Redemption
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Dark Redemption Ch. 01 free porn video
Chapter One
Thanks god it is raining.
The rain is an appropriate response to my state of mind. And because of the rain I am able to stay undetected. If the sun was shinning I would be obvious from the other side of the street. But now I am hidden. I am hidden and humiliated. The rain pours down my face, down my soaked clothes and forms puddles around my feet. But I can only be glad for the rain. It’s a kind of shield. The rain is so heavy, maybe I am not really seeing what I am seeing? Maybe I am not feeling what I am feeling? The numbness has started in the pit of my stomach and spread. It has the tingling feeling of love, combined with the grinding sickness of betrayal.
Standing under the awning of the restaurant, I look across the road to the scene being played out before me. I am ashamed of myself, but I have been following him all day. I followed him from the office, as he ran his errands, till he arrived at this pub. And it was here I was ‘rewarded’ for my efforts. She was waiting out the front but she held no significance for me till my husband kissed her on the cheek and escorted her inside. And now I am standing across the road, the rain for company, watching him flirt with a woman I do not know. A stranger. He is whispering in her ear, the way he does with me when he plays at a light intimacy. I know his little gestures so well and I can see her responding to them differently to the way I would have. Is that exciting? That she responds differently?
He is so familiar to me, it is like we are one. She is a stranger. Yet, looking from across the road it is almost like I am she and she is me. She is in the place that is rightfully mine, and I am the stranger. Witness to their flirting.
But that is not entirely so, because a stranger wouldn’t be torn in two. A stranger wouldn’t care. A stranger would dash to get out of the rain and think more of themselves and their discomfort after baring witness. Instead I forget my own discomfort and stare mindlessly into my worst nightmare come true. I am not a stranger. Like it or not, I am an integral part of what is being played out before me. And even though I do not know her, and I have never met her, so is she. Suddenly she feels like an important part of my life.
As my husband leans in to whisper to her she giggles and turns her head away. I have the feeling that they are not sleeping together. Just flirting in a pub. Perhaps it would not be a cause of alarm for some women. She may be an old friend. A client. But the distance I had sensed between my husband and I recently, coupled with this scene before me have my intuition aroused. And I feel the twisted urgent sickness of fear and rage.
Soon I can see he is ready to leave. There have been no kisses on lips, no arms linked and no touching of a sexual nature. Nothing to show anyone they are a couple. It is only because I can see them that anyone even knows they share an illicit intimacy.
It is not till I know that he is leaving that I feel able to turn away, even though I can’t stand to watch. Walking back to my car, I wonder what I am going to do about this now. I’m filled with jealousy. It is a burning, destructive jealousy. Part of me would have loved to walk in on them. To see them horrified when I approached, shuffle apart and feign innocence. I could have challenged him immediately. But that’s never been my way. I am too secretive. Too calculating. I am a true Scorpio. Instead I think of myself as having an advantage over him because of what I have seen. I know something that he is trying to keep from me.
Climbing into the driver’s seat of my car, my mind is flooded with little inconsistencies in his behaviour lately. Little mood changes, moving a little too fast to the cell when he receives a text, things like that. As I start the car I am aware that over the next few hours lots of little realisations will occur to me that I will read or misread in light of this new development. How am I going to handle this? How will I endure the pain and the hurt? How will I face him? I suddenly remember I have to pick up our children.
Fortunately the flow of traffic is slow and cumbersome because I am in no state to drive as my entire being is consumed with my problem. I have quite a long trip, half way across town to get to the children. I am partly glad for this because I need the time and the task to get my head straight. It helps distract me from the occasional flashes that remind me of what I just witnessed.
I can’t make any sense of this. This is my husband. My Peter. The great love of my life. This man chose me. He singled me out from so many women and claimed me as his wife. This has to be a mistake of some kind. It’s not in his nature to be unfaithful. He’s always told me infidelity is a pathetic weakness, only for those with no self-awareness. And more than that, we love each other. We have the kind of love that people crave. At least we did.
At the same time that I reach the school, the rain stops and I notice that the windows are fogging up in the car. I feel abandoned by the rain even. I have a few minutes before the children are out, so I use the heater in the car to try to dry off. I must look terrible. My heart is not in fixing up my appearance, but I don’t want to worry my children. Somehow I am going to have to get myself together for them and then keep myself together when Peter gets home tonight. I’ll have to act as though everything is normal.
As the bell rings for the end of school, I work my way across the road knowing I must look a sight in my still damp clothes. Maybe people can tell I have just experienced a kind of disaster. I can see the children walking together across the playground and I feel a warmth flood through me that I always get when I see my kids. They’ve not noticed me yet, and I am enjoying my little moment to just watch them holding hands and helping each other with their bags.
‘Mummy!’ they cry in unison as they see me. They both run together toward me, Jane outstripping Thomas who is a year younger. When you are seven and six that year is worth about five adult years. Thomas almost trips on his shoelace, as he wrestles with the large school bag on his back. Jane flings her arms about me and Thomas is right on her heels, hugging his small arms around both of us. They feel good. Here is a solid foundation for me to hold on to. I can forget the fears whirling around my head and concentrate on the children.
‘Hello my darlings. Off to the car now, holding hands, that’s right. I want to hear all about your days at school. Do either of you have any homework?’
‘I do Mummy, but Thomas doesn’t.’ Jane declares. ‘I had better have the study desk at home. Thomas is not going to need it.’
‘I do need it. I have homework.’
‘No you don’t. First class never get homework.’
We’re walking back to the car and I am thinking I am just not up to this tonight. I love them, and I love their sweetness, but tonight I keep coming back to my own confusion. My own muddled thinking, and I don’t know how to concentrate properly on their little day-to-day silliness. At this moment I feel shamefully weak. I know that is giving into a shallow part of myself, and I know that my husband has not actually cheated on me, but I still felt terribly alone. I feel like the foundation that I have built my life on is shaking. I have built my house on sand when I had always thought it was built on rock.
‘That’s enough little angels.’ Speaking in my soft voice was a trick I could still use on them to get them to calm down. ‘Please don’t fight. Let’s just go home and Jane can do her assignment homework, and if Thomas feels like he needs to do homework, I can give him a small page of words. But Mummy is terribly tired tonight, and I need you both to be a little quiet for me.’
As they fire all the ‘what’s wrong?’ style questions at me I can see that this was a silly strategy to get some peace. While we are all climbing into the car, I c
onfess my exhaustion to be because of work, and they are satisfied with this explanation. At least I think they are satisfied because they are fighting over which seats to sit in and emptying their bags into the car.
Driving home, the children playing and bickering in the back, I am struck again by my situation. If my husband has not actually cheated on me, what do I accuse him of? Why do I feel so deeply betrayed? Could he really be interested in another woman? Is there some other problem and this is a symptom? If Peter were any other kind of man I would dismiss all of this and simply tell him my feelings were a little hurt. But the connection between us is so profound, that to go out of his way to flirt with another woman at a pub and hide it from me was a deep betrayal. It rocked me at the core of what I felt I could rely upon. And he was going to be home in just a few hours. How am I going to react to him?
I feel so relieved to see my own driveway. I want to be in my bed. I feel like I want to sulk and ferret myself away from everyone. I want a bath and to feel clean and warm and dry.
‘Hop out now. Everyone grab his or her bags. Keep quiet daddy has clients. Run upstairs quick sticks and we will get you guys sorted out.’
Somehow by asking them to be quiet more noise seems to be emerging. But they are nice and quick in getting themselves upstairs. At the front door it is an immediate race to the homework table and when Jane beats Thomas he sulks and reaches for his ‘Gameboy’. I don’t argue with him. I know that we have a rule about electronic toys, but tonight I am feeling petulant myself. He can play it if he likes. He might as well have a little fun.
Speaking of a little fun, I pour myself a glass of wine from an open bottle of white in the fridge and then move into the bathroom to run myself a bath.
‘Kid’s, mummy is going to have a bath because I feel so tired and I have a headache as well. You both may, as a very special treat, watch some television this afternoon, when Jane’s homework is finished.’
While I am running the bath I can hear tip toes down the hall toward the television room and I am sure Jane is trying to hide that she has not completed her homework. But tonight I don’t care.
With a full bubble bath at my disposal, I almost feel better again. There is something about the luxury of a bubble bath that works wonders. I peel off my clothes realising that they are still wet and reminding myself with a punch to my already unsettled gut, that I have no idea what to do about my circumstances. I feel so much that I want to be alone. Maybe that is all I have to do tonight. Work out a way that I can be alone.
Finally in the bath, warm, and with half a glass of wine inside me I can cry to myself. Just a little cry. I can’t cry too much because Peter and the children will get suspicious. But I need to let some of this horrible sadness out of me. This great yawning ache in me for the warmth and the security of my husband. The water feels comforting around me and it laps at my body, causing a light feeling in my head. I am just not going to be able to face him tonight. I will have to get into bed and come up with a good reason to stay there. I have to give myself time to settle down and get my thoughts together so I know the best way to handle this situation.
I had to stop crying now though. If I cried for much longer, I don’t think I will be able to stop.
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