Cement Shoes

The water seemed to be a storm in itself, gray and crashing. But the woman, who stood on the edge of it, balancing lightly on the concrete barrier that overlooked it, was calm. The large burgundy scarf wrapped around her neck hid most of her face and though her boots were caked in mud she still didn’t look out of place. It was dark this early in the morning, and with the clouds the sun still hadn’t crested over the horizon, but she would be gone long before then.

She needed just a moment, just a single suspended breath in time where she could take in the solace of being truly alone. But even now she knew she wasn’t alone, and never would be. She could feel a pressure somewhere deep in the back of her chest, maybe a clogging artery. No, that was generous and feigned ignorance. More likely, it was the reminder of her aching self-loathing, her desperate desire all but snuffed out. The guilt of her conscience, in more blatant terms. That could wait, now the pain was merely a prick in the back of her mind, a letter to be read on a later date.

Another wave crashed upon the concrete barrier, spraying her with the ocean’s kiss and spilling more than a few drops into her raven colored hair. She didn’t flinch against the sea’s roaring, but instead kept her distant, staring eyes on the water.

The memory did not burst forth through dramatic flashes, but instead seemed to soak into her through the flesh. It came slowly, then all at once, and Luca was no longer standing on the edge of the ocean but sitting in the middle of her living room, waiting. It was dark in the house and with the blinds blocking out the city’s lights, they created long shadows that crept across the carpet. Clawed hands waiting to be directed on whom to strangle. But in the center of the room, Luca was calm, or at least was telling herself that she was.

If he told her the truth when she asked, she could make it work. If he apologized, if he begged for forgiveness, she would forgive him. If he promised that she was the only one and that he was wrong, terribly fucked in the head, if you will, she would choose to let it go. She would make herself let it go. But that was all falling through like sand in her hands while she sat there waiting.

Waiting for him to come home.

Waiting for him to open that door and smile at her, the smile that would make her second-guess for just a moment. But what was the truth? The truth was the skimpy piece of pink silk she was crushing in her clenched fist. The truth was used condoms wrapped in toilet paper. The truth was a liar, a schemer, a defiler, and who could really forgive something like that?

There wasn’t time to answer before the front door slid open slowly.

He didn’t have time to notice her before her question filled the air, “Where have you been?” Even in the dark it was easy to tell her husband was half-surprised.

“Luca?” He asked, shutting the door softly behind him, but his voice was too awake for the early hour in the morning. Her lip quivered a little at the sound of her name, but her questions had fallen silent. All she needed was the truth, and she could get by.

“Just let me know where you’ve been.” She repeated, her voice breaking more than once. The evidence she clutched in her hand suddenly seemed to be on fire. He opened his mouth to make an excuse, a hand reaching out to gently squeeze her shoulder. She cut him off, “Touch me or don’t, just let me know where you’ve been.”

And there’s not a response. There’s never really been a response, not from him anyways. He’s always been some sort of mirror, reflecting back what she wanted to hear. And what she heard in him now was a lie by lack of response. He couldn’t even tell her the truth; he couldn’t even give her the decency of acknowledging his error. No, instead he tried to kiss her. With those lips that had been dipped in someone else’s blood.

The decision was clear for her now; there was no blind rage, no pulsing anger. There was only hatred burning like a cancer in her chest. The type of hatred that substituted painful clarity for reality. Luca gritted her teeth as she shoved her husband away, sending him sprawling onto the living room floor. It only took a moment for her to stand and to snatch the crystal vase from the top of the fireplace, smashing it down onto the wood floor so that it scattered a million pieces. She plucked a large one from the wreckage, aiming toward her traitor’s widened eyes.

“What are you doing?” He gasped, and Luca would always remember that gasp. Would always remember the way his hazel eyes were widened to saucers because of her. Good. He needed to be scared, should have been scared from the beginning. Should have recognized from the start what he would be losing, what he had deliberately tossed away. “Luca put that thing down!”

He was shouting now, and that simply would not do. He already had his opportunity to speak and had painfully neglected it. Besides, his admittance, god forbid his apology, couldn’t mend the tear he had already ripped into her. No, that was all a few seconds too late.

Her voice was frighteningly cool as she stated the words, unraveling the fabric of the pink panties so that he could see them in the pale light. “I’m sure there’s someone who knows where you’ve been.”

The waves crashed again and Luca focused her attention back to the swarming gray water. The sun had begun to show its first few rays of sunlight through the murky fog and Luca exhaled a breath with a hidden smile.

“Unless you have friends among fish, there’ll still be no air to breathe.” She repeated, remembering just how he looked with those unfamiliar panties shoved down his throat. His name had already bled out of her mind and now she would always know just where he was.