The Divorcee Murder Club

Cuarenta Y Seis ~ 46

               When I hop onto my motorcycle, my gut is churning. It could be a stress shit coming on or the text I received from Kay saying to meet at the warehouse tomorrow at 11 AM. So, I roar the engine to life and take off, but as I drive, I can't stop thinking about the last few hours.

Am I past the point of no return? Over the years, I've done things I'm not proud of, but lately, my moral compass is absolutely fucked. Things with Mindy and me will never be the same, but what if Augusta tells her what we did? What if she can't ever look at me the same, and we can't even be friends?

The thought causes an ache in my chest, so I release one of the handlebars and rub above my sternum. We have good memories as friends, where we spent nights with the group drinking or having a late dessert. How many times did I wipe her tears, and how many times did she massage my back when I vented about Celia?

She's been my friend, the calm in the chaos that is my life. Yet, I keep sailing toward the storm, ignoring the rogue waves threatening to capsize me.

Tears accumulate in my eyes. I don't know what kind of man I am anymore.

This isn't me.

So I wipe away the weakness staining my cheeks, and instead of heading home, I head to Gwen's. I don't even know why. I just know I need to see her.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm banging on her door, and like last time, it takes an eternity for her to answer. But when the door opens, I reel back at some bare-chested fucker standing there. His bronze skin glistens in the sunlight, and he's built like a retired MMA fighter, with grey hair peppering his goatee and sideburns.

"Calvin, who is it?" Gwen says somewhere in the background.

"I don't know," he says. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Miguel. One of Gwen's patients."

"Miguel?" Gwen approaches the door, her eyes squinting when they meet the bright daylight. "Is everything ok?"

"I need to talk to you."

"It's a little early." Her man candy says to me.

"It's ok, Calvin." Gwen steps aside. "Come inside, Miguel."

I brush past them and begin pacing the living room, but Gwen takes my elbow and nudges me toward her office. Her man-friend gives me a once over as he proceeds to the kitchen, where the scent of fried eggs wafts.

"Boyfriend?" I say as we step into the hallway.

"It's new."

"Doesn't look new if he's walking around shirtless and cooking you breakfast."

"Miguel..." Gwen sighs, opening the door to her office. "My personal life is not up for discussion."

"Why not? You know about mine."

"Sit." She motions to the small couch and closes the door behind her. "You're my patient. My personal life has nothing to do with your healing. Now, tell me why you're here."

"Is this new?" I sink into the cushions, and she settles in next to me.

"Yes, actually. Now, what brings you here, banging on my door without an appointment? Again."

"I... uh... I'm losing it. I started crying like a little girl again."

"Can you elaborate, please?"

"I just did something, and I just..." I rub my sternum with a wince. "I feel like it was wrong."

"What did you do?"

"I..."

"Miguel, this will always be a safe space for you. Please, go on."