WORTHY, Part 2 (11 page)

Still another photo of me, completely naked this time, my eyes in the process of rolling into the back of my head, lying on my side, pressed into none other than Brock, who was also naked. His erection burned into my retinas, especially because in the photo, I was grasping it in my hand. He was laughing, his head thrown back. How had he taken this photo? Did he have a camera on a stand? Was it timed or something? Did he have a remote control?

I had no memory of these photos whatsoever and a terrible feeling as I put the phone back to my ear.

“I have several more,” Jonathan was saying. “Do you need to see them?”

“No,” I said, feeling nauseated. “I don’t need to see any more.”

Even if I couldn’t remember those photos being taken, I could remember the night they happened. I had no defense against them.

“So you know what happened that night?” my husband asked.

“It was a little more than three weeks ago,” I said. “I went out to a club with Jane and Brock. I got drunk — too drunk — and blacked out. I woke up at Brock’s condo, but he told me nothing had happened, that he brought me there after I threw up outside the club.”

“You blacked out,” Jonathan repeated. “That’s very convenient.”

“It’s the truth,” I said. “It’s the truth.”

“Why am I only hearing about it now?” he asked. “What did you have to hide?”

“I was embarrassed,” I said, tears springing to my eyes. “Brock assured me that nothing had happened, but I didn’t want you to think that I was just back here in Chicago, partying it up while you were gone. It was a onetime deal, Jon. I never did it again.”

“You mean you only fucked Brock just this once?” he asked bitterly. “Good for you. Only one time. Such restraint.”

“I didn’t fuck him!” I cried. “I didn’t! He told me nothing happened! That all I did was sleep it off!”

“Then how do you explain these photos I got?” Jonathan asked. “Can you deny they ever happened?”

It had been the dress I was wearing. It had been Brock by my side. I had three photos on my phone, and my husband had even more. Could I deny they ever happened?

“I don’t remember them happening,” I said. “My last memories of the night were at the club.”

“Don’t throw a lack of memory in my face, Michelle,” Jonathan snarled. “I can’t choose to remember or forget anything before I met you in the woods. Don’t conveniently forget to remember your betrayal. You looked drunk in the photos, I’ll hand you that, but you were lucid enough to pose, lucid enough to fuck my friend.”

“I’m telling you that I can’t remember,” I sobbed. “I only know what Brock and Jane told me — that I tried to kiss Brock, but I vomited all over myself instead. I don’t know what to tell you or what to think. I was shameful that night, but my biggest mistake was drinking too much. I would never willfully hurt you, Jon.”

“I wish that were true,” he said. “I wish you could’ve just held on a little longer. I would’ve been home in just a couple weeks, baby. You couldn’t have just waited for me until then? You had to seek out comfort with Brock of all people?”

“That’s easy for you to say,” I said. “You’ve had Violet this whole time, traveling with you, comforting you whenever you got lonely for me.”

God. I didn’t even know what I was saying anymore. My reality was unraveling before my eyes, and I felt like my sanity was going with it.

“Violet hasn’t been with me,” Jonathan said, gritting his teeth. “She hasn’t.”

“Then how do you explain the photos?” I demanded. “Explain them like I’ve tried to explain to you that nothing happened between Brock and me.”

“I saw exactly what happened between you and Brock in those photos,” Jonathan said.

“And I saw you and Violet in those photos!” I yelled. “How is this any different?”

“Because none of that ever happened!” Jonathan yelled back. “That’s how it’s different! I’m telling you the truth, and you’re lying right in my ear.”

“I don’t remember doing any of that with Brock,” I said. “It didn’t happen, Jon. Why would I do that to us? I love you!”

He drew in a sharp breath. “Of all the things you’ve said to me, that’s hurt the worst,” he said. “How could you love me if you’re giving your body to Brock, betraying me with my best friend?”

“I do love you!” I protested. “I gave up everything for you. I gave up the only place I felt like I belonged to be with you, to help you, to love you. Why did you leave me here? Why did you abandon me?”

“I told you time and time again!” he raged. “I’m doing this for you. For our family.”

“I don’t think you are,” I wept. “You and I would’ve been just fine without all of this, without knowing you were a Wharton, without you trying to take your place as CEO of the company. We would’ve been just fine at the cottage, Jon. You’re the one who’s selfish. You’re only doing this for you.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” he demanded. “Can’t I try to do something for myself? Can’t I try to connect to something I apparently used to be? Do I have to be punished because I’m trying to figure out who I am?”

“Yes, when it includes reconnecting with the woman you used to fuck!”

“Violet was never here,” he said. “I gave you all of me. I turned my back on her, remember? Or is that something else you’re going to conveniently forget?”

I felt like I was being pulled apart limb by limb. How could everything have deteriorated between Jonathan and me so quickly? Could we really not spend more than a month away from each other without falling apart? It raised red flags for me, and I realized that it wasn’t a good thing that I’d felt so lost without him.

I had forgotten how to be by myself. I had given too much of myself to Jonathan.

“So what are we going to do?” I asked numbly. “Are you just going to continue to deny what I can see with my own two eyes? Are you really going to keep lying to me?”

“You’re the one who’s lying to me,” Jonathan said. “And I can’t believe it, Michelle. I really can’t. I told my entire family that you were the love of my life, that I was going to stand by you no matter what they tried to tell me, and that they could all go to hell if they didn’t accept you. I almost disowned my own mother for you. And for what? So you could just sleep around the moment I left you?”

“I’m not sleeping around,” I said, wondering inanely how I could have so many tears in my body. They just kept falling. “I would never do that to you. I’ve only loved you, only been with you. I trusted you, Jonathan, and I thought I knew you, but I now understand why that can never be possible. I can never truly know you.”

“You know exactly who I am,” Jonathan said. “Exactly. We got to know me at the exact same time. I don’t have any secrets from you.”

“Your entire past is a secret,” I said, aware that I was repeating Brock. As much as I hated Brock right now, that statement he’d spat at me had rung a little too true in my ears. “The more I find out about who you used to be, the more I doubt who you’re purporting to be.”

“What do you mean, purporting to be?” Jonathan asked. “Do you think I wanted to lose my memories? To lose who I was? I told you upfront that I didn’t like the things I was hearing about my past, either. Do you really believe that I’m just pretending to be the way I am now?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” I said, realizing that I was now channeling what Jane had told me. I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was getting to the bottom of this. I couldn’t keep living in doubt of what my husband was doing while he was abroad, what he really wanted to be doing instead of being with me. “According to some of the things you used to do, this would be about par for the course — playing games of deception with someone who trusts you just for your own entertainment.”

“I don’t know where this is coming from or how you can think that,” he said. “Do you really know me so little? We shared our lives, Michelle. We shared everything. How is this coming from you right now? Have you always felt like this?”

“No,” I said. “But after seeing those pictures of you and Violet, I don’t know what to think anymore. I don’t trust you, Jonathan. I don’t think you’re telling me the truth.”

“That’s it, then,” he said. “If there’s no trust in a relationship, there’s nothing.”

I thought that this statement would make me cry even harder, but I felt only emptiness inside. Had it really come to this? Was this really happening? I didn’t know what to believe anymore.

“Nothing,” I repeated.

“Maybe it’s best if we took a break from talking to each other,” Jonathan said. “Try to let all of this sink in. Try to make sense of it.”

“Oh, you mean not talk to each other like we already haven’t been talking to each other?” I asked. “I’m used to that. That’ll be fine. When will I hear from you again? A week from now? A month from now? A year from now?”

“Enough,” Jonathan said. “You know that I’ve been busy. You don’t have to throw it in my face anymore.”

“Do whatever you think is best for you,” I said. “It’s what you’re good at.”

Jonathan gave a long sigh. “I just don’t understand the betrayal, Michelle. I thought we loved each other.”

“I don’t understand the betrayal, either, Jon. I don’t know if I’ll ever make sense of it. Of this.”

“I have to get going now,” he said. “I’ve left the party for too long.”

“Of course,” I said. “Of course. Back to your party. Sorry I’ve kept you for so long. I’m just your wife, though for how much longer, I have no idea. You’ll let me know, won’t you? Send me a text?”

“Stop this,” he admonished. “This isn’t you, Michelle. This isn’t us.”

“I don’t know what ‘us’ means anymore,” I said. “I really don’t.”

“We’ll talk more soon,” Jonathan said, and he ended the call.

I sat on the floor for a full minute with the phone pressed up against my ear, still not believing what had happened. Was this really happening? Couldn’t I just be dreaming?

I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them again. No. I was still there on Jonathan’s floor, holding my hot phone to my ear. How quickly my marriage had fallen apart.

I revisited our entire conversation in my mind, aware of just how crazy it had been. Were we really lying to each other? Had we been lying to each other this whole time? Maybe it would’ve never been possible to be together. There were too many hurdles to overcome. I was a broken little girl, and Jonathan was only half a man.

There was just too much damage.

I had just one other call to make to try and piece the rest of this puzzle together. I scrolled through my pitifully short list of contacts and punched the call button.

“You son of a bitch,” I whispered hoarsely when Brock answered his phone.

“Good to hear from you, too, Michelle,” he said cheerfully. “Glad to hear you’re doing fine. It’s been way too long since we last spoke.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” I demanded.

“Well, a son of a bitch, if I trust your judgment.”

“You took photos of me,” I said, each word a razor blade in my throat. “And you sent them to my husband.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of ‘bros before hos?’” he asked. “Jonathan’s my best buddy, baby doll. He deserves to know if his wife is trying to step out on him — especially if it’s with me.”

“You told me nothing happened,” I said, wishing I could shriek it. My voice was too spent and my spirit too shattered to let my outrage be known. “You told me all that happened was I tried to kiss you and you put me to bed.”

“What do you want me to say, Michelle?” he asked. “You looked like death warmed over that morning, and I didn’t want to upset you. You seemed devastated that you would even try to kiss me, let alone what we really did. I didn’t want you to slit your fucking wrists in my condo, is all.”