The Ultimate Betrayal

The day is colder than usual. Is it the air or is it the grip that tightens around my heart whenever I think of you. The dripping of rain outside the window thumping on the stone path ripples through my mind. I am lost. Alone.

I can hear your footsteps coming down the stairs, they seem slow and laboured as though you have had a heavy night, as usual. My hands twitch in anticipation as I consider and reconsider how I should approach the situation. 

Your feet hit the tiled floor of the hallway and I hear you enter the kitchen and rummage through the cupboards. Are you completely oblivious of what you have done? You groan in discomfort as I hear your fingers tapping on the keys of your phone next door. There is an immediate reply ping and you chuckle tapping away again on your phone. 

I can feel the anger beginning to rise up inside me like a demon burning to escape. Do you not care at all? 

You pull a glass from the cupboard but your hands fail you, allowing it to slip from your grip and smash on the floor. ‘Shit!’ You say as I hear you rummaging in the cupboards for something to clean up the mess. 

Is this my chance to confront you? What am I so scared of? 

Another cupboard opens and closes and I hear you stride up and down the hallway. The familiarity of the strides something that only someone who lived in the building could conjure. 

Finally you find a brush and stride back through into the kitchen. I hear you sweeping up the smashed glass on the floor. You finally poor the cold orange juice that you savour in the morning after a night out on the lash into a glass. You sip the juice and your phone pings again its sound making my blood boil with anger. You snigger a cheerful giggle, the kind of giggle you make when we go out for cocktails or on a date. 

I jump to my feet and storm into the kitchen. My feet unhindered by the cold tiled floor of the kitchen. You look up at me, your blue eyes shining brightly in the kitchen light. The orange juice tittering on your lips as you pull the glass away and wipe your face. Your hair is a scrambled mess on the top of your head as it always is after a night out and your makeup smeared and bedraggled, yet still you remain beautiful. 

I hesitate a moment, watching your lips as your smile slowly fades. Why is this so hard? You betrayed my trust and I can’t find the words to tell you how I feel. I have been stewing over what to say for hours on end but now I see you everything is changing. My anger begins to disperse and all I want to do is hold you. 

No! I can’t just give in like this. There needs to be some justice for what you have done! 

‘Did you have a good time then?’ My voice is filled with rage although I make some attempt to keep it suppressed. You look back at me with visible confusion drawn across your perfect face. Maybe you don’t know what you have done!

‘Yes I had a good night’ You reply matter of factly quickly followed by, ‘Whats the matter?’ You slam your orange juice back on the table aggressively. 

‘Nothing’ I reply taken aback by the sudden burst of aggression. 

‘We have been together for six years now. Do you think I cant tell when something is wrong?’ You take a step toward me and I take one back. ‘So what is the matter?’ 

I gulp and hope that it isn’t too visible to you. I can feel the anger subsiding and find myself wanting to crawl inside of a dark hole and hide away. It’s not that I am scared of you, I just hate confrontation. But this has to be confronted. 

‘Fine!’ I say finally beginning to grip hold of my emotions and stand up to you. 

‘Fine.’ you reply staring at me, waiting for my response. 

Now is the time. Come on. Say what needs to be said and get a confession, then finally this can be at peace. 

‘That creme egg on the side..’

‘Oh this is about the bloody creme egg!’ You turn and pick up your orange juice, I cower away afraid that you may throw it in my face. 

‘Yes!’ I say standing tall knowing that I have caught you out. ‘Did you or did you not eat it last night with your…’

‘Yes!’ You interrupt cutting through my sentence. ‘Yes I ate it’. 

My heart sinks. I stare at you in disbelief. How can someone so beautiful, so pure, do something so cruel. 

‘But. But…’ 

‘But, but what?’ You drain the rest of your orange juice and wipe your lips before heading to the sink to wash your cup. 

‘But it was mine.’ I say weakly, I feel betrayed and hurt. 

‘Yes, but it was a fucking creme egg. Just get another one!’ 

I feel tears forming up in my eyes so I leave the room, leaving you to your aggressive washing up sending bubbles and water spraying our from the bowl. 

The sofa looks to me comfortingly and I look to it. ‘Are you the only thing that cares about me in this world anymore?’ I say to it. I fall heavily into its arms and look at the rain drops pattering on the ground outside. 

I curl into a ball on the sofa and think about unwrapping the tinfoil covering of the creme egg, pulling it away to uncover the smooth chocolate of the egg beneath. I imagine the first bite breaking through the chocolate to the cream inside. I feel my heart lurch in my chest yearning for something that I can’t have. 

 I can’t get another one. It’s a Sunday.