Man in the Mirror Ch. 01

"Your brother is a rude asshole." She said in a lifeless voice when I closed the door behind me. She didn't even turn around.

"Yeah, well. I would think that it's ruder to be sucking another guy's dick in the shower while I'm at work."

I was secretly pleased that she flinched when I said that. I didn't see the look on her face, but I was hoping that it was a hurt expression. Maybe even a few tears.

Probably not. A person would have to care to have those reactions.

After an awkward pause, I started to go upstairs. I had so many things that I wanted to say, but I didn't know where to start. Luckily, she broke the silence; albeit saying the most obvious statement ever known to man.

"We should talk."

I sighed loudly, but said nothing. Half of me was irritated with having to do this, the other half desperately needed to. She turned around to face me. When her eyes fell on my obviously bruised face, they softened with empathy. She reached out to touch me, but I backed away and shook my head at the movement. It was too familiar; too loving. Both of those were unacceptable right now.

This time she was the one to let out a sigh. Then she simply walked past me and into the living room. Accepting the unspoken invitation, I followed her.

After we seated ourselves on opposite ends of the room, a dense silence fell on us. I was the first to speak. "Where are the kids?"

"My sister's." she said, contributing to the small talk.

I nodded and nervously tapped my foot. "Okay, Paige." I said when there was nothing left to say but what we desperately had to. "You wanted to talk; so talk."

Being put on the spot like that must have thrown her off a little, because she stammered as she struggled to find what to say. "I...um...I..." She then looked off to the side and gathered herself. "I just wanted to start out saying that I'm sorry. You didn't deserve to find out that way. I know that you're angry with me, and I deserve it."

What the fuck was that? Was that supposed to be an apology? Not for cheating on me, but for how I found out about it. Was that supposed to make me feel better?

"I guess the fault is mine. You see, I thought you were at work. If I had known that you were...err...entertaining company, then I would have been more courteous and called you. That way, you could've had time to get your lover's rocks off before I walked in." I spit sarcastically.

She shook her head. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"No, of course not. What you meant to say was, 'Arty, I'm so sorry for fucking another guy behind your back. I'm sorry for cheating on you in your own house. It was a horrible, selfish, bitchy thing to do." I said, using an annoying, whiny, high pitched voice to imitate her. Then I said, "I mean, that's what any other wife would say."

She glared at me. "First off..." she said with a tinge of irritation in her voice. "...this is our house. I pay bills just as much as you do. Secondly, you're twisting my words around."

I couldn't help but to chuckle, though nothing was funny. It was more in disbelief than amusement.

"Wow. You get caught cheating, and you wanna argue semantics about how we split the bills?" I could see her trying to come up with a response. Before she could, I jumped back in. "For the record, I'm not twisting your words around. I hear what you're saying, but I also hear what you're not saying. So why don't we try this: drop the 'I'm sorry' act. Just be real with me and stop with the half assed apologizing."

She shook her head sadly. "Believe what you want, Arty. But I am sorry. I never wanted to hurt you."

I felt my face twist to match the skepticism that ran through my mind. "Really? You didn't think that this would hurt me? Tell me, what exactly are you sorry for? Because you didn't apologize for fucking another guy. You didn't apologize for throwing our marriage into the trash. You certainly didn't apologize for fucking him while you were not fucking me. So, what the hell are you sorry for?"

"I already told you. You're just not listening."

"Whatever." I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. The two of us sat there for an awkward moment before another question came to me. "How long has it been since we made love?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" She asked, though the look on her face betrayed her attempt at naivete. She knew where I was going with this.

"I can't remember the last time we fucked in the shower in the middle of the day. When we have sex, it's never spontaneous like that. It's more like you're doing me a favor, or rewarding me for doing something that you wanted. But that asshole gets an enthusiastic blowjob."

I was getting angry at the sound of my own voice. The words that I was saying was making me see angles of the betrayal that I didn't think about earlier. With a voice filled with disgust, I asked, "How much more was he getting than me?"

She looked at me with irritation in her eyes. "I'm not answering that."

I ignored her. "My calculations say that I was getting about...eh..." I pretended to think about it, then said, "...twice a month. You agree?"

"You're being a child." She said with contempt.

"And you're a bitch!" I spit out with venom. She looked me in the eyes for a moment before turning away. I could see the embers of anger burning. She hated being called a bitch.

"Calling me names isn't going to get us anywhere." I recognized this voice that she was using. It's the voice that she has when someone is pissing her off, but she is still trying to be civil.

"Neither is dodging questions."

"Those aren't questions. You just want to get a rise out of me."

She was right. I wanted her to feel what I was feeling. Angry, helpless, betrayed; anything close to what was going on in the pit of my stomach would have been nice. But that wasn't possible. No matter what I said or did, she couldn't feel any of those things. She couldn't feel them because I didn't betray her. Like the good little husband, I stayed true to my vows.

Things fell silent for a few seconds as I stewed. Finally, I asked the question that I desperately needed to be answered. "Do you still love me, Paige?"

There was a pregnant pause. That pause was worth a million poetic phrases written by Shakespeare. There were no words that would have spoken louder than that second or two of silence.

"Yes, I do. I'll always love you. Just...not...that way. Not anymore."

Not that way. I was having trouble settling on what that meant. What other way was there to love a spouse? I always thought the answer to that question was either "yes" or "no". In my opinion, if it wasn't an immediate and undisputable "yes" then it was a "no".

Earlier this evening, I thought that she didn't love me. Not even an hour ago, I had the same thought again in the car. Now, I knew it with certainty.

I couldn't do this. Not now. "Not that way" sucked all the energy from me. So, I silently got up from the couch. Unfortunately, I had to pass by her to leave. She seized this opportunity to stop me by reaching out and grabbing my hand.

"Please, don't run away. We have to finish this. Now. It's been a long time coming."

I snatched my hand away and glared at her. "What else needs to be said? You don't love me. Nothing else matters."

"That's not what I said, and you know it." she said defensively. "I understand you're hurt right now. I did that to you and I regret it. But you're twisting everything I say around."

I sneered. "That's big of you to understand what I'm going through. You're so in touch me. So, tell me, when did you 'fall out of love' with me? Was it before or after you started fucking other people? Because I don't remember you mentioning anything to me." I said this sarcastically using my fingers to do air quotes when I said "fall out of love".

She looked at me with narrowed eyes. "There you go again. Being a jerk isn't going to make this any easier."

"My bad, Paige. I'm sorry. Really, I am. I didn't realize how hard this was for YOU."

She started to say something, but then stopped. It seemed that my cynicism was finally wearing down the last bit of her pretentiously civil demeanor.

"You know what, Arty? You're right. I should stop apologizing. You're gonna believe what you want, and turn everything I say into something evil."

I couldn't help getting one last jab in. "So, was this you trying to spare my feelings? The slut with the heart of gold. How quaint. I guess I should count my blessings that you didn't run out and get gangbanged."

That was the last straw. The apologetic expression on her face disappeared. First it was replaced by look of irritation, then it twisted into an arrogant smirk. She laughed contemptuously and said, "Yes. I was trying to spare your feelings. You see, I wasn't going to tell you that you are a boring, overweight man whose idea of love making is two pumps and an apology. I wasn't going to remind you that the last time we spontaneously went on a date - or did anything fun - was before I was pregnant. Oh noooo. I definitely wasn't going to tell you that your sad attempt at seduction is a pitiful 5 minutes of lazy oral sex - missing the clit entirely - before forcing your semi-hard cock into my dry vagina. I wasn't going to mention any of that."

Her words hit their mark. I know that I asked for the truth, but I didn't realize that the truth was so brutal. It didn't help that the delivery was done in an intentionally destructive way.

So, I did what anybody does when he's attacked. I retaliated. "Well, when you have a wife who just lays there like a warm blow-up doll, what kind of romance do you expect?"

She just smirked. Apparently, I didn't strike hard enough, because her next blow was the coup de grace.

"Why do you think I just lay there like that? Huh? You think that you can just jump in the car in the middle of winter, crank it up, and speed off?" She laughed like I was amusing her and shook her head with a smug twinkle in her eye. "A girl needs something to work with. If you really saw me and Derrick this afternoon, then you would have seen what kind of woman I am when I have a man who actually knows what he's doing."

Boom. That was the sound of my heart - and my pride - hitting the floor. All I could do was stand there dumbfounded as her words echoed around in my head. There was no comeback after that. Nothing more could be said for me to save face. She'd essentially left me incapacitated with a blow well struck in the most vulnerable place I had; my manhood.

I don't know what my face showed, but it must have been abysmal agony. Her anger vanished instantly and her expression became horrified and even more apologetic than it was.

"God, Arty. I'm so sorry. Please, I didn't want it to come out this way. I..."

She may have continued speaking, or she may have stopped in mid-sentence. I honestly couldn't tell you. By the time she started backtracking and trying to recant her hurtful words, I'd left the room.

***

I awoke with a start the following morning. My alarm hadn't awakened me like it normally did. I looked up to where the clock was supposed to be and found an unfamiliar emptiness in its place. It took me a minute to realize that I wasn't in my comfortable king sized bed. I was in the guest bedroom, sleeping on a twin bed with a mattress no thicker than a maxi pad.

My body was telling me that I was late for work. I could feel it, even if there weren't digital numbers on a clock to point that out. I sat up and stretched, wincing as my back cracked and punished me for not having the good sense to at least sleep on the couch.

When I slid out of bed and looked to the mirror above the dresser, I groaned. The reflection showed a man who was haphazardly dressed in wrinkled clothes that he'd worn the day before.

"Boring, overweight man" came to mind as my image stared at me. I lifted my shirt, took a deep breath, and sucked in my stomach. It didn't look so bad. That's what I thought until I exhaled and let my stomach resume its natural state. It popped out and sagged over my belt.

When had I let myself go like this?

Seeing that less than flattering picture brought recollections of last night's argument. The same sting that I felt when Paige expressed her true feelings returned. I gazed at the man in the mirror, and I had to turn away. I couldn't look at him without hearing her taunts. He was a loser; so much so that his wife had to go behind his back and find his replacement.

I trudged to the main bathroom. After a quick knock to ensure that Allie wasn't barricaded in there, I opened the door and walked in. I sleepily performed my morning ritual (being sure to avoid that evil mirror over the sink) and prepared for another day.

Before the events of yesterday, I thought my life was pretty good. I'd decided stay with Walmart after I graduated from college. With my Degree in Business Management, I was eventually promoted to District Manager. Now, after 18 years, I was responsible for 4 Supercenters and 3 Neighborhood Markets.

My job wasn't glamorous by any standards; however, it was an honest living that paid very well. My wife and I cleared over 200K a year with our salaries combined. We practically had everything that we desired; a nice house, two new cars, and two children with private school educations.

Even though both of us worked full time, we took time out for our children. Paige made sure that she was home early enough to cook for the family, and we alternated chauffeuring the kids to various functions. Josh was on the soccer team, and Allie loved to have sleepovers with her best friend. There were other things that the twins required, such as school shopping, helping with school projects, or simply being a referee. Keeping up with them required both of us.

Isn't that the American Dream? I thought so. Apparently, that dream wasn't enough Paige. It turns out that what she desired was something I was incapable of giving her. All she wanted was to be with someone who was not me.

When I exited the bathroom, I wasn't really paying attention. Just as I was stepping out, Paige was quickly walking down the hall heading to Josh's room. No doubt she was storming in there to wake him up for a second time (he often rolled over and went back to sleep). My kids reminded me of Lance and myself. Allie was the responsible one (like me) and Josh was the charmer (like Lance).

The two of us practically ran into each other. Paige was light on her feet, so she expertly dodged me and avoided the collision.

We both awkwardly apologized as we sidestepped each other, like two strangers bumping into each other on the street. Then we just stood there with an uncomfortable silence falling between us.

"I...uh...have to get Josh up." She finally stammered.

"Okay." Was my brilliant response. Then we just turned in opposite directions and put some distance between us.

I was never as happy to find myself driving to work as I was that morning. I had to get out of that house. Once I was safely behind my desk, I tried to put Paige on the backburner.

As long as I was actively engaged in a task, I was fine. But whenever there was a few minutes of down time, I thought about her and her paramour. In many ways, that moment in the shower was frozen as a shrine to all the ways that I wasn't man enough for her. There is no bigger form of emasculation than a woman who wants a man so much that she is willing to jettison her husband.

"If you really saw me and Derrick this afternoon, then you would have seen what I am really like when I have a man who actually knows what he's doing."

I couldn't ignore that statement. With that asshole (whoever he was) she was adventurous, spontaneous, and open; even a bit of a nymphomaniac. She was the sexual being that she wasn't with me. I could see that, even in that small window of time. Whatever he did for her, I didn't do. I couldn't deny that with the evidence right there in my face.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I fished it out and saw that I had a text from Paige. I groaned as I read it.

Last nite got out of hand. We need 2 tlk w/o the petty bs.

I felt the anger rising up again. The petty bs? Did she really type that? Is that how she saw last night?

I didn't lash out, though. There wasn't any point. I simply wrote back. Agreed. We'll tlk 2nite. A few moments later, the reply was: OK. C u then.

I looked at the time on my phone before putting it away. It was almost time to get going. I had to visit one of my locations and do a walk through. This particular location was my problem child. Sales were low, thefts were high, and there were always incidents. These problems weren't the result of a lazy staff, or a bad store manager. It was the location. This store was set in the middle of a low income part of town - aka - the ghetto.

Many people gasp when distinctions are made between different communities. It's become taboo to even bring these things up, even if it relates to why bad things happen to businesses. Political correctness prohibits us from looking at it. If we do, we're either racists or fascists. We're supposed to ignore it, and pretend there are other factors.

Truth was, this Walmart closed at midnight while every other Walmart within 50 miles was open 24/7. Why was that? Because there were more fights, shootings, thefts, and robberies in this area. Several businesses had been robbed within a 2 mile radius over the past 6 months. That wasn't a slam against minorities, or against class. These were facts.

So, I drove out to my "problem child" to meet with the store manager, Phil. No matter how much I loathed this store, I liked Phil. He was actually my favorite manager. The thing that set him apart from other managers was he was one of the youngest people to occupy this position, yet the most motivated. He was only in his early thirties and he was running his very own store. He was a nice guy, very professional, always had a positive attitude, and he was a hard worker. He tried his hardest to bring the store's performance up when he could have just accepted it as an easy assignment. He was successful in many aspects; more successful than his predecessors. Still, I felt that the economics kept him from reaching his full potential.

When I got to the location, I found him in his office working on his computer and talking on the phone. He smiled jovially when he saw me, stood, and shook my hand. After initial small talk, he led me on a tour through each of his departments. I talked to each of the department managers about their performance and did a light inspection to see any glaring violations or things that could be improved.

Once I was back in Phil's office, I watched him. It occurred to me that he didn't really "look" like a typical store manager. His youth was definitely a factor, but there was also something else. His physique was that of a guy who worked out regularly. He wasn't a large body builder, but his chest, shoulders, and flat stomach made his shirt and tie hang on him attractively.

I know that watching him like I was sounds strange, but I couldn't help it. I kept hearing my wife's taunts in the back of my head.

I wasn't going to tell you that you are a boring, overweight man whose idea of love making is two pumps and an apology.

"Phil, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"Not at all."

There was no way to word this without sounding like I was checking him out, so I just honestly asked, "You look like you spend a fair amount of time in the gym. How do you find the time?"

I expected him to look uncomfortable, but he didn't. "You're not the first person to ask me that, Arthur. Truthfully, it's not as hard as people make it out to be. Being healthy isn't some unattainable goal."