Life Without You

by S. P. West

  We had sex twice more that afternoon, actually managing to find the bed those times, before I had to leave her and with her a piece of my heart. It was only when I got home that the magnitude of what we’d done hit me. That I was a cheater, I’d broken my promises to my wife and now I would be seen in the same adulterous light as my bastard father.

  I’d become him.

  I felt so guilty that I vowed that it would not happen again, it would be a one off. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her in person, knowing that my resolve would melt as soon as she sashayed into the room. Like a coward, I sent Rachel an email to tell her. She replied that she understood and thanked me for a great afternoon, which made me laugh. She ended up saying that she would keep it a secret between us.

  We cooled things off for a while. There were no lunches, no after work drinks, no touching, just long lascivious glances if we happened to be in the same room. You could cut the sexual tension between us with a knife; I’m still surprised that no one picked up on it. We still sent texts back and forth to each other except now they had none of the warm, flirty tones of the previous ones. I vowed during those few weeks that I would work on my marriage and try to improve things with Summer. I even took my wife out on a date to the movies. The only problem was that when I kissed my wife, I was thinking about Rachel; about how she made me happy, how the sex was incredible and more exciting than it had ever been with Summer. It was during those tortuous three weeks that I realized that any form of passion that I’d felt for my Sum had gone; that my feelings for another woman were stronger than those I have for my wife. Every day of my purgatory, Rachel tempted me by wearing the shortest possible skirt, the tightest top with no bra and high as hell ‘fuck me’ shoes. She would deliberately bend low over the desk so I could see her tits or would accidentally drop her pen making me very aware, as she bent to pick it up, that she was wearing no panties at all. My weeks of pure sexual agony and denial came to an abrupt end one afternoon when, after she made a great show of sucking on popsicle of all things, I gave in and asked her to come into my office and locked the door behind her. I didn’t need to say anything; she just sank to her knees and gave me the sweetest blowjob I’ve ever had. We’ve been together ever since.

  To be honest, I’m tired of living a double life. I just want the freedom; I don’t want to have to hide anymore.

  I want to be able to tell all the fuckers in the office to back off, that Rachel is mine. I know that I will get some shit for it but being with Rach has made me realize my life with Summer was boring. Stale and boring in comparison to what Rach and I have. I don’t want to marry her, been there done that - we’re happy having fun together. Maybe in a few years’ time, after I get divorced, I’ll ask her to marry me. Now is not the right time.

  The patio area is beginning to get crowded. Even my place in the shadows has been invaded by a group of d-bag hipsters who have spent most of their conversation of the last ten minutes discussing the best place to get artisanal toast. I shit you not. I really don’t want to listen to any more of their inane chatter, so I take as my cue to leave and head back inside. Besides, everyone will be wondering where I’ve gotten too.

  The crowds around the bar have thinned out and I finally manage to make it back to the table. Ben is sat on the plush black booth with his arms out to either side; head leant back, just staring at the subtle blue neon lights above. Rachel and Zach are in deep conversation; I feel a spike of envy when I see that her hand is on the upper most part of his thigh. I sit down hard in the space next to Rach and Zach. Causing them to jump. I notice that she quickly removes her hand from his crotch, both of them looking guilty as sin. I know that she is doing it to make me jealous - she wants us to be exclusive. She can’t stand the fact that I haven’t left my wife yet and that occasionally I still fuck Summer.

  She tries to wind me up by telling me that she wants to be in an open relationship. Her reasoning is ‘if you can fuck your wife, then I can fuck other guys’.

  When she first told me that, I dragged her into the janitors closest on fifth, not caring who saw us and fucked her in the ass while fingering her clit all the while asking her who she belonged too, who else could make her feel like this. If there is one thing that that woman loves, it’s anal sex. She collapsed against the wall as she came; her legs had turned to jelly. I’d made damn sure she knew she couldn’t screw around with other guys, that she belonged to me. That still doesn’t stop her from teasing me.

  “Yo, Alex! Where you been, man?” Zach, the fucker asks.

  “Speaking to Summer.”

  “You guys having phone sex? You yank one off in the john? You were ages, man!”

  I take a quick glance at Rachel and see that her lips are pursed and eyes narrowed, she’s pissed at me. Before I can deny anything, Zach proves he has a death wish by saying “I wouldn’t blame you, your wife is fucking H.O.T.” Laughing as he fist bumps Ben and puts his arm around Rach.

  Keep laughing dickhead - you are a dead man walking.

  “You going home?” As Ben says lifting his head to look at me. A telltale sign of white powder crusted around his nostril.

  “Nah, she’s in a snit, I’ll let her stew for a while. Said I’d see her tomorrow.”

  He sniffs then looks at between me and Rach. “So, if she asks you want me to cover for you?” he asks with a smirk.

  Asshole.

  “I’ll stay at a hotel.”

  “Sure buddy.” He looks at Rachel again, “just use condoms; you don’t know where this one’s been.”

  What the fuck? Before he can say anything else, I launch myself at him. The fucker just laughs as I hit his smug face. Somewhere in the distance, the music stops and I hear Rachel and Zach scream my name. Before I feel hands pulling me off Ben and shoving me towards the door. It is only when my ass lands on the hard concrete sidewalk that I look down and I realize that I’m covered in blood.

  Shit.

  I hear an “ufffff” as Ben lands next to me, his clothes stained red from where I busted his nose. The fucker is laughing his head off as though the fact that I’ve just beaten the crap out of him is inconsequential. Rachel and Zach are standing on the sidewalk looking furious before Rachel turns and storms off in the direction of the subway.

  “Rachel,” I call out after her.

  “I’m going home Alex, don’t bother to contact me tonight. I won’t answer” She shouts not bothering to turn around and carries on walking. I struggle to get to up so I can follow her but before I do Zach says, “I’ll go after her and I’ll make sure she gets there safely.” He runs after her as I slump back down on the dirty floor.

  “Looks like you will be staying with me tonight,” Ben pipes up.

  “Fuck you.”

  He laughs again.

  “Come on,” He stands and extends his hand out to me. “before they call the cops.”

  I grudgingly take his hand as he helps me up and we head in the opposite direction to the way Rach and Zach just went. “I don’t live too far away. You can crash at mine.” He then lowers his voice and whispers, “I have more blow.’

  We walk on in silence, the crisp air brings my thoughts into focus.

  Summer doesn’t know about the drugs and drinking; she’d shit bricks if she did. It’s not like I have a problem, I do it for fun once or twice a week. My wife, being like she is, would probably pack me off for some assessment with a shrink as if there’s something wrong with me. She’d be on my case about it, nitpicking and pestering. That’s another reason I have to end my marriage to Summer, the incessant nagging. If it’s not about having a baby, then it’s about never being home, if it’s not that then she’s on my back about seeing a marriage therapist. It goes on and on and on.

  I just don’t get why she bothers to keep pretending. Summer doesn’t care about our marriage any more than I do. In fact, I think she’d be happy to see the back of me. Actually, yeah I know she would. She could head back to England, meet some British lord or something and have l
ots of babies all without making me feel guilty. I know she misses home; I’d be doing her a favor. After we talk tomorrow; I’m sure we’ll be on the same page 100%. That we have nothing worth saving.

  “Fuck man, I can’t believe that you’re banging Rachel. You lucky son of a bitch.” Ben’s reedy voice interrupts my thoughts as we turn into yet another street, we must have been walking for miles. I thought he said he didn’t live far from the bar? The cocksucker.

  “We’re not banging.” The lie slips out of my mouth with practiced ease.

  “Not what I heard.”

  “Well you fucking heard wrong, asshole.” I growl.

  “Woah, dude!” He stops abruptly and holds his hands up in submission, “don’t get your panties in a knot.”

  I have the overwhelming urge to punch that smug prick in the face again but with Rachel not talking to me and Summer pissed as well, Ben is the only chance I have for a peaceful night’s sleep.

  “I’m just saying you’re a lucky SOB, man. Most of the office wants to tap that.” He continues. The idiot seriously has a death wish. I curl my fists into balls and will myself not to lay one on that ugly mug of his.

  “I. Told. You. I’m. Not. Screwing. Her.” My lies come through gritted teeth, betraying me by revealing to the douche my agitation. “I’m married.” I add in for good measure.

  “I believe you,” his voice dripping with sarcasm as we carry on walking “nobody else would though.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” It was my turn to stop abruptly, grabbing hold of Ben arm forcing him to come to a standstill.

  “It means that the whole company knows about you and your side-piece, man.” He scoffs prying my hand and its vice like grip off his forearm.

  “There’s nothing going on.” A lesser man would flinch at my tone and the daggers in my eyes. He just waves his hand dismissively.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he chuckles and carries on walking. “My place is just on the end of the street.” I notice that the smug grin back on his face.

  We walk the rest of the way in silence. I don’t even bother to say thanks as he opens his apartment door.

  My mind is a racing with thoughts about what people are saying about Rachel and me.

  It’s Ben who breaks the ice.

  “Want a beer?”

  “Huh?”

  “Beer? You want one?” I’ll give it to Ben, he certainly doesn’t hold a grudge. He holds out a bottle to me, I gratefully take it as he flops down next to me on the couch, grabbing the remote and switching on the TV. We sit in awkward silence until I can no longer stand it.

  “What are people saying?” I demand.

  “’’bout what?”

  “Me and Rachel.” He turns his head to look at me, his mouth turned up in amusement.

  “They’re saying that you two’ve been having wild monkey sex for the past few months.” He pauses seemingly to gage my reaction, taking it that he’s safe when I don’t react he continues, “someone said they’ve gone to knock on your office door, only to hear some obvious fucking going on.” I open my mouth to protest but he holds his hand holding his bottle up to stop me, spilling some of his Bud on my shirt. “Before you ask I’m not gonna tell you who. I will say there’s also a rumor flying round that you took Rachel on vacation and...” He pauses for the dramatic reveal, “that Rachel is pregnant.”

  I stare at him open mouthed, they’re saying Rachel’s pregnant? Fuck.

  “So, is it true?” He asks.

  I consider lying to him again. It’s obvious though that he knows and in all honesty I’m tired of keeping up this charade.

  “Yeah, it’s true.” Before adding quickly, “not the pregnancy. I wrap that shit up.”

  “I knew it!” He laughs and goes to fist bump me, ending up punching the air when I don’t respond.

  “You can’t tell anyone.” I warn. “Shit like that could lose me my job.”

  “I won’t man.” Before he turns his head to look at back at the shit playing on the TV. “So, it’s serious?”

  “Yeah,” I mumble.

  “You, going to tell your wife?”

  “I’m telling her tomorrow.”

  “Wow.” He shakes his head sadly, his happy-drunk facade gone. “You going to leave her?”

  I look at the screen not really seeing it, not saying a word.

  “You going to leave her?” Ben repeats.

  “Yeah.”

  “Look, Alex, it’s none of my business…”

  “No, it’s not.” I reply.

  “JUST,” he continues, talking over me. “Just make sure you’re doing the right thing. I hear stuff you know? Stuff that you won’t like.”

  “Like what.”

  “Tell me. Do you love her?” He challenges, quickly changing the subject.

  “Which one?”

  “Rachel, man.”

  “Yep, I do.”

  For someone supposedly drunk and high he looks at me with astounding clarity.

  “Take my advice. Don’t fuck up your life for something that’s not real.” With that he downs the rest of his drink before passing out, leaving me to wonder what the fuck he was talking about.

  SUMMER

  IT’S NOON THE NEXT DAY and Alex still isn’t home as he said he would be.

  I’ve been sat at the small breakfast table in our kitchen for the past four hours waiting for him. In front of me sits two photographs. The first one is of us on our wedding day; it’s one of my all-time favorites. Until this morning, it had had pride of place in the scrapbook, a beautiful reminder of what had been the best day of my life. Now? Now this simple picture is tainted as I face up to the reality that the life I’ve been living is a lie.

  I trace Alex’s handsome features on the glossy paper; stroking my finger over his messy blonde hair, down his aquiline nose, to his strong jaw. We are gazing at each other, the smiles on our faces wide. I’m touching his face with one hand, in my other is the bouquet of wild flowers that he picked for me before the ceremony. He looks at me as though I’m his sun, moon and stars. To an observer we look like a couple in love; to me we look like a couple in love.

  The second picture was taken six weeks ago at Alex’s firm’s annual family picnic. My arms are wrapped around his middle and I’m looking up adoringly into his warm, caramel eyes. Alex on the other hand, has his arm stiffly around my shoulder; he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at one of his colleagues. Rainey? Rachel? I can’t remember her name. I barely remember her posing for the picture with us. Alex’s handsome face is unsmiling. His whole posture screams that he doesn’t want to be there. If you didn’t know better, you would think I was some random woman he’d had his photo taken with not his wife.

  I’ve looked at the latest picture countless times since it was taken, I’d even posted it as my profile picture. Why on earth have I not noticed how unhappy Alex was in it before. Have I deliberately been ignoring what was in front of me? I’d not noticed until today, it was only when I placed the pictures side by side that I saw that there was such a stark contrast between the two photos. From love and hope for the future to unhappiness and hostility.

  Picking up the second picture, I take a closer look at whatever her name is. The woman is certainly beautiful, I’ll give her that. She’s not doing anything out of the ordinary, just smiling inanely at the camera. I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something, somehow, but what am I looking for? Setting the picture down next to our wedding photo, I can’t help stare at the woman and Alex. Is it her, I wonder? Is she the one that Alex gave the flowers to? He didn’t come home again last night; he didn’t call or text me to let me know where he was or if he was okay. Was he with her? Did he spend the night in her bed?

  Perhaps I’m reading too much in to it - maybe my new pregnancy hormones are making me irrational. Then, why would Alex say he wants to leave me? Nothing about this makes any sense.

  I just pray to God that I’m wrong, that Alex didn’t mean to hurt me lik
e he has. Whatever we decide today I have to remember to remain strong. I can’t fall apart; my baby deserves more from me than that.

  A shard of sunlight from the apartment window bathes my stomach in light and I rub gentle circles over where my growing child is safely nestled in an effort to comfort myself. It’s days like these when I miss the rain; the kind of rain that drives relentlessly against the window pane, giving you excuse to seek refuge in and lock yourself away from the world with a cup of tea and a bar of chocolate. When the weather matches my mood.

  After I eventually got home from Del’s last night, I’d spent a few hours tossing and turning while sleep evaded me. Everything Alex said swirled round and round my head; I tried to make sense of it, to justify it yet all I did was raise my stress level. The images of my husband fucking a faceless, nameless woman tormented me for hours.

  In the end, I got of bed and turned on the laptop in a desperate bid to quieten my mind. I thought I could quell my fears, that maybe I was being silly, that I was wrong in my assumptions about Alex. So, I distracted myself for a while shopping, updating my social media - anything and everything that I could until the dissenting voices, voices that told me that I was putting off the inevitable, became so loud that I gave in and attempted to access Alex’s personal email.

  Now here’s the thing - we have always been completely open with each other. He knows my passwords to all my online accounts, he has access to my bank accounts, email, my phone; you name it. I thought the same went for him. We’ve always sworn to be brutally honest with each other. Nothing is hidden, ever. I’ve always blindly placed my trust in him; there’s never been a reason not to, until now.

  What is it that my nanna used to say? If you don’t want trouble, don’t stir up a hornets’ nest. I wish I’d listened to her advice when I decided to go poking around.