EroticReverie

Peyton James - One Month later

Jackson’s new secretary was male. And while he thinks that provides me with some comfort, it fucking doesn’t. Because knowing my husband doesn’t trust his dick around other females is a big bright red fucking flag to me. 

I’ll never love a man the way I love my husband. I’ll never find a man that loves my crazy or tolerates it the way he does. But I guess I always had a reason to be crazy , didn’t I? All the times he promised me I never had anything to worry about? A lie. 

I wonder everyday if I’m being too hard on him. He didn’t fuck her. It could’ve been worse , so much worse. But even the slightest bit of cheating, was too much for me to handle. We were supposed to be madly in love. Crazy fucking in love. I’d never do to him what he’d done to me. 

Part of me wants to forgive him, but I know I can’t. That I never will. That he betrayed me and ruined what we had all for another woman’s ass in his lap and his hand on her stomach through her blouse. 

We’re having sex less and less. By my choice. Not his. And yes, I enjoy watching him suffer without me. I enjoy the way he begs for me to let him have me. I enjoy hearing him beg to make love to his wife. I wanted to let him, but I couldn’t. There’s been a handful of weak moments over the past month where I’d let him  have me. 

I just couldn’t stop picturing him touching her. Picturing my husband who promised me he’d only ever have eyes for me, let another woman sit on his lap and grind her fucking ass against him. 

No excuses and no apologies would suffice or heal the giant crack in my heart.  

I’m angry all the time. Because I still love him. Because I’m still madly fucking in love with my husband that ruined our marriage and my trust. Because I’d still fucking die for my husband, even though he’d so carelessly break my heart. 

I knew that people cheated all the time. I knew that some worked through affairs and didn’t throw away their marriage over one mistake. But I didn’t want to work on it. I wanted a husband that loved me enough to never do that to me. I’d been stupid enough to think I’d had one. 

I lay blame on myself for how crazy I’ve always been. That maybe my constant accusations are what led to him finally cheating on me. I blame him more, but I blame myself too. 

Maybe if I hadn’t been so crazy, or just a little less crazy. Maybe I’d have been enough for him. 

“Peyton?” His voice carries through the house as I sit on the couch. I’d stopped dressing up for him. I wore anything but white now. Taking away the color he loved so much on me. Taking away the color he’d loved on HER. 

“In here.” I say with no amount of emotion. You would think the more time that goes by I’d be closer to “getting over it”, but it’s as if each day of reliving the pain I’d felt hearing my husband tell me he’d touched another woman, just adds extra weight, and pulls me deeper into my self loathing that I couldn’t keep the man I loved from straying. 

He walks in, finding me sitting on the couch in an old t shirt and sweatpants.  I never wore sweatpants. I had them in my wardrobe. But I liked looking good for my husband. I liked turning him on and making him want me. So I’d never worn them. Until the past month. 

I didn’t shower today. And I didn’t shower yesterday. My hair is unbrushed and piled ontop of my head in a messy bun. And not even the cute kind. What was the point in trying? When it hadn’t been enough. 

He sighs softly and walks over.

“How was your day?” I ask without looking at him. My eyes not leaving the wall they e been trained on for the past hour. 

“I missed you.” He says and I just nod.

“Should I….cancel tonight?” He asks looking down at me. 

I shake my head. 

It was one of our friends engagement parties. I didn’t want to go. But I knew I had to. I didn’t want to see another couple make promises to each other that one of them would break. Didn’t want to see another couple happy while I was sad. It was selfish, but I didn’t want anyone being happy when I was so miserable. But I knew I needed to go for my friends. To support the colossal mistake they were making. I could fake happiness for one night. Even though all I wanted to do is sit here and stare at the wall. 

His eyes trail over to where I’m staring. 

“Jesus Christ” he whispers. The wall that once held a large framed painted photograph of him and I on our wedding day is no longer there. Instead. I’d ripped down and tore at the canvas with my bare hands. I’d lost my fucking mind this afternoon, the pain had been to much to bare and I’d shredded our photograph with my bare hands and smashed the expensive wooden frame to pieces. Stepping on it and cracking the pieces. 

It lays all over the floor where the picture had still hung this morning before he left. 

“Peyton…” he says. His voice sounding sad. Sounding worried. Always sad. Always worried.  

I stand up. 

“I’ll go get ready.” I say , turning. Not acknowledging him and not wanting to see his sad eyes or the worry in them. You did this. I say in my head. You did this to me. To us. This is your fault. 

“Peyton…” he calls after me and I say nothing as I go upstairs and begin getting ready. 

——

I cry the entire way home from the engagement party.  It was beautiful. They’d been so happy. I’d forced my smile the entire night while dying inside. And now it was all coming out. 

“You should talk to someone Peyton” Jackson says as I sit on, curled up on the backseat away from him. 

I don’t look at him as I cry. Sobbing. Barely able to breathe. 

“Please let me hold you” he says his voice cracking. But I shake my head. Pushing myself as far against the door as I can.

As soon as the drive parks outside the house. I’m throwing open the door and running. I run all the way to the door and d collapse right inside. My breaths short and rapid and I choke on what little air I can get. 

“Peyton, Jesus baby” he cries as my husband gets on his knees and pulls me to him.

“Breathe Peyton” he cries. “Breathe god damnit!” He demands. Not in anger but he’s scared. Because I fucking can’t breathe. I can’t fucking get air in my lungs. 

It was too much. Everything was too much. Loving him as much as I did, hurt too much. He’d hurt me. Too much.  Everything was too much except for my husbands love for me. That hadn’t been enough. He hadn’t loved me enough. And now I was breaking down, spiraling and unable to keep my head above the water that was drowning me. 

“Fucking breathe!” He yells as he holds me.

“Call a fucking ambulance!” He yells to the driver, our front door still wide open. The car still out there. 

Then his hands come to my face and he lifts my face. Making me look at him directly for the first time in days. I watch his face as I see him fall apart. As if he’s realized for the first time exactly how much he hurt me. 

“Breathe for me little devil, please” he begs as his eyes fill with tears that fall down his cheeks. 

“You need to breathe Peyton” he says and I’m suffocating myself. My body is panicking and I try to do what’s supposed to come naturally. 

“I c-can’t” I cry. 

“You have to little devil” he whispers. “Come on”

But looking in his eyes only makes it harder. My heart breaks , the crack splitting further, and I feel my heart break in two as I realize it doesn’t matter how much I love him.  those eyes lied to me, he lied to me, and he couldn’t fix what he’s done. He couldn’t fix us. Nothing could ever fix the way I felt inside. I’d never look at him the same. And I hated it. Everytime I looked at him I’d feel this. Some form of pain. Every look would be laced with the reminder of his betrayal. I hated that he made me see him this way everytime I looked at him, hated that I could no longer look at him and only think of fucking much I loved him and how crazy I was about him. I hate that he ruined everything. 

“Breathe Peyton, fucking breathe” he says as I still gasp and can feel myself getting lightheaded. 

“Breathe for me little devil” he whispers and I slump, hearing him yell my name right before I pass out.