City of the Anguished

Pretending

Lights are low. The stars plead as the only witnesses. The absence of others makes a small piece of land seem large. I await the familiar smell of smoke as I hear the click of the lighter. I turn to see you take a long drag- my eyes falling on the love bite on your neck. You don't look back.

I say the sky looks pretty. You don't say anything back.

I cover my arms to stop myself from shivering. You don't offer me your leather jacket.

I lean in for a kiss. You pull back.

Nobody is around, honey. Why do you keep pretending?

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You make a toast and I lovingly touch your arm. Jealous eyes mixed with sweet voices, friends ask, 'How did we stay happy so long?' We bid them farewell and the "Happy Anniversary" banner is now hanging from a single hook.

If walls do talk, does the bedroom know about the divorce papers lying in your office drawers?

I stare into the mirror, the diamond necklace gleaming. You massage my shoulders and kiss my neck. 'You look beautiful.' I see your lips move in the mirror.

The guests have left, honey. Why do you keep pretending?

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Shattered glass, bloody hand.

The kids' room opens. Two pairs of innocent eyes stare at me as I fight off tears and smile at them. The bruise prevents me from doing so and I stare at them with an awkward half-smile. Tears sting my eyes as I await the usual question.

'Mama just had a small accident,' you say and help me get back on my feet.

I close the kids' room. I notice you have cleaned up everything- the kitchen, yourself, the evidence.

'It is my fault. This shall never happen again,' you repeat.

The kids are sleeping, honey. Why do you keep pretending?

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Sunlight peeks through the blinds but that would never be enough to find you in the mornings.

Ashes fall on the screen as I re-read the previous night's texts, my lips curling against the rolled paper. Your handsome face pops on the TV as paparazzi film your mansion, trying to get a glimpse of the world inside. I see her too- clinging on to your arm and watching you with lovestruck eyes. Laughing at her delusion, I put on the necklace you gave me. You said I would get a matching ring. After you leave her for me.

Had it not been for your family- you would be with me right this second.

'I love you.' I leave you a text even though you are busy in the mornings.

"...engaged." I quickly look back at the TV as I see her hideous smile flaunting her engagement ring. Your smile does not reach your eyes as you hold her by her waist and kiss her forehead.

22 missed calls. 30 stubs. 19 voicemails. 0 calls from you.

You don't love her, honey. Why do you keep pretending?