yas queen
-Bree, wake up... I'm running out of patience...-Katherine whispered while lightly slapping my sticky cheek.
-Eughegh...- I mumbled, covering my head with the silk sheets, crumpled carelessly beside me.
A few seconds later, a vigorous tug sent me tumbling to the floor. With a yelp, I watched as my friend pulled forcefully at the fitted sheets, mercilessly dragging me into wakefulness.
-Eghhh... Leave me alone, Katherine... I... This...- I couldn’t string my thoughts together; the words got stuck in my throat, and I felt a sharp pounding in my temples. I got up from the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, dazed. I couldn’t remember what had happened, how I had ended up in that situation.
With horror, I took in my bedroom: curtains torn from their rods; three, five, ten wine bottles littered across the floor; men’s clothes ripped and shredded into a thousand pieces; crumpled and scattered photographs... Slowly, fragments of the previous night returned, like flashes: Orson furiously storming out of the house, the wine hidden under the sink, my rage as I destroyed his ties—the ones he had forgotten.
My eyes welled up with tears, sobs rose from the depths of my heart. I trembled uncontrollably as Katherine wrapped an arm around me.
-He... He knows... He found out, I told him, he figured it out; I don’t know. I’ve never seen him like that, so angry. Katherine, he threatened me. He threatened to tell... everyone.- Hundreds of intrusive thoughts, thousands of possible and remote scenarios flooded my mind. Word would spread to everyone: my children, my friends, the church... Oh, God, God, help me...
Could they be empty threats? Would Orson really go through with them, or was it just the heat of the moment that drove his unrestrained reaction? Had everyone already found out? I would be shunned, isolated; it would be the equivalent of social death. On the other hand, Orson had to, he must still feel some trace of love for me, his wife. It was unlikely that his affection had evaporated without a trace. My only hope was in the remnants of our marriage still lingering in him, the good times we had shared before my passion for him faded.
However, rage changes people, revealing the vilest sides of human nature. My reputation was hanging by a thin thread, possibly an imaginary one. The good name I had built, the... My God, my head was pounding.
Katherine remained silent and motionless, processing what I had just revealed.
-Well... I don’t think we should worry about that right now. He... Orson had a little accident. Last night, when he left here, he got in his car and crashed into a streetlight on Fifth Avenue. He’s in the hospital, critical but stable.
Confusion, guilt, and relief swirled inside me at the news. Accident? This was my fault. If I had been able to weave a coherent lie, to pay more attention to him, maybe... I was a murderer, a filthy, disgusting murderer. I knew he hadn’t died, but what if he had? What if the accident had caused his premature death? Would anything have changed if the promise of eternal love and fidelity had left my lips? Four simple words could have prevented this accident: "I won’t see her again."
And yet… The only guarantee that my cover was still intact was Orson’s battered body lying in that hospital bed. A life with Katherine, a secret love, was possible as long as he remained intubated. A morbid, immoral pleasure coursed through me, dark desires.
I lifted my head from my hands and looked in the mirror. A disheveled, hollow-eyed woman stared back at me, her clothes stained with alcohol and guilt. Who was she?
-This is what I’m going to do.- Determination, cunning, manipulation. I was Bree Van de Kamp, for God's sake.- I’ll go to the hospital. I’ll talk to him. Maybe he doesn’t remember what happened. Maybe he’ll agree to some kind of... arrangement.
-Alone? I think I should go with you.
I couldn’t look Katherine in the face, not yet. The guilt and the stench of alcohol oozed from my body like poison. Besides, deep down in my subconscious, I blamed Katherine for everything that had happened, as a way to avoid responsibility.
-I think it’s better if I handle this by myself.