Old Flame

Sarah

As the conversation shifts to more mundane topics, I find my attention drifting. I take a sip of my wine, hoping it will ease the tightness in my chest.

It's then that I notice Matthew looking at something. I follow his line of sight, and then I see her.

She's seated at a table near the far wall, a vision in a form-fitting emerald dress that highlights her curves in all the right places. Her hair, a vibrant shade of red, falls in loose waves around her shoulders.

But it's not her beauty that makes my breath catch in my throat. It's the way Matthew is looking at her, his gaze filled with longing and intensity I am much too familiar with.

Recognition slams into me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs.

Amanda. Matthew's ex-girlfriend. The one that got away because of me.

And now she's here, mere feet away.

I feel sick to my stomach, a wave of nausea that has nothing to do with the rich food or the wine. It's as if the ground beneath me has suddenly shifted.

My mother is saying something, her voice a distant buzz in my ears. I nod along, a plastic smile fixed on my face, but inside, I'm screaming. I want to grab Matthew by the shoulders and shake him until he looks at me, really looks at me.

But I can't do that.

Matthew's eyes remain glued to Amanda, his jaw tightening ever so slightly as she leans closer to the man sitting next to her.

His hand, casually resting on the table, suddenly clenches into a fist. He is angry, I realize. 

Amanda says something to her companion, stands up and walks away.

"Excuse me, I need to go to the restroom," Matthew says abruptly and stands up, too.

He is going to see her, I think to myself.

Panic bubbles up inside me, but I keep my expression neutral. My parents are still engaged in conversation, completely oblivious.

"Of course," my mother says absently.

I clutch my wineglass, my knuckles whitening as I watch him walk away, his movements purposeful and tense. I don't need to follow him to know where he's going, but the thought of sitting here while he seeks her out is unbearable.

"Excuse me," I say quickly, pushing back my chair when he doesn't come back in the next two minutes.

My father glances at me, his brow furrowing. "Sarah, is everything alright?"

I force a reassuring smile. "Just need a moment. I just need to go to the lady's room."

Before he can press further, I turn and make my way toward the restrooms, my heart pounding in my chest.

As I hurry down the hallway, a sense of dread settles in the pit of my stomach.

I round the corner, my breath catching in my throat as I spot them. Matthew and Amanda stand mere inches apart, their bodies angled towards each other in a way that speaks of intimacy and familiarity.

Mathew's hand moves up, and he grazes her cheek, and I contain myself from screaming at them.

My chest tightens painfully as I take in the scene before me. Matthew's hand lingers against Amanda's cheek, and she leans into his touch ever so slightly, her eyes shimmering with tears.

They haven't noticed me yet, but the hallway feels too small, the air too thick. I want to turn around and walk away to spare myself the agony of hearing whatever comes next.

But I can't. My feet are frozen in place, and my heart is thundering in my chest, drowning out every rational thought.

Amanda speaks first, her voice soft but clear in the quiet corridor. "You can't do this to me, Matthew. Not anymore. You are married now."

Matthew takes a sharp breath, dropping his hand from Amanda's cheek as if her words had physically hurt him.

"I understand," he says, his voice filled with conflict. "I know you don't believe me, but I never wanted this. It's because of her…"

"Don't," Amanda interrupts sharply. "You can't blame everything on Sarah."

Matthew's expression turns cold. "But it's the truth. Everything that has happened to us is because of her. And now, I'm stuck with her. I hate her so fucking much, Amanda."

A wave of ice rushes through me, numbing my senses and making it impossible to breathe. I heard him say how much he hated me before. Heard it over and over again and yet, it never gets easier.

"It doesn't matter if you hate her or not, Matt. What's done is done and now you are married to her. Now, please. Let me get back to my date," Amanda says and attempts to push him off.

Matthew grabs her shoulders. "Amanda, please…"

"Let her go, Matthew," I interject weakly. "This is not the time or place."

The moment I speak, both Matthew and Amanda freeze, their eyes snapping to me. I can barely hold their gaze, my heart crashing against my ribcage.

Matthew's face tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Amanda straightens, brushing herself off.

"Sarah," she begins, her voice gentle but cutting, "I am sorry. I didn't come here to cause trouble. I didn't know we would run into each other." She gestures slightly toward Matthew.

I can barely breathe as I stare at her.

Matthew finally speaks, his voice hoarse. "Don't apologize to her, Amanda. Sarah knows she will always be the other woman, not you."

"The ring on my finger says otherwise," I argue.

Matthew's gaze drops to my hand, lingering on the glittering diamond for a moment before he looks back at me, his eyes narrowed. "A ring doesn't mean shit, Sarah. It's just a meaningless piece of metal."

Of course, he would say that. What did I expect?

Amanda shifts uncomfortably, her eyes darting between us. "I should go," she murmurs, taking a step back. "This isn't… I never meant for this to happen."

"No, stay," Matthew says, his hand shooting out to grasp her wrist. "We're not done here."

Anger flares inside me, hot and fierce. "Let her go, Matthew," I snap, my voice trembling with barely contained rage. "You are here with me."

Matthew ignores me, his attention solely focused on Amanda. "Just tell me one thing," he says, his voice low and intense. "Do you still love me? Did you ever really stop?"

Amanda's eyes widen, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something in their depths - longing, perhaps, or regret. But then she pulls her wrist from his grasp, taking another step back.

"I can't do this," she whispers, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Matthew. But I have to go."

With that, she turns and hurries away, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Matthew watches her go, his jaw clenched and his fists curled at his sides.

I stand there. How many more times can my heart survive being shattered, I wonder?

Finally, Matthew turns to me, his eyes blazing with a fury that takes my breath away. "You feel like real winner, I bet," he hisses, advancing on me until I'm backed against the wall. "If it wasn't for you, Amanda and I would still be together. We would be happy."

"Well, I did win because you are with me now. So get used to it." I choke out, tears stinging my eyes.

Matthew slams his hand against the wall beside my head, making me flinch.

"Whatever. Let's just get this dinner over with so I can go home," he hisses, then walks away without looking back.

I take a moment to breathe before following him. Time to put on a happy face for Dad again.

~-~

As soon as we step inside our home, the facade crumbles.

Matthew strides upstairs without another word and I follow him, refusing to let him off the hook.

"You almost ruined everything, Matthew," I declare, my voice shaking with barely contained fury. "What if my parents saw you with her? Touching her?"

He spins to face me, his eyes flashing dangerously in the dim light. "And what if they had? What would mommy and daddy think of their precious little girl then? That she can't even keep her husband interested?"

His words feel like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs.

"That's not fair," I whisper, hating the tremor in my voice.

"I never wanted this, any of it! You trapped me in this sham of a marriage, and now you expect me to do what? Thank you for it?" Matthew roars.

"I didn't trap you," I argue, but even to my own ears, the words sound weak and uncertain. "We both made choices-"

"No, you made choices," he interrupts, jabbing a finger at me. "You chose to interfere in my life. I don't know why I need to keep reminding you, Sarah."

He turns away, his broad shoulders heaving with each ragged breath. I watch him pour himself a generous glass of scotch from the decanter on the side table. He downs it in one swift gulp, then pours another.

"Do you really hate me that much?" I ask softly. "For how long will you hate me?"

Matthew's hand stills on the decanter, his back to me. "For the rest of your sorry life."

"Well, I don't accept it!" I cry out. "I am your wife now, and you…you are my husband, and you will act like it!"

Matthew laughs. "My wife, huh? Let me remind you, sweetheart. You are my wife by name only. In case you forgot. We never did consummate our marriage because the thought of lying with you makes me sick."

"Stop it," I whisper, my voice breaking. "Stop saying those things."

But he presses on, relentless, his eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction. "Poor little rich girl, so used to having the world handed to her on a silver platter. Well, guess what, sweetheart? You may have trapped me in this farce of a marriage, but you will never have my heart. That will always belong to Amanda."

Something snaps inside me, a dam bursting after too much pressure. "Enough!" I scream, shoving him hard. He stumbles back, surprise flickering across his face. "I am so sick of you throwing her in my face every chance you get! I am your wife, Matthew. Me! Not her!"

"My wife in name only," he sneers, regaining his footing. "A title you blackmailed me into. But you will never be my wife where it counts."

Red-hot rage courses through me, burning away the pain. "I am your wife in every way that matters," I hiss through clenched teeth. "And it's time you started treating me like it."

With a fierce grip on his face, I crush my lips against his, channeling all of my anger and resentment into the kiss.

I expect him to push me away, but he kisses me back.