The Fire Down Below

Chapter 2: TMI

So, what you are saying is, it's me, not you

At first I could have sworn I was listening to the Toronto Symphony Orchestra performing the final movement of Beethoven's 9th, but what I thought were flutes slowly evolved into the incessant beeping of an alarm sound coming from another room.

I struggled to wake up and get my bearings. Where am I? I thought to myself. As I pried my eyes open I quickly realized that I was lying in Stuart's darkened bedroom with the blinds drawn tightly shut. Which led to my next question; why am I in here?

Then it hit me, a shot straight through my core as every detail from last night flooded my memory.

A deluge of emotion hit me. My mind couldn't begin to process what had happened. Maybe it was all just a bad dream. Of course it wasn't or I probably wouldn't be lying in my son's bed still dressed in my business suit.

The promise of a great reunion with Robert had been shattered and the following fifteen minutes were forever seared into my brain. From the scene I encountered in my bedroom, to the chaos of Robert's reaction, to my weeping into a bottle of sleeping pills, every detail was imprinted on me.

Standing in that doorway and realizing what was happening had shattered something within me. Was it hope? Was it the illusion of perfection? Or was it simply the fact that this discovery had destroyed my perfect life? Regardless of the diagnosis, what I did recall was that as soon as I had yelled and turned on the lights, pandemonium erupted.

The Asian girl had shrieked in embarrassment, rolled off Robert and tried to cover herself with whatever blankets remained on the bed. In the same instant, Robert jumped off the bed and ran towards me calling my name and wrapping a sheet around himself that he picked up off the floor.

The blonde, however, just sat on the bed looking at me. I swear she was smiling, or smirking, or something sinister. There was nothing shy or apologetic about her reaction. Instead, she seemed to be enjoying the fact they were "caught".

I'm not sure I really reflected upon that last night. But lying on Stuart's bed this morning it dawned on me that it was a strange reaction from the girl.

By the time Robert reached me at the doorway I was shaking with rage and yelling incoherently at him. When he tried to touch my hands I recall that I flinched, then punched his chest and yelled at him again.

The rest was a blur.

Lying on Stuart's "Empire Strikes Back" duvet I stared up at the ceiling fan. It was slowly turning around and around and it's measured pace had a calming effect on my devastated nerves. As I continued to stare upwards I forced myself to remember what had happened next.

For some reason I had allowed Robert to guide me out of the doorway, down the hall and into the guest room at the far end of the landing.

The whole way he madly apologized for what I had seen, asking me if I was okay and promising me he had never wanted to hurt me. I did remember that his tone had felt earnest, but his words seemed strangely practiced. There had been no apology for what he had done, just an apology for what I had seen.

There were a thousand lines I should have thrown at Robert, in fact there were a thousand items around the house I should have thrown at him and his whores. But instead I had simply allowed him to sit me on the guest room bed.

I had no response to his words. I was swirling in an emotion-filled vortex and couldn't wrap my head around what I had seen, what had just happened, what I would do.