A Cage Left Open

Unfaithful

Devon wrung his hands, tugging on the silver band that was ever so slightly loose on his fourth finger. Even though his body wasn't the one being ravaged by heavy doses of chemo and radiation, he still was becoming more frail with every passing day. His breathing was ragged with guilt, and when he finally spoke, it came out white-hot. "Mel, I craved closeness. I couldn't be alone anymore. I couldn't figure out how to get rid of that feeling- I hated you, because the ghost of the woman I love rolls away from me every damn night in the bed we've shared for fifteen years. And, in that filthy bar full of pathetic men searching for filthy women, I finally found a release."

Melanie sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes trained on the floor. She clung to the frame, as though it were the only thing keeping her grounded. Her knuckles were a sickening white against the deep mahogany wood. Her cheeks radiated with the fire-like fury rising within her. The acidic bite of bile burned her tongue, leaving her squirming in uneasiness; hours upon hours spent in the clinic had never left her feeling so awfully nauseous as she felt in this moment.

She could picture it, all of it: Devon sitting at the bar, sipping on a rum and Coke. Devon running his hand through his mop of mousy curls. Devon wrestling with what he knew was right, and what he craved. Devon's fingers twisting the silver band, anxious eyes sweeping the room until they landed on her. Devon slipping the silver band into his pocket. Devon making his way over to her. He cracked jokes, she laughed. He offered to buy a drink, she accepted. He talked. She listened. She talked. He listened. She suggested they head back to her place. He agreed.

"Melanie, I am so sorry." He crouched in front of his wife, resting a hand on her knee. She jerked back, reeling from the touch.

Withdrawing his hand, Devon sighed. "I love you. I didn't mean for this to happen. I never meant to hurt you. Please, just know that I love you. Know that she meant nothing to me."

Melanie wanted desperately to believe him. She wanted to erase the crimson lipstick from the collar of his white oxford. The thought of another woman's lips caressing her husband's body made her flesh crawl; in their years of marriage, he had never even looked at another woman in that way... Now, suddenly, he told her he had slept with another woman. Not even a woman, really. A girl. Her mind was spinning, as though she were stuck on a never-ending carousel. Only, this one wasn't fun- it felt like a death sentence.

Slowly, Melanie lifted her head. Devon was staring at her. She met his eyes; when they first met, they were the first thing Melanie had noticed about him. His eyes were the color of the ivy that snaked up the bricks of her grandmother's home in New Hampshire; they were home. Now though, as she looked into his green eyes, she saw the reflection of a honey-blond twenty-three year old girl with a Coke Bottle waist and full crimson lips. Suddenly, her stomach twisted. Melanie sprinted to the bathroom down the hall, her hand clasped tightly against her mouth. She retched and heaved and sobbed, emptying every ounce of her being as she gripped the porcelain bowl.

Finally, when her stomach stopped flipping inside of her, she stumbled to the sink. Melanie's hazel eyes met her reflection; where the apples of her cheeks were once full and glowing, there were angular cheekbones casting shadows against sallow skin. Her shaking hand reached up to touch the skin where a mane of auburn curls used to be. The soft lips that used to caresses her daughter's forehead each night at bedtime were now cracking and chapped, bloody scabs at the corners of her mouth. As she studied herself in the mirror, she couldn't help but agree with Devon's words; she had been pushing him away. Ever since her diagnosis, they hadn't kissed, let alone made love. She was to blame.