The Mistress, Part Two (2 page)

Then, as if walking face first into a mountain – it hit her. And then she knew; she knew how completely reckless that had been. As blatantly obvious as it was, she didn’t really seem to fathom the severity until she closed her door.

She wondered, too, how she hadn’t gotten caught, and made mental note to write a strongly worded note to the authorities about their horrific law enforcement of driver’s safety. Reckless driving was amuck – violators could be running absolutely rampant – and there were no police officers there to enforce the law! What the hell! It was as if no one else could do their jobs in the world, especially not her – at least not without fucking the father of the kids she nannied for.
She did her job really well. Oh, for fucking sure.

Sarcasm. Oh, sarcasm. She loved that cute and adorable little mechanism. It was as if she was releasing a big “fuck you” unto everyone in the entire world when she used it. She loved it. That amazing little verbal tool, the perfect literary device for asshole writers and verbal enthusiasts. She loved it.

Obviously, not a writer herself, Haley always considered herself a lover of the English language in general: a verbal enthusiast was what she liked to refer to herself as. She liked to seem as though she knew what clever and witty literature was – through the elegant word of mouth – but God knew she couldn’t actually write a sentence without sounding like a twit. So thus the label “verbal enthusiast” was born – and it suited her quite well, she felt.

She really didn’t know where her mind was wandering and why it was. She was breaking apart her thoughts as if they were clever – and as if she even knew what they meant. She hadn’t a clue. She was bullshitting herself, as she had been for the past two months. She actually had thought she and Preston could have floated away into a Neverland Atlantis fairytale world. It was all just bullshit, and she had fallen for it.

She honestly felt the personification of insanity really begin to claw at her as it worked to gather hold of her body. The mere idea of it frightened her to the point of an almost survivalist mentality. With its red eyes, it peered into her soul. Its razor sharp teeth bore out through a wide and sinister smile, and she shuddered. She was truly taunted by the fear it caused her.

She cackled again at her sudden fear, making fun of herself. Only she could make up some sort of bullshit psychological mumbo jumbo where insanity was personified as some sort of monstrous creature. She really felt like she
was
crazy after that sort of recollection of thoughts.

Why the hell was she even thinking about all of it? Why was she stressing so much about going insane rather than dealing with the task before her? She had to come up with a way to cope.

She had to learn how to cope with the fact that she potentially screwed up a family’s relationships forever. She had to learn how to cope with the fact that she betrayed three people she loved more than anything in the world, and worst of all – she had to cope with the fact that she still felt something for the arrogant, cheating prick known as Preston Lancer. Preston fucking Lancer. Beautiful fucking Preston Lancer. The smooth-talking, smooth-walking, sexy – mother-fucking – Preston Lancer.

How the hell was she going to get through all of this? Without her job who – in the screaming fuck – was she? She had identified herself by her job title and the Lancer family for twelve years. Without all of that, did she even know who she was? Especially now that all of herself had seemingly been stripped away after her affair with Preston had begun.

She slept with a married man. That same married man was also her friend and her confidant ever since her divorce four years ago, and that same married man was also the husband of the only real friend she had ever had. She had done the unthinkable. She had done the unforgiveable. She had betrayed Marissa and the kids, but she had also betrayed herself.

Not just because betraying them meant betraying her, but Haley hated cheaters. Daniel cheated so many years ago, and she never forgave him. Not ever. And she wasn’t sure she ever would, either. Now, she was hoping, praying, and a part of her even somewhat expecting the generosity of Marissa to come forth and forgive her.

But then it hit her – as everything had been lately – why was she such a fucking asshole? No, not ‘why was she such an asshole,’ but why was she such a self-absorbed, entitled asshole? To think – and expect – that Marissa would just forgive her?

She started laughing again. Her mind – in all its reeling glory – was the pinnacle of crazy. In fact, you could call her fucking looney tunes even – because she was. Her cackling laughs continued as she made her way to her bedroom and sat on the floor.

It was odd – to just sit on the floor. But what the hell? It was time to redefine everything she was and everything she did. She had to rediscover who the fuck Haley Bercham actually was, because obviously she didn’t know anymore.

Wow. Bercham. She hadn’t really thought about – let alone ever dare even utter – her last name in quite some time.
Bercham
. That was her maiden name, the name she went back to after her divorce with Daniel. But the big thing about it was that she had never really identified with that name. Hell, she felt like a Lancer more than a Bercham.

She wished someone could shed some light on the question always on her mind, because honestly she didn’t know – where the fuck
was
her family? When her parents died, she had no one else. No family to speak of. No one. Dust. Poof. Nada.

It was what it was, though.

She couldn’t change the stars. And she couldn’t have made her parents stay in love, and she sure as hell couldn’t have saved their lives. She had Daniel once upon a time, she supposed – but she never truly thought of him as family. He wasn’t her family, and maybe that was the problem.

Or maybe she did once upon a time. She didn’t know. She couldn’t really recall many happy emotions regarding him now. So she supposed if she had ever had any sort of familial bond towards him, it had been long forgotten. So thus there was nothing. Dust. Poof. Nada.

She did truly hope he was happy, though, despite everything that happened. She would still scowl when his name was mentioned or his face even thought of, but she could relate a little more to his affair now. She could only hope that his hadn’t ended as horribly as hers had.

She could only hope that they hadn’t crushed too many spirits in the process of their love making. She could only hope that somewhere he was happy, because she wasn’t, and she wouldn’t wish this sort of unhappiness and despair upon even her worst enemy.

Enemies. Isn’t it funny how we begin to trail with thoughts when we feel despair? She thought Daniel had been her enemy, and maybe once upon a time he was. But in reality, she knew her only enemy was herself. She had been the one to destroy her life.

Yes, her parents died. Yes, that hurt. Yes, that left a scar deeper than any and one that would remain for all of her days – but everything else was her fault.

She had the power to move on from the pain of that dreadful time in her life. And even through the loneliness of tears and heartbreak for so many years, she still had the power to turn it around. Yes, Daniel cheated. Could she have prevented it by being a more devoted wife? Maybe, maybe not, but that wasn’t the point. Her marriage be damned: it was probably doomed from the start and held no merit now.

She had sulked around for so long and done the unspeakable to those that
did
care. The ones that
did
give her a chance. Once she found herself out of the darkened crevice, she seemed to always snake back in with a slithering descent. This time was no exception.

Daniel left. She could have picked up the pieces and moved forward after that. Hell, Marissa had given her plenty of branches; so had other people, for that matter. But here she was – once again. Here she was in that crevice below the world, lower than scum – lower than everything as she hid within the darkness of her hole.

As she sat on the floor, she peered up to the ceiling, making nonexistent and somewhat delusional shapes out of the dots that were plastered across the entire surface. She scooted herself against the door and drew her knees to her chest and hugged them. She felt like she was staring up at the stars and making shapes, like she used to as a child. But, she knew it was far from that. She was being
weird
. But she was also OK with that.

She had to figure out some kind of pastime to get out of the boredom that was likely to commence with nothing to do and no job to speak of. If looking at dots on a ceiling helped her accomplish that, then so be it! She continued to look up at the plastered ceiling and began rocking back and forth as she hugged her knees.

She was still laughing like a lunatic; at what was she laughing, she really didn’t know. She knew she was crazy – and then she thought that maybe, just maybe, that meant she really wasn’t crazy after all? Maybe she was just having a bad fucking day and wanted to blow off steam by laughing like a weirdo in a straightjacket as she made shapes out of dots on a ceiling. Maybe.

Regardless though, she was happy in that moment. It was temporary happiness, sure, but it was happiness nonetheless. She wanted more of it. She felt like she needed something else, something a little more real, something to keep the happiness around a little longer without the effort of using her imagination to create images in a ceiling. She stopped laughing and rocking suddenly. Epiphany! She needed more happiness! She needed something – and she knew exactly what it was.

She felt her body moving in an almost involuntary fashion towards the kitchen. It was as if her body itself was willing her entire being. It was as if it moved without needing any sort of intervention from her brain. It seemed to know what it needed, and as she reached to the cabinets above the stove, she knew it was right. She felt the satisfaction hit her all of a sudden as her eyes befell what lay behind the cabinet door, and she hadn’t even taken a drink yet.

Merely just laying her eyes upon the bottle seemed to cause a shiver to roll across her spine. She really did need this drink. It had been a long fucking day. A long fucking couple of months. Hell, a long fucking life for that matter. A drink sounded great.

She was ready to clear her mind and get out of the funk that fogged it. She had to run far away from the crazy woman she was becoming. Hell, she would much rather be a drunk than a crazy woman.
So bring on that damn booze!
Haley Bercham was redefining herself, and by God, she was going to do it right!

              As she popped the cork from of the tequila bottle and brought it to her lips, a part of her wondered if it was the right decision. She knew – in her heart of hearts – that drinking was never the answer, especially when depressed. But then she shook it off. Fuck it. She needed this. Even if it was some sort of temporary relief. She needed it.

Hell, we all know that flu medication doesn’t cure the flu, but we still take it, do we not? Well, that was exactly what she felt like she was doing. She wasn’t causing anyone any harm, and she was getting some temporary relief. So fucking be it. She leaned her head back and flung the bottle’s butt end as high as she could into the air. She felt the liquid flow across her tongue and hit the back of her throat. It burned – but man, did it burn good.

Her feet quaked beneath her with a satisfactory pleasure, and the instability of the wobbling caused her to choke a little on the fiery, water-resembling substance. She coughed a bit and wiped her lips of the remaining drops. The sensation hit her all at once. It made her head light with intoxication, and she felt as if she was floating. This was definitely going to be her company for the day; this was her date – her sexy man.

She traveled back to the bedroom with it under her arm for safekeeping. And as she stumbled to her room – the effects of the alcohol already boldly influencing her stability – her gaze fell upon a picture frame. It was a picture taken around four years ago of the entire Lancer family – as well as extended members – at a BBQ get-together. Haley was in the forefront of the group, laughing with a much younger Sophie and Lucas.

The depressant aspect of the bottle she held onto dearly started to take hold, and she felt herself growing sad as her eyes continued to scan the photograph, which had been a gift from the Lancers. It had been a room-warming gift when she moved in after her divorce with Daniel. A tear fell as she looked onwards towards the memory. “Not at this party – no, ma’am. No crying,” she slurred to herself. This was a party of one; there was no sadness. Anger, sure. But never sadness. She didn’t want to cry anymore. She didn’t want to feel sad anymore.

In order to rid herself of that sort of emotion she thought the best start – the best course of action – was to get rid of that fucking picture. The insufferable fucking reminder of what she had just lost. Not only lost: it wasn’t merely taken away by virtues of fate’s hard dick ramming her in the ass. No, sir. Not this time. They weren’t lost because she had been fucked cruelly by fate. Nope. It was because she was an idiot. She did this. This was her.

Get rid of the picture.
That thought kept coming back to her full force until she finally had enough and before she knew it – it laid in pieces on the floor below.
Fuck reminders
. And
fuck guilt
for interrupting her satisfaction, because as soon as she had launched the frame, guilt had pounded against her gut with great intensity. She felt sick. She felt as though she needed to vomit with the most disgusting projection she could muster.