In the early days of forever, everything was bliss.

It was a time where we woke up to aggressive hangovers (the aftermath of living la vida loca) but managed to find comfort nestled between each other's arms. It was a time where we'd spend day breaks roaming our newly leased home butt-naked and pounced on each other at every dead-end. It was where sunsets were enjoyed cuddled up on our thrifted futon watching the old boob tube. Everything seemed to be all that storybooks made it out to be: happy smiles, sappy romance, and glowing sunshine with no chance of rain.

"Man, you have such a way of firing shit up, like, damn! Always gotta dramatize todo como si fuera un commercial. Todo."

Those words, and the ones that follow, buzz around me like a pesky mosquito that won't shoo no matter how much it's swat. Buzz, buzz, motherfucking buzz. An itch, a twitch, and boom there goes door. The rusty hinges might need replacing after this, "What the fuck, Marleene?"

"That's 'firing shit up'." Growling so low, my own pitch is unrecognizable, "This is me trying to 'dramatize' everything!" Bye, bye to the purse sailing over the length of our living room, "Fuck you! Tell me how I'm suppose to react when I find that two bit, shop slink getting slick with you? Better yet, how am I to be about you reciprocating?"

His head bobs back like he's repulsed by the stench of week old laundry - if there's any - and furrows his thick brows together, "Girl," he stutters over the following vowels before vocalizing, "You're trippin'! I'm always tryin' to be nice a shit but ain't my fault if people make something of it!"

"Oh, really…" Rolls off the tip of my tongue neither out of incredibility or shock though. This is acceptance.

Somewhere along the way, aggressive hangovers were nursed in obsolete silence as we would be living at different hours, pretzeled comfort became half-assed arm drapes, midday turned into lunch dates that were rescheduled but never followed through with and required 'I love you' texts that so often were forgotten, and sunsets became rom-com marathons and busy housekeeping until boyfriend dearest decided to show up. Yeah, storybooks never dove into the blandness that forever could and would become.

"Being 'nice', when it comes to you, takes on a different meaning, Noah; a whole different meaning."

"Oh no. Oh no, no, no," he chuckles humorlessly, "You're bringing this shit up again?"

Hands raised like I've been flagged down by the police, I slip off my shoes and sigh, "Honey, I'm not digging, really, but I have countless flashbacks of all the times you claimed to be 'nice' to women." I shuffle towards our bedroom, hearing his heavy footsteps behind me, "I commend you for being a kind fucker, I do." I go on, "I'd get ya' a plaque but you'd probably consider the pussies your dick has fallen, accidentally, into as rewards. Am I right?" I say. Nonchalant like I'm talking about the weather, "Every time I've seen you be 'nice' to a fucking bitch, you've been caught fucking them or a bra away from it!"

"You…you know that-" Ooh wee, child. Let's see what he has to say…, "Amor, you-" Noah's skimming through his inner textbook of lies. Looking, flipping, retracing, and ultimately finding nothing. He's used them all; down to the pettiest of petty.

"'You know that I'm only human, babe. I make mistakes but I always come home. I come home to you, to love you, amor.'" The faded leather recliner, the one I refuse to toss because my ass is so comfortably molded into it, squeaks as I drop myself onto it, "Mami, I know I always tell you this but this time, this time I will change. I'll be better. You'll see! I'll do coffee, I'll watch Casablanca a thousand times more, I'll even wash your clothes!" I imitate. "Did I pull the words straight out of your cute little mouth or have you anything fresh to add?"

Noah runs a motor oil stained hand across his adorable baby face, rolling his eyes – eyes which lure you in with a simple sparkle – and grumbles, "I. wasn't. doing. Jack-shit."

If today had lived up to infamous weather the Windy City is known for, it'd be down pouring. I'm talking rain so sudden, so fierce, it'd shut down the power. For all I care, in my forever, it's a-stormin', "That's what you always say…" I whisper, my windshield's not functioning all too well as rain is fogging up these windows of mine, "Why can't you just admit…"

My boyfriend balls up his fists and punches the drawer next to him, "I swear, you fucking went to the shop just to try to catch me slipping up! God fucking damnit, Marleene! Shit's so fucked! I promised you that I'd quit that sneaky shit but it's like you expect it!"

"We were down to max out at Chop Suey! I called you but you didn't pick up and then I walk in to see…to see that cunt…and you!"

Veins protrude from his muscled arms. I'm tap dancing on the edge of the plank, "Oh my Jesus fucking Christ!"

One-thousand eight-hundred and twenty-five, the amount of days we've spent building this life together. Some math, it's a total of five years. Half a decade celebrating series of holidays and creating memories. I've gotten around to creaming Noah's coffee to perfection because too much and he throws up, too little and he gags. The man doesn't bother to go incognito to the feminine product section anymore and even asks if I want my cooch to be scented or not. So, safe to say, this isn't the honeymoon phase, far from it. This is comfortable love that has been accumulated throughout the years.

But this, too, is a love that has been interfered by third-parties. Not once, twice, not even thrice, but seven and that's only a share of the official testimonies. And, to be honest, I am ready to throw in the towel. I've been ready, I think. Doubt, fear, and betrayal fuck with your confidence, fuck your psyche.

This is what I've been waiting for, another slip. This is it because sometimes, sometimes love ain't enough to run on anymore; sometimes you can't turn a blind eye anymore. "I expect it because you've done this to me, Corazon." My index finger's nail chips, I'm digging into the recliner. Eyes refuse to focus on anything than the stuffing, "I love… I love you much. It kills to love you but I do anyway. People have thrown so many jabs at me for keeping on after you fuck me over, but I stay. There's no lie, I love you but I… I…"

Moment of truth, can I do this, take another breath, utter that last blow and be done with this tale? Take a walk through these four walls - this is a place than has seen countless bouts of joy as well as countless riots. This is my home, this is my life. He's been my family…but family isn't one who hugs you and then stabs you.

Tears go by unnoticed as I travel up the legs of my dearly beloved. His attire speaks, and reeks, of a day full of grind and grime. Black substance, grease, and oil are patched onto his overalls and hands. This laborious body has seen hours of cuddles and affectionate stokes, my hands have roamed so heedlessly but have come to know every inch. So have others in between though, the thought invading my mind like a damn parasite.

Unbridled by the movement of his lips, I admire the godly bone structure that is his jaw, stubble ridden and ever strong. Core tingles roll through my body like sonic waves, them lips of his were a vindication. I'd be convicted if I were to say I wouldn't miss them. But they too have saturated by the senses of other women.

Before I can reach his eyes, I catch, "…just mad. Ima shower, we gonna go out for that Chinese, have a laugh, and call it a day, okay?" he plants a kiss on my temple, throws his wallet and phone onto our lumpy bed, and scurries into the bathroom. I'm left hanging.

Another truth, I would just be a of waste time. Today, tomorrow, the next…I'd still be here. I can't leave.

-ΔΔΔΔ-

The wash cycle is over with, judging by the beeping that is droning on. I should get it. I should. What's keeping me though is this obscenity: an ass only squats can perfect, cheeks spread apart like... I can't even...you could bounce a penny of the thing, goddamn it's perfect. A lacy, delicate forest green thong separating such perfection.

You missed out ); – xo, L

This text has had me hunched over for… I don't even know. I don't think I know anything anymore. My intention wasn't to snoop, no! Maybe it was but it was to prove that I wasn't crying "wolf" for nothing. I think I'm gonna go get the load of laundry.

A crash reverberates throughout the room as Noah's phone cracks into pieces and I blink not. My feet aimlessly drag towards the laundry room. My eyes have run dry, burn even, but I refuse to close them. Closing them would be blindness and I refuse that. I've been blind one too many times. I bundle the clothes and trudge to our little patio.

Undergarments float with such grace over the rail, spilling onto the autumn colored pile of leaves below. Perhaps the new neighbors will make some use of them. Yeah, consider them a gift, if they will.

"Babe, I need some boxers!"

"In the living room!"

As, I undress myself, I hear, "What fuck?" stomps of a raging bull come to reveal a purple towel wearing Noah. His face steaming the droplets remaining from his shower, "Fuck happened to mi pinche telefono?" his eyes moments away from bulging out their sockets, "Hm?"

"You missed out, boo. That's what someone by the alias, L, texted. I think she wanted an exchange of pictures; she sent her pussy." I look down at the tree trunks I call thighs. Cellulite. "Hers was more impressive." That plank I was tap dancing on a while ago, yeah, I've jumped ship; nothing but shallow water from here on out.

Pupils dilate, a jaw grinds so roughly it might crack, "What have I told you about snooping?"

Cynical, I might just be. I'm laughing at a moment like this. This is what it's boiled down to: him flipping a bucket over a piece of shit phone. He doesn't care for the fact that he's a hooked fish but me "snooping"? Dear God, the world is gonna come crashing down so help him! The consequences of having let him wipe his feet all over me.

Staring him straight in the eye, I see someone so unfamiliar it's alarming. This isn't the Noah who'd once-upon-a-time saved me from the dark. This is a total fucking stranger. Realization. I blink to see clarity, "Sorry but not sorry, Noah." His name foreign in my mouth. "I…I think that this…we are through."

Blurting, "Wait a second! What in the hell?"

My feet respond before my brain and start inching towards the front door, "Take whatever. When I come back, you won't be here."

"What?" his tone of incredibility flowing through one ear and out another. I'm already fumbling around my purse, "This isn't over! Estas pinche loca?" By now, my heart in pumping at a rate so furious I can't hear a sound apart from my laborious breathing, "Marleene!"

Callous hands grip my upper arm, I flinch. Swat them off, "Don't. Touch. Me." God, I feel dirty. He's dirty.

And yet, I'm straining to free myself, declare myself a free bird. These chains keep yanking at me. It's a blur; I'm so utterly desperate to break through. His voice keeps escalating, "Who the fuck put you up to this?" and, "This was a fucking set up!" and, "No, no, you ain't going nowhere. I want an answer, bitch!" and it stops. Time itself skips a second and then its pain, incredible pain.

Clarity. This pain, unknown, is a remedy. No longer blind, no longer desperate for breath, I look up. My forever is over. It's been over. This storybook has been torn apart by the rabid animal before me - the same animal who was the Prince Phillip to my Briar Rose. His hand strikes down upon my face, I flinch and spit out metallic liquid. Blood. I look up, he's Maleficent.

And then, just like that, forever came to an end.