He worked for me, Marissa. He was my fucking assistant. Arrogant tool of a fucking assistant, and I wanted an excuse to do what I pleased, so I hired him to seduce you!” He breathed. “Then, and only then, I was going to send a letter to the higher ups, and he’d have a job almost equal to my own at one of our sister locations,” he confessed, throwing himself off the bed and into her face.

              “You hired him to sleep with me? Why?” she shot as she stood, forcing the desk chair to topple behind her.

              She was disgusted. With Preston, with Joseph, with herself. She didn’t know what the hell to do anymore; she didn’t know who to trust. Preston had mentioned that he wanted an excuse, an excuse for what, he wasn’t clear. Whether or not it was an excuse out of the marriage or even just an excuse to sleep with other women – it didn’t really matter. He was low. Lower than low.

He sure as
hell
needed therapy. But shit, so did she after all the shit she had been through in the last few days.

              She knew how to pick them – knew how to pick them, indeed. Joseph had begun working at Made with Love by Marissa just to sleep with her. She didn’t ask what happened with the agreement, because she didn’t need to. She assumed she knew what happened. It was in one of the first weeks he had been working there that he had first made a move on her.

              When she turned him down, Preston had probably fired him. And there he was, stuck at the bakery with her. And then he continued to lie. He had lied to her for so long, to her fucking face. She wondered what it felt like to live a lie like Preston and Joseph both had done. She wondered if she could be as heartless as both of the men in her life were. She wondered.

~~~

              “Are you fucking kidding me?” Joseph reacted just the way she thought he might. “He said that shit?”

              “Tell me it’s not true,” Marissa responded – almost questioningly. She didn’t want to believe Preston, but it was too crazy to be formulated.

              “Well – sort of –” he began.

              “Sort of what? Sort of true or sort of untrue? What does that even mean?” she asked, her heart breaking all over again.

              “No matter. It’s sort of true and sort of untrue. He did pay me to do that, but I got hired and hit on you, and you turned me down, and then we became friends and I gave him his dirty ass money back! I gave up my entire life to work in a bakery for minimum wage! There were no other motives other than to get out of a world like that and to be absorbed in the world of people like you! Genuine people!” he ranted, but she really didn’t want to hear any more. She was just about to head out and away from him forever – until he grabbed her and pulled her into a hug.

She didn’t know why people continued to hug her when she didn’t want to be hugged. She tensed and hoped he would release her. He didn’t.

              “He was my husband. You still saw him! So you accomplished nothing in this martyr bullshit new life that you sought after!” she screamed into his chest, eager for him to let her go.

              “Did he tell you about all of his stalking allegations? And that’s when I knew that I wanted to stay by your side – no matter if I saw him! He’s crazy, and he can’t be trusted!” he yelled, his face full of emotion as he pulled her away from him at arm’s length. “And I fell for you instantly!”

              And then she felt it all over again: stalking allegations? What the hell was happening? Why was all of this so crazy? When had her life become so dramatic? When did it flip upside down like this? Why did she not know anything at all anymore? She let Joseph explain it all, and what she heard terrified her – and it made her wonder who the
fuck
she had been married to for so many years.

              Joseph had explained that Preston had been lucky he had so much money, because he had the money to get good lawyers time and time again. He said that for as long as he worked for Preston, he never saw him pinned with any sort of charge. If he had, she would have known – and because he had gotten out of all of it, he had also gotten off the hook from telling his wife.

              She’d never know. Or so he thought – but now, it held no merit. Now she didn’t give a shit, because it was over. And she knew it was over. He had betrayed her in so many ways that she didn’t care if he
did
get the help he needed; she didn’t care if he could change. She couldn’t forget it all. Perhaps she could forgive, but she would not forget it.

We fear the unknown, and she knew that was why she was even considering the entertaining possibility of forgiving Preston to the point of staying when it first all went to shit. He was comfortable; he had been there for so long that he was all she knew, but then it hit her – not very long afterwards, and now the notion seemed even more so – he was still unknown.

She had just learned all the incriminating details of his secret life for the past God knows how many years. If he could hide all of that without her realizing it – did she even know him at all? Did she ever? Did she even love him? How did she not notice? He was either that good, or she was that blind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

              She could tell Preston was losing control, and she wanted to be there for him. So when he called her, despite a part of her that gnawed at her soul and screamed at her to stay the hell away, she came. And she was glad she did, as he fell to the floor sobbing like a baby. Preston never cried. Hell, he was never anything more than absolutely composed. She saw him on his knees, sobbing like that into the palms of his hands, and she felt sorry for him.

              His premium suit was wrinkling as it crumpled up beneath the weight of his knees. Despite her better judgment, she found herself go over to him and squat down beside him. She took his hands and held them, and he looked at her with confusion.

              “You care about me still, after all this? You’re here?” he asked.

              “I would have been here forever, Preston. I was your family –” she began, until he interrupted with an outburst of tears.

              “You
are
my family! We can get through this.” He had interrupted so abruptly that she thought he might have had something credible to say rather than some ill-conceived idea that he was somehow holding onto. She felt bad. But they were
not
getting through it, not in the way that he was so obviously hoping for.

              “No. We aren’t. I wish we were, but we aren’t. I’ll be here for you, as someone that cared for you. Just to see you through this and for our children – but you and I are not together. We’re getting a divorce.” She felt bad, but she spoke flatly and without emotion. She didn’t want to confuse him more. “Don’t confuse this. This isn’t anything more than compassion. I care about you, and I always will.”

              It ended with a meeting with the judge the next morning. It ended. Fifteen years of marriage were finished in a fifteen-minute meeting. They agreed Marissa would have full custody, and Preston would have visitation. They agreed she was to reside in the house, and they would divide all monetary assets equally between both parties. They agreed. They agreed. They fucking agreed. They always had. Marissa thought that they always would – but she definitely didn’t agree with him fucking half of Chicago. She couldn’t get on board with that.

              She could get on board with him trying, though. If he tried, she would be there as a friend. You may be able to undo fifteen years of marriage in the blink of an eye – but you couldn’t undo nearly twenty years of friendship.

              He had called and called and called, and only having heard from Marissa once since they parted ways, she didn’t really want to answer. Marissa had texted a status report regarding Lucas’s school situation, as well as an interesting tidbit regarding Preston and previous stalking accusations, as well as several other lawsuits. So of course she didn’t want to hear from him.

              Lucas was set to be enrolled in a school uptown from his previous one for next year, and Marissa said he was fine with it – excited even. He was excited to start over. Haley could only wish she could start over, and she was sure Marissa felt the same.

              Remembering what she said only led to more hate. More anguish. Because she remembered that she had debated with herself on whether or not to reject the other three members of the family as her family. All to be with him. She remembered everything. His eyes as they looked at her body, as if they bore into her soul, used to captivate her, but now as she recalled the look, it caused only the most excruciating cold feeling she had ever experienced. It was as if a ghost had walked through her physique and sucked out every ounce of life that she had possessed.

It was as if he had taken all that her life once was, and it was all for his own selfish gain. He didn’t love her. He didn’t love anyone. Only himself. Now, because of everything, she hated herself.

              She peered into the mirror – an act she seemed to always do when she was reflecting negatively upon herself – and clenched her jaw at the sight. The feeling was too familiar. It had seemed to happen far too often. She really and truly hated herself, and it was time that she did something about it. What, though? She wasn’t quite sure. All she knew was that seeing her reflection meant seeing the woman that ruined her life. It meant beholding upon her enemy.

She clenched her fists together tightly, so tightly in fact that her fingernails dug into her palms with a pinch and her knuckles whitened with intensity. She drew her fist back and slung it at the mirror in front of her. She felt the crack of her knuckles and the smashing of glass against her skin. Her flesh muttered a slight burning sensation as her hand met the glass. She didn’t feel much pain, though. The alcohol must have been masking it.

              She drew her hand back, and noticed the mirror was cracked and shards had penetrated her skin. She felt a bit of pain when she saw it, and she wondered if the alcohol was still keeping some of the physical pain at bay, because it hurt – but not like she thought it would.

              Her hand looked like a pin cushion that had been full of needles. It was a gallant effort that she portrayed when she shook her hand to displace her pain. She pulled a piece out, and cringed from the pain. She let her mind wander to a dark place for a moment as she willed her cut hand open, just to watch the blood drip onto the floor. She looked at it with awe, actually – just happy that her mind had gotten off of the emotional pain for even just a moment. And it was for just a moment. She looked down to the photo the Lancers had gotten her before – the one she so coincidentally had found a letter tucked away within just recently – and the emotions came flooding back. She missed them.

              She wondered how many others had ever wondered if they were on someone else’s mind at all. Whether or not they were even worth thinking about. Because she did. She did wonder, almost every minute of every day. She wondered if she was worth the time that someone would spend on thinking of her. She really did wonder if her memory was even worth the storage in precious space in someone’s cortex. Was her life even worth the painstaking efforts of trying to straighten out again? Was it something that she should release to the wind – wipe her hands and be done – and allow it to merely crumble along with the ruin of her past?

              She didn’t know. She didn’t know anything. This jibber-jabbering she tended to do within her own mind was starting to get the best of her. She was sick of the constant confusing questioning. She was sick of not being in control. She was so fucking sick of it all. She hated not knowing what was going on inside her own mind. She was sick of the constant battling back and forth – and the continual feel-sorry-for-herself attitude. She was sick of it all.

              Her head hurt, and she made her way to her bedroom – her hand wrapped neatly in gauze – and sat down on the bed. She had conveniently forgotten to clean the mess of the broken glass in the bathroom. She really didn’t want to deal with it. She honestly wished her life was as easy to brush aside for later, because she really didn’t want to deal with it. Not right now, anyway.

              She pulled her laptop out from underneath her bed and sat Indian-style atop her mattress and opened it. She stared at her screen, not really knowing what she grabbed it for in the first place. She just wanted a distraction. She just wanted to look at someone else’s life, so she didn’t have to deal with her own. She found herself, instead, typing out what she felt.

              Why? She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure of really anything these days. She thought that perhaps she could find some resolution if she typed her thoughts out; she thought maybe could she figure
something
out. But she didn’t. There was only one word that seemed to jut out from the screen, and it was a word that tended to repeat itself over and over again, on the electronic notepad, and in her consciousness: loneliness.

              Sighing deeply, she topped typing the word that weighed so strongly on her mind. Her head pounded once again, and her eyes were beginning to burn. She looked at the clock and noticed that she had been staring at the screen for three hours. She groaned and placed her forehead into her sweaty palms before rubbing her temples. She hoped that she could ease the pain, but she knew that it wasn’t the headache that was plaguing her so terribly.

              Her eyes – just above her fingertips – shifted and caught sight of the gauze covering the cuts from just a few hours before. Her palms rested flatly against the center of her forehead, and she sighed. Why the hell had she punched the mirror? She was losing it. All of her resolve was seemingly gone, and her irrational jolts of psychotic emotion were really getting in the way of her wellbeing. Hell,
she
was getting in the way of her wellbeing.

              She already knew that she had to make efforts to change. She had to work on herself. She couldn’t hope to be worth loving if she didn’t love herself first. She knew that, and she was proud that she could at least rationalize that thought; she was happy that somewhere in the depths of her mind, there was still a glimmer of the old Haley, the smart Haley, the good Haley.

              Maybe next time around she could do right by them. Maybe she could deserve their love. Maybe she wouldn’t betray them. Maybe she could get back some semblance of a relationship – and maybe, just maybe, she could have her family back.