All the kings horses, and all the kings men couldn't put me back together again.... The bittersweet lyrics pour into Sasha's ears. With the volume turned all the way up and the ear plugs pushed as far as they could go into her canals, she hoped to drown out the real culprit of her desolation; her thoughts.
The washed out empty walls mock her with the harsh words of impersonal engraved into the pockets of her mind. Her lip has long since lost feeling, the blood caught somewhere between the tight suction and her teeth. Try as she might, Sasha can't shut her mind down. It wanders, freely, as if it was an entity within itself. Deranged laughter bubbles somewhere inside of her, and she can barely keep them down least he hear them.
He, her everthing, sits at his computer; unaware that she is lost in her own personal hell. Would he care if she told him? No, she thinks. Of course he wouldn't as it'd been proven time and time again, almost every time that she's spoken of the feelings coursing through her.
Such haunting emotions that have pushed her to the very brink that she tippy toes upon now.
As she sits on the couch, listening to a variety of YouTube videos that could make rainbows and kittens cry, she reflects on how she's spent the day, or rather the past few.
How did she get to this point; she wonders.
It's been almost a year since she has left her old life to start this new one. A year of pain and trials that have not exactly left her unscathed. At each turn fate has thwarted her happy ending; perhaps that means this was not to be her last stop. The thought is a sick twisted knife that gouges at the remnant of her hope. She thinks of her children often, three tiny beautiful faces that look to her in their time of need. It shatters her to know that when push comes to shove she isn't able to measure up. How many times has their father belittle her efforts to pave her own way? Could it be that he had been right along? These questions, and more, are like tumors that can never be removed. They eat away at her conciousness, leave a foul taste in her mouth, and cause her heart to clench with sorrow. This man that she has given up aplenty for has proven to be, at each turn of the corner, the poison that is slowly killing her.
His deceit, potential betrayals, and the scrutiny of her own deranged suspicions have left her cold-empty. She's given in to the fear that she is psychotic, and after today there is no way she will ever be able to believe anything other than that feat. The thought that he might be cheating on her has been one that she's entertained many times before; perhaps dating back to the first real possibilty that he had.
That day they'd gone to work together, like any other, and at the end of the night they had fooled around more than once. Having been left completly and utterly sated, they fell asleep in each others arms. It should have been a peaceful rest, and when she awoke it should have been with a smile upon her face. However as fate would have it, she was awoken not with a smile, but with confusion and anger as someone bangs on the door. Grumbling, and having known full well that not even an earthquake could awaken him, she gets up to see what all the comotion is about. There, without blinds or a curtain, the full brunt of the porch is exposed, as well as a face that she'd never expected to see.
His estranged wife's.
She isn't awake enough for common sense to kick in, and she opens the door. His wife demands that she speak with her husband. Heart picking up speed, brain fogged with a mixture of emotions, she again doesn't listen to common sense as she nods and moves away from the door. She shakes him awake, tells him who has come. He is naked, but that doesn't sway him as he simply wraps the blanket around his waist and steps outside to speak with her.
Sasha doesn't hear his end, she can only hear her side. And from what she gathers it is not good. As she hears the woman say something incriminating about the two of them, she decides that she can't take anymore.
Throwing open the front door, shaking with anger and fear, she tells that woman to leave and come back in an hour or two. She was grabbing her shit and leaving. At this point, she must register to him, because he comes inside. She is already throwing her clothes in a bag. He is trying to tell her to stay. She is dumbfounded because he'd sworn up and down that his ex had never even caught wind of where they lived. He manages to talk her into staying, the wife leaves, and they talk. She hasn't decided if she is going to stay for good. He appears to be scared of her final decision. She takes him to work and returns to their place. Her own estranged husband knows all about the situation because his ex has told him. He uses this to his advantage, shows her the messages between him and her. The messages scare her further. They are convincing. In them are times that her lover and she have spoken about booty calls, all of which she'd been at work for, and in them she tells him about a red stain in the bedroom that not even Sasha knew about until she read the message and hunted for it. Convinced, she packs her bags. She grabs him from work and they talk, she tells him what she has read, she demands to know the truth. He somehow explains all the evidence away and she is left conflicted. Who is lying? And who is telling the truth?
That was the day her trust fully broke. There had been, of course, other incidents prior that were questioning to her. Descreptions of a hidden roleplay without the characters being emotionally attatched, deleted messages, and spans of time that he would wait to reply to her text messages. But never before, not once, before that one day had she ever thought him to be cheating on her with his wife.
Now she see's red wherever she goes, afraid to believe a single word that passes from his lips to her ears. She cannot conceive that he is being legit with her. How can she when he has set himself up for her mistrust? Today she finds his broke watch in his coat, and the passenger floor board of her car is wet. Today is the day she finally comes to terms with how little she trusts this man that she fucks, and the extent of her own psychoticness. Because today is the day she spent an hour or more searching every crook and cranny of her car for some evidence that he has betrayed her. And today is the day that she realizes she has had enough.
It is night now, he is still playing on the computer, unaware of the uneven beats of her heart. The pearls that gather in her eyes, the one's she blinks away, and as she stares at these empty walls, silence eating away at her like cancer. She realizes something; she is dead inside, she's gone insane, utterly deranged.
Those bubbles of laughter boil to their breaking point as she wonders where is her white jacket? And why are these walls not padded?