Scorned

Chapter I

I should know by now that when they say forever, they don't actually mean it. How could I be so stupid? The liquid fire that burned in my veins when he touched me told me it was right. The restless flutters in my stomach told me it was ok. The drumming of my heart against my ribcage told me it was fate. How could I be so blind? We met at the little mom and pop cafe, Java Joe's, down on Harbernathy road. The wind that day was nippy, biting exposed flesh. The sun was a hidden orb of honey behind grayish puffs of cotton. As I walked down the street, fingers shaking and the tip of my nose colored blood red, I found myself craving some Mid-century poetry and a cup of molten chocolate topped with whipped cream and brown sprinkles. I noticed the quaint little shop at the corner of my eye. Its red-brick exterior, crystal clear bay windows, and decal on the door that read "Serving you a Whole Latte Love," attracted me instantly. I made my way over, muttering "excuse me's" and "pardons," on the way to the homey shop. I walked in, greeted by a tiny bell on the corner of the door, alerting the patrons of my presence. I was instantly assaulted by the powerful scent of cinnamon and coffee. The lighting in the shop was dim, aided by a lit red brick fireplace to my right and low hanging lights overhead. The floor was a light brown solid oak and the walls were a combination of the recurring red brick and wood from the floors. As I walked deeper into the shop, I was confronted with a glass display case full of baked treats and their prices. I walked up to the cashier, greeted by a pretty short blonde girl with chipmunk teeth and a wide smile.
"Hi, welcome to Java Joe's, where every order is brew-ti-ful. What can I get for you?" she beamed.
I let out an amused huff at the hokey coffee pun.
    "Yes, I'll have the triple chocho chip hot chocolate, with extra whip cream."
She pushed some buttons on the vintage register and read my total. I rummaged in my weathered brown tote bag for my wallet and paid for the pricey treat. I walked over to the pickup area and whipped out my iPhone. I was scrolling through my emails when I heard someone from behind loudly clear their throat. I turned around and was met with one of the most beautiful men I'd ever seen in my entire life. His skin was like tanned alabaster, a stark comparison to my caramel-colored tone. His granite cheekbones were lined with day-old stubble and his eyes were a bright cerulean blue. It was as if I was hypnotized. My brain was in my bowels and my heart was in my throat. My eyes were glued to his. His lip made an uptick in the corner, showing a hint of straight ivories when he realized I was staring.
    "I think your choco chip is ready" he rumbled in a husky voice.
I nodded my response, turning around and giving myself whiplash in the process. I collected my expensive drink and stumbled away from the scene where my dignity died. I lifted a dainty hand to my round cheeks and felt the heat that pooled there. My palms were sticky and my breath was strained as I replayed the interaction on a loop in my head. I was lost in my thoughts when the spare chair at my table whined under the weight of another person. I jumped a little in my seat and was met with the adonis from the pickup line. He pierced me with his eyes. Pinning me down and commanding my attention.
    "Has anyone ever told you, that you have perfect wide hips for birthing?"
My tongue felt heavy in my mouth. A time-lapse, which felt like years but was probably only seconds, took place until a startled laugh climbed out of my throat. I laughed until my abdominal muscles burned from use and my face was wet with the tears from my eyes. The mystery man in front of me had a permanent smile on his face, taking incremental sips of the liquid in his brown ceramic mug. I gulped down the surrounding fresh air, attempting to regulate my breathing.
    "What's your name birthing hips?"
I chortled at the new nickname, wondering where this was going.
    "My name is Alicia. What's yours, Vogue weekly?"
His head fell back as a billowing bark of laughter left his chest.
    "It's actually Michael, but thanks for that," he replied.
We talked while the sky was still lit in warm yellow tones and didn't stop until it was bathed in inky darkness. He mentioned nothing of a loving wife of ten years waiting for him to get home. He didn't find it important to mention his son, only five years of age, excited for bath time and a bedtime story. I didn't notice the strip of flesh, in the shape of a band, on his finger that was whiter than the rest of his hand. He stood up and bid his goodbye, handing me a textured eggshell white business card with his name and number printed in shiny raised gold letters. He flashed me one last blinding smile and made his way into the blackness of the night. My memory of that day was cut short when I noticed a gray Lexus pull up to the curb of a three-story brownstone. I rubbed my hands back and forth on the rough material of my jeans. My eyes were puffy and rimmed with red. I ran my hands through my frizzy hair, striving to make it somewhat presentable, but to no avail. I removed the key from the ignition of my 2016 Kia and made my way across the empty street. The woman from the Lexus was herding a child from the backseat of the car and into the brownstone.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Hawthorne? Jessica Hawthorne?"
"Yes, I already have accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and savior. No, I don't want a pamphlet on your services. Have a great day."
"No, wait! Ma'am... I think I know your husband Michael."
Her eyebrows turned downward and her mouth formed into a straight pinched line. She pushed the dark-haired child into the house and slammed the door behind him.
"Just what the hell are you doing here? Are you trying to get the money? Because you won't get a red cent," she seethed.
"No, I just came to apologize and inform you that I had no idea he was...committed."
Mrs. Hawthorne sighed and took a few steps towards my person. I closed my eyes, preparing myself for a tongue lashing or the lighting crack of hand against cheek. But, it never came.
"Look, honey, you seem like a sweet girl. But I already knew he was fooling around. A woman always knows."
My eyes bugged and my mouth hung open. By the time I was done picking my jaw up off the cement, she was getting her groceries out of the car and walking up the stairs.
    "Wait, don't you care? Aren't you going to cry or yell or break some shit?"
She shook her head and her expression was one of barely contained mirth.
    "Why would I be upset about the very thing that brings me peace? You occupy him, take care of his needs, deal with his moods and it keeps me refreshingly available. I'm the one who feels sorry for you. Good luck."
As she sashayed into the house, a figure of beauty and grace, I was left on the run-down sidewalk with a splintered heart and a confused mind.