boston {h.s.}

vingt-quatre.

Dear Reader,

I should hate him.

Welcome; upon having read those words, you have finally entered my head. Consistently, in my retelling of this story I unfailingly circle back to the simplicity of the aforementioned statement: I should hate him. But, I don't. Time has separated us. My wounds have healed. From what I can gather, his have, too. Perhaps it will sadden you to know that we are not in contact anymore. Maybe, hopefully, you'll see that it's for the best.

On a good day, I can pretend that none of this happened. Only, I don't quite want that. It's selfish of me to admit this. Hindsight has gifted me the clairvoyance to make sense of the fact that I was never destined to hate him and, more than that, that this was always destined to happen. From the moment that we laid eyes on each other, there was something magnetic in the gaze. Something impossible to ignore and it would have been foolish to try. At least this is what I tell myself and I have to believe it is correct. I'm no longer afraid of being the bad guy because I know that I was. I can write any number of names on this page and intimately detail every single way in which I needlessly hurt them. That is a burden that weighs heavily on my chest. But at the end of the day I did what I was compelled to do and I cannot regret my conviction.

Perhaps you read this to understand me. I wonder if you can. I wonder if you do.

Do you understand that I was able to simultaneously love Asher while also lusting for another man? Asher's magnificent, a marvel. He's everything that I could ever want in a person. His existence overwhelms me with the sheer possibility he finds in every day. Never in a million years would I doubt that kind of love. Though simultaneously, there was an extramarital pull that sent me into the whirlwind in the opposite direction. I hope I've been able to effectively convey this to you. Have I?

More often than anything else in the world, I've been asked why. Why did I not just say no to Harry? Why would I do that to Asher?

To the first question, it was never an option. The pull to Harry was bigger than me, bigger than life. I like to believe his was the same. To the second question, I invite you back to the first statement. I should hate Harry for mutually creating a situation that invited us to cheat. But, like I said, that was never an option. I should hate him, but I don't. At the end of the day, the only person that I hate in this equation is myself. Harry alone didn't create the situation that prompted my infidelity. I was an equal player in that game. I was the one who stayed with Asher while engaging with another man. I was the one who hurt the man who overwhelms my existence. No one else can take the blame for that but me.

Of course, that doesn't answer the question. Why did I do those horribly wicked things?

For the entirety of this account, I've been rather upfront in my intention in writing. I intend to set the record straight. Though, there is another part of me that hopes that if I am able to recount everything with such a fine, intimate detail, that maybe I will be able to trace exactly the minute that I made up my mind. Exactly the minute that I realized I couldn't have it both ways, yet I continued to choose them both. A part of me is looking for clarity that I've yet been able to find.

Fortunately for the both of us, I'm still intent on trying.

Detrimentally Optimistic,

Margeaux Beauchamp