In His Mistress Body

Silence. Nothing but silence and the sound of my oxygen tank dragging across the marbled floor. I stood frozen, allowing myself to feel the weight of my emptiness and loneliness. Heat rushed to my face and my lungs started to burn, not from the cancer, but from the hushed tears and shallow breathing. It was humiliating to cry, humiliating and stupid. Every day I prayed for death, and in two months or less it would be here, and yet I was terrified. Terrified to die, terrified to be forgotten. Leaning against the banister, my eyes caught a glimpse of my wedding portrait. We looked so happy, healthy, and in love. What went wrong? “Dylan.” I whispered my husband's name into my hands. It sounded so foreign, strange, like it wasn’t mine to call anymore. That was what three years of silence did to you. Three years of chemotherapy, surgeries, and agony, and not once did my husband visit. My body weakened and my heart ached, but not a single visit from my own husband. Nobody ever came, nobody except my little sister, and even when she came it was too hard on her to see me suffer. And then I heard it. A soft, laughter that echoed in the dark house, one that I had grown used to in the past three years of her constant visitation. My little sister's. My head snapped in its direction, and I placed my ear down to catch another sound, but I heard nothing. I must have been mistaken. Charlotte had traveled to New York for a movie role. It couldn’t have been her. Then came a sudden loud grunt. It echoed louder this time, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. I was sure someone was home. “Dylan?” My voice came out lower than I wanted it to, but it was what cancer did best to you. It made you weak. “Dylan?” I called out again, taking a step up the stairs. Each step, more torturous than the last one. Dylan wasn’t supposed to be home till next week, or so I heard from Charlotte. A small laugh escaped my lips. Maybe it was the medication. As I reached the last step, I gripped the railing for support, and then I heard a soft moan—closer this time. And then another, and the air in the room thickened. “Could it be?” If my ears failed me, my eyes couldn’t. Taking my surroundings in, I noticed scattered clothes all around. Dylan’s shirt on the floor, a shirt I had gotten him for our first Christmas together. A red lacy bra, carelessly thrown to the other side of the room. Tears blurred my vision as I followed the trail, and my chest tightened. I could feel every breath now becoming a struggle. It felt as though death had come earlier. It was darker now as I reached the closed door. It felt like I took an eternity to get there, every moan stabbing through me. I could hear my heart pounding as I slowly twisted the doorknob. “Charlotte?” Something inside me shattered. My head throbbed as my world exploded in front of me. There’s the truth, and then there’s the kind of truth that leaves a scar on your heart. It wasn’t just another woman. It was my little sister. It was Charlotte. “Hope… you’re out!” Charlotte squealed in shock as she shoved my husband’s naked body off her. I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t even leave if I wanted to. My legs were rooted to the ground, and my eyes were stinging from the welled-up tears. A groan escaped my throat, finding it hard to form words. “Dylan?” I managed to whisper, my voice shaky from disbelief and raw hurt. They remained on the bed, wide-eyed, the silky sheet covering their bare bodies as they made no attempt to get up. “What’s going on?” I choked out, leaning against the doorframe before my knees buckled and gave out. Neither of them answered. Charlotte looked pale, and Dylan, Dylan looked like Dylan. Innocent, handsome, unchanged. And then he spoke, the first words in three years. “You’re going to die. Why do you care anyway?” The words rolled off his tongue so easily, I could barely contain the sob that tore out of me. Charlotte slapped his bare chest, but it meant nothing. She was compassionate like that, but not enough to stay away from her dying sister’s husband. “How could you?” I pointed at them. “How could you both?” “Hope, I—” she started, but Dylan cut her short. “We’re in love.” “In love?” I nearly laughed. “You’re in love, Charlotte?” She turned her face almost immediately. “We didn’t want you to find out this way,” she said, her voice starting to break. “Of course not. You wanted me dead first.” “Stop overreacting, Hope.” Dylan relaxed back into the bed. I was shocked to hear Dylan talk this way. Dylan was kind, or nothing else. “What do you expect me to do? You were gone for three years.” He continued, peppering kisses on Charlotte’s exposed back. “I fell in love. I couldn’t wait for you.” I bit my lip hard until I tasted blood. It was nothing compared to the pain tearing through me. “Is this why you never visited?” I asked before I could catch myself. I wanted to know so badly, it was eating me up. “And you,” I turned to Charlotte, “you visited every day because you felt guilty, right?” I shook my head and turned to leave, my body trembling and my feet dragging on the floor, but Charlotte’s voice stopped me. “You’re so selfish, Hope.” Her voice was soft and laced with grace. Even in this mess, she played the victim. “Selfish?” I laughed, my back still turned to her, a laughter void of humor. “For the past three years you left me in charge of your home, and now you act hurt that we’re in love, like it wasn’t bound to happen.” “Can you hear yourself?” I turned to face her, my face red with anger. They were still plopped up on the bed. They were still comfortable even after getting caught. “You made this possible,” she whispered, placing her hands seductively on Dylan’s chest. “I guess I have you to thank. Thank you, Hope.” Rage swallowed me whole and my blood boiled,it was the kind of rage that made you forget you were dying. Whatever patience I had left in me vanished into thin air as I pulled my phone out of my pocket. With trembling fingers, I hit the video button. “Hope, what are you doing?” Dylan barked, the first hint of fear in his voice as he saw me recording. “Oh, don’t stop now, continue.” My voice shook with venom. “Let the whole world see how Dylan Ellsworth f***s his wife’s little sister while she’s dying.” “Hope, get the camera out of my face!” Charlotte squirmed under the sheets, trying to hide her face. Walking over to her, I yanked the sheets away from her face. “C’mon, Charlotte Riviera, the famous Hollywood star. Don’t hide your face, let the whole world see what you do during your private time.” “Stop it, or I swear—” “You swear what?” I cut Dylan off, the camera now in his face. He scrambled toward me, hands over his face. “You do not want to mess with me, Hope.” “Stay the f**k away from me!” I yelled as he started to approach me. Backing up to the door, I grabbed a vase from the table and hurled it at him, but he unfortunately dodged it. “I’m going to die, Dylan. I will ruin you before I die, I swear it.” “Hope, please…” Charlotte’s voice cracked. “Shut up,” I clapped back at her. “You are my sister. You were the only one I thought was there for me, Charlotte.” She physically flinched, shrinking back like a coward. “I told you how much Dylan was hurting me, and how much I loved him, and you… you f**k him?” Clutching my phone to my chest, I turned to look at Dylan. “I will ruin your empire, Dylan Ellsworth. And you, Charlotte”—I turned to her—“I will make sure your career burns to the ground.” I turned on my heels and started to walk away as fast as my body would let me. Reaching the hallway, I leaned on the banister on the overlook, trying to catch my breath—but I couldn’t. Something had blocked my oxygen flow. I turned around and saw Charlotte. A silky red dress sitting on her petite body, and her perfectly pedicured feet stepping on my oxygen tube. “I can’t—can’t—breathe,” I gasped out, and a smirk danced on her lips. “I will kill you, Hope Ellsworth.” She came closer. “With my bare hands, I promise it.”