Chapter 9
Melanie
I dropped the pen – and by extension, the thong – onto the floor and sank down onto the edge of the bed. For a moment, my mind was blank, and I felt nothing. I was completely and utterly numb.
That reprieve didn’t last long. My stomach rolled and I made a mad dash to the bathroom as my delicious tearoom delicacies from lunch decided to make an appearance.
I barely got the lid lifted on the toilet before I was retching into the bowl, emptying my stomach of its contents in a series of painful heaves that left me clinging to the cold porcelain.
After a minute or two, I flushed and carefully stood to make my way over to my sink, furiously rinsing my mouth before reaching for my toothbrush to do a more thorough job.
My hands were shaking and my insides were still clenching painfully as I set the toothbrush down on the counter.
I raised my head and gazed blankly at myself in the mirror.
My skin was deathly pale, aside from the red splotches highlighting my cheeks.
Tears I hadn’t even been aware of streaked down my face, and my vision grew blurry as I stared at myself in horror.
I sank to my knees before shifting onto my butt on the floor. Leaning my back against the vanity, I drew my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms tightly around them as if I literally could hold myself together in the midst of falling to pieces.
My shoulders shook as the sobs I’d been holding back escaped my chest in one shuddering breath after another. I closed my eyes, trying to block images from my mind of that shirt and that thong, of Ryan and some faceless woman in purple lace. It didn’t work.
After several long minutes, the overwhelming pain gave way to a fierce anger that caused a visceral reaction in my body.
I jumped up, frantically scrambling to grab tissues to blow my nose, then splashing cold water on my face until I felt like I could breathe again.
I wiped my face on the hand towel, focusing on steadying my breathing as I carefully folded the towel and set it back down.
I didn’t even bother glancing in the mirror before I left the bathroom.
An eerie sense of calm surrounded me as I strode over to the side of the bed, using the discarded pen to pick up the underwear once again because there was no way in hell I was touching it with my bare hand.
I dropped the scrap of lace on the bed, using the tip of the pen to smooth it out so that it was easily identifiable as thong panties.
I neatly folded the shirt and placed it next to the thong, with the makeup and glitter showing front and center.
I studied the proof of his infidelity on display atop our marital bed – oh, the irony – then straightened and smoothed the wrinkles from the comforter where the suitcase had been.
For the next several minutes, my movements were methodical as I pulled the small suitcase back out from under the bed. I packed only the essentials – enough for few days – then went into the bathroom to collect my toiletries.
I was functioning on autopilot, knowing only that I needed to leave quickly, before Ryan got home. I needed time to think. To plan. To prepare myself for whatever my next steps would be. But first, I had to get out of here.
I grabbed the handle of the bag and hauled it downstairs, sitting it down with a thud near the bottom of the stairs so I could slip into my coat.
I opened the closet in the entryway to grab it, along with my scarf and hat, then realized that I’d forgotten my migraine medication in my haste to pack.
I kept a couple in my purse as an emergency stash, but they wouldn’t last long if a migraine hit.
Since stress sometimes brought them on, the odds were high that I would need one before the night was over.
I’d just gotten lucky that one hadn’t hit over the weekend.
“Fuck,” I swore harshly, dropping my winter gear over the arm of the couch and dashing back up the stairs to retrieve them from the medicine cabinet in our bathroom.
I slipped the bottle in the front pocket of my jeans, then took a few minutes to make sure that I hadn’t overlooked anything else of vital importance.
Spotting my shampoo and conditioner on the ledge in the shower, I slid open the glass door and reached for the bottles, cursing again when I knocked one of them over.
The cap wasn’t snapped closed, and a bit of shampoo dripped on my hand when I picked it up.
“Shit, shit, shit.” My hands were shaking as I turned on the faucet to wash the shampoo off my skin, as well as the side of the bottle.
I had just reached for the towel to dry my hands when I realized I’d made a grave error.
Precious minutes had elapsed while I was double checking my toiletries.
I’d been so focused on the damned hair products that I hadn’t registered the sound of Ryan pulling in the driveway, nor the overhead garage door opening.
Now, I’d lost my chance for a clean escape. Ryan was home, and worse than that, thanks to the stair tread that had started creaking a few months ago, it was clear that he was heading upstairs to our bedroom.
I took a deep breath to slow my racing heart, praying to the universe for the strength to get me through the confrontation that I’d been hoping to avoid for at least a few days, until I was strong enough to handle it.
Closing my eyes, I tried to remember how to center myself, a skill I’d learned in the one and only yoga class I’d ever attended. Breathe out through the nose, then in. Repeat. Slow and steady. Deliberate and with intention.
It almost worked.
Any sense of inner peace shattered when Ryan called out my name, his voice taking on a teasing, seductive quality I hadn’t heard in months. A few days ago, I would have been thrilled. Now, just the sound of it filled me with rage.
How fucking dare he?
How fucking dare he waltz in here acting like nothing had happened – Vegas, forgetting my birthday, fucking the owner of the purple fucking thong!
My chest was heaving, and my calm, steady breathing was a thing of the past. I swallowed around the tightness in my throat as he called out again.
“Sweetness?”
The nickname I’d always loved felt cruel falling from his cheating lips. With an almost inhuman effort, I schooled my expression and stepped into the bathroom doorway. I kept my gaze directed at chest level, so that I didn’t have to look at the face of the man who’d destroyed me.
He was standing near the end of the bed, and I took a step forward so that I could skirt around him and make my getaway.
His words halted me mid-step.
“I love the new thong.”
Sheer shock caused me to look at him – fully look at him – only to find him twirling that damned purple lace around his index finger and grinning like a fool.
“I can’t wait to rip it off of you when we get home from dinner,” he murmured as he moved in closer. “Or better yet, maybe I’ll eat you instead of dinner.”
He reached for me and I flinched, taking a step back to avoid his hands, especially the one that was likely infected with crotch rot from whatever random woman he had picked up.
He frowned, then peered down at me. I ducked my chin and tried to sidestep him, but he shifted to block my way.
“What’s wrong? You’re white as a sheet.” He reached for my chin – not with his soon-to-be-gangrenous hand, thank God. Still, I jerked my head away almost violently.
“Oh, shit. What’s wrong?” When I didn’t respond, he asked again, “Mel, are you sick? Is it a migraine? Tell me what’s wrong.”
What’s wrong?
The question almost made me laugh. What isn’t wrong would be a better question, because everything’s wrong.
Every. Fucking. Thing.
I sucked in a quick breath, fully intending to go along with his theory that I was ill. I opened my mouth to say that I didn’t feel well.
What came out instead was four entirely different words.
Four words that I had never dreamed that I would ever say again.
Four words that tore my world apart for the second time in my life.
“I want a divorce.”
This time, they hurt so much more than when I’d hurled them at my first husband.
My marriage to Chad had been all but dead by that point, and when I’d screamed those words at him after finding video evidence of his cheating, they’d brought nothing but sheer relief that it was finally going to be over.
Now, though, the words carried an impact that wounded me to my very soul, leaving a gaping hole that left me feeling completely hollow inside.
“What?” Ryan choked out, his tone wavering between confusion and disbelief.
A sense of strength and determination blanketed me, as if saying those words had unlocked a source of power that had been hidden deep inside.
I raised my chin to look him in the eye as I repeated, “I want a divorce.”
He gaped at me, and his expression was filled with utter shock. “Because I went to Las Vegas?” His voice was incredulous, as if the idea that I could be upset about him ditching me for the weekend was absurd.
My eyes narrowed on him, watching him closely for signs of guilt as I snapped, “No, because you went to Las Vegas and cheated on me.”
He blanched, the color leeching from his face as his eyes shifted to the side, then back to me. He shook his head, blinking rapidly, as he searched for a response.
I saw the very second he settled on a bluff. “Cheated? Why the hell would you think that?”
I smiled grimly, pointing at the thong still clutched in his right hand. “It’s not mine, asshole. It belongs to whoever you fucked in Vegas. I found it in your suitcase.”
He lifted his hand, looking at the purple lace as if he had never seen it before and had no idea how he came to be holding it.
He threw it across the room as he shook his head again, more frantically this time.
Guilt tinged his expression, and I could practically see his mind racing as he tried to come up with a plausible explanation.
“I didn’t cheat, Melanie. I would never do that to you.”
I took a step back as I laughed bitterly. “That’s what I told myself, too. Ryan would never cheat. Except you did, you fucking bastard.”
He reached for me again, and I threw my arms up in automatic defensiveness. I couldn’t bear the thought of his touch.
He reared back, then held up his hands placatingly. His face was still all but devoid of color, and the faint sheen of tears starting to pool in his blue eyes made them stand out in startling contrast against his too-pale skin.
“I didn’t cheat, sweetness. I swear to you, I didn’t,” he pleaded. “Mitch took me to a club Saturday night and there was a stripper who –“.
“A stripper? You fucked a stripper?” The trauma that one word induced was indescribable.
When the word “Saturday” registered and I realized that he cheated – with a stripper, no less – on my birthday, an overwhelming rage overrode the pain.
“Well, I hope for your sake that you wrapped your shit up.”
He shook his head again, then began pacing in front of me and gesturing wildly. “Look, I know it looks bad, but I would never, ever do that to you.”
I made a show of looking at the thong on the floor where it had landed after he’d thrown it, then looked back at him and fixed him with a pointed stare.
Cocking one brow, I asked, “Then explain the dirty thong, that I found in your suitcase, next to your shirt covered in make-up, cheap perfume, and stripper glitter!”
If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought his confusion was genuine as he stared at me in silent shock.
“I hope she was worth it,” I said quietly, scraping the shreds of my dignity together so that I could make my escape without breaking down altogether.
“Mel, I –,” Ryan stopped and visibly swallowed, then rushed to say, “I swear to you, I didn’t touch her.
It was a lap dance. Mitch paid for it, and I didn’t know anything about it until she climbed on my lap, and then I…
”, his voice faltered, before he said quietly, “I stopped it before anything else happened.”
“Nice try, but that still doesn’t explain the underwear.
Did you have to tip extra to keep them? I thought what happens in Vegas was supposed to stay in Vegas?
Her thong did not stay in Vegas, Ryan. It came back with you like some kind of fucked up souvenir, and now it’s in our bedroom, in our home. ”
My voice wavered on that last word, and I swallowed hard before biting out, “You brought the proof of your infidelity into our home, and you have the fucking nerve to stand there and lie to me about it. Fuck you, Ryan.”
I turned for the door, then threw one last barb over my shoulder.
“It makes it extra special that you cheated on Saturday, so you get bonus fuck-you points for that. You didn’t remember my birthday, but you still managed to give me a present I’ll never forget.”