marriage and living the exciting single life? Why can’t we have both?”
I step forward and peer down over her. The natural scent of her skin, sweet and fresh, wafts over me. “Because that’d make you a whore.”
“A whore?” she seethes. “Is that what you think I am?”
My head pounds. “Don’t ask questions you’re not prepared to hear the answers to.”
“You’re impossible to talk to when you’re drunk. And I’m done being insulted by a man who can barely get it up. If you don’t think I’ll leave you, you can stand there like an idiot and watch me go.”
“Get your ass back here.” I clutch her shoulders as she strides away, and pin her against the wall. “Does he know you’re married?”
Her eyes flare with anger. “This conversation is over.”
“This conversation is over when I say it is. I’m going to ask you again, and this time you’re going to answer me.” I speak as coldly as possible. I won’t let her off the hook. “Does he know you’re married?”
“Of course.”
“And he doesn’t care?”
“He’s married, too.”
“Goddamn it.”
“Michael,” she starts, her tone pleading, but I won’t hear any of it.
“Don’t you dare say my name.” I have the feeling that something inside me is about to snap like a rubber band. Breathe. Just breathe. “Not from your lying, cheating whore mouth.”
I pinch her lips between my fingers and squeeze.
She jerks away. “Don’t touch me, Michael.”
At her defiance, adrenaline spikes through me. My hands fly up to her neck. I want to shut her up. I want her to barely be able to breathe. My fingers crush her windpipe. I’ve got her fully in my grasp, under my control.
“Let me go.” She struggles to form the words. Finally, I see horror in her eyes.
“Do I know him? What’s his name?”
She shakes her head, wet hair thrashing. “Get off me.”
I press my thumbs harder into the groove at the base of her throat. Her face distorts, twisting and turning as my stomach churns. Somewhere in the back of my brain, I hear a whisper of caution, but I cast it aside. I’m too far gone. She deserves this.
“I gave you everything, every piece of clothing in your closet, the car you drive, the bed you sleep in—but he’s the one you let put hands on you? I bet you let him touch you any way he wants. Because that’s what whores do.” The thing that’d been coiling inside my gut moments before finally breaks free, releasing a tidal wave of hatred that threatens to drown me. “And you really thought you could have both? Your husband to love and other guys to fuck. Our goddamn anniversary is tomorrow, Joanna.”
Tears drip down my cheeks, but I don’t soften. Nothing will diminish my rage. She lifts her chin defiantly, as if she’s done nothing wrong, as if she hasn’t just ripped out my heart and stomped on the pieces.
“Five years, and this is what you give me? You’re not the woman I thought you were. You’re nothing but a dirty slut.”
The words fall from my lips, vile and toxic, but once they’re out there, I feel instantly relieved. It’s as if I’ve purged the venom from my veins. I don’t loosen my grip on her neck.
“You’re a demon,” she croaks. Her voice is strained, but rebelliousness blazes in her narrowed eyes. “I don’t know why I ever wanted to have a child with you.”
I jolt back and let my fist fly. She screams and cowers as my hand hits the wall over her shoulder, bursting through the drywall with a sharp crack. Eyes pinched shut, Joanna sinks to the floor and covers her head with her arms, but I can’t stop now.
The world falls into darkness, and I can’t feel my body, can’t think a single rational