Page 15 of Succeeding Love

When I met Fay when I was completely broke and halfway through law school, she was like the sun, lighting up campus everywhere she went. I thought she was the type of woman all men would envy me for being with. I hurried to marry her, infatuated with her vibrant personality and her adorable charms. She was lovely in every way, but she was always safe and controlled. She was happy with her simple life. After seeing the change in Arlene, and after we started our affair, I thought maybe I was too fast to marry and should have waited forsomeone that was more aligned to the station I wanted to reach for.

I was wrong. I was too quick to leave her. It wasn’t even two weeks before I regretted everything, but by then it was too late.

Arlene had already begun to show affection openly at work, so those that weren’t previously aware of the affair suddenly knew. I didn’t want to be that flake of a man who crumbled under judgment and pressure, which is what I deduced that my regretful mindset was coming from. I tried to sum the regret up to just mourning my old life, but I was just fooling myself.

Then the divorce started. Fay’s attorney submitted the separation documents while I spent two weeks staring at mine on my desk, debating if it was nerves or something else preventing me from filing. Fay wanted nothing from me. Not even child support or alimony. She was true to her word, only wanting the house.

She was calm and steadfast through the entire ordeal while I was a disaster. I tried to keep it together on the outside, but I would lash out at mediation hearings, and always had a reason to push court dates back again and again. I used my connections to get a rise out of Fay, wanting her to show a hateful or resentful side just once, but no matter how many times I motioned for continuance, or what allegations I threw Feighlynn’s way, she remained her sweet, positive self. She didn’t fight me about anything she deemed reasonable, like the custody agreement.

In the end, even the judge that completed our divorce was smitten with Fay’s sunshine personality, and I realized through it all what I was scared to admit before.

I was wrong. I was so wrong to leave her, and I was miserable. I was seeking excitement and freedom to rise to a higher position, but I’m living in a prison of my own regrets.

I can’t keep living like this. Every night, I cannot drink myself to oblivion to drown my guilt and regret. I can’t keep making excuses to stay at the home I once shared with my wife, just so I could sneak into the room we used to share and cry into her sweet-smelling pillow while she avoids me by staying with her sister.

I want my wife back. I want to hold her small but curvy body while going to sleep, burying my face in her soft hair. I want to listen to her adorable ramblings as she talks to herself throughout the day. I want to hear her laugh again. Lord, it’s been so damn long since I heard Fay laugh.

She was laughing withhim. Her new neighbor. I never felt jealousy like that. Men have flirted with my wife in the past, but that was when I knew she would never sway from me. Seeing her walking her dog with that thug, his arms covered in tattoos, I wanted to step in and tell her to go home and demand he never speak to my wife again.

But she’s not my wife. Not anymore.

She said the dreams we used to share died, but I refuse to accept that. If I’m this regretful, she has to be feeling some regret, too. She has to. After fifteen years of marriage, she couldn’t have rid herself of all the affection for me. Not when I can’t forget any of the reasons. I fell for her so hard and so fast sixteen years ago. Such a short amount of time in confusion on my part can’t erase what we once built.

Maybe the redemption gifts I left on her bed to make up for last year’s disaster and more for this year will be enough tostart a conversation at least. Maybe I should text her now and see if she has noticed them yet.

The image of her laughing with that neighbor man flashed in my head, stopping me from texting when I lifted my phone. Maybe I should call her instead, just to make sure she made it home okay.

I was unlocking my phone, scrolling through my contacts, when an incoming text pinged and my phone vibrated in my hand. I excitedly went to my messages, hopeful it would be praise for my thoughtfulness. Fay was always so grateful for any little gift I gave her. Whether it be drugstore flowers when we first dated, to that expensive mutt I bought her some years ago. She was the most cheerful and grateful person I knew.

My face fell when I opened the text. It wasn’t from Fay, but from Preston.

Pres:| I told you not to leave the gifts. I’ll bring them tomorrow when I bring Jess to your place. Mom doesn’t want them, and she doesn’t need you over here guilt-tripping her about not wanting them. You’re not staying over here this weekend, either.

She didn’t want them? Did she not open them? I spent hours combing through Dillards and Neiman Marcus with a sales associate, picking out the best of everything they offered. I even got the quirkier designs, knowing she preferred unique to regular designer stuff. Arlene only wants the top brand’s top products, while Fay adores the thought and meaning behind everything. Damn it, I was so idiotic. So moronic.

Me:| Did she even open them?

Pres:| No, and she’s not going to.

I shot back my glass of whiskey, the liquid burning through my chest. She didn’t even open them.

“All those dreams died the moment you told me you didn’t love me anymore.”

No. I refuse to believe that. She still has to hold some feelings for me. She has to. I don’t know if I can live with myself if I believe otherwise.

Me:| Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, son.

There has to be something I can do. Once I’m in my own place, the place we always wanted to share in our dreams, I can really start trying to win her back. There has to be a way.

~

Arlene

He didn’t come after me. I’m too stunned, or I might cry right now.

After leaving the bastard at the door, I went and sat at the end of my bed rim-rod straight, protruding my chest and letting the slit of my robe fall open to expose the full length of my leg. I was ready for a petty fight, ready to vent out some of my anger, then get the rest of it out with a fury fuck. The best kind of fuck. I had my arms crossed, tapping my foot, but he never came.

Just seconds later, I heard a door close. He went straight to the guest room. He didn’t even waver. He went straight there. Not before grabbing the bottle of whiskey from the bar cart. I guess sex is off the table for the night.