Taboo

A long week of writing for other people. Now, I have finally found a bit of time to carve out for myself and my own tales. This piece of creative writing is inspired by the Write on Edge community and the Red Writing Hood prompt. 

This week we were encouraged to write about the forbidden, the taboo. I chose to use this prompt to continue writing about my character, Carly. This small excerpt is a continuation from a previous excerpt, Who am I? 

I don't think this piece creatively challenged the concept of taboo, but I have been mulling over this part of my story for so long that I decided I need to get it out of my head. So, I hope you enjoy my interpretation of taboo.

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Lying in the stillness that the raw hours of night often bring, I focused on keeping my breath even and soft. I was not entirely sure who I was hiding from, but I suspected that I wanted to shroud my former self from the person I had become.

I watched Yves sleep, his smooth, olive chest different from David’s pale Irish complexion. His mannerisms of sleep were different from David’s, too. David would thrash, throw about the covers. He always seemed to be fighting the relaxing calm sleep could bring. Yves lay on his back, lips closed, and his body still; content in the tranquility of sleep.

At that moment, I realized my mistakes. The multitude of mistakes that I had made up until this point did not matter. They were minor, fixable. What had happened in this apartment, this bed, would have no other option, but to change the course of my life. I loathed myself. How despicable could I really be? I lay here in this bed, comparing my husband and this new lover. Everything I had accused David of being, I had become. I was an adulterer.  Not an innocent bystander swept up in blinding love. If only that were the case, then I could plead no contest. But the facts were blatant. I made this choice to alter the course of my life. The wedge that had been building between David and me for so many years had finally become a gorge. This one senseless and selfish act had officially divided us. David didn’t know this yet, but I did. A vast space existed between us now and there was not a bridge in sight to repair the damage.

Vibrations echoed against the nightstand. Out of my left eye I saw David’s name light up the screen, out of my right eye I glanced at Yves to make sure he was still asleep. This new territory left me paralyzed. I didn’t know what to do. David had called continuously as the night wore on since he had sent that first text about John being taken to the hospital, but clearly I had been preoccupied with my sin. Now, I knew I couldn’t ignore the urgent nature that the calls indicated.

Quietly, like a bare whisper, I slid out from under the covers. I arranged my clothes on my body to resemble someone respectable, not a liar. I smoothed my hair, but without a brush I feared it told a story I would rather not elaborate on this evening.

I stood over Yves. I considered waking him. I considered leaving a note. But in the end I left without a word, without consideration.