I Won't Be Your Perfect Wife Again

3: 3

In the end I was driven to death right there in that bed, and the very next day Leslie couldn't wait to bring her in.

Every time I thought about it, the anger wouldn't die down.

The moment the guests caught the gossip, they perked up and turned, one after another, to look at us.

A model couple on one side, a golden newlywed pair on the other, and now this kind of dirty secret spilling out.

"Mercedes! I won't let you slander her like this. Apologize to her."

Leslie clamped down on my wrist and stared at me, as if he'd kill me if I refused. It was the first time I'd ever seen him this angry, and a single tear slipped from the corner of my eye.

"Slander her? Do you dare pull up your chat history with her and show everyone?"

The host of the party stepped in to smooth things over, everyone laughed it off, and the moment passed.

But everyone understood perfectly well. After the way Leslie had just flared up, there was no way nothing was going on.

"So much for loving his wife. I'd say that's all an act, too. Leslie was about ready to hit someone just now."

"Men are all the same. Eating from one bowl while eyeing the pot. And here I thought he was a decent man. Disgusting."

They murmured among themselves, and I couldn't be bothered to keep up the act. My face went cold and I drank quite a lot. Leslie watched me the whole time, but he kept his face hard and wouldn't take a single step closer.

I'd just drunk on top of that outburst, and now my stomach was cramping badly, cold sweat breaking out over my whole body.

I leaned against the glass door by the roadside, feeling as if countless insects were gnawing at every bone in my body.

Someone nearby saw me and started to come help, but Leslie stopped them.

"Leave her. She's just making a scene. Let her go home on her own and see what she gets out of it."

He turned his head away and wouldn't look at me again, certain I was doing this on purpose.

I didn't even have the strength to laugh. Hearing him say it, everyone assumed I was just throwing a fit, and they went back to the party, leaving the two of us to talk things out.

He was only ever like this with me.

I let out a long sigh, remembering how in my past life I'd fallen ill at home, run a fever for days, and in the end still had to call the ambulance myself. Yet the first thing out of Leslie's mouth when he saw me was to demand why I hadn't cooked any porridge, leaving Julia hungry for a whole day.

"Julia's stomach has been bad lately. She said your porridge is good, that's the only reason she asked you to make it, and you go and blow her off like this."

My face had been ghastly pale back then, and still I'd forced myself up to cook porridge for them, and in the end I never even got a thank-you.

Thinking of it, my tears slid down again. Inside, all was warmth and chatter. Julia knocked over a cup by accident, and Leslie rushed straight over to check on her, terrified she'd been scalded, a whole crowd of them fussing over her.

I used to keep hoping Leslie would see me, would ache for me. Now I understood. Nothing was as reliable as myself. If I'd really waited for him to come save me, I'd have died many times over by now.

"Hello, William Weiss, could you come pick me up over here at The Lexington Hotel?"

By the time Leslie remembered me and found the entrance empty, a flash of panic went through him. He never used to vanish so suddenly, and lately he'd become terribly unfamiliar, strange.

"Where's Mercedes?"

He couldn't spare a thought for Julia, still talking beside him, and grabbed a friend's arm. The man looked at him, baffled, and asked wasn't it Leslie himself who'd told them all to mind their own business.

His face turned ugly. He snatched up his coat and made for the door, deaf to the shouts behind him.

But when he got home, all that faced him was a cold, empty apartment.

No one had come back at all.

"Mercedes!"