Page 72 of Morally Corrupt

I feel sick to my stomach, to my head. And most of all, to my soul.

I thought my heart had been irrevocably broken when my parents had been murdered right under my nose.

But this?

It feels like my soul is being snatched out of my body.

It feels like I'm drowning in a sea of misery. And as I sit in my car a few minutes later, my head resting on the wheel, I keep repeating.

"Let it be a dream. Please let it be all just a bad dream."

* * *

It's not a dream.

I've texted Marcel to meet me at the office, not trusting myself to speak and drive, or speak, or drive.

But I manage it.

I drive without killing myself, which might just have been a mercy in this situation.

I trudge my way inside my office to find Marcel already waiting for me there.

"Shit, Theo, what happened to you?"

"I just found out my wife used to be a prostitute, is currently a drug addict, and has a collection of weapons to rival a military base. Does that cover it?" I give a sad smile and plop myself into the chair.

"Wait a minute…a prostitute?"

"As you heard. A prostitute I fucked, too, years before I met Bianca." He stares at me before bringing his hand to his chin, stroking pensively.

"Do you think there's a connection?"

"Hell if I know. But doesn't it seem like a perfect coincidence? More than anything, I realize what a fool I've been. God, how many lies? I don't even know her…"

"Theo, calm down…"

"How? How can I calm down when I find out my wife isn't remotely who I thought she was? Pink… the prostitute, was the exact opposite of Bianca. God! I really thought she was this soft-spoken, shy girl, struggling under her father's thumb, waiting for me to save her… That sounds so fucked now that I say it out loud, but she played me. She played me so well, knowing exactly what to do to get under my skin. She only showed me what I wanted to see. I wanted her to be helpless. I wanted her to be innocent…" My hand goes to my face, and I try to massage my temples. There's a throbbing in my head that only seems to intensify. "Whoisshe?" I whisper.

"Are you going to confront her?"

"I don't know… I don't think I'm capable of anything right now."I think for a moment and realize I need to know more about Pink. Why? Maybe to torture myself even more.

"I'm going to give you some time. This isn't easy to accept," Marcel says and, at some point, leaves the office. I don't actually pay attention. I might have nodded at him…

An image springs into my mind.

"Bianca Ashby, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" I was on one knee, my hands holding the ring box in front of a stunned Bianca. She'd looked extraordinary that night. Her long, black hair had gleamed in the moonlight. Her eyes had sparkled with warmth and love and everything I'd ever wanted.

"Yes! Yes!" she'd cried. "A thousand times, yes!" That was the night she'd becomemine.

But it has all been a lie. A terrible bitterness assaults me as I realize she's never actually been mine.

I still can't wrap my head around why she did it. Why she went to this extent to live a double life. Was I just a smokescreen for her activities? Had she seen me as an easy target? She'd certainly known my weaknesses and had manipulated me to fall for her. Was anything that came out of her mouth real?

So many questions, and for a time, I allow myself to be overcome by grief.

The Bianca I love just doesn't exist.