Broken Before It Was Made (Uncut)

"What can I do?" She asked, sniffling pitifully. I looked down at her with scorn.

"You expect me to answer that?" I asked, sneering. "You should know. You've spoken of it enough." She looked at me uncomprehendingly, green eyes rubbed pink with tears, and red hair striking against her pale Irish skin. I sighed exasperatedly. Must I explain everything to this woman? "If I could reverse time for you, Gerald dear! If I could go back, I'd change what I did! Oh, darling, I never meant it!" I mocked her harshly, gesticulating wildly in an over-exaggerated mimmick of her.

Still she stared, but now with despair and fright in her eyes. "But, Gerald.. It's not possible. I can't change what happened. There isn't a way!" She cried, grasping my hand with both of hers and holding it, as if that could keep me here. I pulled it out of her grip with an expression of disgust, stepping away from her.

"Find a way then." I snarled, and whirled around and stormed away from her, out the open door.

-~-

Cynthia stared after her husband without moving a single muscle. What had just happened? For so long, they'd had such a happy marriage. Where had the joy gone? What about the passion? How had she managed to screw things up this badly? Sure, there'd been rough patches where it was hard to keep things together, but everything had always come out alright. And then Richard had come along....

"Damn it all!" She cried, throwing her head into her hands, ginger hair swirling about her. She never thought of going after him. After all, he didn't want her. He demanded a solution that she couldn't give. So what was a girl to do?

Shaking, she reached for her pocket. But her phone wasn't there any longer. Instead, it was in the living room, the stupid text message still open for all to see on the screen. That brought about a fresh bout of tears. It was only after she'd nearly exhausted her tear ducts, that she reached the wall phone. She dialed the number easily, as if she'd dialed it a thousand times before.

"Hello?" Richard's voice was like his name. Deep and reassuring. Gerald had a different voice. A little reedy, and yet still so comforting. And Cynthia began to cry again. "Hello? Cynthia!?" Richard asked, worried now. When she didn't reply, he spoke again. "Stay there, I'm coming over."

There was a click, and she sunk to the floor, cradling the phone to her chest like a child, or a broken memento that she was trying to piece together, sobbing uncontrollably.

-~-

She was a disgusting, cheating whore! A cow with no sense of worth. The bitchiest queen of them all. She's...

I thought up every name I could, insulting her in every way that I knew of, and coming up with new ones while I was at it. And when I ran out of ideas, there came that voice.

It was a nasty little thing, with a slimy whisper, pointing out things that I found were best left along.

'But Richard, didn't you drive her to it? Working late, leaving early. Wasn't that the start of /your/ parents' divorce? Shouldn't you have seen this coming? She turned to the only source of comfort she had. Another man. After all, her family is all in New Orleans. Because she moved here to be with you, didn't she? It was you that ruined this relationship, wasn't it?'

I ground my teeth together, shoving my hands into my jacket and hunching my shoulders. Outside, it was cloudy. Was it my fault? A flock of birds flew overhead, squawking loudly. Did I drive her to it? Across the street, two teenagers were lighting their cigarettes. Was it me that ruined us? The bus had just pulled in. Could it be possible? There was a man sitting at the bus stop, bundled up against the Michigan cold. Did I mean to do it?

Though I could have made it walking, I ran for the bus like the devil was breathing down my neck. Perhaps I was running more from the questions than I was to the bus.

There were only a few patrons riding the bus today. An elderly lady, balancing a chock full grocery bag on her lap. A young man, perhaps college aged, was bent over a book, scribbling furiously. A girl who looked as if she hadn't slept in days, leaning against the window and staring out.

I took a seat a few seats away from the front, leaning on my hands. And carefully, I let go of the world, piece by piece.

-~-

Cynthia was in trouble. Richard knew that much. Because if he couldn't remember her husband's name, he had certainly memorized her number, cell or otherwise. He only took keys and a jacket when he rushed from the ramshackle apartment. He owned an old 1995 ford escort in blue, which was parked in the cramped garage provided for tenants. With a jingle of his keys, he was off as fast as he could drive.

By the time he parked hastily in front of her building, not caring for secrecy any longer, Cynthia waited, red eyed, on the stoop. Richard jumped from his car, running to greet her, as she leapt up to return the favor, when a voice stopped them both cold.

"You /whore/!"

-~-

Reality wasn't ready to relinquish it's hold on me. So by the time we stopped again, I was alive with guilt and regret. "I need to go back." I muttered. The bus began to move again, as it was apparent that this wasn't a popular stop. I leapt up, running unsteadily to the front of the bus, grabbing hold of the railing to stop myself by the driver, all the time shouting, "Stop! Stop! I need to go back!" The driver, who is still a blur in my memory, jerked to a stop, returning my shouts with nastier words.

I didn't have time to listen. The only thing that had my attention was the red lever that read 'Emergency open'. Without thinking, I yanked on it, and soon I was flying down the street, heading back to the apartment that I thought I would only see again maybe once. I had to get there. I had to fix things.

Turning the corner, I stopped cold. Our building stood on the corner, and before me, was a man greeting my wife like a lover.

"You /whore/!" I shouted, striding forward, livid with fury. "I leave for five minutes, and you're already setting up a rendezvous with this bastard!" Speaking of whom, the dark haired man stepped forward to intercept me.

"Hey, don't scream at a lady like that." He cautioned. He'd regret it.

I swung back my fist, and hit him in the face as hard as I could.

"Richard!" Cynthia screamed, rushing forward, stopping short when she saw me.

-`-

He had a sort of injured look in his eyes. Cynthia would never forget it. And somehow, she was glad of it.

"Gerald..." That's as far as she got.

"How could you?" He asked, his voice low and soft. "We could have found a way to make things work."

-~-

We were doomed from the start. I realize that now. And as I walk away from her, I try not to look back.