Nora
Everything blurs behind the tears filling my eyes. I’m not sure if it’s the sound of the slapping of skin, the things I hear him saying, or just the heartbreak of seeing it. Again.
It’s all of it. Information and emotion overload.
Matt asked me to come by sometime today after lunch to sign the documents for our joint trading and banking accounts, he says the signatures have to be updated every quarter, so he lets me know when they are ready and I stop by to sign them.
I had an errand to run before lunch, so I thought I would surprise him by showing up a bit before to see if he wanted to go to the new restaurant down the street from his building. He’s an attorney with a group that handles government contracts. Because of his father’s high status and influence in D.C., he works for one of the most powerful firms in the city.
His receptionist’s desk in the office in front of his is empty, but I hear voices behind the big frosted glass doors that lead to his office, so I’m not sure if he’s in a meeting. I slowly and quietly open one of the doors a crack to make sure he’s alone before I go in.
He’s not alone.
Found his receptionist. Bent over the front of his desk, skirt bunched around her waist, and Matt pounding into her from behind. His suspenders are sagging on his thighs, and his pants are open just far enough in the front to let his dick out. The tie I bought him for Valentine’s Day is thrown over his shoulder.
Of course, she’s slim and petite.
Then I hear a man’s voice, not Matt’s, in the room. “We need those documents signed and sent over before the end of next week or the points decrease rapidly after that.” That sounds like his brother.
Is his brother in there with him? While he’s having sex with his receptionist? Then I see the green light on his phone; he has his brother on speakerphone while he has a little mid-morning delight.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got her fully trained. She’s coming in this afternoon to sign everything.” His voice is choppy from his movements, and it makes me want to vomit.
Trained? Like a dog? Is he talking about me?
The voice over the speaker fills the room again. “You better keep a tight grip on that leash; I don’t think she’s as stupid as you like to think.”
My heart breaks in two and falls to the pit of my stomach. Surely, they aren’t talking about me.
The woman who smiles at me every time I come to the office and happily makes small talk with me if he’s busy lets out a small moan, and Matt cups his hand over her mouth. “All it takes is showing her attention and telling her how pretty she is. I’ve got to go.” He lets go of her hip to tap the button on his phone and picks up his pace, the slapping getting louder and faster.
Looking away, I quietly close the door, but I hear him grunt his release as I do, sending bile up the back of my throat. This is the second time I’ve walked in on him with another woman. Thefirst time, he begged and pleaded, telling me it was a mistake, that he was drunk, and promised it would never happen again.
This is my fault for hoping a cheater wouldn’t cheat again. But what did the conversation between him and his brother mean?
How do I go back from this?
I can’t.
Looking down at the box in my hand with the name of his favorite pastry store in elegant script across the top, I set it on his receptionist’s desk and walk to the elevator.
As I watch the numbers over the elevator door tick off my descent, I wonder what the statistics are in relation to catching your fiancé with another woman. If I’ve caught him twice, does that mean, statistically, that there are maybe two women I don’t know about for each time I’ve caught him?
Four for each time?
More?
Holding my hand up to look at the large diamond on my finger, it sparkles and winks at me like the whore it is. Every time I question the sincerity of his professed feelings for me, I look at the ring that must have cost him a fortune. Surely, he wouldn’t be marrying me if he thought so little of me.
He would keep his dick in his pants if he truly loved you.
Obviously, based on what I heard, he thinks very little of me.
It’s funny how a piece of jewelry, no, the price tag for a piece of jewelry can act as a placeholder in lieu of genuine feelings and actions. Is that who I’ve become? That doesn’t even include the expensive condo we live in. He paid for that too.
My Grams would be so disappointed in me. In the few times I’ve thought of leaving him, I’ve wondered how hard it would be to separate myself from him. Even though we aren’t married yet, in the past two years we’ve combined everything we have.
Or maybe he’s just combined me with everything he has. Like another possession.
