If love's based on lies, does that mean it's not a real feeling?
I fell in love with my husband's best friend…We kind of clung on to each other.
She sat and watched the video, over and over and over again. How many times had she seen it? How many times did she watch her then-eyes dart to the left, just a little bit, lock eyes with the best man, and her wan smile grow? She wiped her burning now-eyes and rewound the movie. She watched the groom's face this time. Saw as his grin grew wider in response to hers, and his hand clutched lovingly tighter at hers. She looked at the best man the next time. He smiled at her, eyes sparkling. The bride looked back just as happy. And the groom stood between them, oblivious. A sob escaped the present-day widow's throat, tears spilling from her eyelids. She threw the remote control onto the ground and stood abruptly, the VCR still paused. Her small hands grasped frantically at her hair, at her shirt collar, nails scraping the back of her neck, unable to find a way to punish this infidelity of eight years past. She pulled her hair and continued to scratch at the same reddening grooves on her neck. She grabbed the remote and threw it again, satisfied with the loud smash. With the momentum of the remote flinging she ran from the living room to her bedroom. She collapsed onto the bed, and pulled her down comforter over her head. Apparently muggy air was the best punishment she could think of. She lay there; breaths calming and tears slowing, for a long, long time.
She didn't hear his entrance. He wasn't sure if she was home. All he knew was that she was sick, that the door was unlocked and the TV was on. He glanced at the screen, at the freeze-frame he didn't recognize. The bride looked beautiful, understated and elegant in a gown that clearly came in under budget. Her groom was an emaciated young man, wearing a tuxedo that would most likely have fit on a fourteen year old. Next to the groom was one groomsman, a thick-necked blond, who looked like a football player or wrestler. One bridesmaid stood next to Cameron, looking sadly at the ground. He stooped to pick up the remote control and the batteries which had fallen out and rolled away, giving evidence to the remote-related violence. He swept his hair out of his eyes for the thousandth time that day. Chase set the remote on the couch and wandered carefully through the apartment. Only one door in the entire flat was open. Cautiously, he pushed it open a little farther and tiptoed through that one door. Chase pulled the green plaid blanket a little lower down the bed, revealing Cameron's tearful face. He put one hand on her shoulder.
"Cam?" he asked gently. Her wet eyes fluttered open, "you okay?" she shook her head, "you sick?" she shook her head again. Chase struggled for a brief minute for what to say. "I saw what was on the TV. You looked beautiful." He tried. A loud croaking sob came from her throat, racking her slim body with tears. "I-I'm sorry! What did I say?" Chase asked. She sat up and put her head in her hands. Cameron leaned onto Chase's shoulder, her voice high and sniveling. Uncomfortable, he put a hand on her arm, pulling her in closer to try and help.
"I couldn't do it." She wailed, "I –I didn't l-l-love him enough. I was th-the worst—" she wiped her nose on her sleeve "I'm a b-bitch." She moaned.
"shhhh…" he whispered, "it's okay." He rubbed her back soothingly in circles, pulling her in to lean on his chest. "It's all right." He murmured, as his hand moved up to her scraped neck. He traced the grazes with his thumb and caressed her hair, all completely without thinking. Instincts had taken over, to his surprise, as he couldn't even recall the last time he'd placated someone like this. He tried to think of when it was, but all he came up with was his mother. He was certain there must have been a patient at some point or another, but all he could remember was holding his mother after she was done throwing up, holding her and rocking her, repeating again and again that it wasn't her fault, she hadn't driven dad away, none of it was her fault. He didn't notice that he, too, had started crying until a tear fell on her head and she looked up at him. She wiped the tears away from his face, and he smiled.
"We're pathetic." She said rustily. He raised his eyebrows but didn't bother with a response. Chase pulled himself higher onto her bed, and pulled his colleague closer to him, so that she was resting on him and he on her. She put her arm around his back, snuggling into him. It was obvious that, at least for the moment, they were far more than coworkers, far more than fuck-buddies, and far more than friends. If nothing else, they could be pathetic together.