Marital Bitch (Men with Badges) - By Jc Emery Page 0,62
but nothing comes out.
"Yeah," I say, staring into her eyes, imploring some kind of sign that she could possibly love me, too. Even if it's a little bit, I'll take it. I feel a moment of hope before my world shatters.
"Oh," she whispers. Her mouth opens and then closes and opens again. She doesn't know what to say. I don't blame her. She can't help it if she doesn't feel the same way. I feel like throwing up. If I don't do something, I'll have completely ruined what little bit I have with her.
Her mouth opens and in a moment of panic, I rush to talk over her.
"As a friend," I lie and laugh lightly. Through my own voice, I hear hers.
"I love you, too," she says and then laughs. There's a moment where I think she's serious. Or maybe I'm hearing things. And then it passes and it's gone so quickly that I think it never happened.
"As a friend," she clarifies. I laugh a little more, forcing myself not to fall apart. I've loved this woman my entire life; and this is what's come of it. A lifetime's worth of disappointments fester in my gut, threatening to spill out. The laughter that comes from her sends my lunch to my throat and I rush from the bed to the bathroom where I expel my breakfast.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
(Colleen)
You want a baby?
I WANT, MORE than anything, to rewind the last five minutes of my life.
I want to strike the entire conversation from memory.
I want out of this house.
For a split second I had it all. I had a career. I had a beautiful husband. I was in love. Deeply in love. And I was loved in return. And then with three little words, I had nothing. For a split second, Brad loved me. Or so I thought.
"As a friend," he said just as I had gotten up the nerve to tell him that I love him, too. I must have looked like the biggest idiot.
And to top it off, it wasn't until Brad was holding me in his arms, asking me if I want a baby, that I really knew what I want and where I belong, and who with. I belong with Brad. I always have, but it seems that I am an idiot because it's only taken me thirty-five years to really believe it.
Hearing Brad say he loves me was indescribable. I wish I could capture the feeling in a bottle so that I'll always remember it.
I want out of this room.
I just want to hide in my misery. I close my eyes and shove my face in my pillow as the tears pour out of my eyes. Soon enough, I move from the acceptable "I'm hurting" cry to the all-out, balls-to-the-wall-ugly-cry. And breathing is difficult; not that I care much about breathing at this moment.
Brad is in the bathroom, throwing up. I'm kind of annoyed at him for making it there first. I feel sick. I should go and see if he's okay, but my puffy eyes give me away. It's one thing to sort-of, kind-of tell your best friend that you love him. It's another for him to know how much it's hurting you. Eventually, I compose myself enough to yell out and ask him if he's okay and if he needs anything. Thankfully, he doesn't. So I stay in bed and sob.
I hear the flush of the toilet, knowing he will be out soon, and run to do something about my red eyes. I find an unopened jar of an organic face mask that I just had to buy. I remember buying this at Macy's. It cost me fifty dollars. When I first moved in Brad told me I was beautiful just as I am and I don't need this "expensive crap" and that it's a waste of money. At the time I was annoyed with his judgment, but now, I don't know what I was thinking when I bought it.
The bathroom door cracks open and I rip the lid off the jar of expensive goop. I dig my hand in and slather it all over my face just in time for Brad to walk down the hall, holding his stomach. His eyes are red, but that’s no surprise. He always gets watery eyes when he throws up. I have no excuse for my red eyes except that I’m in love with him and he doesn’t feel the same.