The Secrets We Keep

Chapter 27 - William

William

PRESENT

I haven't showered or shaved in five days. All I do in this empty house now is listen to my bare feet trek across the wood paneled floor. The only way I know it's a new day is when Nora, our new nanny, makes a fresh pot of coffee for me. I'd tell you I don't make a habit out of spiking my morning brew with my favorite brand of whiskey, but I'd be lying. I'm all done lying now. I think. It hasn't done me any good thus far anyway.

I'm not ashamed to say I enjoy letting the amber-hued concoction whisk me away into oblivion. If I can't have my wife, then I'll settle for this alcohol-induced numbness. It whispers sweet nothings into my ear. Things like everything will be okay. And the woman you burned everything down for was completely worth it. It's almost as good a liar as I am. Was.

And Rochelle, the root of all this madness. Did I love her? Do I love her? She calls and texts me all the time, but I'm reluctant to talk to her right now. I'm afraid she'll tell me that what Sarah said was true. She'd been lying to me since day one. Who the hell did I let into my life? Did she ever love me, especially since she couldn't even tell me who she truly was? That thought haunts me the most. If my wife doesn't love me anymore and if Rochelle didn't love me to begin with, does that ultimately mean I'm unworthy of love?

The more and more days I let pass, the more curiosity gets the best of me. I want to know why she lied to me. Me, of all people. Lying was never our thing. Maybe it's what I deserved though. To feel this karmic pain that only a betrayal could unleash. And I know I'd better make contact with her soon before she blindsides me with a surprise visit.

The one thing that brings me joy though, I can't even do anymore. I just sit there at my new desk, staring at a blank screen, with no thoughts, no ideas, no inspiration. When I saw what Sarah had done to my old desk, I cackled like a lunatic. My chair and desk looked like it had been through war. Replacing the furniture was easy. And apparently, replacing me was easy too.

I feel like my heart's been punched through my chest. I can't get the ache to stop. It won't stop. All it does is thump and throb incessantly in my rib cage, driving me to madness. I feel like Edgar Allan Poe's character in The Tell-Tale Heart. The only relief I get is when I sleep. But sleep never comes easy. When it does come though, I can barely drag my ass out of bed in the mornings.

The only thing that keeps me going is Violet. I put on a brave face for her, even though it's hard to look her in the eyes. I know I've let her down. I let my whole fucking family down.

My parents check on me everyday to make sure I'm still sane. Was I ever though? I feel like insanity is what courses through my veins instead of blood. I still haven't talked to Joseph. I can't. If I see him again, I'm afraid I'll kill him. And Patrick? He ghosts me the same way I'm ghosting Rochelle. I'm not proud that I let my anger and desperation get the best of me in front of my children when my biggest fear was realized. I gave my kids a show they'll never forget. And years from now, they'll still be dissecting this in subsequent therapy sessions. I'm a fucking lost cause.

Though I wasn't surprised my brother and my wife fell into step like some expertly choreographed dance, it still burned. It burned me so bad, I'm still nursing my wounds. Whenever I think of them together, I hit something. The wall. A countertop. My kitchen table. No hard surface is safe. My knuckles are so cut and bruised it's as if I'd been fighting with Muhammad Ali or something.

And Sarah. The woman I scorned. She barely takes my calls. I beg. I press. I plead. But I'm at a loss. Whenever she talks to me now, it's more perfunctory bullshit. And even when we can talk about the kids, all she wants to do is go around me and get updates from Nora. I feel useless. Helpless. Like I failed at everything. Like I really am the piece of shit she believes me to be.