As we appraise each other, I expect her to say more, but she doesn’t. She simply continues to circle me, getting closer with each round. Is this supposed to be an intimidation tactic? To stalk me like her prey? Slowly approaching to decrease chase distance and time? There’s no need for that. I may have been crazy enough to get involved with Gil, but that stupidity stopped when a whack job waved a gun at me. No way will I move from this spot, regardless of how loud the fight-or-flight instinct screams I should.
“Nia, right?” she asks and finally comes to a stop in front of me.
As if this bitch doesn’t know my name. She knew enough to be here waiting on me, so she certainly knows who I am.
“Nothing to say?” she asks. “You sure had a lot to say when you were texting my husband. You know—the man who claims to love you more than he’s ever loved me.”
I lock eyes with the wife of the man I’ve fallen for in a way I can’t explain. Then I shift my attention to the weapon—to the shiny silver metal she’s holding in the cusp of a nervous hand, and then to the manicured finger curved over the trigger.
In a normal situation, I would challenge her—tell her she’s a joke of a woman. And that she deserves every worry my presence has added to her life. But this is not a normal situation. One wrong word, one mistaken glance, and my life could be over.
“I think you have me mistaken with someone else because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She cocks her head. “Is that so?”
“Yes, it is so.”
“So your name isn’t Nia Fitson?” she asks.
“It is, but one thing doesn’t necessarily equate the other.”
“And you have no recollection of communication with Gildardo Botelho?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Not very smart to lie when someone is holding a gun to your chest.”
“I’m not lying. You’ve got the wrong person. I don’t recall communicating with anyone by that name.”
“Well, maybe I can refresh your memory.”
She pulls her phone from her back pocket and slides a finger over the screen. “Ah, here we go—a conversation between you and my husband on February 6th.” She runs her gaze over me again before she starts to read.
Nia: Bom dia, Papi.
Gil: Bom dia, Mami. How are you?
Nia: I’m good. How are you?
Gil: I’m good.
Nia: Did you go to bed thinking about me?
Gil: Of course I did.
Nia: Were you thinking about how badly you want to give all of your come to me?
Gil: Oh, yes, Mami! And how much I want to come in all of your holes.
Nia: Omg!! I love my dirty Brazilian!! My pussy is clenching after reading that.
Gil: I want your pussy clenching with my hard cock inside it.
Nia: You drive me crazy, baby!
Gil: I wanna drive you crazy when I slide my cock inside your mouth and then pull your head against it.
Nia: Omg! What are you trying to do?
Gil: Nothing. I’m an angel.
Nia: Omg. You’re no angel.
Gil: Lol. I wanna drive you crazy when I bend you over, spit in your ass, slide my hard cock inside your tight little hole, grab a handful of your hair, and then lean down to kiss your back.
Nia: Omg, Gil!!!! You have no idea what you are doing to me!
Gil: Okay. I’m gonna stop. Lol.
Nia: No, you aren’t. Besides, why would you? I know you love it as much as I do.
Gil: But before I stop, I wanna finish rubbing my cock against your clit and then move up to your boobs and have you stroke me until I come on them.
Nia: You want to come on my breasts?
Gil: Yes, I do. And then in your mouth. And then in your pussy. And then in your ass.
Nia: That’s a lot of come, Papi. Sounds as if you’re going to be fucking me for hours…
Gil: Yes, I am.
Nia: You promise?
Gil: Yes, I do. I wanna fuck you until your pussy is numb.
“Does any of that sound familiar?” Maricel asks, looking up from the screen.
How the fuck did she get those texts? Gil swore he’d been extra careful. And hell yes, it sounded familiar. Even amid this terrifying scenario, Gil’s words have an effect that resonates between my thighs. But instead of a confirmation, I try my hand at denial. “No, it doesn’t.”
“Sticking with the lie, huh? Where’s your phone? Maybe we can take a look at the dick pics he’s sent or the video he sent jerking himself off for you.”
“I have nothing to do with you and your relationship with your husband. If you have a problem with him, I suggest you take it up with him.”
“No, bitch,” she says and takes a step toward me. “I’m taking it up with both of you.”
“He made vows to you, not me.”
“Oh, so, you think that makes what you did okay? Because it fucking doesn’t. Every day since finding out about you, I’ve been living with his betrayal. Knowing that he’d rather be with you than me. That he wakes up with you on his mind. Messaging you when he’s at home, when he’s in our bed, when he’s in the shower, when he’s at work, even when he’s out with me—it’s you who’s on his mind. Do you know what that has done to me? And the things he’s said to you—I can recite a few of his messages by heart. Wanna know why?”
I don’t answer her question—not because I think it’s rhetorical, but because I don’t give a fuck. It’s not my fault she became nothing more than a roommate to her husband.
“Ask me why,” she demands as she lifts the weapon to my face.
“Why?” I ask, my voice small as the tip of the gun presses into my forehead.
“Because I read them every night, memorizing every syllable as I cry myself to sleep.”
Angry tears roll down her cheeks as she presses closer.
“Nothing to say now?” she asks. “No words about how I’m a horrible selfish bitch who doesn’t deserve Gildardo’s love?”
Realizing there’s no point in lying to someone who clearly knows the truth, I try a different approach. “Can we talk without the gun pointing in my face? I think if we sit down and have a conversation woman to woman, that we can—”
“That we can what? That we can talk about how I don’t deserve Gil? That you can convince me you’re better for him than I am? That you can tell me I’m a piece of shit wife? Isn’t that what you’ve spent the last several months convincing him of?”
“No. I want to tell you about myself. About my story. About how I got here.”
TWO
MARICEL SCOFFS. “DO you think I give a fuck about you? And I think it’s pretty clear why you’re here—to steal what doesn’t belong to you.”
“That’s not true.”
“Shut up. Do you take me for an idiot?” she asks, stepping backward and gripping the gun with both hands. “You’re the reason my husband looks at me like he hates breathing the same air as me. You’re the reason my marriage is over. You’re the reason these landed on my desk today.” She reaches in her jacket pocket and pulls out a thick wad of papers and tosses them at me.
The document lands at my feet, face up. I steal a quick glance at the paperwork, and my eyes widen. I can’t believe it. He’s divorcing her. But if that were the case, why did he end things with me?
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” she asks. “To get him away from me?”
My eyes dart from her face to the revolver. “I had no idea he was doing this.”
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
I don’t reply.
“Answer me. Do you?”
“No. I don’t. But I swear I didn’t know anything about this.”
“And I should believe you? The lying whore who’s been fucking my husband?”
“It’s true,” I say, hoping she’ll consider the possibility that I’m being honest; Gil never said a word about divorce.
She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “Stop lying
.”
“I’m not ly—”
“I said stop before I put a bullet in your head!”
Her threat forces me to swallow the mix of bravado and adrenaline that kick in each time she says something that pushes a button. I fall quiet and try to come up with a different approach, yet nothing comes to mind. At least nothing that will get me out of this predicament.
“You so willingly commit adultery, yet you’re being honest with me now? Yeah, right. I don’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth. You’re a filthy, lying whore.”
I instinctively react to her words, taking an involuntary step toward her.
“Go ahead. I dare you,” she prods. “I’d like nothing better than one more reason to make you suffer.”
I grit my teeth and take a step back.
“Or maybe I should just get this over with. Maybe I should make you strip down to nothing,” she says, stepping close enough for the barrel of the gun to touch my chest. “And since you like hard things between your legs, maybe I should slide this gun into your dirty little pussy,” she adds, as she drags the metal over my shirt and then circles my nipple with it. “Then pull the trigger and let you see what an explosion really feels like.”
This bitch is really crazy. “I’m telling you the truth. I swear.”
“Just a little advice—this will go down better if you stop with the lies.”
“What will go down better?” I ask. “What do you intend to do?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out. Now have a seat,” she says, gesturing toward the corner of the room.
Whatever Maricel has planned, she won’t do it quickly—she’s going to play this out. She wants me to feel fear. Of that much, I’m certain. I follow her gaze to a chair positioned beside a small table in the rear of the living room. On the tabletop are rolls of tape and several lines of rope. She’s out of her fucking mind if she thinks I’m going to let her tie me up.
“I’m fine right where I am.”
She lifts the gun and flashes a smile that sends a chill down my spine. “You’re fine when I say you’re fine. Now move,” she orders.
I stare at her, reluctant to do as she says. I swear, if she didn’t have that gun, I’d show her exactly what I thought of her and that smart mouth. I hesitantly turn toward the far side of the room and move to the corner. She follows closely behind as I scan the space in front of me, looking for an escape, or at least a way to get to my phone and dial 911.
“Sit down,” she says when I come to a stop in front of the chair.
“Look, I understand you’re angry… and hurt, but holding me here isn’t going to solve anything. Before things get too far out of hand, why don’t you step back and let me walk away.”
She pokes the gun into my back. “I said, sit down.”
Slowly, I spin around to face her and continue my plea.
“I’ll disappear, and you and Gil can get back to whatever it was you had before I came into the picture. Doesn’t that sound better than—”
“Better than what? Than blowing your brains out?”
I glance at the revolver and then back at her. “Think about it. I’ll be out of the picture. I was the problem, right? Everything was fine before I came along.”
“So you do admit it was you my husband was texting?”
“Yes. We both know it was me, but if I’m no longer an issue, the two of you can get back to the happy marriage you brag about on Instagram. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Shut up and sit down,” she yells, her hand trembling as she shoves the gun in my face. “I won’t repeat it again.”
I take a few paces back and then sit in the chair.
She steps to the side and uses the gun to point at the items on the table. “Grab the rope and tie it around your ankles.”
“I’m not doing that.”
A flash of anger crosses her face. “You damn well will do it,” she says, her voice raised. “Or I’ll splatter your brains all over that fucking wall.”
I don’t know how far she’s planning to take this, so I do the only thing that makes sense. I grab two pieces of rope and bend over to tie my ankles, all the while looking for an opportunity—for some way to get out of this mess. “Now what?” I ask when I’ve secured both ankles to the legs of the chair.
She steps to the table and snags the longer piece of rope and then moves behind me. “Place your hands on the back of the chair.”
I think about what I could do with my hands while they’re still free—reach for the gun, grab her by the throat, push her to the floor. Each of those maneuvers could result in a gunshot. I settle into the hope that Gil will be here soon, and I tell myself it’s best to play along until he arrives. I resign to becoming her prisoner as she ties my hands behind my back and tapes my mouth shut.
Maricel walks around to the front of the chair and stares down at me.
“Do you have any idea how it feels to see the man you love pull away from you more and more with every passing day? Or to see messages on his phone to a woman that he says he loves more than he loves you. To read the words that he has never felt for any woman the way he feels for you? Do you have any idea what goes through a woman’s head when she sees shit like that? Do you?”
Sensing she expects some type of response, I shake my head.
“There’s one particular message that literally makes me sick to my stomach. Gil sent it to you on October 29th.
If you and I were married, I would never look for anyone outside my marriage. I think we are the missing parts to each other. Thank you for coming into my life and for making my days brighter and happier. I really meant it when I said I wish I’d met you years ago, before meeting my wife. I truly wish that we’d belonged to each other back then. We would be tremendously happier than we are in our current situations.
I remember that message just as clearly as she does. My heart was in my throat when I’d read it, so I can only imagine how she must have felt when she saw it. I watch as the pain plays out on her face, and as much as I feel she doesn’t deserve Gil, I can’t help but pity her.
But like my husband, this is Maricel’s doing. She stopped caring about anyone other than herself, and in doing so she turned the marriage into a roommate situation. For years, she neglected her husband’s physical and emotional needs. Why would anyone expect a happy marriage if it’s void of sex, love, and intimacy?
With her sleeve, she wipes the trail of tears from her cheeks. “Why? Why couldn’t you have just made things work with your own damned husband?”
Before she can say more, the apartment door opens and closes then a voice rings through the space. “Nia, sorry I’m running late. Where are you, babe?”
Thank goodness—Gil’s finally here. When he’d asked me to meet him at his place to talk, I didn’t consider anything that could be awaiting me other than him. He’d arranged everything—the first-class flight to Boston, the chauffeur, and the key to his apartment that had been left for me at the concierge. Was his plan to tell me about the divorce? To tell me he wanted to follow his heart after all?
Maricel rips the tape off my mouth and leans in. “Answer him,” she whispers. “And don’t try anything unless you want me to pull the trigger.”
“I’m… uh… in here. I’m in here,” I call out.
“I’m so glad you made it, Mami,” Gil says as he steps into my line of vision.
Gildardo Botelho. In the flesh. This is the guy I’ve been pining over. The guy whose words alone brought me to multiple successive orgasms. His eyes dart to mine, and for mere seconds, I see the delight in his expression.
“Hello, Gil,” Maricel says. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it in time.”
His gaze shifts to the image stepping from the shadows. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She raises the gun to his eye-level. “I’m righting a wrong. And sense you’re the central piece to this threesome, I want you to have a front-row seat to the last seconds of your
whore’s life.”
“Have you lost your mind? Give me that.” He hurries toward her, his hand outstretched as he reaches for the weapon.
“Stop,” she warns, her hand quivering as she points the firearm at him. “Don’t come any closer, or I swear I’ll shoot.”
Gil stops in his tracks and reassesses the situation, glancing at me and then back at his wife. This is my first time seeing him face-to-face, so I’m not privy to his expressions, but in this case, I don’t have to be. His eyes reflect the fear I feel in the pit of my stomach—we’re both in danger, and there isn’t anything he can do about it.
THREE
“YOU DON’T WANT to do this,” Gil says, his tone pleading.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Maricel replies. “I’ve pictured this moment for months. This is exactly what I want to do. It’s exactly what the two of you deserve.”
I look at Gil and think of our communication, of how I initially disliked him, and of how I’d wanted to blow him off… but his persistence didn’t let me. I sit in the chair, restrained and frightened as I study the two of them, as I watch him attempt to talk her down. He’s smooth, just as smooth now as he’d been when we were 800 miles apart. The Portuguese accent always did me in, and even now, it does crazy things to me. Tack on the light brown eyes, strong jaw, and the full lips I’d imagined gliding over my body, and I’ll dissolve into a puddle right here. How fucked in the head am I to think of my desires when my only concern should be getting out of here alive? That’s what happens to a woman who’s been neglected by her husband for over a decade. A woman who’s starved for love and affection. A woman who’s damaged and broken from a marriage that always made her feel less than.
As I continue to study Gil—his demeanor, his bravery, his persistence—I see the man I’d once wanted. The man I still want. I notice how his tone softens as he speaks to Maricel, and how she reacts almost immediately, readjusting her position and lowering the gun. It’s just a smidge, but it’s better than aiming it directly at me… or at Gil.
I continue to study him, how he’s dressed, the way his clothes bolster the swagger I’d fallen for. I could even smell his cologne—the two-hundred-dollar bottle of Mr. Wonderful. As was typical for him, he was wearing a baseball cap—Boston Red Sox. And as was also typical for him, he didn’t wear it right. It sat too far back on his head but that didn’t matter. He was still the hot and sexy Brazilian I couldn’t get enough of, and I could see why Maricel lost her shit at the thought of anyone else having him, even if in essence she really doesn’t have him herself. At least not in the way a wife should—and not in the way Gil needs.
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