The Affair

Chapter 27

I reread the last entry over and over again until my emotions have overwhelmed me. I'm on the verge of crying, but somehow manage to stop myself from doing so.

That's why she left me? Over a prayer? She thought I was dead, so she prayed, and because I lived she ended our affair? I never would have thought that. It's not something I could have ever guessed. But she didn't just think that I died. I did die, I flatlined and wasn't breathing for a period of time, and they had to bring me back. Is that when she prayed?

Now I know. What am I supposed to do with this information? I have this journal that contains everything I always wanted to know and she's given it to me. So many of the entries hurt me. Reading how much I was hurting her, reading how much she truly loved me and cared for me while I was so angry and jealous and mean to her, hurts me deeply. All of our fighting, all of the fights I caused, reading how much that wore her down, and how she continued to love me anyway.

I pace my empty living room, smoking cigarette after cigarette, muttering to myself, asking myself what the fuck I'm supposed to do. Hours have passed since I first started reading; it's after eleven now.

I've had her deleted off of my phone for a very long time, did it when I didn't want any trace of her or any reminder left of her. But I know her number by heart. I dial it with shaking hands while I stare across the park at her building. It's still raining and I can barely see the outline of it.

It rings until it goes to voicemail and I hear her voice. It's the same voicemail message she had when we were seeing each other, her quiet, beautiful voice, instructing whoever has called to leave a message, and she'll get right back to them. I don't leave a message.

I lay down in bed with my eyes closed. I can't think of anything except for her, but that isn't new. My stomach is aching and leaps into my throat when my phone vibrates. It's not a call, but a message, and it's from Anya. She's asking if I want to meet her for breakfast and the aching in my stomach worsens.

After all that time of not being with any other women... as soon as I fuck someone, I find this out. What kind of fucked up shit is that? I don't know, but I block Anya's number without replying, then stare blankly at the ceiling.

In her note, which I'm assuming she wrote before she had the journal delivered to me, she said she couldn't sleep, so I'm sure she must be asleep now. It's Monday afternoon. Hugh is at work, though I don't think it would matter either way if he was or not.

I try my best to think clearly. She loves me. She always loved me. She didn't leave because she was tired of me or my jealousy or my anger. She left because she felt she had to. In her own way, she did it for me. I would have called this bullshit, horse shit, hocus pocus if I heard this from anyone else. But now... knowing what I know... I understand. I can't say I don't understand anymore. It's perfectly clear now.

I begin to get dressed quickly, in sweats and a t shirt and tennis shoes, and tell myself I'm just going to get some air as I go down in the elevator. But I know that isn't true. I know where I'm going, even if I don't know what the hell I'm going to do when I get there.

I cross the busy street, the park, walking quickly at first, and then running. The rain is so dense that I can barely see, it's cold against my skin, but I don't care. I feel as if I'm running toward my future when I don't know if that's the case or not. She never said she wanted to be with me, just that she would always love me, but I can't stop myself.

I love her. I'll never stop loving her. I've loved her for years, I've loved her when I've hated her, she's the only woman I'll ever love.

Our relationship is in my hands and I can't let it fall even further apart. I have to do something. I have to see her. There wasn't anyone else then, not as I had suspected so many times. I don't know if there's been anyone else now and I don't care. It doesn't matter because she loves me. I know she loves me. I'll tell her about Anya. I'll stop drinking. I'll do whatever she asks of me.