Bed of Lies (ON HOLD)

XXVIII

It's been days since the debacle at the club. Yet, my mental state has not reverted to normal. Fragments of that day are buried in my subconscious. When I least expect, the pain rears up from nowhere. It's like I'm stuck in this nightmare that doesn't want to relent or relapse. It's emptying me.

If I dare seal my eyes, I'm plunged into a sea of desperation and helplessness. I see that day replay itself before me whenever my eyelids close. I can't stop this feeling eating at me, convincing me that I'd caused that for myself. That it had all been my doing.

The regret slams into me so fiercely that I almost hate myself. It was all your fault. It keeps saying. If only I'd stayed home that night. If only I'd stood my ground and told Tina that I was not interested in her shenanigans. It was as easy as that. 

All I had to say was no. I could have made up an excuse—maybe one that involved having dinner with my partner or family—then pretended to be regretful about not making it to her girls get together or whatever it was. There was no way she'd be persistent with the issue if she knew I was unavailable. 

Truly, there was zero need for me to be such a chicken as I'd been, flinching at the mere threat she made about coming to my house. The worst-case scenario would have been that she actually came over. 

What would she have seen? Nothing, if I chose for it to be so. Tony had been out, so she wouldn't have come in contact with him. And if I'd simply hidden in the house, she would not have access to me. Yet, I did none of that. And somehow, I ended going through hell.

I wouldn't be struggling with this turbulent grief if I'd just stayed put. There are so many what-ifs, it practically drives me mad. This torture is so steadfast and staunch, everything like I need it not to be. It's too firm, leaving this heavy of a burden on my chest.

It's arduous to deal with because I think of that moment and reminisce that if I had not gulped down those drinks like water and afterwards, had not considered dancing the buzz off, I would have not been trapped in the hands of a beast who molested me.

It also does not serve as a boon that after consoling me in the parking lot, my amazing husband was mad at me. He did not utter a word about the incident, leaving me to deal with it myself, and it's been two days since it happened. 

I can't say I'm surprised. Seldom does his indifference shock me, but it did wound me that he could not bring himself to show compassion after the traumatic experience I went through. It just hurts that he's this way.

Everything hurts.

I can continue to lament about that encounter and all that I'd loathed about it and the many thousand alternate routes I could have taken to make sure that my night did not end up the way it did in that club. I could count on my fingers how many times I'd ever been like that, so alone and defenceless. All of them at which I wanted my existence to come to an end.

As of now, I've overcome that urge. The night I spent in my room, isolated and lonely after the club, was killed by my struggle to remain sane. There was no one to give a damn about me, and for the first time since our marriage, I envied that my sister did not wed my husband. It was a first for me to wish I hadn't taken the vows that made me Anthony Stephen's wife.

I believe that wave has passed by now. There is no much bitterness in my heart like when I'd locked myself in and felt like the world was against me. It all boils down to my love for Tony being so encompassing that I can forgive virtually everything he does. I do have a sliver of resentment saved up, however, and I'm not sure that, presently, if my back is against the wall that I'd let go easily.

To not renew recalling the past, I've made the decision to bury myself in housework. Unfortunately, there's not much to be done. On a normal day, I'd have been delighted that Tony vacuumed the entire house and not only the rooms with rugs and all the foot-mats before he left, but today, I'm not so readily impressed.