Britney told me she had cheated on me when we were having a stolen moment together backstage at one of her concerts. People were bustling around us; ushering us into a van to get away from the concert venue as fast as we could, hastily running around to detour smarter fans who knew where we were going, barking orders to each other at the top of their voices. Everywhere you looked there was the frantic pandemonium that always ensues after a concert. Hardly an ideal setting for receiving the biggest blow to your heart of your life.
There had been no build-up, no suspicion, no preparation for the crushing news that I was about to receive; just a, “Justin, I’m sorry, but I’ve made a mistake”, followed by a honest and God help me detailed description of what had happened between her and some smooth-talking asshole with moves as slick as baby oil. Normally, we would wait until we were back at the hotel or at least in the van speeding away before we attempted conversation (our voices were no match for the noisy commotion of people scrambling out of a packed stadium), but I still heard every word Britney said with perfect precision. It was as though the hubbub surrounding us had melted away into nothingness, and all I could hear was the overwhelming impact of her confession.
I think it was better that way. Obviously there is no ‘right’ approach to tell someone that you’ve cheated on them, but at least it was quick, clean and simple, rather than dragged out, messy and even more painful than it was already. I guess I should thank Britney for telling me, because honestly she could have kept that itchy wool pulled over my eyes for as long as she wanted; I would never have suspected a thing. But she had the guts to tell me what she had done and faced the consequences, no matter how hard and “Cry Me A River” they were.
Sometimes I wonder whether I would have believed it if anyone had tipped me off regarding her and that dickwad. Probably not; she was, after all, one of the biggest loves of my life. To me, and a lot of other people I’m sure, she was perfect, she made no mistakes. I couldn’t be apprehensive of someone whose actions had never been anything but pure of heart during all the years that I had known her. She didn’t hide anything from me and even if she tried, it failed miserably; she was the worst actress in the world. I could insert a cruel joke about Crossroads here, but I won’t.
Sometimes I think that I subconsciously chose a girl who was the complete opposite of Britney after everything that happened; the last thing I wanted was history repeating itself. Cat’s a brunette who’s never dared to dye her hair; Britney’s been tampering with colors since she was sixteen. I never really know what’s going through Cat’s mind; Britney was a pretty straightforward girl. Cat’s quite introverted and shy beneath her sarcastic façade; Britney was really a party girl underneath that ha, ‘virginal’ exterior. Cat thinks that today’s youth is corrupted by the revealing outfits displayed by female pop stars; Britney thought it was great when kids started to tie their shirts above their navel just as she had done.
So it only makes sense that their glaringly obvious differing attitudes to life should extend to how they make a confession.
Britney cut to the chase, leaving me no time to second guess what she might be telling me. But Cat? Cat’s approach is somewhat different. She spends at least three minutes looking at the ground, biting her lip, and twisting her hair around her finger, putting me through the torturous pain of wondering what could be on her mind as she fiddles nervously. She’s still doing it now; staring at her feet as though hypnotized by the black leather of her shoes.
Deciding to maintain my icy, aloof exterior rather than succumbing to my natural urges of wrapping her up in a hug, I cross my arms menacingly over my chest and try to exude a manner that disguises the thoughts tumbling through my head. Has she cheated on me? But with who? And when? How many times? Or perhaps she’s done something that she knows I’d disapprove of, like…well, I don’t know. There’s nothing she could do that I couldn’t forgive, so I don’t understand or appreciate this suspenseful wait for her to talk.
“Justin…”
Her apprehensive voice bounces off the towering walls of the living room, breaking the approximately one hundred and eighty eight second long silence.
“Justin,” she repeats more firmly after inhaling calmly. “I…I don’t really know where to start.”
“Start from the beginning,” I say simply, not stopping to soften my tone. Why should I? I may not yet have reasoning behind my anger with her, but the fact that she has been lying to me is motive enough.
She glances up at me, snatching a glimpse of eye contact before hastily reengaging her eyes with her shuffling shoes. “Well…alright then. I guess you could say--”
“I don’t want to guess,” I interrupt harshly, despite feeling an unsettling, rare sensation of guilt at speaking so maliciously to her. “I want to know; I want to know everything.”
She nods and coughs nervously, bringing her hands to her mouth. “Sit down,” she says after a silence, motioning towards the couch that I had angrily risen from a few moments earlier.
Grudgingly, I fall back ungracefully into the depths of the sofa as she delicately sits herself on the opposing arm chair, tucking her skirt under elegantly. Trace mumbles incoherently under his breath about leaving, but I am quick to halt him.
“No, I want you here.”
“This is, you know, between you guys and whatever…” he mumbles awkwardly, glancing between me and Cat.
“Sit down, Trace,” I order, sending him a pointed look that says, ‘I know you’re involved too, so don’t even think about it’.
He uneasily crosses the room and sits in the other armchair to my right, leaving him and Cat opposite each other, and me in the middle on the oblong couch. In our U shaped formation, Cat and Trace accusingly glance at each other as my head turns between the two, like I’m witnessing a fucking tennis match. She’s obviously not pleased he ratted her out.
“It all started at that club,” Cat begins, twisting her hands anxiously in her lap. “You know, the one that Ashton Kutcher invited us to?”
Whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t that. “Um…yeah,” I reply uncertainly, letting my assertive, cold demeanor falter slightly.
“Do you remember that night?” she asks, turning to me cautiously.
Sure I do; how often is it that Cat not only indulges in the “moronic” partying that all young adults do, but also invites me to openly make out with her on a dance floor just to make some girls jealous? To put it mildly: not very often.
“I certainly do.” Up to the point where I got involved in a shot contest with Trace and a few of the guys, that is; my memory was sufficiently wiped from the moment someone said “vodka”.
“Do you remember me coming up to you at the end of the night? I was a bit panicky?”
I look at her blankly, scrambling in the embers of my memory for some recollection of Cat approaching me in a shady manner. “No.”
She sighs, turning the ring adorning, funnily enough, the ring finger on her right hand. “Well, I tried to tell you then, I really did. But you were just too inebriated for words.”
Trust Cat to pull out intelligent words like that at a time like this. “Tell me what? I mean, you can give me as much background as you like, I still don’t know what you’re actually trying to tell me, Cat.”
“I know, you’re right…” she stumbles, meeting my eyes fleetingly before looking away. I’ve held unreciprocated eye contact for a good ten minutes now.
“So what is it?” I probe, propping my elbows on my knees and leaning forward.
Her breathing becomes slightly gasp-like, and to my disturbed surprise, she appears on the brink of crying. Staring at the carpet through watery eyes, her eyelashes flutter furiously, trying to stop the tears. “I--I found a…a lump.”
My mouth dries instantly, and I jump back, suddenly wishing I hadn’t pushed her for those horrible words. “What?”
“That night, at the club,” she explains quickly, finally bringing her eyes to mine. I almost wish she hadn’t; I can see every emotion crystallizing in the blue iris of her eyes, staring at me accusingly. “I was in the bathroom fixing myself up…you know, just redoing my make up and stuff…and when I adjusted my top…” she breaks off, suddenly bringing her hands to cup her face and stifle her cry. “I felt it.”
A gust of fear blows into me, hitting all of my sensitive nerves along the way. Cat? My Cat? No, no…lumps usually mean cancer, and Cat can’t have cancer. She’s young, she’s beautiful, she’s untouchable. These things happen to people who are older, who have lived their lives…
Not My Cat.
“Justin, calm down. I’ve not fin--”
“Cat, we’ve got to…we’ve got to get you to a hospital, they’ll know what to do there…it’s going to be okay…” I hurriedly ramble, my thoughts moving faster than my mouth can cope with. I start to rise from the couch, wondering where I left my coat and whether the traffic is too difficult to drive in, because people will be coming back from work…fuck it, I can walk. A thousand miles, wherever I have to go. God, this is all so overwhelming…
“Justin, sit down,” a slightly shaky, but nonetheless firm voice tells me as a tugging at my left wrist encourages me to sit down. “I’ve not finished.”
“What else is there to say? We’ll take you to the hospital, get that shit taken care of, and you’ll be fine, okay? You’re going to be fine.” Unable to gain control over my emotions, the unfamiliar prickly sensation of my own tears spike my eyes, and I ashamedly try to stop them. I’m a man for God’s sake, it’s my job to take care of Cat. Not break down like some fucking pussy. Why didn’t she tell me this before? Why has she had to worry about this all on her own for what…three weeks? Anyway, that’s irrelevant at the moment. I just have to get her to a hospital.
“Justin, I’ve already been.”
There’s a hospital just a few blocks from here, I’m sure, specializing in… “What?”
“I’ve been,” she explains, staring at me fearfully.
“Been where?”
“To the hospital.”
“What?” I repeat for what must be the fifth time in this conversation.
“Look, just sit down. I still have a lot more to tell you.” I stare at her emotionlessly. “Please?”
I sit back down with a thump, eyeing Cat cautiously, as though she’ll break under my gaze. I couldn’t bear it if anything was wrong with her, I really couldn’t. I’ll pay anything, I’ll do anything, she has to be okay.
“Justin,” she begins, reaching over to gently clasp my hands reassuringly. “I’m okay. The lump was benign.”
“Be-what?”
“Benign: non cancerous. I have nothing to worry about.”
Relief crashes over me, so strong and suddenly it almost makes the tears in my eyes fall down my cheeks.
The moment however, is tainted by confusion. “How do you know that?”
She breathes deeply, biting her lip briefly. “Justin, I’m sorry. I know I should have told you sooner but--”
“You’ve been to the doctor already? Without me?”
She glances regretfully at my nonplussed face, as though this was what she was scared I’d say. “As soon as I found the lump, I booked myself a doctor’s appointment. I had to get a referral to a specialist cancer clinic that could determine whether the lump was malignant or not.”
“You went to the doctor’s,” I echo slowly, my brow furrowing as her words wash meaninglessly over my head. “Without…me.”
She hesitates, seeing the cogs turn in my brain as realization slowly sets in. “Well, yeah…”
“Why? Why would you do that to yourself? Why wouldn’t you let me help you?!” I fire questions at her in panic, my voice rising with each word.
She ignores my questions, gripping my hands tighter as she continues with her story. “I got a doctor’s appointment fairly quickly, but the only thing the doctor could do to help me was give me a referral, and tell me to wait for the nearest appointment.” She takes a shaky breath. “And that was that; I had to wait.”
“But why didn’t you tell me?” I ask desperately. “I could have gotten you an appointment sooner, I could have helped you in some way…”
“Justin,” she says gently, running her thumb soothingly over the back of my hand, “there was nothing you could have done.”
“But…I don’t understand,” I stutter helplessly. “How long did you wait for?”
“About two weeks.” She shrugs. “That’s why I was acting so strangely; I was worried about my appointment.”
“But you said you were just feeling useless, that’s all that was wrong with you,” I remember, confusion setting in. “You told me just yesterday.”
“Well, I…I was…I mean, I had to…”
“Lying, you were lying,” I answer for her, slowly feeling the alarm leak from my body, only to be replaced by the rage that had been simmering ever since Cat entered the apartment.
It all makes sense. All the pieces fall into place. Why she was so distant, why she wasn’t interested in me at all… But why couldn’t she just tell me? I specifically confronted her about her behavior, and what did she say? Oh, I’ve just been feeling a little inadequate lately, blah, blah, but I’m fine. It was a blatant display of dishonesty, and I bought it because I’m just too fucking trusting; I must be crazy, thinking my girlfriend of eight fucking months would actually have the decency to be honest with me. How can I even believe anything that comes out of her mouth now?
“Justin, I was doing it for your own good.”
Ignoring her words, I snatch my hands away from hers forcefully. “I told you, I told you to stop lying to me, so you saw fit to lie a little more? I asked you to tell me point blank what had been wrong with you, and you just spun out some bullshit, making me feel sorry for you! How long have you been dragging me along, Cat?”
“Don’t get angry, you have to understand--”
“So where were you today?” I interrupt harshly, not caring about the hurt look flashing over her face. “God forbid you told me the truth and were genuinely looking for Trace.”
“I was at the clinic,” she replies weakly, diminishing under my glare. “Look, everything’s alright, so why can’t we just forget about it?”
I snort mockingly at her. “Why can’t we forget about it? Because, Cat, you have lied to me about something that could have affected us all!”
“I wasn’t lying!” she defends distraughtly, and it surprises me that the tears still threatening to spill down her face don’t sway me at all. I could care less how upset she is right now. “I was just…I was just keeping things from you, for your own good!”
“Psh,” I grunt disbelievingly.
“You should be happy that I’m okay, not shouting at me because I don’t involve you in every single aspect of my life!”
“We’re together, Cat. A team. We’re supposed to involve each other in ‘every single aspect’ of each other’s lives.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I should have told you.”
“You’re damn right you should have!”
“What else do you want me to say?!” she cries in frustration, quickly brushing away the tear that dared to sneak from her eye. “This hasn’t been easy for me, Justin.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me? I could have made it easier for you!”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
“But you lied!” I repeat for the umpteenth time, unable to grasp how she can act so callous in regards to such a despicable act. “I knew something was wrong, and I asked you for the truth. You know, that thing were you don’t lie?”
“What can I say?” she gasps despairingly. “I was confused; it wasn’t as though I was prepared for the situation at hand! I didn’t know how to react!”
“Wait…” Suddenly, a thought so infuriating it makes me want to scream the house down enters my mind, and I slowly turn around at hearing the squeaking of leather.
Trace stops shuffling on the couch the moment our eyes meet, and he looks down guiltily. In the midst of Cat’s revelations and my yo-yoing emotions, I forget the reason I even challenged her in the first place.
I turn back to Cat, a look of disgust on my face. “You told him?” I ask slowly, nodding a revolted head in the direction of Trace.
A frightened look passes her already scared face. “Now, Justin…”
“You told Trace, your boyfriend’s best friend, before you even told your boyfriend himself?” I utter quietly, feeling the anger bubble furiously inside of me.
“Don’t be--”
“Don’t be what, Cat? Angry! Well many apologies, sweetheart, but I’m very fucking angry!” I shout, my voice taking an unexpected rise in volume as I stand up to loom over Cat impressively.
“Justin--”
“Have I ever, ever given you reason not to trust me? And what has Trace done that’s so fucking special, huh?” I ask heatedly, pointing an accusing finger over my shoulder at Trace, who doesn’t even warrant my stare. I’ll deal with him later.
“I just had to tell someone that wasn’t…”
“That wasn’t me,” I finish spitefully, my tone nothing less than cruel. “You’re a real class act, you know that Cat? I do everything for you, everything, and how do you repay me? You fucking lie to me!”
“Would you stop saying that?” she sobs, clutching the sides of her head with her hands. “I’m sorry; there’s nothing else I can say!”
If it were any other circumstance, I would have swooped down on her and kissed her pain away. Even now, when my anger has reached its optimum and I think I could snap something in two, I don’t relish in her tears. But the cut of betrayal just runs far too deep for me to feel any compassion for her at the moment. She should have told me, and that’s that.
“I support you, I make sure you’re okay, I fucking love you every minute, of every day…and it clearly means nothing to you.”
“It does! I just didn’t want to bring you down with my issues…”
“Fuck that,” I snort derisively. “You know I would have been more than happy to help. You fucked yourself and me over, Cat. Congratulations.”
Another cry escapes her lips and she bends her head into her hands, my words fulfilling their purpose of tearing her down.
“Is this what last night was about too?” I ask incredulously, my shouts getting more enraged with each word. “You and all your kinky shit?”
She hiccups slightly and rubs a hand over her face, looking up at me wearily. “I didn’t want you to touch me,” she admits bitterly, as though she’s just too tired to defend herself anymore.
My eyes widen. “I don’t believe…I mean how could you do…I just don’t…” Finally letting out an animalistic groan of frustration, I turn away from her and angrily claw my hands through my hair. I was right; everything she’s done, everything she’s said, just everything has been insincere.
“I practically raped you, for fuck’s sake!”
“No, no you didn’t!” she denies, and for a moment I appreciate her trying to make me feel better. “It was a crazy idea…I just didn’t want you feeling the lump. It was the first thing that came to mind. I knew I couldn’t put you off any longer…”
“If you told me, I would have never pressured you in the first place!” I let out an irate breath of air. “I thought this was a step in our relationship, a way of you to show me how much you supposedly ‘loved’ me!” I cry angrily. “I knew I was getting a bit lucky, seeing as you won’t even let me fuck you in any way that might, God forbid, be exciting.”
“Justin!” she exclaims, her head snapping up to look at me with offended disdain and embarrassment, as Trace groans in the background. “I can’t believe you just said that!”
“What?” I ask in mock innocence. “That I would belittle our sex life by calling it fucking? Don’t get me started, Cat. You’re the one who tied me up just so I wouldn’t feel the lump, or whatever fucked up reasoning was behind your thinking! It really shows how much respect you have for what we do together.” How could she do that? Tarnish something that is, without sounding too much like a chick here, supposed to be sacred with all her lies?
“I do respect it,” she whimpers pathetically, seeming to have given into the shame. I seem to have broken her, but she’s broken me too. I can’t even fathom the shock continuously racing through my body that she was so dishonest with me; it hurts, it actually hurts.
“Yeah, I’m sure you do. And hey, because Trace is all part of this, does that mean you’re banging him too?” Her cries intensify, but I frankly don’t care. “What did you do to him? Dress up as a nurse and stick a thermometer up his ass!”
Trace seemingly comes out of nowhere as he traverses across the room to kneel by Cat’s side, gently rubbing a hand over her knee. His arm envelopes her shoulder and he places a warm kiss on the side of her head, slowly rocking her comfortingly as she cries.
He glances up at me disapprovingly. “Okay man, you’ve made your point. That’s enough now.”
“Trace, you really aren’t in any position to patronize me right now,” I bite scathingly, placing my hands on my hips. Although, I have to admit it, the niggling feeling of remorse is very slowly settling in the pit of my stomach. But it is very much overridden by resentment.
“I’m sorry I told Trace, I just blurted it out…” she sniffles as Trace brushes her hair away from her face. “Justin, I’ve been making a lot of mistakes lately, and I admit that…”
“Good.”
“But I am sorry.” She reaches up to grasp the hands dangling uselessly at my sides, staring at me in desperation. “I really, really am. Please don’t hate me.”
I sigh, knowing her warm voice, husky from crying, was slowly chipping away at the cold, harsh front I had put up in defense. All of the nasty, wounding comments I could still throw at her die on my tongue, and I give her hands the tiniest squeeze of reassurance. I can’t stay mad at her, but I can still be deeply, truly upset with her. Everything just came so quickly, and all of my reactions were balled up into one and came out as an utterly cruel response.
But I can’t be sorry, not right now. I will be, for all the horrible things I’ve said, for how I’ve made Cat feel, for how horrifically this argument went. Maybe in an hour, maybe in a week, hell it might even take a month before I apologize to her. And I know I’ll regret not making it clear just how exhilarated I was that she wasn’t ill. If I had known about it for a while and the results had just come through, I would have reacted quite a bit differently. But this afternoon, I barely had time to register there was even a chance of something being wrong, let alone worry about it; as soon as the idea was put into my head it was snatched away again.
And for the moment, I still can’t get the resounding thumping out of my head.
Cat doesn’t trust me.
Was it something I did? Or something I didn’t?
We’ll have to talk. Cat will probably have a lot to say about her scare with cancer, and I’ll have to force myself to listen even though the thought of her sick makes my skin crawl. But she’s been through a lot, and I’d better become the fucking confidant I should have been all along. I want to get a real explanation as to why she didn’t tell me, rather than a few excuses mumbled through tears. I want her to tell me every single emotion that she felt, so I can kiss it all better. I want to be the hero again.
There’s going to be awkwardness before we reestablish some trust, before I can even look at her compassionately again. God, I don’t even think I want to have sex until this is dealt with.
“Cat, I’m just…I just need to be…alone, okay?” I mumble, feeling the scratch at the back of my throat from shouting. She nods, wiping at the traces of tears on her face and fixing her gaze on her clasped hands, recognizing just as well as I do that we shouldn't be in the same room at the moment.
I need to get away from her before I say even more things I regret, find out even more things that make me angry, or before I have even more time to dwell on the fact that our relationship really isn’t as sturdy as it appears.
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