City of Delusion

"Paul... oh... Paul..."

I hovered outside of the bedroom door, my bedroom door, watching my so-called husband have sex with another woman. As horrible as it was to stand there and watch, I couldn't look away. It didn't do anything for me sexually, it repulsed me, so much so, I didn't want to believe it. I denied it. This was the fourth woman this week, and it was only Tuesday. Yet I kept denying it and walked on by, continuing with housework, pretending I'd seen nothing. When they were done, she did the same all the others did: walk by, smirk at me and comment on how lucky I was before walking out the door. Some of them would later come back, eventually extending their exit ritual by trying to make friends with me.

No matter what I tried, the cycle never ended. He'd bring other women home, I'd walk in at the wrong moment, slink out and ignore the whores later.

It was nothing but insanity.

"I missed your cooking so much..."

Patrick interrupted my thoughts and bit into the burrito I had made him. After we'd kissed and made up, I had convinced him it was time to go food shopping, especially since all he had in his fridge was spoiled cheese and some Red Bull that he claimed Brendon Urie of Panic at the Disco had left. I had made him lunch afterwards, which he was now devouring like a madman. I poked at mine, not too hungry, mostly because guilt about what I had done to Paul set in. The memory I'd remembered should have changed my mind, but didn't. I'd done the same, right?

"What's wrong?"

I looked up at Patrick, who had stopped eating and was watching me. I shook my head.

"Nothing."

"You feel guilty."

"How'd you know?"

He shrugged and continued eating his lunch, meanwhile I stared out the window.

"Maybe I should go break the bad news to him. I don't want to live a lie any longer."

Patrick nodded and got up, "I'll drive you."

"Don't worry. Pete's already coming to take me."

"When'd you call him?"

"When we were at the store. I don't want you to be tempted to come up with me and cause more trouble than we need to."

There's more to this than you know... I smiled as my unspoken words wafted through my head. My mind wrestled within itself, struggling with the decision on whether or not to tell Patrick everything.

The doorbell rang. My conscience took it as a sign that wasn't the right time. I leaned over and pecked him on the lips.

"Be back soon."

"I will."

***

"Thanks, Pete. I'll be out as soon as I can."

"Okay. I'm going to grab a soy latte from over there, so I'll be back too."

I smiled at Pete before both of us went our separate ways. As I walked through the doors of the Chicago Plaza Hotel, I realized I had no idea what room we'd been in. I walked over to the front desk, where a raggedy looking woman ran over to assist me.

"Hello. Welcome to the Chicago Plaza Hotel. How may I help you?"

"Umm... What room is Paul Morales staying in?"

She giggled, a reaction I definitely wasn't expecting. "Paul Morales... oh, that man is gorgeous. I just came from there. He's very friendly, I guess you could say. Had quite a bit of fun. He's in room 1209."

"Thank you," I said, lips pressed together in rising anger. I turned to walk to the elevators.

"Excuse me, but do you know if he's married?"

"Unfortunately, for both you and me, yes. Don't worry though; we'll be divorced in no time."

Her face went pale, "Mrs. Morales... I didn't realize..."

I shook my head at her, and walked away. I couldn't believe it. I didn't love Paul, never had, yet he was having a free-for-all celebration at the moment. Was it so hard to ask for a little bit of faithfulness?

I reached the door and sighed, raising my hand to knock. Paul opened the door almost immediately, wearing nothing but shorts. He grinned when he saw me, opening his arms to envelope me in a hug.

"Joanna! I missed you!"

"Whatever," I pushed past him, going directly to the bedroom and gathering my things. He snuck up behind me, kneeling to whisper in my ear.

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving."

He took in a deep breath and exhaled, his voice shaking a bit.

"You can't."

"Why not?"

By now, I'd packed everything and was proceeding to the door. There hadn't been much. He stood in the doorway, preventing me from passing.

"You know why."

"It would be wonderful if you'd enlighten me."

He sighed again and looked at me, "If you leave, you know I'll be demoted at work. You're the only reason I was promoted in the first place. They love you and think that you're what keeps me grounded."

"Yet, you risk losing your ground by cheating on her every chance you get."

"Oh, come on. You agreed it was okay..."

"Okay?! What the hell, Paul? Who in their right mind would agree to let their spouse cheat on them?"

"It was once and only at home, you know that..."

"Only at home..." I mocked. "Since when has this hotel room become home?"

"What?"

"Your newest little slut downstairs blurted out to me about the fun you had. One night, I'm gone one night and you end up fucking the receptionist."

"Where will you go?" He asked, an obvious attempt to change the subject.

"Back to where I belong. The house I share with Patrick."

Paul, distracted by my answer, moved away from the door, allowing me to exit and start towards the hallway. He followed close behind.

"What about Eddie? You personally said you never wanted to subject your kids to divorce for fear of how it would affect them. You can't leave. Then, we'll have to share custody; he'll have two homes on different sides of the country..."

"You're not Eddie's father."

"What?"

I turned to face him completely, the satisfaction from my next sentence plastered on my face.

"You're not Eddie's father. John is. Your role model and mentor is the father of whom you thought was your son. Your perfect little trophy wife isn't the slave you want her to be. Aww... how do you feel about infidelity now?"

Paul stared at me blankly, his mouth opening to say something, but the words never made it. I opened the door, and started down the hall, pressing the button to call the elevator before he caught up.

"Joanna," he grabbed my arm a bit too firmly and yanked me into his arms. He hugged me, not realizing I wasn't returning it.

"Maybe, we can work this out. We can go to counseling. We can become a normal, loving couple. This is a good first step right? Admitting we've both messed up?"

He let me go, looking me in the eyes for an answer. The elevator bell rang, opening the doors to welcome in passengers. I looked at it and then back at him.

"Good bye, Paul."