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I lay in bed, listening to the soft drumming of raindrops on the window. My chest ached as though my heart pushed against the inside of my sternum. I pulled the comforter up to my chin and lay the full weight of my head into my pillow. My ears searched the space around me for any other sound than the patter of rain, but found none.
The ceiling above swirled with images of my brief history at Starlight Telecom. Sales meetings where they recognized me for record-breaking sales. Delicious flirtation with Steve. Our scandalous business trip that launched my adventures into cheating on Ron. And all of it ending with the useless words, “Jessica, I'm really sorry.”
Fuck you, Steve.
Ron’s spot, if I could still call it that, remained vacant beside me. I ran my hands over it and found the impression of his body in the mattress, now colder and shallower.
How many days has it been?
I picked up my phone and looked at my texts. Several that I sent to Ron without responses from him.
A text from Austin, three days old.
“Ron didn’t show up. He’s never done that. Does he know something?”
Ahh. So, this must be day four.
Another text from Austin this morning.
“I can come over again tonight if you’re craving some more of this D. Haha.”
The thrill of taking his cock in my marital bed gave me a momentary reprieve from the intolerable melancholy of being home alone, but I was over it now. No cock could fill the gaping hole left by the news I just got.
No, Austin, no more cravings. Unless you wanna hire me.
Besides, what was the point if my marriage was over? Betraying Ron was no fun if he wasn’t there to feel the sting. If I couldn’t look in his eyes and see his pain when I confessed, well, then I’d just be fucking an arrogant prick that bought some phones from me.
Starlight better fucking pay me my commission for that sale.
Getting canned drained the feeling of power right out of my chest. I put the phone back down on the bedside table.
My marriage is over? I’m fired? Fuck my life.
I got up and pushed my feet to carry me across the floor and downstairs to the kitchen. They drug on the carpet, making a scuffing sound with each step. The stairs threatened to trip me as I descended. A hand on the downstairs wall helped to steady my lifeless steps.
Yay. I made it to the kitchen.
I opened the liquor cabinet and found an unopened fifth of Jack Daniel’s.
“Thank God.”
I fumbled through the cabinets over the counter, looking for a whiskey glass.
“Where the hell are they?”
Ron always did this for me. He did a lot of things for me.
I exhaled a heavy sigh.
Fuck the glass.
Grabbing the whiskey bottle, I lumbered into the den and collapsed onto the couch. A pile of photo albums sat stacked in the middle of the coffee table. I reached for the top one, brushed off a thin layer of dust from the cover, and opened it in my lap.
As my eyes perused the pictures, a stream of fond memories began trickling through my mind. Photos of the first house Ron and I bought together. Of the surprise birthday party he threw for me. The time I got out of the hospital after a long bout with acute bronchitis. Ron rolled me out in a wheelchair to a fancy Town Car he rented.
And you stayed at my bedside the entire time.
I took one picture out of the album and held it up in front of me. As I studied it, a tear formed in the corner of my eye. In the picture, I sat on the back of a majestic chocolate thoroughbred. Ron stood in the distance behind a rail, watching me with a ridiculous grin. One of my “bucket list” dreams - riding a genuine thoroughbred horse on the Churchill Downs racetrack - became a reality that day. From the moment I told Ron about that dream, he worked on making it come true. He wanted to make all my dreams come true.
That was a silly dream, Jessica.
I wiped a tear from my cheek and reached for the Jack Daniels.
Girl, you fucked shit up really good this time.
I opened the bottle and turned it up. The sweet sting of the whiskey shot through my sinuses and lit up my temples with a soothing burn. My body melted into the buzz. I looked around the room. Our wide-screen tv - encased in a rich, dark mahogany case mounted in the wall - sat cold from lack of use. In Ron’s absence, I didn’t feel like watching it. We did that together.
I hate TV anyway.
Plush, pearlescent curtains hung around the large windows, overlooking the green canvas of our backyard. I loved those curtains. They cost a small fortune, but Ron encouraged me to get them. Just touching them in the store made my nipples hard. That’s what I told him, anyway. I often watched Ron through those windows as he labored in the backyard, sweating over some azalea bush or weeds he wrestled out of the flower beds. All trappings of a life afforded by two incomes, mine being the more substantial.
Well, that’s about to change, isn’t it?
The photo album slid off my lap and onto the floor as I got up.
He’s not gonna respond, Jessica. Don’t even try it.
My muscles ached with each step up the stairs. I went into the bedroom and picked up my phone. The dark glass fogged under my touch, and my hollow eyes looked back at me through the reflection.
God, girl, you look like shit.
I took a deep breath, brought the phone to life, and typed.
“Ron. It’s me. I know you’re angry. You have a right to be.”
Send.
I looked at the phone for another minute, rubbing my thumb across the surface of the screen. My puffed cheeks blew a long exhale through pursed lips.
Fuck it. He’s the one I would tell these things to.
“I got fired today.”
Send.
I set the phone down on the bedside table and climbed into bed.
That was dumb.
The flow of tears resumed in my eyes, more plentiful this time. Until they gave way to drowsiness. My eyes closed, and the weight of slumber rolled over my body. Sleep approached but stopped short, halted by the vibrations of my phone.
I picked it up. A notification showed a text icon, Ron’s name, and two words.
“Hey, Jessica.”
