***His Mistress***

I heard his keys open the lock to the door.
I heard his footsteps as he crept inside.
I heard glass crashing to the floor.
I saw the light from his cigarette flickering through the darkness, through his concealment.
I could smell his musty scent and hear his sighing as he realized I wasn't asleep.
I could sense his disappointment.


His decision to leave me home alone had been premeditated.
His stern baritone ordering me to let him go still rang in my ears.
His desire for her was evident, unwavering, possibly calculated.
His fascination pulled him closer to her, drove him further away from me.
His days were incomplete without her taste lingering on his lips.
His nights were dominated by his intensity for her, not having a thought of me.


She was apart of him. No matter how much he claimed to try, he could not shake her.
She incorporated her existence into his life, spilling over into now OUR lives and I hated her.
She knew she had him, she would make it known on every occasion.
She was with him at every family gathering.
She was by his side at every holiday or birthday celebration.
She was there always, disregarding my feelings of betrayal and humiliation.


I always knew that she took precedence over everything and everyone.
I also knew that he only married me in hopes of creating a distraction from his equation.
I had been content with being his front, and in doing so I always had his back.
I made excuses for his absences, for his lack of interest in anything other than her.
I painted a picture perfect family for our children, hiding the facts of the situation.
I could never explain the neglect to our daughter, explain the reality to our son.


She and I were like Camilla and Princess Di, both vying for his attention.
She was always the receiver.
She had his undivided attention every minute of every day.
She stimulated him, awakened him every morning, pacified him, made him a believer.
She was his love, his mistress, while I was his wife by definition.
She called, he would go without delay.

I pondered on our unfortunate set of circumstances.
I knew that this could not continue to be.
I had to give him an ultimatum, either her or me.
I knew in my heart it was the right thing to do, I also knew I didn't stand a chance.
I got myself together and walked over to where my husband lay.
I gave him a tone identical to the one he had given me earlier that day.


He listened intently to my speech of how I felt mistreated and defeated.
He held my face and wiped my tears as I cried.
He told me that he loved me and how hard he had tried.
He pointed to the broken glass and apologized sympathetically.
He then turned to me and whispered in my ears empathetically.
He confessed that he needed her, that he could not function without her or he felt he would die.


She was an addiction that made him feel good inside, an affliction that killed his drive.
She was as pertinent to him as the oxygen that traveled through his bloodstream.
She was his comforter, his sense of security, a muse in disguise.
She used him up so much that he was of no use to me or his family.
She took my man and destroyed him, made him into someone I did not recognize.
She was his choice that night. She had gained his loyalty. She took him away from me.


My husband came home that night stumbling and staggering.
He tried to find his way to the sofa, with much effort but with very little aim.
He accidentally knocked over a picture frame.
Our wedding picture lay beneath broken glass on the floor.
It was a symbol of what once was and what had to end.
My husband was intoxicated that night, as he had been many nights before.
You see, his mistress was not a woman at all, she was alcohol.


©nimah_soul2005