That Damn Shoe

I do live a part of my life waiting for the other shoe to drop. Specifically, waiting for something awful concerning Mr, as he pursues his shenanigans again. He's the kind of man that makes you want to believe the words that come out of his mouth. He seems genuine, and earnest. Seems loving, and caring. Seems to honestly believe the words he's feeding you as much as you want to believe them.
He seemed to want to make a fresh start. To put the past behind him, and move forward living a new life, free of deceit. He seemed to be making an effort to show me that I could earn his trust back. He told me every lovely thing a girl wants to hear. He told me that he loved me. He told me that he wasn't shit without me. He told me he was glad I was in his life and in his corner. I'd waited almost my whole life to believe in those words and to hear them come from the lips of someone I wanted, and trusted, and loved with all my being. Our romantic life was picture perfect. We even started squabbling like an old married couple.
But that ghost was always there. The ghost of "that woman" as he'd named her. "She who shall remain nameless" he'd joke. The mysterious absence of the truck from his driveway...the multiple calls he'd NOT take while he was with me. I knew they were her, I know what her ring tone was. And then of course her words, which a friend let me know about. Her words chronicling their escapades last weekend. I emailed it to him, and confronted with the words, the best he could do was that she "misremembered". HMMM. "So she lied?" I demanded..."No, she just misremembered". Well OK then.
I spent most of yesterday fighting off a high blood pressure headache. I had to call my doctor and have her renew my prescription...something I haven't had to take in almost a year. But this just put me over the edge. I couldn't breathe, and was on the verge of throwing up most of the day and night. Blessedly, I was able to sleep, virtually dream free.
What I do know about women, however, is that they don't "misremember" sex. They can fabricate it, with the sole ugly intention of hurting another human being and destroying a relationship. Or they can gloat about a real encounter that left them feeling amazing. I don't think I really care anymore, simply because my fucking head hurts too much. Whatever the version of the story, it's destroyed every last bit of credibility and trust he seemed to want to rebuild. He told me once the reason we work so well as a couple is because I always knew when he was talking bullshit. My head may hurt an awful lot, and my face may be as red as a tomato, but I still know.