Twelve Years Gone, Like The Wind

When I first caught Miles cheating on me, I pinned him down at the entrance whenever he came home every day.

I would pull down his pants and spray high-concentration alcohol all over his nether regions.

He always went along with it with teary eyes because he knew he had been in the wrong. He would only look at me with a pitiful gaze and coax me to stop.

One day, he came home two hours late.

I became mad when I smelled the perfume on him. I started taking off his belt forcefully and yelled, “Last time, when you had your fun with one woman, you came home half an hour late.

“Now you’re two hours late. Talk! Did you sleep with four?”

Even though he apologized to me for the twenty-ninth time, I pushed him away repeatedly. He finally raised his hand to show me the IV mark on the back of it.

He snapped and screamed at me, “Enough! I was dying with a high fever, yet you haven’t even asked how I’m doing. You just fly off the handle every single day. When are you going to stop?

“Fine, I got drunk and slept with someone once. Big deal. You’re not so innocent yourself.

“It’s no wonder you got dragged into an alley at sixteen, stripped, and assaulted. Jenna, you’re a paranoid wreck. You may have even deserved it.”

The spray bottle shattered at my feet, and the smell of alcohol caught in my throat. I was speechless.

I felt exhausted when I saw his disgusted expression.

I did not want this broken relationship any longer.

The doorway was dead silent.

The door was not fully closed. Miles’ two friends, who had sent him home, stood there looking uncomfortable and tried to calm things down.

“Jenna, Miles is truly not himself today because of the fever. He didn’t mean to snap at you.

“Besides, you spray him with alcohol every single day. Nobody would put up with that. Just let it go.

“Yeah, he broke it off entirely with that drunk hookup a long time ago.”

Just the mention of the incident made my stomach lurch with a violent surge of nausea.

At sixteen, I was dragged into a dark back alley by my stepbrother and his group of friends.

While my clothes were being torn apart, eighteen-year-old Miles had rushed over with teary eyes and chased them off with a brick.

He had taken off his school jacket and wrapped it around my shaking body.

He had held me and cried even louder than I did. He had comforted me and said that he would beat up anyone who dared to touch me.

Because of that nightmare, I was extremely averse to intimacy even after we got married. Any physical contact would make my whole body tremble.

Back then, Miles would hold me and gently kiss my forehead while repeatedly reassuring me, saying, “Don’t be afraid, Jenna. It’s okay. No matter how long it takes, I’ll wait for you.”

Everything changed six months ago. He had a flare-up of his stomach condition, so I had gone to his base late at night to deliver his medication.

That was when I walked in and witnessed the entire incident. The new psychological counselor, Wendy, was pinned down on the couch as he passionately kissed her.

He was panting hard with his face buried in her neck. The way he moved was wild and completely out of control. He had never been like that with me.

Wendy’s black lace undergarments blatantly lay atop his rescue uniform. It was the same uniform that symbolized his honor.

Caught red-handed, he had cried as he knelt and swore he had just gotten drunk and mistook her for me.

For twelve whole years, I had thought he was my savior who pulled me out of a dark place.

Who would have known that the very person who pulled me out of a dark place would push me into another?

As I gathered my thoughts, Miles also seemed to sober up a bit.

He approached me and tried to embrace my head.

“Jenna, I’m sorry. I was mad and talking nonsense. I really do have a fever and a bad headache.”

His voice softened and he sounded regretful.

I stepped back and avoided his reaching hand.

“Go get some rest.”

Miles’ hand froze in midair.

He frowned and seemed a little uneasy.

He tried to come closer again.

“Jenna, just let me explain—”

I interrupted him.

“I’m tired.”

I walked into the guest room and locked the door from the inside.

Through the door, I heard his two friends help him into the master bedroom.

They whispered that since I was not making a scene, the matter was over.

Was it really over?

I leaned against the door and slowly slid down to sit on the floor.

No, it was not.

This relationship was already shattered. I did not want to keep going.