Cámara Sensual (Completed)

Part Ten

Though someone would argue the validity of the statement, usually the truth really is before your very eyes.

When it came to the signs, they were all there with my ex-husband.  The late nights, the amorous texts, the clandestine emails, and another woman's lipstick on the collar of his dress shirt.  But I had to see it with my own to eyes to really believe it.

You can't really deny the truth when you see you see your barely dressed husband and his cheap whore doing their best impression of the riding cowgirl position.

The truth hurts - truer words were never spoken.  My biggest memory of that night, when I discovered my ex-husband's affair, was the pain.  It radiated through out my body, at times would bring to my knees with a dominant "crack".  I remember collapsing onto the crowd, wailing so violently that banshees would be envious.  There was one word I repeated over and over again, one question that I would demand answers for, but would always be denied one.

Why?

Why?

Why me?

The icyness of his eyes spoke louder than anything that could have come out of his mouth.  The indifference in the faces of both my ex and that cum-dumpster he'd leave me for was even icier.  They just didn't care.  In fact they would go on to complain about how rude I was to come bursting in on them, even though this was my house, and they were screwing in my bed.  They made me feel as though I were a heartless, selfish bitch standing in the way of their happiness, and while I would eventually figure out what a crock of shit that was, in that moment, I honestly believed it.  There I was, the foolish, uncaring wife, finally realizing the consequences of her inability to care for the needs of her voracious husband.

It wasn't enough.  I would never be enough.  No matter how hard I tried - no matter what I did, I would never be enough.  I almost lost myself to a man who demanded my undivided attention and belittled me if I didn't give it to him.  I gave him my all - and it wasn't.  I eventually realized that it was no fault of mine - he was the one at fault, not me.  But still, I vowed never to allow myself to fall for a man ever again.  I nearly lose my soul once - I never wanted to do it again.

But it did happen - with confident photographer eight years younger and a much better and more considerate lover than my ex-husband ever was and ever will be.  

I should have stayed away from him.

I should have never allowed myself to fall for his charms.

I should have never allowed myself to be vulnerable to him.

Because once you do that, you're bound to screwed - and not in a good way.

The circumstances of this discovery maybe be different, but to me, it's all the same.  My mind blurs the past and the present.  Vivian's home may be bright and warm from the glow of the many lit lamps, in my eyes, it's the same shade of nightshade blue that colored my marital bedroom that fateful night.  And while he's sitting in a chair in middle of his living room, he might as well be in his bed, a blanket and a sheet sparsely covering his naked form.  His shirt may be navy blue with not a smudge of lipstick to be found, he might as well be my husband, half-dressed in a white shirt with fuck me red lipstick smudged all over his cheeks, his lips, his neck, and the collar of shirt.

And if I were so inclined, I'd find a right around his dick, too.

As my heart crashes all around me, it feels like lightning struck twice.  Poor little Lexie, always so trusting and so hunger for attention got her heart broken all over again - even if instinct warned her over and over again.  But I'm not poor Little Lexie - am I?  I'm not a victim.  I let this happen.  I opened my heart to someone - fucking verifiable slut - and now, he and his verifiable model slut were all over each other, giving me the most spectacular show of their lives.

And just like before, the stupid bitch looks at me with no remorse and no regard for scruples, snarling at me as though I don't belong when I was invited here.

"What the hell is she doing here?" she says, sounding so prissy it makes me sick.  "I'm all for threesomes, but I've seen better milfs than her."

I grit my teeth, and I wish I could just walk up and smack the smugness of that bitches face.

Vivian...no matter how hard my mind wanted to make it seem that he stared at me with cold, uncaring eyes, stared at me with startled, then ashamed eyes.  His face, usually so calm and collected, was colored with the expression of a man who knew that this misstep would cost him dearly.

But my mind had only seen his remorse for but a second, before the past colored my reality once again, and anger rises from every pore, threatened to send me down the path of my undoing.  Even as my palm itches, overwhelmed with the desire to smack the smugness off that bitches face, I won't give them the satisfaction of my anger.  Not this fucking time.  

As classless as she is, she did me a huge favor.  

I'm free of that arrogant son-of-a-bitch - that beautiful liar who fooled me into thinking I was beautiful and enough for him - once and for all.  

The truth is before me - once an slut, always a slut.  No, always a verifiable slut.

"I see you are in the middle of your edit," I seethe with anger.  "Well, I won't keep you from your task, since it's obviously going to take quite an effort to beautify that bitch's face."

I don't have to see her to know I pissed her off.  "Bitch, who the fuck do you think you are?  Who the fuck is she, Vivian?"

"Get off me."  I tried to drown out my hearing as I stormed off into the hallway, ready to make my escape.  "Lexie!  Lexie, wait!"

"But Vivian..."  I know she'll keep him from following.  I can just imagine her arms wrapped around him.  "I went through a lot of trouble to find you...to convince you to give me a shot..."

"Get off me.  I'm not going to ask you again.  Lexie!  Lexie!"

I run as though he were after me, as though he were the devil himself.  The tears pool around my eyes, but I keep them from falling - not until I get home.

I don't understand it.  He took me to the mirror - he told me in his own way I was beautiful.  I tried to get him to break his promise to keep things non-sexual - and he kept it.  Over and over again, he implied to me that did things to him that no other woman would do.

Was it all just a pack of lies?  A way to keep me from ending things, a way to keep me on a tight leash.

It had to be.  But I don't know.  I just don't know.

When I do get home, I barely make it through the door before the tears start flowing - they will no longer be denied.  And even as my heart breaks, even if my stomach churns just thinking about him being with that slut, I don't know if crying over being betrayed or because I'm relieved to be free of that bastard, wondering if what we shared was real or if it was all a lie.  Maybe it's a combination of both.