The Secret Life of Blythe

11. Blythe

The fucking snivelling ungrateful little bastard. I seethe to myself when he doesn't call me on the first night of his trip.   I know in my heart of hearts he's bedding that woman.  Within what, an hour?  How could he dispatch that side of himself so soon after leaving here? I punch the duvet down next me as the tears spill over on to my face, my eyes stinging bitterly.  Honestly, how the fuck could he? So soon after our heart-aching conversation. He has a wife and a kid on route and he's shucked all of his responsibilities for an overdue lay in the hay.  I know that the evil fucking half of him probably relished in the fact that I told him I knew it would happen. I feel like I should have told him in no uncertain circumstances would I forgive him if he does anything with her.  But how can I live my life with the thought of him pining after another woman for all our lives? Im driving myself crazy thinking about them as I cry myself to sleep.  It takes hours before my eyes get droopier but when sleep eventually takes hold I look forward to the temporary reprieve from the painful realisation that he's cheating on me and he's broken our wedding vows.  It was my Leo that gave me those vows, not the fucking idiot in New York right now but it still doesn't hurt any less.

The following morning I spew profanities as I sip on my coffee.  If I had a dart board I'd throw them at his head right now.  I twist the piece of paper between my hands.  More comforting words sent from my father.  Where the fuck these passages come from I don't know, neither do I know who's delivering them.  Any normal person would be terrified.

Sometimes you have to make people taste their own medicine, like, love for love, hate for hate, ignorance for ignorance.  Sometimes you have to be a really bad person and it's okay

I shake my head at the strength that small passage gives me.  It's typical of my father.  I can hear him now telling me to give the fucker a taste of his own medicine.  He always gave back better than he got if anyone crossed him and I guess I feel the same right now, I wasn't entirely sure how I'd feel, I knew it would happen one day though.  I just fucking hoped she'd have got run over by a bus or something before. I'm definitely my father's daughter though, revenge swims in my mind.  It's ok pops, I can be a really bad fucking person I seethe.

I take a deep breath and stand up, tipping the rest of my coffee down the sink.  Come on Blythe, I encourage myself.  I've got lots to get stuck in to today and I need the distraction more than ever right now.  I walk-run up the stairs and push open the office door freezing when I see another note on top of the desk.  It feels too personal knowing someone was in here.  Is it him or someone else fucking with me?  I have to believe it's him, it's got him written all over it.  I smile down at the next torn book passage.

Don't deviate from the plan.  Focus.  There's work to do

Secret door.  Ok, father.  Bring it on.  Sure to my word, I spend all day researching trap doors and locations of trap doors internally and externally.   I come up empty once again.  I'm desperately trying to keep my focus but I'm pulling my hair out towards the end of the day.  I feel out of sorts and my only source of comfort is rubbing my belly and telling our little one how much i love him.  I can't even bring myself to say daddy loves you too.  He'll be home soon I coo and then blanch, because the minute he walks in the door and we catch eye contact I'm going to be devastated I just know it.  And if I know him as well as I do he'll be even more devastated once his head clears of the filth. I won't be able to stand the sight of him or his touch I know that much.  He'll be lucky if I manage to stay in the same room as him. I hope to god he hurries the fuck up, I can't do this for months on end. I've got to make him pay for this too, it's biting in to my future. He's a selfish fucking addict idiot.

I change in to lounge clothes and make myself eat and drink, taking a much needed break.  I turn on the radio and listen to a deep voice asking his baby to lock the doors and turn the lights down low.  I fake gag at anything remotely romantic as I switch to something a little more upbeat.  There it is I exhale as I look up to the ceiling as if thanking him for the strength.  Hey little girl is your daddy home.... I've heard this track so many times in my lifetime.  I'm sure my dad would think of my mum whilst listening to it.  Now it's become a way for me to feel close to them both.