The Divorcee Murder Club

Treinta Y Nueve ~ 39

              It’s mid-day as steam fills the bathroom while I scrub myself clean for the second time today. Yet, it doesn’t matter how many times I drag the loofa across my tattooed flesh or how red it becomes from how hard I press. 

The guilt is still there.

Shortly after having sex with Mindy, I told her what had happened with Celia. I put it all out there just like Jackson said I should, but it sprayed back at me like shit through a fan. Mindy went off on me, gathered her things, and stormed out of the apartment with the door slamming behind her. I texted her a few times apologizing, but my messages went ignored. 

And she has every right to. 

Mindy can do better than me. Someone as sweet as her deserves a man who can offer her the world. 

But I want to be that man. With Gwen’s help, I can change. For Mindy, I can be a better man.

So why did I do this to her? Why did I betray her?

Before I know it, the loofa falls from my grip, and I’m sobbing into my hands. The tears are like acidulous droplets, charring my skin in punishment.

“What am I doing,” I suck back snot.

This isn’t me.

I’m not the type of man to weep like a little girl. Grown men don’t just cry. Grown men take action and do something about their woes. So, I rinse my face and hop out of the shower. 

Because I need to talk about this with someone who understands and can set me straight.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m banging on Gwen’s door like the FBI is about to raid her house. And for fucks sake, she’s taking too damn long to answer, so I pound and ring the button simultaneously while shouting for her to answer. 

It takes an entire thirty seconds.

But everyone knows thirty seconds might as well be five minutes dipped in shit, and when she opens the door, I barrel inside, nearly toppling her over. But I don’t bother apologizing as I begin pacing the Persian area rug in the living room. From the corner of my eye, she shuts the door, then walks into the room, fastening the belt on her black robe. An emerald green silk nighty is underneath it, and I’ve never seen her in pajamas before. Usually, she’s dressed in some type of suit. Especially at this hour of the day 

Deep grooves of concern etch her brow as she tucks loose strands of hair back into the messy bun atop her head. 

“Miguel, you can’t just show up here unannounced,” she says.

“This is an emergency!” I whip around to face her.

“Ok, well, start from the beginning.” She motions to the couch. “What is the emergency?”

“I’m losing it.” 

“Can you elaborate, please?”

“Before coming here, I cried in the shower like some little boy. Like, serious, uncontrolled sobbing.”

“Ok…” Gwen sits on the couch, then pats the spot next to her. “Miguel, sit.”

“Fine.” I sink into the cushions, and I don’t think I’ve realized how heavenly this couch is until now. It must be stuffed with goose feathers or something magical like unicorn glitter farts. Either way, it’s soothing, so I unload. “I’m in love with Mindy, and I did something really shitty!”

“What did you do?”

“I… fuck. I don't want to say.” 

“It’s ok, Miguel. This is a safe space. I will not judge you. Please, go on.” Gwen places her hand on my knee, and her expression is so sincere.