Color Her Red Read Free Page B

longer comforting.  It makes me feel cold and lonely.  I search for Kate’s eyes and on cue she looks up at me.  I nudge the bottle in her direction, which almost causes me to spill the much-needed wine in my glass, but she just shakes her head.  Good, more wine for me then, if I need it… no, when I need it.
    “Maybe it’s not true,” she says , glancing at me from the computer screen.  Her eyes are warm and her expression is soft.  “You can never believe what you see on TV.”  Her voice sounds hopeful, but not moments ago she called him a fool.  What conclusion is she coming to?  Did he or didn’t he have an affair?  The pictures support the former. 
    My shoulders move up in a pathetic attempt at a shrug.  “It was on the news, Kate.  It’s not like the news is going to lie.”  My voice is low and drone.  I see her body collapse to the weight of my negativity.  I look down at the floor.  She is only trying to help.
    I sit cautiously next to her, careful not to look at the screen.  I don’t want to see.  Those pictures were the end of my happiness and the start of my downfall.  Staring vacantly ahead I move the glass to my lips and take a small sip before the tears start again. 
    I force my sadness into anger.  How could they post such awful things?  It’s amazing how quickly those vultures will grab onto a story and let it spread like wildfire.  I’m sure it will be on every gossiping magazine cover tomorrow.  Isn’t that a little conceited?  Your meltdown of a life is significant enough to make the cover?  I’m sure some celebrity is doing coke or tweeting pictures of their prick … that’s a bit more interesting that your disaster of a marriage.  Keep those fingers crossed and hope that some housewife slut is pregnant with triplets.  The nasty thought actually puts me at ease.  I can only hope I don’t have to endure the ridicule of trashy magazines grabbing hold of these photos and plastering them everywhere. 
    I can’t help but to torture myself, I look.   As soon as my eyes catch a glimpse of his hands on her, I feel the unforgiving tear s swell, I don’t blink; I just let them fall.  They land hard and loud on the pillow in my lap.  Those strong hands that hold me to him at night and the hands that hold my chin when he kisses me before he leaves for work, those are the same hands wrapped around some harlot’s waist.  I shift my eyes towards the blank television screen.  I’d rather look at nothing than to submit myself to those damned pictures.  I seek comfort in another sip of wine, and another.
    I sit my glass down as softly as I can and gently remove the unwanted tears.  I don’t want to cry anymore.  My hands cover my face, and then move to grip my shoulders.  I pull my hair back and start twisting at the nape of my neck, moving the twisted locks to my shoulder, away from my face.  I swallow hard biting the tear on my bottom lip and feel the pain.  I need to develop a different nervous habit.  I calm myself, breathing slowly in and out.  All I have to do is breathe.
    My serenity is jolted as my phone vibrates against the coffee table for at least the tenth time tonight; it’s him.  I ignore it.  A total of eight missed calls and an even larger number of unanswered text messages from friends and family… and him.  I can’t face my family, not by text message, phone, definitely not in person.  I can hardly speak to Kate, how could I possibly hold a conversation with them? 
    I wonder if they have called him.  Have they yelled at him, screaming viscously into the phone like I so badly want to do?  I wonder what he has told them.   Is it a harsh conversation, ending with him determined to divorce me or is he calmly explaining that there has been a mistake?  Maybe he is apologizing profusely and asking them to talk to me, to ask me to forgive him. I can’t bear the thought of it being anything other than him refuting it.  But how could