Page 100 of Toxic Kiss

Setting the cover letter aside, I read over the financials first while my fingers mock me with the feel of photographs. Flowers are sent every week to the address of Karen Scott. I flip the page, and there she is in full color, a pretty brunette standing in front of a fancy condo building. Then there are images of Charles greeting her with the same smile he gives me. They kiss on the street before getting into his sports car.

Each photo is a barb to the insecurities that developed long ago, put there by another man who knew how to play me.

The worst part is that this is only one of many. Separating each affair is a cover letter, followed by a photo of the woman, and social media posts or information on events he attended with them. The logs are detailed and stretch back well over six months.

I cover my mouth as bile rises in the back of my throat.

I’m such a fool.

The very last set of pictures unleashes the tears I’ve been holding back. The date is from the so-called work trip. Instead of male colleagues on a golf course, he is in Tahiti with his pretty secretary. It’s a slap in the face since that is where he said he wanted to take me for our honeymoon. Every photo is worse than the last until I get to the shots of them having sex on the beach by the private waterside villa, and more on a boat.

The whole pile slips from my hands and fans out on the floor. The images sneer at me. I can almost hear the mocking words.

You’re a fool.

How stupid can you be?

Did you really think he loved you?

The engagement was a sham. He only proposed because you were getting restless, and you fell for it.

You haven’t learned your lesson.

All those late nights, did you really think he was working?

You’re ugly.

No one is ever going to love you.

You’re pathetic.

Our last conversation replays in my head. He sounded annoyed and out of breath. Jesus, did he answer the phone while having sex with another woman?

Closing my eyes, the tears stream down my face and wet my hand. Nothing will stop the violent and painful reality that is tearing me apart. The worst part is that I’m not upset our relationship is over. What’s killing me is that I thought I’d changed. I thought I was different, stronger, smarter…beautiful.

But nothing has changed.

Even though I know this isn’t going to make anything better, I pull out my phone and plug in the stupid USB. Touching the file, there are dozens of clips. My finger hovers over the first one.

I touch the small square, and the video pops up. Nothing will make the self-contempt better at this point, so I may as well go for the full loathing experience. I push play, and there he is in full sound and 4K resolution, fucking his secretary in his office.

Her dress is hiked up, and she has one knee on the desk. Charles’s pants are half down, and his tie is over his shoulder as he takes her from behind. I hit stop, get up, and run to the edge of the balcony to dry-heave. I haven’t eaten all day, a small blessing, but it doesn’t stop my body and mind from trying to turn itself inside out to get away.

My fingers clutch the rough edge of the concrete, and my nails scrape as my body sinks to the ground. Tears cloud my eyes, but there is no blinding me from what I’ve already seen.

All the laughing faces and jeers from over the years come at me at once like ghostly faces zooming in at me. I hear the mocking words and can taste the old humiliation. It is as sour as rancid milk sliding down my throat.

I gasp and gag again, managing to get myself to all fours when arms suddenly grab me and pick me up.

It’s Cy, but I can’t find it in me to fight him. He can throw me over the edge right now, and I won’t care.

“Shh, it’s going to be okay,” he says, his voice soothing, but the words are lies. Nothing will ever be okay.

I’m the problem.

And there is nothing I can do to get away from myself. All I want is for the deep ache to stop.

A fresh wave of tears hits, as Cy lays me down on the bed. Reaching for a pillow, I pull it into my chest, bury my face, and let it out. Everything that I’ve beaten down. Everything that I’ve stood tall against is still lurking and waiting for this moment. For me to realize that it doesn’t matter how much time has passed. It doesn’t matter what I wear, what classes I take, how I do my hair, or what I do for work. It doesn’t change a thing. It won’t, because the damage is already done.