Betrayed Hearts

Chapter two, Breaking

****Breaking**”

I pick up the towel from the floor with shaking hands and wrap it around myself. My legs feel like they might give out any second.

The tears come then. Hot and bitter, streaming down my face. I slide down against the bedroom door until I'm sitting on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest.

You're embarrassing yourself.

His words keep playing in my head like a broken record. How did I become this? This desperate woman begging her own husband to touch her?

My phone is on the nightstand. I grab it, and before I can think twice, I'm video calling Jane.

She picks up on the second ring, her face filling the screen. "Amber? Hey girl, what's—" She stops when she sees my face. "Oh no. What happened?"

The concern in her voice breaks something in me, and I start crying harder.

"He rejected me again," I manage to get out between sobs. "I tried everything, Jane. Everything. And he just... he walked out. Told me I was embarrassing myself."

"That bastard!" Jane's face goes red with anger. "I told you, Amber. I've been telling you for two years now—Timothy is no good for you! The way he treats you, it's not right!"

"Jane—"

"No, listen to me." She leans closer to the camera, her eyes fierce. "You need to leave him. Or better yet, cheat on him! I'll link you up with someone. There are plenty of hot men who would die to be with a woman like you. You're young, you're beautiful. Why are you wasting your time on a man who won't even touch you?"

"I can't do that," I whisper, wiping at my tears. "I can't cheat on my husband just because I'm... because I'm horny. That's not who I am."

"Then what are you going to do? Keep torturing yourself?"

"I trust him, Jane." Even as I say it, something twists in my gut. "He loves me. I know he does. He's just... he's busy with work. Stressed. He would never cheat on me. He wouldn't do that."

Jane's expression softens into something that looks like pity mixed with pain. There's something in her eyes I can't quite read, and it makes me uncomfortable.

"Amber..." she starts, then stops.

"What?" I ask, but she just shakes her head.

"Nothing. I just hate seeing you like this."

I cry harder, and Jane just watches me through the screen with that same pained expression that I can't figure out.

"It's been two years, Jane," I sob. "Two years. What do I do? He hates me. I must disgust him or something. I can't even focus on anything else anymore. All I think about is why he won't touch me. God, I sound so pathetic."

"You're not pathetic. He's the one who—"

I hear the sound of Timothee's car starting outside. I scramble to the window, phone still in hand, and watch as his headlights disappear into the darkness.

"Where is he going?" I whisper. "It's almost midnight. Where could he be going?"

"How dare he!" Jane's voice rises from the phone. "He just rejected you, and now he's leaving? Amber, maybe... maybe he really doesn't love you anymore. Maybe he—"

"Don't say it," I cut her off, fresh tears streaming down my face. "Please don't say it."

There's a knock on Jane's end of the call. I can hear it through the phone.

"Jane? Who's that? It's so late. Are you safe? Is it a thief?" Panic rises in my chest. "You live alone; you shouldn't open the door this late!"

But Jane just smiles, almost... beaming? "It's alright, Amber. It's just my neighbor. Nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure you're okay? Call me if you need help, okay?"

"I'm fine, really. But I should go. Try to get some sleep, okay?" She hangs up before I can say anything else.

I stand there staring at the blank screen, feeling more alone than ever.

I need a drink.

I pull on sweatpants and a t-shirt and head to the kitchen. The wine cabinet is calling my name. I pour myself a glass, then another, sitting at the marble counter in the dark, thinking about my life. How did I get here? How did everything go so wrong?

"Well, well. Drinking alone in the dark. How fitting."

I jump at the voice. Timothee's mother stands in the kitchen doorway, her face covered in a white beauty mask. She must have come upstairs to get water.

She looks at me with such disdain, but there's excitement in her eyes too. Like my misery brings her joy.

"You know," she says, walking to the fridge, "all you do is enjoy my son's money. He doesn't even let you work. The least you could do is give him children."

The words sting. She knows. She knows her son won't touch me. So how exactly am I supposed to get pregnant?

"I'm trying—" I start, but she cuts me off.

"Trying? You've been married three years. Three years and nothing to show for it. Maybe if you were from a better family and had a better background, you'd know how to keep a man interested." She looks me up and down with disgust. "An orphan with no family name, no connections. I never should have agreed to this marriage."

I stand up unsteadily, the wine making my head fuzzy. "He loved me then," I say quietly. "He chose me."

"Loved," she emphasizes the past tense with a cruel smile. "Past tense, dear. Notice that?"

She hisses as she walks past me back to her wing, leaving me standing there with her words echoing in my head.

She's right, though. Back then, three years ago, Timothy loved me so much. He fought for me. Defended me against her criticisms. I can't help but smile a little, remembering those days. How happy we were.

I miss him. God, I miss him so much. Even when he's here, he's not really here. He's always with his mother or locked in his office. It feels like he has another home somewhere else.

I shake that thought away quickly. No. I won't go there.

Her animosity started two years ago. She used to hide it better, but now she's bold with her insults because Timothy doesn't defend me anymore. I've resigned myself to it. I don't care about her treatment. I just want my husband back.

I drag myself upstairs to the bedroom, this empty room that should be our sanctuary. I open the cabinet where I keep my toys—the collection that's been my only companion for two years.

I pull up an adult site on my phone. The same videos I've watched countless times. They used to help and used to give me some release. But now? Now I just feel empty watching them. Envious of the women on screen who are wanted, desired, and touched.

I grab one of the toys and try. I really try. But the moment it touches me, my body goes cold. Like it's rejecting it. I touch my breast, trying to feel something, anything. Nothing. My body has gone completely numb.

I throw the toy across the room and curl up on the bed, crying.

Maybe Timothy got bored of me the same way I got bored of these toys. But why so soon? Marriage is supposed to be forever, isn't it? I've seen couples married for twenty years, still happy. Fifteen years. Ten years. So why? Why is mine like this after only three?

I feel like I'm in heat, desperate and pathetic. Maybe I need to get a real job. Something to occupy my mind so I'm not obsessing over this all the time.

But even as I

think it, I know it won't help. Because the problem isn't that I'm bored.

The problem is that I'm unwanted.