Chapter 9
Iris was crying, starting to walk away, but Matt caught her. The poor soul broke down all over him, her tears soaking his coat as she wept with her head lolling on his shoulder. He watched Colette closely, trying to discern any sign of repentance on her face, but there was none. No guilt, no sorrow. Instead, she looked at him with an air of haughtiness, daring him to scold her. "Why?" he spat the words at his wife, but she didn’t reply. She stood there like a marble statue, utterly unmoved by the strong cold wind.
It was Iris who replied between broken hiccups. "I came to give her the prescription you told me to order for her, and—and Mrs. Angelis got angry and slapped me." If looks could kill, Colette would be dead and buried by the way Matt glared at her. But Colette forced herself to meet his eyes, standing there unflinching, her head held high. "You have gone mad!" His eyes, filled with anger, hatred, and disgust, would haunt Colette forever. "You ought to be locked up in a mental institute with your hands tied behind your back for the way you’re behaving. Apologize to Iris! Apologize to Iris right now!" he shouted. Colette could feel the attention they were drawing from the people around them, but Matt didn’t care. All he cared about was Iris. He hadn't even asked for her side of the story.
"Colette, apologize!" he roared again as the crying woman in his arms stayed curled up against his chest. Colette sighed, taking one final look at her husband's angry, dark, but still handsome face. "May God forgive you, Matt, because I never will!" And she walked out—out of the hotel, out of the watchful eyes, and out of his life. "Colette!" She heard his angry call but didn't worry for even a second that he would follow her. Iris would never let him come after her. Funny, she thought, how she had more faith in his mistress than in him.
Colette stumbled out of the hotel, her vision blurred by tears. The first place she found became her sanctuary for the night. She booked a room and spent the entire night crying, the weight of her broken heart pressing down on her. As morning approached, she waited. She waited until the clock struck ten, certain that Matt had left for the office. Only then did she muster the courage to go back to their home to pack her things.
She had thought it over. Her aunt and uncle wouldn’t welcome her back; she had overstayed her welcome long enough. She decided she would collect her belongings and go to her friend Zoe’s place for a while. Then, she would need to find a job. With only a high school diploma, the best she could hope for were jobs as a waitress or janitor. But she didn’t mind. She had never been afraid of hard work. Maybe after a few years, when she had saved enough, she could go to college and get a degree. These were supposed to be hopeful thoughts for a brighter future, but all she felt was a dim, bleak darkness slicing her heart in half.
Never mind, she thought. She would get over this. She had to. She had watched her parents die in front of her when she was just a child, and she had gotten over it. She had felt the cold detachment of her uncle and aunt, who hadn’t cared for her either way, and with time, she had gotten over that too. She would get over her husband’s betrayal as well.
Colette took a taxi to Matt’s apartment. She walked quietly into the bedroom, trying not to alert the housekeeper. She didn't want to talk to anyone right then. But as she entered, she was greeted by the biggest shock: her husband, leaning against the windowsill like a wounded lion. His presence struck her like a physical blow.
“Finally, you show your face!” he lashed out at her. His eyes took in her disheveled hair, smeared makeup, and the dress that hung loosely on her hips. Disgust flashed in his eyes, and Colette felt as if he had physically slapped her.
“Wh-what are you still doing here?” she stammered, her voice trembling. He should have been in his office by now. She had not anticipated facing him so soon.
“This is my home!” Matt told her viciously, advancing with slow, panther-like steps. “But you tell me now… Had a wild night?” For a second, Colette was stumped, not grasping his meaning. Then, she saw his eyes scanning her disheveled hair and smeared makeup. Her lower lip wobbled with tears. “Y-you thi-think I spent the night with someone?” Her heart throbbed painfully, as if a train had just passed over it. It was the shock, she told herself. Every time she thought things couldn’t get worse, something else happened. This man did something even more heinous, even more vile, to prove her wrong.
“Iris said she saw you flirting with a young man near the entrance. She must have sounded disapproving when she handed you the prescription, and you slapped her.” Colette wasn’t surprised. Iris had seen a chance and grabbed it with both hands. But the way Matt accepted those lies raised the question: was he doing the same? Had Matt had enough of her and wanted to be rid of her now that the allure of her body was ebbing away? Was he looking for an excuse to be rid of her once and for all? For a second, she wondered if both Iris and Matt were involved in this game, trying to gaslight her until she snapped. There was accusation, anger, and once again, disgust in his eyes, flaying Colette like nothing else could. But she refused to bow down. It was over. She had accepted it. No matter what he said or did, Colette wasn’t going to engage anymore. She needed to cut these vile, disgusting people out of her life.
“Did you sleep with Iris, Matt?” she asked softly, watching his expression closely. There was no guilt, just deep resentment and anger at her for daring to ask that question.
“How dare you ask me that?” he shouted, but she didn’t shrink away.
“My sentiments exactly,” she told him, watching his nostrils flare with even more anger.
“I didn’t spend the night out of my house and come back looking like a—” He stopped, and Colette smiled.
“Whore? Isn’t that what you were going to say? Why did you stop?”
Say it! Colette wanted him to say it! Because for all intents and purposes, she did feel like a whore. She had spent two years pleasing this man in bed in return for nice designer clothes, bags, diamonds, and expensive vacations twice a year and nothing else. No emotional connection, no kids, nothing. Just an exchange of sex for material gifts. He was right; she was a whore.
“Where did you spend the night? Where the hell were you?” he shouted again, fire burning in his eyes, his lithe body tight with tension. And somewhere along the way, Colette guessed what he was after. He wanted a confession.
“Would it assuage your guilt, Matt, if I told you that I spent the night with another man? Would it finally set you free from your troublesome wife, who was nothing but a burden on your shoulders now? If I had spent the night with another man, you would finally be able to get rid of me without any guilt or responsibility. Isn’t that what you’re after?” she asked, wondering how much she had guessed right.