Pain.

She had no idea how I felt. She looked at me with her eyes wide, wet eyes with tears that were just beginning to hang at the lip of her eyelids. I couldn't stop the anger I was feeling, it wasn't irrational or excessive. She had hurt me deeply, had strayed over the bounds we had established through the years we were together. I watched a tear spill over, tracing its way down her cheek. It lodged in the corner of her mouth, her normally full lips white with the pressure she exerted holding them together. Her chin quivered slightly then firmed then quivered again. She had asked me to forgive her, just once. She did not let go of her pride and beg or whine or make excuses and for that I stayed to think about it. For that reason alone I stood there looking down at her feeling a snake writhing in my stomach. Her hand fluttered then went to her face wiping the trail from her tear away. The tips of her ears reddened slightly, she was embarrassed to cry right now. She didn't want to twist me with her tears, her sadness, her remorse. She knew the forgiveness would only be complete if I made the decision without coercion. I slowly sat down in the chair across from her.
My eyes locked on hers, wanting to scream to yell. She was mine! Mine alone, and she had dared to touch another. Someone else had brushed her thick hair back from her cheek. Someone else had tasted her lips, maybe bit them lightly. I shuddered at the thought of her closing her eyes leaning towards an indefinable shadow of someone else. The rage swirled up in me again and my heart pounded as if it would burst. I felt my hands sweating and shaking. If "He" was here now I would choke him. I would spit in his face and bash the back of his head into the ground. I would make him bleed and cry and whimper for mercy like they had made my heart do. She saw the change in my eyes, maybe she could imagine where my mind wandered. Her face went even paler and her fingers locked onto each other. She was braced for a firing squad, for an explosion. She was so brave to see the agony in my eyes and dare to make contact. She would bear it if I exploded, she would sit there silently accepting what she thought was the proper reward. She might be considering how she would feel if I had done the same. If I had strayed into the arms of another. I cannot lose her for this. My foundations are moored on the time we have spent together. I cannot even think of something I have that does not have her subtle imprint on. I trace my fingertips lightly on the table. The rustic pine table she had wanted so badly for her perfect room. The one I had my uncle help me make in his workshop. It might not have been as perfect as the one she saw in the store but her face when she walked in the door.. Ah, that smile still brings tears to my eyes, her gasp of amazement as she saw our initials carved delicately into the legs with great flourishes and twists. I want to burn that table now. It's ashes might seal the hole inside me that feels like it is swallowing me whole. I feel a tear in my own eye, my traitorous eye that I try to blink away. I almost hate her as she sits there deliberately not looking at my tear, my weakness, but I can't. I draw a slow breath in, filling my lungs as much as I can before releasing the breath slowly. I don't want to be civilized about this, but I can't make myself hurt her on purpose. "Do you want someone else?" the words are thick in my mouth. They taste of bile and salt and feel like I'm talking through syrup. I clear my throat, wincing at how harsh I sound, how close to tears. "No" her voice is clear but so soft, she seems afraid to answer. She is scared I'm baiting her, trying to force an explosion. "Do we need" I clear my throat again, clenching a fist on the table. "Do we need to talk to someone." I finish in a rush, the last thing I want is to talk to someone about this, even her, even myself. I just can't give her up. I can't let her go without a fight, without trying. She looks down at her hands, clenched together in her lap.
I think we are already doomed.

This would suck if it happened. I felt like this only once, over a kiss that an ex- "the super-ex" had with someone else. We never talked about it though, we never had things together. I was just stuck in reminiscing and morbid speculation about how different it would be if something like that happened now, with FW.