Gabrielle
My heart thudded painfully in my chest when Fabio slammed the door behind him. I stood frozen in place, didn’t know for how long. All I knew was the sentence repeating in my head.
It’s for the best.
Letting him go is for the best.
Hurting him so he won’t look back is for the best.
It’s for the best.
I dragged my feet to the hallway, passing by the first bedroom on the right, the one I no longer entered unless I felt like torturing myself a thousand notches higher.
Tonight was the perfect night to do just that.
My hand fell on the doorknob, and my heart contracted and squeezed before I set foot inside. My glutton for punishment self urged me to go relive my own hell and savor every ache the emptiness and the memories generously provided. My mind begged me not to, only because it wanted me to torture myself in a different way more destructive, more dangerous, and if I was being totally honest, much more fun.
Wasn’t that what I was trying to have with Fabio? Fun? What I dared allow myself after three years of abstinence? I broke that rule—almost. Why wouldn’t I break another? Why wouldn’t I just visit the nearest liquor store? It, too, would be fun. It wasn’t like men were the only source of pleasure women could have.
High on self-destruction, I left this room and made a beeline down the hallway to my bedroom. Then I took off my dress, aiming to change into something comfortable, something ugly that even his magic bra wouldn’t make any less hideous.
I enjoyed the sagging of my boobs once I got rid of the inappropriate, and come to think of it rather insulting and mansplaining, gift. Once I got off the wet panties that would always remind me of this shameful night, I decided I should burn them, bury the evidence and spare myself the heartache. I was never going to run short on that.
Donning a blue sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, I rummaged through Jack’s side of the wardrobe, looking for his drab brown jacket. I hated drab brown more than I hated myself, but it was the perfect color for tonight.
Ugly outfit. Check.
Oversized jacket that shielded the masses from the horror of my braless tits. Check.
Look like a giant poop wrapped in said jacket. Check.
I reached to return the hanger where it belonged, but clumsy me dropped it. I crouched and fetched it, my eyes hitting a big box I kept hidden in the bottom.Don’t. Please.
My hand didn’t listen and grabbed my Pandora’s box.
I stared at the wooden container of my life when things were worth living for, frozen, afraid. I shouldn’t open this today, not with how awful I already felt, not when I was about to go and do something I vowed never to do again.
Something that robbed me of my family. Something that took innocent lives.
My finger lifted the vintage metal lock in the middle, not listening to a word I was telling myself, and opened the box.
Tears rimmed my eyes the instance they fell on the photo on the top of the huge stack inside. Jack and I hugging on a beach in Italy. It was the best trip ever.
A painful sigh seeped out of me. “Why did you ask me to live?”
I stained the photo with the tears I could no longer hold as I traced the loving features of my husband with my fingers. God, I missed him. I was fucking lonely without him.
“Why, Jack? I shouldn’t have survived this. I should have died that night, too. Why did you save me?”
I shook my head heavenwards, letting a more troubled sigh. Then I dared push the photo to torment myself with the one under it. But the moment I saw who was in it, my heart couldn’t take it.
I snapped the box shut and crumbled on the floor, sobbing, cursing fate and myself. I’d packed all our family photos and hid them inside that wooden hell pit for a reason.
To survive. Like Jack asked me to.
Because every time I looked at these photos, I couldn’t stand the world, my own skin, my fucking breath.
Inhaling long breaths and exhaling them, I pushed the box back to its place and collected myself to stand back on my feet. I didn’t bother washing my face before I grabbed my keys and descended to the garage.
