Page 137 of Every Silent Lie
Misery. My soaked, freezing feet give up at the end of the road, and I flag down a cab, struggling to open the door, my numb fingers failing me. “Shit.” I somehow manage to get in and somehow manage to give the driver my address through my chattering teeth.
“Let me crank up the heating for you,” the driver says, as we pass Dec standing on the street, his body turning as the cab drives past, following me with his eyes. I can’t look at him. My chest constricts. My head pounds. My throat is tight.
My momentary, temporary peace shattered spectacularly.
The drive is long and lonely. I bunch my fists, grit my teeth, and press my palms into my temples. Emotions seesaw inside, up and down, anger, sadness, stupidity.
But out in front?
Pain.
Am I hurting because I feel betrayed? Because I lost my little boy? Because what today is, and now what it’s become? All of the above?
How could he hide this from me? How can he declare his love and accept mine when he knows I don’t even know who he is?
Because you’re broken.
Because he was scared to break you even more.
I hit the leather seat by my thigh as the driver pulls up outside my building, and I jump out and struggle to the door, my hands still numb, every fragment of me stinging from the bite of the chill.
When I get into my apartment, I kick off my sodden heels, unzip my dress, and let it drop to the floor, leaving my clothes in a trail to my kitchen. I open the fridge and pull out the orange wine, wandering through to my bathroom, setting it on the sink and turning the shower on, stepping under the spray, the water burning against my frozen skin.
My legs refuse to keep me upright anymore, and I fold to the tile floor.
My vision blurring and blending between two little boys.
December 20th
I haven’t slept. Drifted off a few times here and there, but not for long. I squeeze my eyes closed harder and pull the covers over my head, my body curling into itself more.
Hide.
The duvet feels rough against my naked skin, the pillow like a brick under my head. I can smell him embedded into the fabric, and yesterday starts to replay in my mind, every moment throughout the day until I’m back in Dec’s house and realisation hits me.
He’s mine.
I swallow down my emotion and throw the duvet back, dragging myself to the edge of the bed and pulling my phone off charge. Five missed calls. Text messages I don’t want to read.
Ask yourself why you’re angry.
I need a coffee before I even think about visiting that question. I get up on a sigh and go to my kitchen, going through the motions, spooning instant coffee into a mug, stirring as I pour the hot water in. I take myself to the table with my hands wrapped around the hot mug, still feeling like I need to thaw out from last night.
A frown crawls onto my forehead as I look down my seated form. Naked. I feel like I’m in a whole new dimension of dazed. Stumbling along, unable to control my body or find stability, while also trying to wrap my head around what I’m dealing with and how the fuck it could have happened to me. I want to scream at the injustice, yell angrily at the top of my lungs, hit something, upend things, destroy everything, all with the hope that by unleashing the rage, the unbearable pressure inside might release. And yet I know it won’t. And I don’t have the energy to lash out.
And now Dec’s landed this bombshell on me? Now, in addition to everything, I’m wondering how he could have neglected to tell me something so monumentally important. How could he declare love and not mention Albi? But most maddening, I don’t know if it’s his silent lie that hurts most, or the fact that this whole time when I didn’t think he could possibly know how I feel, he could. Because he has a son. He knows the kind of love I feel.
And his wife has gone. But more significantly, Albi’s mother has gone.
You’re fucked-up, Camryn. Why ever would he want to share his child with you?
Steam curls up from the surface of my coffee, twisting and turning then disappearing. I lift the cup and blow across the lip, making the vapor’s trail flicker chaotically. It’s apt. It doesn’t know what direction it should be going in.
It settles on disappearing. I’ve wanted to disappear so many times. Give up, stop fighting, because I still haven’t figured out what I’m fighting for if I don’t have my boy. I can’t remember who I was before I was his mum.
I glance at the clock on the oven. Seven fifteen. I could make it to work on time if I hurry, but I’m not needed there either. I probably won’t have a job for long, anyway, because Dec withheld that information as well. What other bombs is he going to drop? And will the next one wreck me like every other silent lie?
“She’s a special friend.”
