Last night, we were talking on the phone, and you asked me about the lies I’ve told you this year. As specified previous, you were referring strictly to the calendar year, our 2012. It was clearly a joke, but there was realness to it. We both knew that it was a question you’ve thought before, because you know I have secrets and you know I have lies.
And they’re eating me.
It seems almost as hard as telling you (not that I’ll ever know) to type these words out in front of me and read them back again. Tomorrow morning you’ll be home and I’ll have to look you in the eyes. I don’t know how else to do this, so I’ll just start, I guess with what happened in January.
The second weekend into the month when you went to the bar, and then I had that “big fit” about you being out too late, and I told you to not even come home? You were right, I couldn’t have actually been THAT upset that you were out late. And I wasn’t. I pitched a fit only to keep you from coming home a little longer because I woke up to the phone ringing and I was still in bed with your brother.
That time with your brother was the first AND LAST time that we had sex. I spotted an oddly placed, very minor and obscured abrasion. After (strangely) not much questioning, he admitted to me that he had herpes and that he shouldn’t have had sex with me and he regretted anything and that we had to tell you. But I told him that we were already talking about divorce. Our sex was little to none anyway and I could easily let it hit zero. I told him I just wanted to get out of this marriage smoothly, and I wouldn’t be intimate with you for the remainder of it. He agreed to let us wait until after the divorce to tell you.
As it happened, I had my annual girl-part-check-up in two weeks. Like they do, they asked if I had any suspicions that I might have something. I knew that if I didn’t tell them, they might not test for it. So I told them that I just found out that you had been having an affair while we were still sexually active, and I didn’t want to risk it. So I got the tests done, and went home. Nurse Heather called me herself to let me know that I was just fine.
It’s February now. We’re back to our off-and-on lovemaking (mostly on), and that’s happening, until we get to two days ago. I notice something.
I have this… horror. I make an immediate appointment for yesterday. All the tests, all the talk, it was confirmed: I have herpes. My nurse told me that it can take more time than two weeks for herpes to show up in a test. I told her everything, and she told her I may have passed it to you.
And do you want to know the worst part? I know that you know I’m hiding something. Last night you basically called me out on it. You’re just so sure I’m hiding some horrible secret… So tomorrow morning when you get home, and I’m still asleep and you see this post, with this title, left up on the screen, you’ll read it eagerly. With each new segment you’ll get a little sicker, and you won’t want to see how it gets worse but you just keep reading it. Suddenly, in your brain, you’re sure of it: You have herpes.
Hey, Jerk. I was installing new shelves in the closet downstairs (They look great!), when I found this dvd player all wadded up a corner under a pillow. It was the strangest thing, I could swear I watched Finding Nemo with you last Wednesday with it. I plug it in, and everything loads up happily, along with a dvd already in the player. I took a gander, when I should stumble upon… My husband getting quite comfortable with (Who, exactly?)
So, you know that panic you felt? When you finished wanking to that dvd you made (this year, most certainly. You’ve already lost all the weight,) and you lean down to get the disc out of the player? You know, that exact moment when you realized that mechanism to release the disc isn’t responsive and you don’t have time before your trip to fiddle with it, so you have to stash it somewhere and get to it later? I bet you had this instant flash of the hell that would rain upon you if I found that dvd. I wonder if it’s been… eating you, this whole time.
Cheer up, lover. At least your brother didn’t give you herpes.