Gotha, a story with 3 views

Essay by annerackwitszUniversity, Bachelor'sA-, March 2007

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Gotcha!SOMEONEShe just sat there with her legs grossed under her lean body on the couch with the television on staring into nothingness. Her face was paler than usual and in one hand she was holding a photograph and in the other a cup of tea. She had been crying because her eyes were red and her make-up was smudged from her eyes over her freckled cheeks. Every two minutes she put her tea down, checked her watch then her mobile phone and every time her eyes got a more disappointed glance in them. It looked like she was waiting for someone. Usually she was not up at this time at night and normally he would be home by now, even if he had been working overtime. Lately this seemed to happen more than usual but she would never wait for him. The time wore by and it was almost two o’clock at night.

She was still awake, sitting on the couch staring but not following whatever there was at the screen. She stood up to make herself a new cup of tea and went to the couch again to sit and stare some more. Suddenly she moved her head towards the hallway. He came in and she slowly stood up watching him, looking rather angry. He walked towards her and she confronted him directly with the photograph she was holding tight the whole evening. He looked shocked and kept standing there for a while. He started to talk nervously with his hands strangled in his hair and over his face and mouth. She started yelling at him making wild gestures with her arms and whenever he tried to speak she seemed to get even more angry. Then after a few minutes she closed the curtains so that only two vague shades were left to see. I walked away from my telescope, towards my telly trying to keep myself busy until the alarm would go off and people would start waking up again.

HERI walked towards his desk, trying to find the office number of his agency. As I ran my fingers through his post, the computer went on. He probably forgot to switch it off this morning. I ignored the screen at first but then I just couldn’t help myself. There was an email of Samantha which was his colleague at work, but this did not include work at all! She asked him to meet at some hotel and to bring the champagne. She would take care of the rest.

–What? – no, this wasn’t happening. I started looking for more of these emails and found more than ten dating backwards to eight months.

– Please, no! I beg you God! – then in the corner of my eye I saw a picture on his desk coming half out of an envelope addressed to him. I stared at it, feeling betrayed, disgusted. I couldn’t stop myself from crying and had to sit down for a moment. I sat there for about an hour just looking at the picture. There was a woman dyed blonde in it who I knew from a party of the agency. Next to her was my husband, holding her tight in his arm, kissing her in her neck. She seemed to enjoy herself and he, the bastard, did too.

It had been eleven already and I walked to the kitchen holding the photo still in my hand. I made a cup of tea just to calm myself and went to sit on the couch, waiting for him. I turned on the telly for some distraction, but I could not focus on the screen.

– What’s the time? Did he call me?– I checked my watch and phone every now and then.

–Where could he be? He’s with that bitch and you know it. When he gets home I’ll kill him! –Off course he was with her, but I was hoping for the best. I stood up making myself another cup of tea and sat down again. It was two o’clock already. Then I heard his keys clattering to the door and he opened it. I looked at him, stood up and when he walked towards me, in a somewhat drunk way, I showed him the picture. He stood there for a moment, looked shocked and then he started to talk, slowly, softly.

“Where did you find this?,” he asked with a trembling voice.

“Where the Hell do you think, you arsehole!”His hands went up to his hair and over his mouth and I could see he was flabbergasted by all this.

“Where have you been, and you better not lie to me now!” I kept pouring him with questions and whenever he tried to answer me, I confronted him with more material I found to prove his guilt. I walked towards the curtains and closed them giving him the opportunity to answer. The bastard couldn’t. I kept yelling and crying.

HIS–Shite! She found out. How could she find this one out? O god I’m so screwedI can’t answer all these questions, please stop. Think, Connor think. Be fast, be smart! Say something! Come on, come on! A football match? No, she has seen the email. Oh God, oh God. Not again, please not again. I won’t lose her, not her! How could I be so stupid? Right, it’s your own fault, now think! How can you get out of this mess? –She keeps yelling at me, crying her eyes out asking me why and how I could have done this to her. Every time I try to answer she overrules me.

–Oh, God. How can I get out of this mess? –