The tears stung in his emotionless eyes; they glided down his blank face and landed silently onto his twisted hands. Marcus saw the photographs once more in his tormented mind, the images scarring and embedding themselves into the tissues of his brain. The pictures laid on their wardrobe, showing his wife’s scandalously clad figure draped over various men. On the back of one was written, “You were never supposed to find out.” He would never forget how he had woken up this morning to an empty bed and a disheveled home; His beautiful wife and only child gone with half their money and the car. He knew this day would come, but it didn’t make it any less pernicious. She could have at least warned me. Don’t I deserve that much? He shook his head and sighed. How could she just leave like that? Even if he somehow found her, he wouldn’t do anything about it. It was her decision after all.
When people said that life only disappoints, they weren’t lying, Marcus thought bitterly as he rode the bus to his workplace. His professionally dry cleaned suit creased against the vinyl of the seats but all he could do was smile sadly. He should’ve expected it, really. It had been only a matter of time before Melody would leave. It only happened sooner than anticipated. She was always a wild horse of a woman, never really staying committed enough to create stability. He selflessly overlooked her questionable past in favor of her feisty personality and warm heart. However, this was not enough to tame her psyche, and although she loved him like no other, it wasn’t enough to calm the storm raging inside of her.
The bus slowed down, and its old brakes screeched in protest. Marcus squared his shoulders and straightened his tie as he exited the claustrophobic vehicle. He approached the giant brick building, studying the grey, decaying bricks and cracked windows only to realize the appearance matched that of his own: run down, cheap, and just plain sad. He entered the creaking front doors and the receptionist smiled at him, offering a nice greeting. “Good morning, Mr. Sanchez!”
She only received a grunt in response. Marcus continued further into the building and sat with a sigh at his cubicle. Placing his head in his hands, he began to let his mind wander.
When he first met Melody, they were at a bar. She was screaming at some man about how it was her night off and that she didn't have to do what he said, and all Marcus could remember was how much it made him laugh. Her round face kept turning various shades of red as her black hair bounced around her, and the way her eyes burned with a fire he longed to extinguish. There was something about the thought of tameing such a wild beast that made his adrenaline rush. As she was storming away, he managed to catch her arm, and as cheesy as it sounded, as soon as their eyes met, Marcus was smitten. He suavely asked her to dance with him, using all of his boyish charm to sweep her off her feet. Soon they found themselves spending the rest of the night wrapped in intrepid flirtations and sly kisses.
When they made their relationship official, Marcus made a point to try and get to know her. They would spend hours on the phone talking to each other, asking hundreds of silly questions just to get a reaction out of each other. However, every conversation seemed to revolve around Marcus’s childhood and feelings, his mother was a drunk and his father was shagging the nanny, and at first it did not bother him, but when he realized he really knew nothing about her, he grew concerned. He knew her name and her personality, but not her story. It wasn’t hard to tell that it wasn’t pleasant, especially since when they met, her wardrobe consisted of only short dresses and skirts and lacy undergarments, but he never tried to push for answers. Marcus didn’t want to do anything that could possibly jeopardize his new relationship, but, looking back on it, he admitted that he should’ve seen the signs.
As their relationship progressed, they began fighting quite abundantly. Whether it was about whose side of the bed was whose or if the toast was toasted enough, it was always something; that was how they worked. He figured it was normal for couples to fight, and it wasn’t like that was all they ever did. He remembered countless times of laughter and kindness, even the way her small hand cupped his jaw when they shared intimate moments of affection. He also remembered her work trips, where she’d come home, drunk, late at night with her makeup smeared on her face and her hair in disarray. She had a stash of several phones hidden in her side of their bedroom drawers. She was ignorant that he knew, but he never asked about them. He trusted Melody. He knew that she would never do anything to hurt him so he gave her his full trust, no matter what seemed to be happening. She’d also often excuse herself from their dates or midnight movie sessions to take calls, never really talking loud enough for him to hear what she was saying. It’d take an idiot to not see the signs, but Marcus was an idiot hopelessly in love.
Someone tapped on his shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. He turned around only to come face to face with his angry boss.
“Mr. Sanchez,” the round man squawked through puffy cheeks, “You should’ve been done with your calls by now! You’re wasting money, and you haven’t gotten half of your work done!” Marcus didn’t care. His mind was far too occupied to worry about such frivolous things, and it wasn’t like he had a family to support anymore. He just numbly stood up, gathered his belongings, and walked out. As he exited the building into the cold night, he could still hear his pudgy boss hollering after him.
As he walked down the street, the wind chill surrounded him like a blanket of desperation, etching itself into the very essence of his being. He pictured the blonde mop of hair nestled on top of his son’s head, and how he would never again get to see it, or his eyes, like small galaxies encased in glassy orbs, always full of sweet innocence. His heart ached at the thought of never hugging the small child again, never kissing his rosy cheeks. The back of his throat grew sore, and thick saliva coated every inch of his mouth; he could feel hot tears burning in the hollows of his eye sockets, threatening with every thought to spill over.
He reached his front door as the sobs started, quickly unlocking the door and crashing in, only to fall into a heap on the floor. His body shook as the tears bubbled over and onto his face. He crawled through the apartment and into the bathroom. Marcus looked into the mirror and didn’t recognize the man staring back at him. He was the epitome of melancholy- red rimmed eyes, glassy with unshed tears. Look at yourself, Marcus thought, what would Melody think? This is why she left you. You’re a sad bastard. He reached into the shower and turned it up high, letting the steam slowly fill the bathroom. He sat under the torrential downpour of scalding water, letting it soak through and ruin his suit. He hoped that the water would melt off the desperation that he felt. It was pathetic really. He couldn’t bring himself to think of anything other than Melody. However, he didn’t care anymore; he didn’t have anything to care about.
Marcus sat there for what seemed like an eternity, the constant stream of water masking the tears falling from his eyes. It seemed as if he couldn’t feel anymore; there was no pain, no sadness, only the sweet embrace of emptiness. He weakly stood and shut off the shower, peeling the muggy suit off his clammy flesh. Redressing into an old t-shirt and sweatpants, he sat on his all too empty bed; then he got angry.
It started slow at first, bubbling deep down in his marrow, threatening at any second to leak out and destroy everything, but soon he was standing, then pacing, rubbing furious patterns into his hair. He slammed his desperate fists against the dresser on which the photographs still lay, and he cried, “I DID THIS ALL FOR YOU! EVERYTHING; MY LIFE, MY JOB, THIS HOUSE- A-AND YOU JUST LEAVE?!”
Soon glasses were being thrown, shattering against the judgemental walls; family pictures were ripped, laying broken on the condescending carpet. He spat on them, ruined them, just like Melody ruined him. His bruised fists bled from being thrown carelessly into the television set, couch, and doors. Nothing in his sad apartment was left whole, for it needed to be that way.
He reached their closet, and curled up into a ball on the one article of clothing Melody seemed to have missed. He laid there, like a crumpled piece of paper, relishing in the scent of the one that truly meant the most; he felt pathetic. Sobs wracked through his body as he finally realized what this meant, how much this affected him. He shook like a tree caught in a large storm, the pain seemingly ripping through the tattered pieces of his heart. His gory hands reached behind him, only to grasp at a cold and familiar weapon.  He promised himself after he met Melody that he would get better, that he’d stop obsessing over things. She didn't help though, she seemed to be the one thing that he could silently obsess over, and now… Well now she was gone. Marcus pressed the metal against his sweat drenched forehead and whispered,
“My life is nothing without the ones who let me live.” Then he was embraced into sweet darkness, with only an ‘I’m sorry’ scratched into the wall, left there to tell the story of a man who fell in love with the wrong woman.