A Touch of Red

Chapter 7: Back To Where We Were

5 years later where the first chapter took place

I stood there frozen, my heart pounding in my chest, as I looked down at my hands. What have I done? I replayed everything that happened minutes before and it still has the same outcome. He will be dead. No. No. No. No. Please wake up!

I screamed, "Christopher! Wake up!" I shook him hard. Nothing. I continued shaking him until my arm grew tired. Still nothing.

No....

Blood still kept seeping out of his body like a river. I had blood all over me.

I ran to the bathroom. I ran my hands under cold water, hoping that it would wash away the blood. But the blood seemed to cling to my skin stubbornly, refusing to budge. I felt a touch of frustration, but I knew I couldn't give up. I needed this blood off of me. I reached for a bar of soap and scrubbed it on my skin, raw. Come on. Come on. Come on. Get off of me. I looked in the mirror and saw my reflection. I realized I had blood on my face, in my hair, my ears, everywhere. But, I did not recognize the person in the mirror. It wasn't me. It looked like my soul had left my body and now I am a shell.

I turned the shower on, got in, and let the warm water cascade down my body. I could see the red trickle down my skin and onto the shower tiles and into the drain. My shower was filled with red. I continued scrubbing and scrubbing until it felt like I had no skin left. I wanted to not only wash the blood off of me but I wanted to make myself a new person. Maybe if I shed this skin off, I will become someone else.

I guess you are probably wondering why my husband is dead. I should probably start over. Ignore me freaking out right now. Cue the rewind!

Hours earlier:

I got back home from a busy day at work. We had to meet with the key executives and board members to go over everything for the biggest project Christopher and I were doing. The sun was setting and I found myself standing outside our home, a beautiful place that had always been filled with laughter and love. But now, a cloud of unease hung over it, and I felt a sense of dread as I turned the key and entered.

Christopher was not home yet because he had to work later than I did to finish up some things and I decided to make use of the time to relax and clear my mind. As I made my way through the familiar rooms, memories of happier times flooded my thoughts, and for a moment, I pushed aside the gnawing feeling in my gut.

But as I stepped into our bedroom, something caught my eye—an unfamiliar pair of underwear draped over a chair. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized it, a sinking realization settling in. I knew the underwear; it wasn't mine. A sense of dread washed over me as I picked it up, examining it closely. There were no doubts left. This underwear belonged to someone else, someone who had no place in our home or in Christopher's life.

My mind raced, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Had I missed the signs? How long has this been going on? I wanted to dismiss the thought, to find another explanation, but the evidence was too damning. I sank onto the bed, tears welling up in my eyes as I tried to make sense of this.

The room felt suffocating, I couldn't breathe and I needed to escape the suffocating reality. I got up, leaving the underwear behind, and made my way downstairs. The house that once felt like a sanctuary now felt like a cage of secrets that I should have noticed. I mean, he did cheat on his wife with me and now I am his wife and he is cheating on me. I guess once a cheater, always a cheater.

The evening sun cast long shadows across the living room, and I found myself drawn to a familiar photograph on the mantelpiece. It was a picture of Christopher and me from our wedding years earlier, smiling and happy, capturing a moment in time when we believed nothing could ever come between us.

As I traced my fingers over the frame, I couldn't help but wonder how we had ended up here. The image of the underwear haunted me, a harsh reminder that our happiness had been built on illusions and lies.

The sound of the front door opening startled me, and I quickly wiped away my tears so he wouldn't see that I was crying. Christopher entered the house, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil within me. He greeted me with a smile, and in that moment, I couldn't bear to look at him. I was disgusted. Angry. Hurt. I felt nauseous. Betrayed. You get the picture.

"I'm home," he said, the words falling flat as the truth hung heavy in the air.

I turned away, unable to face him. "Leave me alone" I managed to say, my voice breaking.

Confusion and concern flashed in his eyes, but I couldn't bring myself to explain. I needed to be alone. I had to be alone.

As he watched me leave the room, I felt the weight of his unspoken questions, but for now, I couldn't answer them. The underwear was a symbol of betrayal that lingered in my mind, a reminder that sometimes the most beautiful illusions can crumble, leaving behind the truth we'd rather not see or bear. Confusion, anger, and heartache waged a silent battle within me, leaving me feeling emotionally drained and raw.

I couldn't shake away what I had discovered. My mind kept replaying it over and over in my head like a movie to mock me. Karma is finally catching up to me and it's taking me as its victim and I am surrendering to it and letting it consume me.

I shut our bedroom door and I plopped on our once shared bed. The one where he shared with his whore. I felt dirty and sick to my stomach. I needed to puke. I ran quickly to the bathroom before it came up and hit the floor. I puked and puked until there was nothing left in my stomach. I flushed the toilet and went to the sink to rinse out my mouth with mouthwash. I gurgled and swished it in my mouth. I spit it out into the sink.

I slowly looked into the mirror. Am I still pretty? Beautiful? I know I have aged but I am still the same Kamila that he met years prior, that he hired to work alongside him, that he cheated on his wife with. What changed? What....?