Prologue #8
When I reached the hallway, my mouth was still hanging and my heart was still on the ledge. Absent-mindedly, I drifted to my bedroom and into my bed. Once I was underneath the covers, I pulled the bathrobe from my body and draped it across the other side of the bed.
I wasn’t sure how, but I was hoping sleep found me sooner than later because the thought of the act I’d just committed was too overwhelming to survive the night. It had only been about two minutes since I’d pressed send, and I was already wishing I could unsend the email.
I melted between the sheets, a deep, stressful sigh leaving me as I rolled onto my right side. It was the most comfortable side to sleep on. As I closed my eyes, I cringed at the thought of going to bed without administering my facial products, tying my hair up, or sliding into some night threads.
Tonight is the exception, I determined, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to conjure the strength to do either now that I was under the sheets.
I closed my eyes and released the breath I’d been holding.
The long, exaggerated air left my lungs and was quickly replaced with new oxygen as he appeared behind my lids.
The morning sun was brutal. It shined through my big bay windows, interrupting my sleep.
I’d gotten up at my usual 5 a.m. meditation and yoga, but my tired eyes wouldn’t let me stay awake after the shower I had at 6 a.m. When my exhausted gaze reached the clock on my nightstand, I noticed it was after eight.
“Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhuuuuuuu,” I yawned, tossing both feet over the side of the bed and stretching my arms in the morning air.
The silkiness of my pajamas caressed my skin as I stood to my feet.
I turned around and checked the satin pillowcase for my headwrap but luckily, it wasn’t there.
My hands went to my head instantly and I found it there, sitting nicely.
Satisfied with the success of my morning nap, I trekked toward my bathroom.
The moment I stepped into the space, the motion detector sensed me, flooding the space with light. Though I’d already completed my hygiene tasks, brushing my teeth again was a requirement. As I stared back at my fresh, heavily moisturized face I was consumed with plaguing, cumbersome thoughts.
My actions could ruin a perfectly good friendship, I reasoned, remembering what I’d done the night before. The words of my message played loud in my head, each one more cringy than the last.
I often imagine the faces of our children?
I questioned. Ugh. Disgusted, I shoved the toothbrush into my mouth and shoved it back and forth.
Though the deed was already done, I was praying that somehow Ken didn’t get through the entire message that I had sent.
There was a part of me that knew he would read every word, every syllable, but one could only hope that he stopped after realizing the message’s context.
For three minutes, I stared back at the mirror, brushing my teeth with furrowed brows and eyes that kept rolling upward in my head.
Needing control over every situation and having none over this one was grueling.
Anxiety clenched my lungs, giving the illusion that I couldn’t breathe although it was apparent that I could.
The tightness in my chest was evidence of my anxiousness, which made a second morning shower seem more ideal than just one.
As I contemplated it, I came to the realization that another shower wouldn’t solve my issue.
The best I could do was forget it even existed.
After I cleaned the toothpaste from my mouth with my water pick, I dried my mouth and exited the bathroom.
My next stop was the kitchen so that I could prepare my favorite breakfast meal.
Two boiled eggs, light seasoning, and a tall glass of water always gave me a good head start.
And just before I left the kitchen, I’d squeeze fresh orange juice to get my workday started.
It was all routine, which I happened to thrive off.
Knowing exactly what my day consisted of helped keep me on the straight and narrow daily.
It wasn’t until I made it to the kitchen that I realized it was time to reorder my groceries.
The last of my eggs had been used the morning before.
Shit. I combed the shelves of my massive fridge with my eyes, wondering what I could put together for a decent meal. I settled on a bagel and cream cheese.
The plain bagel was cold to the touch when I grabbed it from the bag. That quickly changed when I stuffed it in the toaster and placed the rest of them back in the fridge. I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with filtered water from my fridge.
“Ahhhhhh.” The first sip eliminated the dryness of my throat and slightly washed away the taste of my toothpaste. I wanted it at a minimum by the time my bagel was ready for consumption.
The buzzer on the toaster sounded as I rounded up the oranges that I’d be using for my juice.
I rushed over to grab the warm, thick bread and placed it on a glass dish.
Another sip from my cup, and my water was half gone.
I stood in the same spot until I’d finished it off.
It wasn’t until then that I began coating my bagel with cream cheese.
With such a small meal, I didn’t bother having a seat.
I stood where I was, shoving the bagel down my throat piece by piece as I created a mental checklist of my day’s tasks.
The first was reordering my last cart of groceries for delivery.
In a few short minutes, breakfast was complete, my orange juice had been made, and my to-do list was still forming.
Certain that I’d forget to put something from my list on paper once I sat down, I expedited my exit from the kitchen, deciding to tidy up when I returned for a lunch break.
I strolled through my home with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice in a glass, humming the lyrics of Protect Her by Sabrina Claudio as I made my way to my home office.
My chair was still pulled from under my desk, partially.
I slid onto it in my jammies and tapped the keyboard of my iMac to get it started.
I wasn’t settling down for the morning. Not yet.
I still needed to get dressed and apply my makeup.
For now, it was imperative that I created the list that would guide me through the day.
Ill-prepared, my heart sank into my furry slippers when the screen changed after typing in my password. I was quickly reminded of what I’d tried so hard to forget – and had succeeded for the last few minutes.
The green check mark was big and bold on the screen, confirming my message had been sent.
With a heavy sigh, I hovered over the red X that would remove the page from my view completely, but curiosity just wouldn’t allow me to click it.
Instead, I moved the cursor down and over a bit, clicked the full URL and hit enter on my keyboard.
The page refreshed, but the green check mark had disappeared. It was replaced with a record of sent and received messages. The only one in the column of messages was mine. Not only had it been sent but there was record of it being received. My palms perspired instantaneously.
He read it.
“He read it!”
Nausea hit me like a sack of bricks. I could feel the bagel I’d eaten minutes prior rise to the top of my stomach, threatening to surface. I stared at the screen, my eyes wide and refusing to close even for a millisecond. He read it.
I felt sick to my stomach knowing that my feelings had been exposed in such a desperate manner, but I was even sicker realizing that Ken had gotten my message and didn’t bother responding.
My secret wasn’t between Ever and I anymore.
The source knew, too, and from the looks of it, the feelings weren’t mutual.