Lugging the heavy load, I creep back into the bathroom and cautiously climb up to stand on the toilet. I’m exhausted from traveling, heartbroken from my failed research expedition, and blindsided by the abysmal end of my relationship.
But rage pumps through my veins, and the taste of revenge is sweet in my mouth, urging me to lift the heavy bucket as high as I can at the edge of the curtain.
I’m precariously balanced but when I hear the filthy words he’s spewing—words he refused to use with me when I wanted to spice things up—it gives me the extra burst I need to dump the ice water over their heads.
A maniacal giggle escapes me as the mystery woman shrieks and Ben bellows, “What the fuck?”
He rips back the curtain to reveal a woman kneeling at his feet with his now limp dick in her hand as I drop the bucket to the floor and say, “You’re right, that nugget ice is where it’s at.”
“Jesus, Dolly. I thought you were coming home tomorrow,” he barks, wiping the icy water from his face and cranking the faucet handle so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t snap off in his hand.
And there it is. My failure to understand dates and times has serendipitously saved me from a doomed marriage. I snap, “Yeah, that pesky international date line is totally to blame for you putting your dick in someone else's mouth. Did you trip over it and fall?”
My eyes drift to the younger woman and I snort. “Really, Ben? Is she your TA or your student? Could you be any more cliché? Get the fuck out, you worthless piece of shit.”
I glare down at them from my porcelain pedestal, listening to Ben sputter as icy water drips off him and the other woman.
“I'm not fucking leaving. This is my house, too,” he says, his voice rising.
I spot my phone on the bathroom counter where I’d set it earlier and step down, snatch it up, and unlock it with a flick of my thumb. I hold it up and snap a picture of them.
“Ben, I just flew halfway around the world. I didn’t find the damn plant. Instead, I come home to find you cheating on me. I’ve got nothing left to lose. Do you really want to fuck with me right now? I am one second away from sending this pic to the dean and destroying you. Get. The.Fuck. Out.”
His face pales as the weight of my words sinks in. He steps out of the shower, grabbing his robe off the back of the door and throwing it on.
The younger woman—Felicia, I think her name is, as I vaguely recall meeting her once—looks back and forth between us, following the conversation like an obscene tennis match.
I turn my withering stare on her and say, “You, too. Get the fuck out of my house. You think he's not going to cheat on you, sweetheart? I got news for you. Cheaters cheat.”
She shrinks back, covering herself in embarrassment and reaches for a towel.
I throw out a hand over them and say, “Oh, no. You can drip your shame right out the front door for all I care. Don't you dare fucking touch my towels. Get. Out.”
Am I being cruel? Harsh? Maybe. But I have no fucks left to give. I’m filled with a grim satisfaction as she runs from the bathroom, leaving a trail of wet footprints in her wake while I am left to clean up not only the puddles they left behind, but the wreckage of my heart.
Chapter Four
Dahlia
Itake the same towel I refused to let her use and carelessly toss it onto the floor to sop up the mess. Staring with detached fascination at the fabric as it slowly darkens, I jump when I hear the front door slam, followed by the screech of tires as they speed away in Ben’s sports car. I hope the leather seats get water stains.
I should have known that fancy sports car wasn’t about us—it was about impressing other women. He called itour car,the one we’d use to look polished, successful, the perfect couple. But every time we drove separately, it washis car,leaving me with my old sedan. I convinced myself it was fair, that we were a team. Now I see it for what it really was—another lie to keep me small so he could shine. Not anymore.
I rip off my robe, the Valentine’s gift that now feels like a cruel joke, and march to the hall bathroom. There’s no way I’m stepping into the other defiled shower ever again. I stuff the robe into the small trash can, where it overflows in a heap of betrayal.
I crank the water as hot as I can stand it and step in. The heat beats against my skin, but it can’t touch the cold that has settled in my marrow. It clings to my core, pulling at memories of the icy winds in the Himalayas, the bite of the air that burned and invigorated all at once. The water cascades over me, but nothing washes away the hollow ache that echoes in the space where my hope used to live.
I sit down hard under the steaming water and wrap my arms around my knees in a futile attempt to staunch the bleeding of my hemorrhaging heart. I thought I would be coming home to the safety and reassurance of my carefully curated life and loving relationship. That Ben would help me navigate these uncertain waters and figure out my next steps.
Hope swirls down the drain. Without him, I don't know how I'm going to continue my research or even finish my degree with both of us in the same damn department. If the world of botany is small, ethnobotany is a microcosm. And my small section is under his purview as the tenure-track botany professor.
Sure, I have a picture that might be enough to get him in trouble. But in the male-dominated world of academia, all it would probably earn him is a slap on the wrist with a sly wink and a quiet warning to be more discreet next time.
But even worse, I don’t have the plant. The doctorate was part of it, yes, but the real reason was something far more personal. Ben knew I believed that the enzymes in the Silene vitalis held potential for treating the disease that killed my mother. What he didn’t know, what I had never told him, was that I have the same gene. I could barely even admit it to myself.
At last, the cooling water prompts me to climb out into the steamy bathroom. The humidity grips my lungs, so I throw open the window and stick my head out. I watch wistfully as steam swirls past me and escapes out into the dark night, wishing I could float away with it.
Pulling in deep breaths of the cool night air, I decide I'll allowmyself this night to have an epic pity party. I'll ugly cry until I'm empty and then tomorrow, I’ll turn on my logical brain and figure out a path forward. Without Ben.
