The Regret of Betrayal

The knife clanks on the tile floor as Jamie falls back. The noise of his body hitting my kitchen floor is barely perceptible in my ears. All I hear is the rush of blood as I look at my hand. It feels like I am looking at someone else’s. They have the same amethyst ring on their middle finger and velvety maroon nail polish, but this can’t be mine. I couldn’t have just been holding that knife, and it can’t be Jamie’s blood staining the back of my hand. But it is. Momentarily I cannot recall what just occurred as I am mesmerized by this foreign thing attached to my wrist until Jamie’s screams jolt me back to the present.

“Holy shit,” I say, a drop higher than under my breath as I fall to my knees pressing my hand into his right arm, into the wound on his shoulder. The circle of deep red is growing, my nails undetectable from the blood, as I try to apply pressure.

“You need to wrap this with something.”

That is the first thing he has said to me since hitting the floor. The clarity to which he speaks suggests he didn’t faint. He probably leaned back in surprise, lost his footing, and fell. I am speechless as he takes his left hand over mine over his shoulder. For a moment, I think he is tender and comforting me, which only serves to confuse me more as he was yelling moments earlier. Soothing me? For what? Stabbing him? Jamie isn’t doing that at all. He moves my hand to take over applying pressure.

“Go,” He grits out through bared teeth. “Go to your bathroom and get me gauze and an ace bandage to wrap this with.”

I do not know how he is so collected. I so far have not said a word to him as a nod slightly. I do as he says.  

Twenty or so minutes later, Jamie is sitting at the island at the center of my kitchen. I begged him to go to the hospital. He declined by saying it was just a scratch and that he has had worse and all he needed was a stiff drink. I acquiesce. I guess I was too shell-shocked to do anything other than what he asked. By now, it’s stopped bleeding, so maybe it was worse than it looked.

He is drinking bourbon as I am on my hands and knees, scrubbing the blood that poured out of his arm. We do not speak, and he just looks at an unreadable expression. If I would have to name it, I think I would come up with pity. The room reeks of bleach. In the sink, I placed the cutting board I had been using before this, and the knife that previously was in Jamie’s arm is in the garbage. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at my knife block again. I scrub until my floor is cleaner than it has ever been, and I am about to move onto cleaning the lower cabinets when the energy drains out of me. I stand up and lean against my countertop, pulling the too expensive bottle of vodka out from the freezer and take a long swig. I grimace and look at Jamie.  

“What in god’s name are we going to tell Nat?”

“About this?” he gestures to his arm, “or about what happened before that?”

I shrug and look away, unable to look at him as my throat closes up. “Both, Either.”

Jamie slides off the stool, finishes the rest of his bourbon in one gulp, and starts walking over to me. My eyes flutter close as Jamie reaches me and stands so close to me, I can feel his breath in my ear. He leans down and kisses the spot right under my ear. Unable to do anything else, I shudder. He pulls away, leaning his head against mine. My head is still turned away; his nose millimeters from my ear. All we do is breathe in unison. Finally, I pull away. I hop up on the counter, sitting with my feet dangling to get some distance between us.

His brown, almost black eyes are more severe than I have seen all day. “Let’s not tell her anything; I still want to be with you” He says without wavering or a hint of sarcasm. I shake my head and laugh before I can stop myself.

“Jamie. I just stabbed you.”

“I know it was an accident.”

Of course, it was. That’s beside the point.

“Jamie. I just stabbed you,” I repeat, “How can you even look at me? I can’t even bear to look at me.

He shrugs.

Why do you want to be with me if I just stabbed you?” I continue.

“I love you, Louisa.”

Oddly, maybe he had been comforting me earlier. He doesn’t love me, I know that. Simply having fucked does not equal being in love. 

“Jamie!” This time I scream it, incredulous. “I JUST STABBED YOU!”

I think back with more clarity as to what occurred less than two hours earlier. List the things you know to be true , my therapist tells me. I somehow doubt he meant this.  

1. Jamie and I had roused out of my bed as the sun dipped below the horizons.
2. He had pulled on basketball shorts and a white long sleeve, not yet stained, I put on college sweatpants, and a t-shirt from a brewery Nat and I went to last year.
3. I could not look at him, so I proceeded to busy myself with finishing the soup I was preparing to bring to my parents the following night.
4. He told me he loved me. He told me he wanted to leave Nat and be with me.
5. I freaked out, not knowing what to do, what to say, or what I felt. I started screaming about Natalie, how much she meant to me, so on, and so forth.
6. Jamie was just too close to me as I spun in hysterics, knife still in my hand as I raised my arms and well…you know the rest.

Sweet Jesus, I think, Natalie. Wonderful, beautiful Natalie. Natalie, who cried when my cat died and got me drunk after Jack broke my heart senior year of high school. The bereft feeling of betrayal in my heart is so fierce, it knocks me back into the present. I don’t understand. How can I still shudder when Jamie’s lips touch my neck and feel so thoroughly broken about it at the same time. I lock eyes with him.

“We have to tell her.” He is still standing next to me, so close to me I can barely breathe.

“Why?” He breathes, “Why? I love you. I want to be with you. We can be together and still keep this secret to preserve your friendship with her.” He says this as if he has really thought about it as if this is a logical plan, as if this will solve everything.  

“Are you joking me? You want me to lie?”

“You lied to her the last time we slept together.”

I feel like he just slapped me. I push off the counter, keeling him off balance, and walk away. He catches my wrist.

“Louisa,” he murmurs. His grip is too tight, desperate. He is attempting to pull me back into a life I don’t want. I pull my hand away hard.

“This isn’t something you can just hide.” I try a different tactic. “She will see the scar on your arm”

He shrugs again. This mannerism is finally getting on my nerves.

“I’ll make something up. I went paintballing with my friend and fell on a root.” His voice is pleading. I shake my head as tears leak out of my eyes without my permission.

“She will never believe that” I whisper, “that makes no sense.” I take a long deep breath. “No. I am going to tell her. It’s the right thing to do.”

“Please, just be with me. I love you. Isn’t that enough?”

How do all men think it is that simple?

 “Yes I obviously feel something for you,” I spit out, a trace of venom on my tongue. “But have you looked outside of yourself and stopped to notice even just once that I never said that I love you back.”

His eyes go steely. “Fine. Don’t love me. But don’t you dare tell Nat I cheated. Don’t ruin my life too. It's the least you could do for stabbing me.” A switch suddenly flipped in his eyes. I saw the shift, and this is a threat. I know that enough to see one. We stare each other down.  

Before either of us can say anything else, we hear knuckles rapping on my door.

“Louuuu!” The voice exclaims, “Louisa!” That’s Natalie’s voice. For fucks sake. Natalie uses the spare key I gave her years ago and walks in. She stops short.

“Jamie!” she sounds surprised. “What are you doing here?” She looks between us and into the kitchen that is in plain view, the blood splattered cabinets peeking out directly into her sightline. Her eyes seem to move in a rectangle on loop: my eyes, Jamie’s, his bandaged arm, the red cabinet. I am stunned to see her here. Jamie is quicker than I am.  

“Louisa kissed me. I am so sorry that I am so weak. I am nowhere near as perfect as you are. I pushed her away the second she tried to do anything more. Please;” his voice is begging, sounding quite similar to when he professed his love for me moments ago, “do not let this change anything between us. It meant nothing to me.”    

“What about your arm?” Her voice is stilted as if she’s asking a stranger where they purchased their bag.

This time I cut in.

“Nat, Nat, Nat, I am so sorry.” I start sobbing. “We slept together twice.” I reach for her hand, and she snatches it away. Before I go on, Jamie scoffs.

“No we didn’t. Louisa wanted to, that’s for sure. She wanted to, then she stabbed me”

Natalie’s eyes go wide, and she gasps. My tears haven’t stopped. I see myself looking at what’s to come, standing on the tram tracks with the train barreling toward me. I have just become a character in a he's said/she’s said. It is his word against mine. I am stunned. How did this man, this boy, tell me he loved me then throw me under the bus, with half-truths to support his own narrative?

“I am not going to press charges because she’s your oldest friend.” Natalie’s eyes are still vast and blank.

She looks at both of us. “I’m leaving. I cannot fucuking deal with this. I am done with both of you” She says and turns to leave. Jamie runs after her while I stay put.

He won’t press charges, It never crossed my mind for a moment.. Lord knows he doesn’t have enough money to. More than that the goal was just to scare me, and pressure me into a clandestine relationship I was ashamed of from the get go. I am not sad to see him walk out my front door. He made me become someone I didn’t like, someone that betrayed the people I care about. As he leaves, he is chasing after my oldest friend in the world. I have to accept that she may never return. I try and look at this as my penance and my mea culpa. I will try and beg for her forgiveness, but it isn’t up to me if she returns. The only thing I pray to god is that the version of me that was with him is his shadow never for me to see again.