I rushed to my feet. This was my day. I wasn’t going to spend it worrying and bemoaning, I should make use of it. I went to my kitchen, made myself a fancy dinner for one. Chicken breast with sweet and sour, I sat a couple of candles and poured some red wine, and started eating, looking out the kitchen’s window that overlooked the small garden we had. I sat there and ate in peace. The only thing that troubled my mind was that Mr. Jerk would show up any minute now from work.
I grabbed my phone, not really bothered anymore by how pathetic my actions were. I sent Morgan a message:
Hey…since this is my special day and all…can you keep the asshole busy. I would appreciate it if I didn’t have to see him today.
The response didn’t take long to arrive:
Sure…
I sat the phone down on the table with a smile on my face. I just asked another woman to keep my husband busy, and my mother always said I needed to be more open-minded.
I continued my night, leisuring around my apartment, having a cup of tea on my balcony, then ending it with a relaxing bath, during which I managed to forget about everything, just for a while. When I got out, hugging my robe to my chest, I stood in front of my bed, I dreaded the fact that I had to sleep now. I didn’t want to sleep, but I thought that, no matter how long I tried to prolong this, there was no changing the fact, that I’d wake up tomorrow, and all of this wouldn’t be just mine anymore, it would be hers, just cause she wanted to take it from me.
I tucked myself in, feeling a state of…relief, wash over me. Something I hadn’t felt in ages. There was nothing I could do, so I closed my eyes and waited for what tomorrow would bring me.
I woke up at the sound of a car driving into my garage. It was early morning. I struggled to my feet, and walked to my bedroom window, to see Mark’s car parked in front of the house. In it were Mark and Morgan. I could spot their faces from up here; she seemed excited, he seemed bothered, and hesitant. I supposed he wouldn’t believe it until he’d see it, that his wife would accept this.
They got out of the car, and while they walked towards the house, Morgan’s eyes caught mine, and she nodded towards the door, probably gesturing for me to receive her. I took a deep breath, then took a look around my room, reminding myself of why I was doing this, then went downstairs.
When I opened the door she was already at it, and the first thing I saw was her amused smirk.
“Hey Mrs. Lenoir.” She tilted her head with a childish grin on her face.
My face was still soggy and sleepy, and I couldn’t speak, so I nodded with a fake smile, gesturing her in. She walked in, dressed in her black sweatpants and white sweatshirt and black sneakers. Mark walked in behind her, avoiding to make eye contact with me, as I stared at him with instinctive dagger eyes.
“Get the rest of my luggage from the trunk.” She said casually, holding the keys of Mark’s car out to me.
I looked at her, then at him as he looked at me waiting to see my reaction, which of course, was taking the keys and going to do as I had been told. I got a big suitcase out of the trunk, and started dragging it into the house, only to lose my grip and let it fall at the door once my eyes landed on them. They were making out, right in the hall. I knew that Morgan initiated that kiss. As I watched them touch their lips together, I was surprised by how much it hurt. He was nothing to me anymore, but still. I stood there with a pathetic long face and slouched shoulders. I knew the deal, but couldn’t resist asking, “Do you guys, um…”
Morgan broke off the kiss and looked at me with amused awaiting eyes.
“Can you please at least, not do it in front of me.” My eyes looked down at her shoes, as I had no power to lift them up.
“Do what?” she said.
“…Kiss.” I said, trying not to sound aggressive at her playing stupid.
She snickered. I took a quick glance up to see her amused face and Mark’s half confused half disgusted one.
“You don’t want me to kiss your husband in front of you Mrs. Lenoir.” She said.
“Yes please.”
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” She warned.
I forced myself to look up.
“Go upstairs, unpack my bag, organize my clothes, then come back and make us some coffee, I don’t wanna be late for work.”
“Yes Morgan.” I nodded and grabbed the suitcase then rushed away from them, only to get a kick up my ass from her as I walked away, almost tumbling to the floor from the strength of the kick.
I heard her laugh behind me. “Chop chop wify.” She cackled.
I rubbed my sore behind as I held my tears and made my way up the stairs with her bag. I got it into my room and opened it. It didn’t have that many clothes, only a couple of pajamas and a dozen of work skirts and blazers, and some high heels and sneakers and slippers. I put each one in its place, making room beside my own clothes and shoes. I took my time with it, trying to prolong having to go down there again, but eventually, I finished the task, and walked downstairs.
Again, I was greeted with them kissing on the big leather couch. I immediately averted my eyes from the sight and walked to the kitchen. I made their coffee, while their giggles and whispers tortured my ears, then, as I knew It was expected, I took it to them, setting it at the coffee table. I almost made my way back to the stairs, determined to spend some alone time in my room, when I heard Morgan say. “Hey where you going wify.”
I froze, then turned, to see her looking into Mark’s eyes not paying me her attention. “Upstairs,” I whispered.
“Come take these sneakers off me.” She extended her foot, but still ignored me and kept her focus on Mark, who sat there like a dumb, weirded-out fool.
I swallowed whatever remained of my self-respect, and walked towards her, before kneeling at her feet and unlacing her first shoe. I took it off, then the other one, and she finally looked at me. I was about to stand up but her stare seemed to warn me not to, so I stayed there. Out of nowhere, she raised her white socked foot, and with a cackling laugh, smeared it all the way from my forehead to my chin, making me tense up in disgust. Her sock wasn’t that sweaty, but it was still a sock, a foot. Was I going to have feet rubbed in my face in my own house now! Her laughter raised noticing my disgust. “How do you feel right about now.” She said, as she wiped her foot on my face again, before she raised both her feet and started wiping them up and down on my face harshly. “Are you’re husband’s mistress’s feet smelly.”
Between my cheeks and my nose and my skin being stretched and pulled by her feet, and the tears building up in my throat, I couldn’t get a word out. My view was blocked by her feet, only giving me short glimpses of her tormenting smirk.
“Answer me wify,” she slapped my cheek lightly with the sole of her foot. “How do you feel?”
“…Horrible.”
“Pathetic?” She slapped the other cheek.
“Yes.”
“Like the most pathetic wife there ever was right?” She slapped me again, only harder.
My eyes instinctively looked at Mark, and wasn’t surprised to see that he showed no signs of remorse, no guilt, nothing. He felt nothing, seeing me get my face foot-slapped in my own house by the woman he was fucking, just because of him. He probably felt the condemnation in my eyes, cause he felt like he needed to say something, and all he could say was, “Disgusting.”