Chapter Two Paul #2
She takes a couple of breaths, sobbing through a few, as she paces back and forth.
I take in the little details of our beloved apartment.
Our combined touch is all over this space—the marshmallow-scented candles she loves on the coffee table, our various little knick-knacks from our road trips decorating the bookshelves, the little knitted bespectacled cat I bought her at the Harvest Festival last year, and our graduation picture on the wall by the dining table.
These little details, physical manifestations of our six years, both devastate and comfort me in this moment.
Sophie abruptly stops pacing and looks me dead in my face.
"You confided in her about my cancer. This woman you talked about all the time, a 'work colleague' you said."
Each word hits like a physical blow.
"Yes," I admit with a nod, rising from the floor because I already feel pathetic enough.
"And you told her all about your fears—fears I didn't even know existed because every time I asked how you were doing with this, how you were feeling, what did you say?"
I hesitate, the words burning like acid in my throat, but she doesn't let me have it. She just snarls through gritted teeth, "What did you say, Paul?"
I meet her eyes and admit, "That I'm okay. That I'm just concerned about you. That I'm here for you, and that we'll get through this together."
She nods, "Lies, then?"
"I just… I didn't want to worry you more. You were already facing so much—"
"So, you just decided for me? Am I that fragile that you couldn't be honest with me?"
"No, Sophie, you're the strongest woman I know."
"Then why? Why talk to her? Why would you talk to her about your fears and not me? Or even your friends? Your mom? Your dad? Literally anyone!"
"Because..." Just fucking say it, "Because they wouldn't tell me what I wanted to hear."
I did talk to them. They told me that Sophie and I were a team, that this was scary, but we would get through it together and would come out on the other side stronger.
It was always about teamwork, togetherness, and focusing on taking care of Sophie and her doctor's appointments, treatments, and surgeries, and my selfish thoughts were screaming what about me? !
"And she did?"
"...yes."
She laughs then, no warmth, no actual humor in it. "You know, it's actually kind of funny. I distinctly remember thinking 'should I be concerned that my future husband is spending so much time with his beautiful coworker?' And you know what I told myself, Paul?"
I can't answer, but the tears roll freely down my cheeks at the pain on her face.
"I thought, 'Sophie, come on! This is Paul you're talking about. Your Paul. He loves you, he would never betray you like that.'" Sophie shakes her head and buries her face in her hands, "I'm so stupid."
"No, Sophie," I take another step closer and lay my hands gently on her wrists, intending to pull her hands away from her face to comfort her.
Instead, she yanks herself out of my grip as if I've burnt her, but I continue, desperate.
"You are not stupid, you are the most brilliant woman I've ever known.
I'm the one that fucked up. I'm the one who ruined this.
God, I'm so sorry, sweetie. I'm so fucking sorry. "
"Do you love her?" She asks abruptly.
"No," I shake my head, but she just narrows her eyes.
"Do you have feelings for her?"
I think about Elise—her gorgeous body, the ease with her, the shared laughs and jokes, the banter, the flirtatious tone she takes in her husky voice. And I feel light—God help me—I feel light when I think of Elise.
"I… yes."
Sophie doesn't say anything, but she looks at me like I'm a stranger. Her eyes burn through me, red-rimmed and teary, and she's shaking. I want to hold her. She's short and so soft, and I always adored how she felt in my arms. I know she won't let me hold her, and I don't deserve to.
She takes a deep cleansing breath, "I don't really care to know the details, but please, just tell me why. And be honest. Why did you sleep with her? Why did you confide in her?"
Honesty. I do honesty. I owe her that much.
"Because I don't know how to be what you need through twelve weeks and surgery and radiation and the—" I stutter through my explanation, my excuses, my justification, and watch as each word hits her.
They keep coming, like vomit, and the next ones I can't even stop before they tumble out.
"And... we haven't had sex in a long time—"
Her usually kind eyes go ice-cold as she gives a short, disbelieving laugh. "Yes, well, I'm so sorry that my libido isn't at an all-time high right now on account of, oh, I don't know, me being diagnosed with fucking cancer!"
The comforting words Elise whispered to me at the bar circle around my head.
The validating words, the way she tasted like whiskey, the way her lips felt so different from the lips I had been kissing for the last six years.
Elise tasted like fun and freedom. I felt like I was twenty-one again—no responsibilities, no heaviness, no cancer. ..
"It's your life too, you have to do what's best for you..." Elise whispered against my lips—while I was still inside her—her hands buried in my hair.
It felt like permission, it felt like absolution.
And the worst part? I enjoyed it.
Sex with Sophie was always great. She's beautiful with a gorgeous, soft body.
Before the diagnosis, our sex life was extremely active.
After that, she was scared and busy trying to get everything together with the different appointments and specialists, and still working full time, so it just went to the back burner.
We still cuddled, we still kissed, we still touched.
We just...stopped having sex. I don't even think it was really about sex.
It was a moment of fun and reckless comfort after drowning in sorrow and despair, and doctor's appointments and Sophie's terrified tears.
One fucking thing I could actually control in my life, as terrible and awful as it was—choosing to have sex with someone other than my fiancée.
And at the time, I enjoyed it. When I went home that night and showered, I felt good.
I crawled into bed, Sophie was still out like a light, and I slept like a baby.
The guilt didn't hit until the next day when I woke up and saw Sophie getting out of the shower, smiling at me from our ensuite doorway.
I couldn't eat, couldn't even choke down coffee, and when we got into my car...
Sophie sat in the seat I had fucked Elise in and was chirping happily, trying to distract herself, trying to distract me. Meanwhile, I was just paranoid that she could somehow smell the sex and my shame.
"And the surgery—losing your breasts—it's—" My voice drops, useless, and I choke out through a closed throat. "That's… it's a problem for me."
Silence detonates like a bomb between us. I hear the clock, the refrigerator hum, my heart slamming against my ribcage.
And Sophie...
Sophie looks wrecked, absolutely wrecked.
I've never seen that look on her face, and I'm the one who put it there. Her mouth parts, and her eyes meet mine directly, any softness left inside of her burning away.
"You had sex with Elise for two months while you were also holding my hand through doctor's appointments, holding me as I cried at night, wiping my tears, and telling me that we would get through this together. That's what you said—together!" She points at me and spits, "You fucking liar."
"I know!" The words explode from my chest, full of shame and desperation. "I know what I said, I'm so sorry, Sophie, I just couldn't deal with it—"
"No," she cuts me off, holding up her hand, and I snap my mouth shut. Her face shifts from devastation to something else entirely.
Rage.
She takes a deep breath, "You know what, Paul? I'm done. I don't deserve this, and I'm not going to stand here and let you explain to me how me getting cancer made you cheat on me."
"Sophie, I—"
"Nope, your time to talk is done," she hisses through gritted teeth. "I've just realized that my time is kind of valuable now, on account of the fact that I might be running out of it, and I have too much to do to prepare for this battle. Alone, apparently."
The word alone hits me hard, but that's what I'm doing, right? That's the consequence of my actions. That's what I ultimately wanted. I'm freeing myself from this cancer battle, but in doing so, I'm leaving Sophie alone to fight it herself.
Nausea hits once more and I'm terrified for a second I'm going to throw up in front of her.
The silence feels heavy between us. The only sounds are my heavy breathing and Sophie's calming, deep breaths. I keep my eyes on her, drinking her in, because my time with her is limited now.
Sophie's fidgeting, what she usually does when she's nervous or sad or agitated. She's pulling the sleeves of her cream sweater down over her hands, clenching her fists compulsively. The engagement ring catches the light and gleams on her finger.
My eyes track down to her feet as she's shifting from foot to foot. Her legs are in those soft, comfy black leggings she always wears on the weekend, her feet bare, her little light-pink-painted toes. Always pink. She said she liked the way the color looked against her skin.
My Sophie.
"If you have any respect for me left in you, please pack your things and get out. Now."
I do as I'm told because it's what she needs, and apparently, I'm still capable of giving it to her.
"Wait," she says, and I turn, unearned and unwanted hope filling my chest. She slides the ring from her finger and holds it out for me to take. "Here."
I shake my head immediately, "Sophie, this was a gift."
"No, this is a joke," she shoves the ring in my hand, shaking her head in disgust. "In sickness and in health, that's what you would have promised me at the altar. Guess it's a good thing I got sick before we made it there."