Lost in You (Lost in You 1)

“You bastard!” I shouted “How could you?”

With fury coursing through my veins I was shocked at my reaction. I’m not a violent person, had never hit anyone in my life. I was completely taken over by absolute disbelief and rage at what I was seeing. In an instant, literally the span of three minutes, my life had completely changed. I was filled with absolute agony. I didn’t deserve this.

After my inner bitch did her thing, I stalked out of the room and headed to the couch, where I had thrown my purse when I came home. During that time, Deacon somehow miraculously recovered from the blow to his crotch and started screaming my name while holding his hand over himself and chased me into the living room. I snatched up my purse and headed to the front door. Before I could reach it, Deacon reached me, grabbed my shoulder and spun me around to face him.

“Olivia, wait… I can explain! It’s not what you think!”

I laughed. I have no doubt it was a super creepy clown circus kind of laugh but still I laughed in his asinine face. He is unbelievable. Of all the things he could have said to me.

“It’s not what I think? Are you KIDDING ME?! I think I just saw my husband jamming his dick into some bitch that isn’t his wife! Don’t even try to explain yourself Deacon, there is NO excuse. There is NOTHING that you can say that could make me not walk out of here right now.”

I shoved him as hard as I could and made my way to the door.

Recovering quickly, Deacon caught up to me, grabbed my arm. Hard. The real Deacon was about to make an appearance. The begging lasted all of thirty seconds. “Olivia, I said to fucking wait. You are overreacting like a damn baby. Stop being a bitch and listen to me.”

I looked at him and sneered, “Screw you Deacon.”

I ripped my arm out of his grasp knowing I would definitely have a bruise above my elbow where his fingers dug into me hard. I opened the door, ran out, and slammed it behind me …Deacon screaming my name behind me.

I started to wait for the elevator, but when I heard my apartment door open behind me, I made a dash for the stairwell door and threw myself through the threshold knowing that he wouldn’t follow me naked down the stairwell. I ran as fast as I could down two flights of stairs and then stopped, sat down on a stair and started to sob.

“Here you go Olivia. Your copies.”

I jump slightly, startled by Clive’s return.

“We will get these papers filed with the court and you can expect to get your divorce decree in the mail in about two weeks.”

Clive hands me my copies of the divorce documents in a manila envelope. Wow. My four year marriage reduced to a few papers in an envelope.

“Thank you Clive. For everything.”

“You’re welcome, Olivia, and if you stop and see Jessica on your way out, she will give you your final invoice and make sure she has your forwarding address in our system. Best of luck to you.”

I smile, give him a nod and step out of his office and walk to the reception desk to see Jessica.

After paying my bill, I take my manila envelope and walk out of the office.

The sun hits me in the face; I squint my eyes and start rooting around in my purse looking for my sunglasses. Popping them onto my face, I just stand there for a moment, take a deep breath and start walking to catch the next train. Pulling out my cell phone from the front pocket of my purse, I start dialing my best friend Pyper.

“Hi this is Pyper! I must be treating my clients like royalty at Shimmer & Soothe Salon and Spa! You should be jealous that you aren’t here yourself! Leave me a message and I will get back to you to schedule the appointment I’m sure you want to make!”

I laugh at my friend’s message as usual and wait for the beep.

“Hi, it’s me. Well it’s done. I just signed the papers and left Clive’s office. Why do I feel…?” I stop talking and sigh. “Honestly, I don’t know how I feel. Part of me feels empty and part of me wants to host my own divorce party. With cake. A cake that has a bride on top holding a knife with the bloody groom in a pool of his own blood at the bottom. They really make those you know. Crazy right? Anyway, give me a call when you can! I’m headed home to do some more packing. Kisses!”

I press end on my phone and shove it back into the front pocket of my purse. I walk through the subway entrance, scan my link pass, and wait for the T to arrive. I start reflecting on my life here. Deacon moved out a while ago. I had to threaten to call the cops if he didn’t get his ass out. But I am leaving Boston for good. I still remember coming here seven years ago to attend the journalism program at Boston University. While it wasn’t my first college choice, I will always look back, and love having lived here. In fact, once I married Deacon, I always thought I would stay here forever. Instead, I’m packing up and moving my life back to Chicago, Illinois. I’m going to move in with Pyper.

The T finally arrives and I step in looking for a seat. I take a seat towards the back and sit next to the window. Leaning my head back on the seat, watching the subway walls as they fly by, Deacon’s handsome face comes to my mind. Willing to do anything to win me back, he brought me flowers over and over. He gave me sentimental cards pouring his feelings into them, telling me how sorry he was, that he made a mistake and of course he promised that it would never happen again. He bought me jewelry, offered to move away with me to start over, told me he couldn’t live without me.

One time, after I had kicked him out I came home from work to find he had let himself into our old apartment, filled it up with flowers, made me dinner and once again pleaded with me not to leave him. I was so close to relenting. I can still close my eyes and remember the good times, the laughs we shared, all the times he tenderly made love to me and I felt like I was the center of his universe. As crazy as it seems, I know in his own demented way he truly loved me. I know I loved him.

That night, I almost gave in; it wasn’t because of the flowers or the dinner, it was the pure anguish I saw in his eyes and the tears that trailed down his cheeks when he begged me not to leave him. I looked in his eyes, really looked and the sight astounded me. I had never seen him cry before; but it wasn’t only that. I could see the love there. I could see that he truly wanted to work things out and was pleading for me to stay. Part of me wanted to give into him. I could see myself jumping into his arms and telling him we could figure it out and try… really try to make it work. I wanted to be able to tell him that I forgave him but in the back of my mind I had realized something in our time apart. Our marriage was a sham to begin with. The fact that we had made it for four years was a freaking miracle and believe it or not, choosing to stay would have been the easy way out. Staying was easy. Choosing to move on, the hard part.

I shattered his heart that night. I looked him in the eyes and told him once again to get out of the apartment and that I didn’t want to see him again. I told him there was absolutely nothing he could do to make the situation right and that he needed to just stop. Stop trying. Stop buying me things. Stop coming over. Stop trying to fix “us,” because it couldn’t be done. We were broken. We were over; the marriage was over. When all of his efforts failed to work, and he felt desperate, he became mean.

Anger flashed across his face and he tried to hide it. His pleading ended up with him calling me names and storming out of the apartment. I had hurt his pride, set him off; a dangerous combination.