I SMOOTHED MY hands over my stomach while I stood in the kitchen. I spent far too many weeks agonizing over the decision of whether or not I should tell Eric, or allow it to remain a secret until it became something I could no longer hide.
My desires had to be cast aside—because I wanted and needed him in my life—but I had many other factors to think about; the person growing inside me counted as the most important priority.
In the middle of turning in for the night, a manila envelope on the dining room table caught my attention. It seemed whoever had taken to bugging the house also thought they had free reign to come inside as they pleased. I would never be safe inside my own home.
For a moment, I stilled. I had a feeling that if I opened it, I would quickly fall into an unending abyss.
I slipped my finger underneath the flap, opening the sealed envelope. What I found inside were dozens of pictures of Eric with a female companion: In a park, at the hospital, and at what I assumed to be her home. Date stamps were posted on every picture. Some of the times coincided with the dates that Eric disappeared. Times in which he should’ve been with me.
As a graphic artist, I had a keen eye in determining if pictures were Photoshopped. I could always spot even the most professional jobs. This, however, wasn’t faked. I wanted to be something other than a jealous woman descending into fury. It was Eric. Eric and an attractive woman who fit his type. He never had an attractive woman around him without some sort of ulterior motive and it was often sexual or manipulative in nature.
I fingered the pictures, my hands shaking with anger. Kifo, at my feet, persistently barked at me and nudged the back of my legs.
The pressure to clear my head became blinding and necessary. If I approached him now, there was no telling what would occur.
Instead, I followed the directive of the woman who felt scorned and decided to go to the hospital.
WALKING INTO THE HOSPITAL cafeteria, I glanced across the room of linoleum tables and blue plastic chairs until I found Eric. He wasn’t alone. Everything around me was blanketed in a frothy shade of red. Eric in the cafeteria with another woman—a pretty woman whose hand he touched. The same attractive woman from the pictures. I couldn’t believe he would do this to me. He was…cheating on me.
The heated pressure rolled up my spine and whirled around my head. The red cleared enough that I could take in my surroundings. A group of doctors were at a table, celebrating with a bottle of spiced apple cider. I plucked the bottle from one of the doctor’s hands and made my way toward Eric.
While he sat with his back to me, I hit him in the back of the head with the bottle. The woman he was seated with gasped. I hit him again until the bottle shattered in my hands. As if he were in a dream, he took his time to stand. Facing me, he wavered for a moment. Disoriented, he blinked, slowly. The blood from the wound trickled down the back of his head onto his neck.
“You, asshole. You liar. You cheating, dirty, murderous liar.” I began to hit him in various places. Whatever my initial hit did to him, it apparently dissipated. His strength returned to him. He grabbed me, spun me around, and bear hugged me. His forearms clung tightly, almost painfully, to my chest. My feet no longer touched the ground. He carried me out of the cafeteria. I aimlessly struggled, anger fueling my fight.
In the hall, he set me down. The flinging of my arms was halted. His hands encircled my wrists and pinned them against the wall.
“What the fuck…is your problem?” His bellow caught the attention of a few bystanders. “And what the hell is your deal with throwing bottles at my head?”
“You should be glad I didn’t have access to a knife,” I snarled.
His hold on my wrists became crushing. “You’re irreverent humor needs better timing, Nikki.”
“You’re…bleeding,” I said, blowing forceful bursts of air through my nostrils in anger.
“No, shit," he continued to shout at me, his eyes darkened with something beyond madness. “That’s because my fucking wife just cracked my head open with a bottle, remember? Or was that an out of body experience? Could you have waited for an introduction before you flew off the handle and assumed I was fucking her?”
“The envelope… You were holding her hand.”
“Holding someone’s hand is the equivalent of fucking now? Good to know.”
I moved my head from side to side with vehemence. I wondered if I’d overreacted. “No. No. Don’t you do that. Don’t turn on the smooth-talking Eric and try to make me look like the crazy—crazier one.”
“Are you the one who needs stitches right now?” He sank his teeth into his plump bottom lip and released me. “Go home before someone gathers some sense and calls the cops on you.”
“Can you look me in the eye and say—”
“Look…” He took a breath, fingering the blood that trickled down his neck. “Her mother recently passed away. I took care of her. She was…a friend of a friend. That’s all that was. She’s leaving to go back to Florida tonight.”
“Friend of a friend?” I asked, the tears beginning to well up in my eyes. “Like you and Estelle were roommates?”
“Technically we were.” His searing annoyance toward me pulled me into docile territory. “We no longer fucked. We were no longer married. We were roommates.”
I folded my arms, getting a hold of the chaos consuming my brain. “What am I supposed to think? Lately—”
“Nik? I would never replace you. This isn’t a goddamn game to me. I’m so sick of proving myself to you when you’re the one who keeps fucking me over.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
“What was that, again?” he asked unaffected by my apology. It appeared the more I calmed down, the more irate he became. “Go home, Nik.” He shook his head and headed down the hall away from the cafeteria.
A doctor caught him in the corridor and glanced at his head. In return, she shot a chiding look my way and took Eric by the arm somewhere out of my sights.