Julia
Tears well in my eyes, threatening to spill over. But I know that if I start crying, I won’t be able to stop.
“Get a fucking grip,” I mutter to myself.
I’m lying on the couch in the living room, attempting to watch my favorite reality TV show. After I confronted Jake earlier, I haven’t been able to focus. Racing thoughts flutter through my brain like paper in the wind. I’d optimistically heated up a frozen dinner, but I’d only been able to pick at it before my nausea had overpowered my desire to eat. Now the meal sits, cold and congealed, on the coffee table, all but forgotten.
I know I could call Nina for support, but I don’t want to go there until I have all of the facts. And the truth is, I don’t really have many of those at all right now.
Yes, Jake’s reaction to my questions all but confirmed my suspicions that he’s nothing more than a cheating bastard. I have no doubt that he’s up to his old tricks, but this time, I’m not going to let him off so easily. I need cold, hard proof.
And I know just how to get it.
I wait one hour–and then an extra few minutes for good measure. Once I’m sure that Jake must be asleep, I switch the television off. I don’t want to be heard on my covert mission, so I take a moment to slip out of my heels and leave them placed neatly beside the couch.
It feels wrong, the thing I’m about to do, but I try not to dwell on it as I pad up the two flights of stairs until I reach the third floor. I heard Jake stomping around up here earlier. After noticing that only one door in the entire hallway is closed, it’s easy to figure out which room he’s chosen for the night.
Not wanting to wake him, I creep down the corridor until I reach the occupied guest room. I lean my ear against the door, listening for any sign that he might still be awake. When I hear no movement within, I turn the knob slowly and ease the door open with bated breath.
I needn’t have worried. Jake is sound asleep, balled under the covers. His face is slack, and his chest rises and falls evenly. With only the moonlight to guide me, I glance around the room. Surely, he must have his phone in here somewhere?
I find it sitting on the bedside table. The screen is dark. I gingerly reach over and lift it, moving as slowly and quietly as I can. I don’t want the phone to light up and wake Jake, not when I’m so close to obtaining the proof I so desperately need.
Luck is on my side. Jake doesn’t even stir, and I manage to retreat out into the safety of the hallway, phone in hand, with him none the wiser.
I hate that this isn’t the first time I’ve had to check his phone. There was that other… indiscretion… a few years ago now. Jake promised that I’d have full access to his devices if it would help me trust him again, and I’ve known his passwords ever since.
But I haven’t gone this far in a long time. Now, guilt gnaws at me as I press the button that conjures up the phone’s lock screen.
“That fucking little weasel,” I hiss under my breath. Instead of the familiar array of numbers that usually pops up, there’s a prompt for a thumbprint.
I’m locked out.
Unless…
My resolve coalesces into a small, bright diamond. I won’t have any peace until I know the truth. If I wait until tomorrow and demand that Jake unlock his phone, he might simply refuse. Plus, he’d already have had time to go through his device and delete anything incriminating.
No, it has to be now.
Steeling myself, I slip back into the guest room. Jake hasn’t moved. My heart pounds in my chest as I inch forward. When I’m close enough, I take a risk and light up the lock screen.
Jake’s eyelids flutter, but he doesn’t wake up. I want to sigh in relief, but I’m afraid to make a single sound.
Slowly, I hold the phone in front of one of his unmoving hands. This is going to be the hardest part. Using the softest touch I can muster, I gingerly take his thumb and shift it every so slightly forward. It seems to take forever before the pad of his fingers brushes against the screen.
The lock screen disappears, revealing a sea of apps.
Thank fucking goodness.
I slide the phone away from him as carefully as possible and then tiptoe out of the room. Easing the door shut, I retrace my steps back downstairs to the living room.
Sitting on the couch with my legs tucked underneath me, I get to work. I check his text messages first, but they all seem innocuous. There’s a thread between him and me, of course. A pang of irritation reverberates through me as I realize he’s listed me in his contacts only as WIFE. The other contacts all look to be business related, which doesn’t come as much of a surprise.
Frustrated, I exit out of the app and switch to his email. There’s nothing there either. A closer inspection reveals that he doesn't even have any other messaging apps, dating sites, or any social media other than the clean accounts I already know about.
“What the fuck am I doing?” I sigh as I stare down at the phone, willing it to spill its secrets. But what do I expect, that the universe will align, and some random woman will call him right now, asking for sex?
It takes me a second before I realize I haven’t actually checked his call log. And while I don’t really expect anything to be there, I have nothing else to lose now that I’ve gone this far.
I hit the app and am instantly faced with a list of names and numbers. I recognize some of them, and most seem to have to do with his business dealings, but the most recent call stands out to me. It’s a phone number with no name attached, and the log shows that Jake dialed it right after he stormed upstairs.
Dread churns inside of me as I hover my finger over the number. Part of me wants to just lock the phone and put it back like nothing ever happened. But the doubt of not knowing will eat me alive. I have no choice.
I dial the number.
The phone rings a few times before somebody picks up.
“Hey, sugar,” a woman’s voice purrs across the line. “Calling for seconds?”
Anger, grief, and vindication instantly hurtle through me, each fighting for dominance over the others. My stomach clenches, and I suddenly feel like the few bites of food I’d eaten earlier are going to resurrect themselves in a most inelegant fashion.
“Jake?” the woman asks. “Are you there?”
“This isn’t Jake,” I say. My voice sounds fragile, small. “This is his wife.”
The stranger is silent. I listen for any indication that she’s hung up, and just when I think she won’t answer at all, she gasps, “Oh my God, I swear I didn’t know he was married!”
I’m not sure that I believe her, but it’s not like it even matters. “Who are you?” I demand. I want a name, something concrete I can throw back in Jake’s face later.
“Ellie,” she replies tentatively. “I thought I was Jake’s girlfriend.”
“And how long have you thought that?” I force out through gritted teeth. I want to scream at this woman, this homewrecker, but I also know one catch more flies with honey than vinegar.
Ellie pauses for only a moment. “Six months? Ever since he moved to Louisiana. He visits me when he’s in the city for work.”
The tears that threatened to fall earlier make themselves known once again, stinging at the corner of my eyes. I blink hard, willing them back. I will not cry on the phone with this lady. I won’t give her, or Jake, the satisfaction.
I just need to keep it together for my last question.
“Did he visit you today?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she murmurs demurely. “And he called a little while ago, if you know what I mean.” She draws in a shaky breath, and I get the impression that she wants me to think she’s distraught rather than genuinely upset. “Honestly, I didn’t know. I’m so…”
I hang up before she can finish the sentence.
Cold rage drives me as I stomp back upstairs and throw the door to the guest room open. It thuds against the wall, and Jake shoots up in bed at the loud noise.
“Julia?” he croaks, his voice crackling with sleep. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“What the fuck am I doing?” I snarl. “What the fuck are you doing? Or should I say, who the fuck are you doing?” I hold the unlocked phone up, revealing the call I’d just made.
Jake scrambles up out of bed. “Did you go through my fucking phone?” he parries. It’s bait, and I don’t take it.
“What’s her name, Jake?” I press, my volume rising.
“What? Who? I don’t know who you’re talking about!”
“Oh, should I call Ellie back and tell her you forgot her fucking name?”
Horror passes over Jake’s features as he realizes that I know. But it’s quickly replaced by anger and something else, something darker. His eyes flash, and for a shard of a section, his face seems to writhe and change, like bugs are crawling beneath his skin.
And then he raises his hand and slaps me.
The crack of the impact seems to echo through the guest room. Pain explodes in my cheek, radiating up through the fine bones of my face and into my eye socket.
Jake’s features churn once more before they settle into a mask of shock and regret.
For a moment, time stands still. There’s a gaping, silent chasm between us, one that I fear can never be bridged.
I bring my hand to my face, wincing as pain throbs beneath my fingers.
The small motion seems to snap Jake out of it. He reaches for me, but I shy away.
“Don’t you fucking touch me,” I hiss. I don’t think I could bear it if he did.
He flinches like a wounded animal. “Julia?” His voice is broken and empty, no longer powerful. “Julia, I…I don’t…I…”
Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I back away from him, moving slowly but steadily toward the door. A mess of emotions, none of them good, rise and fall inside of me, twisting my nerves into knots. But my body understands what my mind will not, that no matter what Jake says now, I know I’m in danger.
I stumble backward out the door and into the hallway. I keep my eyes on Jake until he’s lost from view, and then I turn and flee. Half blinded by tears and pain, I stagger down the stairs and into our bedroom.
Heavy footfalls behind me alert me that Jake is in pursuit. “Julia, please! Wait!” he calls from halfway down the stairs.
I throw myself into the bedroom, slamming the door and locking it behind me.
Jake slides to a halt in front of the threshold. His shadow creeps in under the door as he tries the knob only to find it securely locked.
“Julia, I’m sorry. Please, honey, let me in,” he begs.
“Go away!” I cry. I can’t keep the tears from falling now. They streak down my face, stinging the sensitive flesh of my wounded cheek.
“Please,” he pleads. He sounds pathetic, like a child. How could I have married this man? “Please, let me in so we can talk. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was like I wasn’t even myself for a minute. You have to believe me!”
This time, I don’t answer. I just stand there, staring at the shadow of his legs on the other side of the door. And then finally, after several minutes pass, he retreats back up to the third floor.
My legs don’t feel like they can hold me any longer, so I drag myself over to the bed and fall onto the mattress. I curl up into a ball and train my eyes on the perfect white plaster of the ceiling.
What Jake just did is unforgivable, far worse than the cheating. In all of the years we’ve been together, he’s been mean, petty, and dishonest. He’s sullied our fidelity and has failed to satisfy me. But not once has he ever raised a hand against me.
Until now.
I think about how his face looked when he hit me. It seemed twisted and unnatural, wholly inhuman. Is that what Jake looks like inside, underneath the charm, the body, and the piles of money? Is he nothing more than a monster wearing the skin of a man?
A sob wracks my body, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
There will be no peace for me tonight.
Maybe there will never be peace again.