Rusted

"Tin roof, rusted!" The lyrics raced through my head as I drove a screaming 95 miles per hour down the highway, ignoring the posted speed limit. I needed to keep up with my thoughts and this seemed to be the only way to move fast enough. I veered sharply around a little yellow Honda. His horn blared, but the sound was too slow to keep up with me for long. I pressed the pedal harder. I had to outrace my thoughts. Tears streamed down my cheeks. "It just can't be true," I said with more conviction than I had dedicated to any other occasion in my life.

Not noticing the orange light glowing on my dashboard, I flew by the exit. And the next one. And the next one. I couldn't stop or I would be flooded by the truth. As long as I could keep moving, it wouldn't be true. Twenty minutes and 45 miles from Atlanta my car slowed down involuntarily. I punched the pedal to the floor to no avail. I coasted to an agonizing stop, my gut twisted so tightly I was forced to wretch stomach acid onto the side of the road.

I sat doubled over on the side of the road, choking on the truth of her betrayal. She was pregnant and the child wasn't mine. We'd been married for seven years and had been trying to have a child for five of them. Three of those years were filled with doctor's, needles, and surgeries. Nothing had come out of it. Not even a glimmer of possibility. Everything came back negative. And apparently the problem was me.

"A one night stand," she swore. One night stands don't last 6 months and end with you leaving me for him, I wanted to scream. But it wouldn't matter. She had left me long before, had an opportunity to deal with any trifle of guilt she may have felt and I was the one left to suffer alone. I had been brutally thrown out of the Love Shack. My bruises weren't visible yet, but they would be.

*** Seven Days, Seven Answers ***