Betrayed: Her Husband & Best Friend
Tags: Betrayed, Breakups, Adultry, African American Women, Cheating

Betrayed: Her Husband & Best Friend

Deposit Photos — Milkos

Love lied to Angela, and right when she decided to believe in it. That deception has her spread across her couch motionless. She has never known the physical signs of depression. She may feel like she will have a heart attack, but the beats per minute on her Fitbit says she is overthinking.

Angela has no clue how to handle a meltdown. She was not born into a family of vulnerability. Whenever she sunk too deep into her emotions, her mother told her, “We don’t have time for sadness. If you are not learning, be earning.”

So, that is who she has become. She has gone from an honor student to one of the most aggressive closers at her firm. A few days ago, she sat tall and confident as she interviewed for a promotion. Her manager asked, “How do you do under pressure?” She parted her full red lips, “Oh, I thrive!” The corners of her mouth spread into a winning grin.

That was only days ago she oozed that level of confidence. Now, uncertainty burns through her stomach lining as if she swallowed acid. Oblivious, she wasn’t. She saw warning signs but ignored them. Her fiancé kept his phone on silent and under his pillow for months. He wouldn’t have gone through the trouble — if he weren’t hiding something.

She can’t count the number of nights her tears covered her arms wedged under her head. But she couldn’t blame him for wanting something new. She had gained weight. She may have hated becoming old and fat, but since she had no control over one, she felt powerless over the other.

As she lies on the couch, her eye shadow turns into watercolors. Streams of light blue and gold form a stream across the bridge of her nose and drip onto her sofa. Her head lifts to stretch her neck. She is not one for clutter; so there is nothing on the counter except a lonesome flower arrangement.

Sevon splurges on roses, cars, and whiskey. But as soon as Angela heads to the nail salon he considers it, frivolous spending. She adjusts herself from lying in the same position for hours. Her light eyes burn. She catches her reflection in a fifty-inch plasma television. Her hair is a mess, tugged, and yanked out of frustration. Cutting into her thighs is high waist boy-shorts, and she has on one of his undershirts. She holds a breath of his cologne mixed with the smell of a smoldering candle that lost its flame.

She sighs with a wind of sadness. I am going to miss him, she thinks. She props herself up on her arm and her long fingers wrap around a full wine glass. If it weren’t for alcohol, she wouldn’t know how to cope.

In the background of her breakdown is a love ballet by Adele. Angela loves how she makes musical mosaics out of a woman’s broken pieces. Then Adele belts out,

“If this is my last night with you Hold me like I’m more than just a friend Give me a memory I can use Take me by the hand while we do what lovers do, It matters how this ends Cause what if I never love again?”

Those lines send her empty glass soaring through the air. It smacks the wall, causing a crystal rain that settles onto her hardwood floor. Her hands grab for a silk white throw pillow, and she bites it. Saliva drips from the corners of her mouth, “Adele, I’m dying.” She whispers.

Then more weeping seeps between her wet lips as she stares at a few empty bottles of Merlot. She polished off two of them. One for strength and one for forgiveness. It illustrates the power of a man to be able to flip such a strong woman inside out. Angela dangles somewhere between love and revenge. Her pride slaps her cell phone out of her fingers. She thinks, damn, I can’t call Mia because she suspected Sevon was a con when she first met him. She has a golden heart, but bragging rights are a carnival ride to her. Who the hell needs to hear, I told you so, when he got me lying around like a junky?

She then remembers years ago when they met at a cozy café. Mia smothered her with her opinion,

“Angela, girl, are you listening?” Mia’s voice brought Angela out of a daydream. Angela gives her a blank stare. Her friend stirred sugar into an antique teacup. A pastel scarf wrapped around her head and bamboo earrings gave her a Cleopatra vibe. Her long cinnamon stick legs crossed at the ankle, and her large lips stained with a light pink hue.

“Yep, I am listening.”

“I got a bad feeling about him, Anj.”

“Girl, you have a bad feeling about everyone. You don’t trust your therapist. The one person in this world paid to keep your secrets.”

Mia’s eyes hit the ceiling, “Heather, be gossiping like every other woman.”

“She swore to secrecy.”

“So?”

“You know what, it doesn’t matter. You only have a bad feeling, because I have a good one.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Only that whatever brings me joy has an opposite effect on you!”

“You know you lyin’. I’m going to need receipts.”

“I wanted to try out for America’s Got Talent, you shot that down!”

Mia’s head dropped, “Anj, we have been over this, sweetheart, you cannot sing.”

“According to whom?”

“Everyone!”

“That’s beside the point. It seems that whatever excites me, has the opposite effect on you. I mean check you out sitting there, smug and sure.”

” I am sure! Sure, this shit will not work.”

“And the award for a most non-supportive friend goes to…”

“Oh, I see you want me to lie to you.”

“Nope, but you could delay judgment.”

“I’m giving you my opinion.”

“Unsolicited.”

“Real friends tell you the truth. Doesn’t matter if it stings.”

“Whose truth? Because you say it doesn’t make it right, Mia.”

“Doesn’t make it wrong.”

Angela sighs, “Okay, you are not coming to my wedding.”

Mia’s voice hits the ceiling, “Wait, you’re marrying this man?”

“Possible.”

“Now, I know you lost your damn mind. You don’t know him and he lies like he is running for governor.”

“I have already considered what would happen if things go bad. Worst-case scenario, we get a divorce and move on with our lives,” She paused, “and what does he lie about?”

“Let us not forget when you met him, he claimed he was Muslim.”

“Girl, he never said that! He said he didn’t eat pussy or pork.”

Angela’s eyes cross and stay for a few seconds.

“Right, and a grown man who has yet to acquire a taste for Yoni — had better have religious reasons.”

Angela’s posture shrinks, “Well, he ate mine, so?”

“See, that is the issue. If you dislike oral sex, you don’t like it. Seafood disgusts me, and I will not inhale a fish to appease anybody.”

“Whatever.”

“Your precious fiancé lies without a conscience. Be careful,” Mia’s lips pucker and dart the side of her face.

“Got dammit, Mia. Don’t you understand how tired I am of living my life so soft? Too afraid to take a risk.”

“Girl, we are talking about your vagina, not the stock market.”

Angela’s teeth sunk into her tuna sandwich, and with her mouth full she stands to her feet. She snatches her purse from the chair and the strap breaks, “Check this out. You either learn to support me or stay the hell out of my life,” she says, stuffing her makeup back into her bag.

“Don’t hit me with an ultimatum they are energy bars to me.”

“Forget you, Mia!”

“Girl bye.”

“Bye bitch! Angela’s voice carried over to the neighboring table. Her eyes grew large, and she mouthed the words, I’m sorry, to a blonde woman who had covered her daughters’ ears. Mia let out a chuckle that widened Angela’s nostrils,

“Angela, look at your face. I’m not the one scamming, don’t be mad at me, and don’t come crying to me when this ship capsizes.”

“Ugh!”

“The truth hurts beau,” Mia yelled as Angela’s full hips swung from side to side hitting chairs on her way out.

That was a while ago. But now it’s like Sevon is on a mission to prove Mia right. Only four hours after Angela swallowed the last sip of wine, the bright sun awakened her. She sits up and her pupils roll to the clock — 7:25 am. Her body collapses back onto her blue, vintage, velvet sofa.

She is too unsteady to stand and her fingers slide around her scalp. The cool tears slid to her hairline. The shelf life of this pain has to be a few decades. Angela reaches for her phone, and her mother has called a few times. They speak at least twice a day, depending on how hard life has been. She was about to call her back when the sound of his turbo engine brought her to her feet.

She snatches open the blinds. He stumbles out of his car and catches his balance. Now that he was home they could fix this, she was sure.

Sevon’s checkered shirt is narrating a night of reckless infidelity. The wind blows it off his brick shoulder. I can smell his bitch from here, Angela thinks.

Then Angela’s door flings open, and she goes flying down the sidewalk without shoes. Her bottom hanging out of her shorts. “What the hell did you do? Conquer a fifth of cognac?” She asks, “Who let you drive home this way? You could have killed yourself!”

The booze has the same effect on his eyes as swimming. It has turned them rosy and swollen. Sevon and Angela stand face to face. His height brings her to the tips of her toes. She inspects him, “What is this?” She gets closer, “Is that a hickey.” Her stomach churns, staring at the little strawberry mark below his clavicle. His look makes her feel unwelcome and unfamiliar.

“Stop Angela.” He says, as his left hand pushes her away before she can touch him.

“How old is she? Twenty?” She yells, “Grown women don’t go sucking on your skin and bursting capillaries!”

Angela starts a monologue in her head, This bitch is trying to provoke me! She knows how I react will either make him stay or send him right into her arms!

Her right foot slides back, getting ready for combat. “And where is your ring!” Silence, “Answer me!” She screams.

Her heartbeat softens, and she takes in a shallow, asthmatic breath. The look on his face is cold, indifferent, and different. Pressure beings to build behind her earthy eyes. All Sevon’s expressions are changing, but not one of them is apologetic. Annoyed, disgusted, but not one that says he feels any remorse. The morning sun leans on the crown of her head.

The fresh-cut grass and the sound of lawn mowers are her favorite thing about summer — now ruined. But he isn’t the first to cut something she loves out of her. Kevin messed up winter and Cameron made Italian food hard to eat. If she didn’t stop fooling with dummies, now she would hate living by fifty.

Her eyes turn into question marks. They ask, but what about forever babe? You promised not to hurt me. I believed you. What do I do with a broken promise? What good is it to me? Our wedding is in weeks. I hope I am dreaming, but she knows she isn’t because she feels too much at the moment. Her abdomen contracts with the same pain as a woman experiencing childbirth. Her tears race down her face and fall on her breasts.

“Angela, don’t start crying.” He reaches into his pocket and places a ring in her hand, “Sorry, we are done, man.”

“Done?”

“Did I stutter?”

“I can’t believe this. Why don’t assholes come with a warning label, caution tape, something!” Her sweaty palm slaps his forehead.

“Why don’t chic’s like you come with a muzzle?”

“What did you say to me?”

“I’ve been told I hate a bitch who can’t hold it together.”

“Why are you doing this? You let me marinate all night so I would be tender enough to fall apart?” Her head hangs like someone snapped her neck. Feelings of betrayal rush from the floor upwards. Her mother had warned her. “Be careful,” she said. Angela didn’t listen because she fell in love with his wavy hair that drifts past his biceps. He also shared her love for shopping and luxury. His man bun and goatee also had her drip.

His words strike her like hot metal and paralyze her. Her head shifts and she makes out the sidewalk to her home. A thump hits her chest plate. Her heart is pounding. It’s not unusual for Sevon to instigate a fight. Many times he admitted her twinge in her nose arouses him. He used her anger as an aphrodisiac, but this time is different.

In Angela’s mind, the word solid sticks out. She keeps thinking of the day he used it about their relationship. What a permanent term. Solid, as in unbreakable granite, and meaning forever. Sevon speaks again. His breath moves her a few inches back. His audio is slow and the motion of his lips sluggish and distorted.

Next, what he says is not a lie, in fact, it is a bitter truth. “I don’t have to answer you! I am with Mia now.”

“Mia? What did you say? I know you are not talking about my Mia!” Her hands come up into a prayer position and cover smeared lips.

Sevon scratches his scalp and drops a cigar he has lit to the ground, “Look, Angela, it just happened. You don’t want to have sex with me, and she does.”

“Wait, are you thinking! If she can betray me, what makes you think she possesses any loyalty to your dumb ass?”

“Angela, she wants me. You don’t show me you want me.”

“You forgot my birthday, Valentine’s Day, and our anniversary! I haven’t felt wanted in months!” She pauses, “How long?”

“I don’t think that should be your concern. Tell people there is no wedding.”

His last word kicked a hole right through her. After hitting her auditory nerve, her brain translated it into kiss my ass, and she heard a snap. The loud sound jolted her head, “What?”

The bottom of her feet burns against hot concrete. Her knees pop. Her limbs move. But she is unaware of any plan. Looking through tunnel vision, her unfocused eyes are on a large rock. The boulder gets closer, and her hands and feet stay in the agreement. Her hand reaches and lifts the enormous rock upward, pure rage drips from her edges.

Then her mouth goes on a tangent about everything she always wanted to say but never did. “Sevon. You are right! I don’t want you on top of me! What a waste of five minutes. I never get off, you do! Half the time you reek of Hennessy and the noises you make! Ugh! The noises make me nauseous! You are disgusting!” She pauses. Her neighbor, an Italian man, who was a fan of her unending legs, has forgotten he was mowing the grass. He looks straight into her eyes. She shakes her head loose of his stare and continues, “You want to be with that bitch, cool! Go be with that ratchet ass…”

Angela has lost control over her mouth, emotions, and her high brown legs. Her breath has even become labored. She has a boulder though, and that thing is going to’ fix the pain, and force him to feel her agony. It signified revenge. The rock is her retribution.

First, she smacks him, but he grabs her wrist before much damage. There is blood above his brow, but not enough to be satisfying. The rock falls to the ground. She grabs it again, securing it under the arm, and makes a dash for his raggedy-ass Audi. He bought it as soon as he got promoted.

Sevon is behind her. “Don’t you throw that at my car!” He snatches at the boulder but only grabs the air. She hears him but dismisses him. Like he did when she told him how much she needed him. That same selective hearing made her smash the windshield.

The rock causes hundreds of cracks. “You’re crazy!” His anger turns into motion. Angela smiles, enormous arms wrap her, and toss her into the green grass. As she is being tackled, her face is aglow. Yep, he is hot! Her acrylic nails stick to his face. He got what was coming, but the angry angle of his eyebrows pierced her. The sound of police sirens brings them to their feet. Damn, I am headed to jail, she tells herself. Her life feels like a totaled car. The damage is permanent. She knows this will hurt forever.