Prologue #2
This is not the first time she’s suggested I seek physical release from another source, but it makes my stomach churn just as painfully as it did the first time.
God forbid I did have another woman giving me affection and my lonely heart beat for her instead of my wife. Then I’d be even more utterly fucked.
Keeping my composure is becoming more and more difficult as I remind her, “I told you once, and I’ll tell you again. I won’t have a fucking mistress, Cleo. I don’t want to be with another woman while I have a wife. The thought makes me feel sick.”
She rolls her eyes and I almost snap.
Taking a deep breath, I continue, keeping my voice steady. “I could deal with you never wanting to fuck again. I could deal with never loving one another. But you don’t even talk to me. You act like being around me is a chore, and you make me feel like an outcast in my own home.”
“We’re not friends,” Cleo points out, folding her arms. “I don’t know what you want from me. Since when do you need to be coddled?”
“Stop that,” I demand, stepping closer to where she sits. “Don’t say I’m asking to be coddled because I hate the way you act around me. We’re not friends because you refuse to even try being my friend, so don’t say that like it’s somehow my fault.”
A beat of silence, and then, “I don’t want to be your friend.”
It shouldn’t hurt to hear, but a dull stab still seems to sink into my gut.
Even with the pain, I don’t miss a beat, delivering my next line with unbelievable calm. “If you don’t want to be with me, then we don’t have to be together.”
She tenses up, shoulders going rigid. “What could you possibly mean by that?”
“It means I’ll get my father to agree to a divorce,” I reply plainly, the words tasting suspiciously like ash on my tongue. “We’ll separate and co-parent the kids.”
“A divorce?” she echoes, shaking her head in denial or disbelief. “Why the hell would I agree to that?”
“Why the hell wouldn’t you?” I counter, throwing my hands up. “What the fuck are we even doing, Cleo? Why would you want to live this way?”
Standing up in a huff, she places her hands on her hips and shows more emotion than I’ve seen from her in years. “Why should I have to change my life because you’re unhappy?”
“Are you serious?” I laugh incredulously. “You can’t be happy either, there’s no way! What would even really change? This isn’t a marriage, Cleo. This is some twisted roommate co-parenting situation and it’s not fucking working.”
“I’ve never been happy,” she hisses. “Happiness doesn’t matter, Leon. Grow up. Our only job is to give our children a good life, and we’re doing that.”
My hands connect around the back of my neck, squeezing and releasing as I try to hang on to what little composure I still possess. “Cleo, I don’t understand—”
“Rest assured, Leon,” she spits out. “You won’t have to live like this for much longer.
You don’t need to worry about divorce. We only have like a year left at this point.
I expect you can find yourself a replacement for me shortly after that.
One who wants to talk to you, and to fuck you. Congratulations.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask, head shaking in confusion.
“You don’t have to get a divorce when your wife is dying, Leon!”
A soft ringing meets my ears, and I know I must have misheard her.
“What?”
She laughs, eyes becoming watery. “Do you think Rayna will still be single by the time I die or should I try to make it sooner for your convenience? Will you still feel guilty about wanting to fuck her when you’re a widower instead of a husband?”
My frustration quickly morphs into something darker. “Don’t fuck with me, Cleo. What are you talking about? Dying?”
If she’s startled by my abrupt change in tone, she doesn’t show it.
“She already raised her brother,” Cleo tacks on, lips twisting into a spiteful smirk.
“Are you sure she’d want to raise two more boys who aren’t hers?
You might want to pick a different candidate when the time comes.
Besides, Apollo will get to her before you do, won’t he?
The oldest brother always wins the girl. ”
“Stop talking about Rayna!” I bark, loud and deep. “I already told you, this has nothing to do with her. If we got divorced, I wouldn’t be pursuing her. You just told me that you’re fucking dying, Cleo. You better start explaining right fucking now.”
“Don’t wake the boys up,” she mutters, dropping back down onto the couch. Her amused anger seems to have drained right out of her body, leaving only emptiness in its wake. “You should sit.”
“I’m not going to sit. Explain yourself, Cleo.”