Pain is the soundtrack of the morning.

Write something hard to say.

That was one of the suggestions I got to get out of my writing funk. So I wrote this:

I move on and forward but if I want, and sometimes when I don't want, I can recall a morning years past with crisp clarity. I think we all have times like this. The ones that actually change who we are much more drastically than the little things that shape us more gently. These times are violent and furious and how we see our life and the world is different afterwards.

It started like a typical work week morning. I was actually on time, and in the shower, with plenty of time to blow dry my hair and put on makeup before my trip on the subway and into work. Back then I was a heavy smoker; the steam was making it easier to breathe. I couldn't wait for my coffee and morning cigarette.

A single black thought dove in and out of my head like a fish leaping and knifing through cool waters. That black thought, small, unfolded revealing teeth-like jagged edges. I replayed months in seconds. Words, looks, things he'd said, they all blocked and arranged themselves into a nightmare. All of a sudden I knew. Like I know things. Like a woman knows things, and I forgot where I was in the process of washing. Had I shampooed already? Shit.

I stood there with the hot water wasting down the drain and tried to talk myself out of it. This is crazy. Preposterous. No way. nu uh. NO. WAY. He would never. But I knew, and I dried my hair and got dressed. My face felt weird, the skin stretched too tight and when I met my reflection's eyes they were flat and strange. I applied makeup and a giggle escaped. I'm a stupid clown! Oh god. Keep moving.

sliiish sliiiish. I brushed past the bedroom door, cracked open and revealing a tangle of blanket with patterns of sunlight, back and forth. sliiish sliiiish. Back again and then forth. Don't go in there. I don't want this. I gathered my purse and intended to leave but my feet pattered forth once more. Why am I doing this? Wendy stop-

One foot stepped in front of the other and in jerky steps I'm next to the bed. He looks like an angel when he sleeps. He blurred and my lips parted with a small wet snap. I'm sure my voice will have a wobble in it when I speak. Don't say it, god Wendy don't say it. Don't-

"Have you cheated on me?"

My voice. Is it? Harsh and clear in the silent morning. It's louder than I'd meant and I feel my eyelids retract, widening my vision. I pull in a panicked breath. I feel everything. He wakes up instantly, alert, and he's heard. A no falls from his lips so fast but I see it, there like a death, in his eyes. My chest feels more pressure. I may faint, how weird. The air feels thick and there is a bad stillness. God, oh please God no. No. I'm going to ask...

"I'm going to ask again. Did you cheat on me?"

Like a wave rolling in he's coming up into a sitting position and I know, like I know, he's in agony. Not like mine. Mine is a sweep of fire burning through my veins. I feel crazy, dizzy, like I could start giggling hysterically at any second, or breaking things. Screaming. I'm going to spiral out of control. My fingers twitch and shake, my hands that are never cold have grown icy. I take a very careful step back. It's small but he notices and his eyes are so pained that it physically hurts me. I know. I already know and yet when it comes I feel like I'm dying. Am I dying?

"Yes."

A buzz fills my ears and I force another step back. I don't want this. The thought fuels a feeling stronger than any single emotion I've ever felt. I want to start the morning over again, late this time, more than anything I've wanted in my entire life. I hate myself. I hate. I can't feel my lower body. A sob silences the quiet and time shoots forward. I'm out of the room. Must get away. We're rushing, talking over each other, our voices rising and falling.

The rest is a blur. Tears, shouting, and the worst train ride of my life. A stranger handed me a tissue and I'm sure I didn't even thank them. One morning and everything was different.