My Time in the Affair

by Stylo Fantome

  Tal went down to the lobby and seated himself in a cushioned chair. Clenched and unclenched his fists. He and Mischa had come up with a plan, and originally, Tal would have left in an hour or two anyway. He'd booked a room at a different hotel. They figured it was safer that way, in case something happened and Mike refused to leave. Mischa absolutely did not want the two men meeting. It would be bad enough hurting Mike; she didn't wanna rub Tal in his face, and she didn't trust herself or Tal to keep away from each other if they were in the same hotel.

  But Tal couldn't leave. Not yet. He kept his sunglasses on and picked up a newspaper. Read it forwards and backwards. Kept glancing at the elevator.

  What are they doing up there!?

  The problem with existing in Mischa's “timeless place” – fifteen minutes felt like an eternity, but that was all the time that elapsed between Tal leaving her floor, and the couple entering the lobby. He peered over the top of the newspaper, watching them pass in front of him.

  He wondered how Michael could be so clueless. It would have been obvious to anyone with eyes and a brain that there was some sort of problem between the two. Michael strode across the lobby, all eager and excited to hit the town, almost marching in his haste to make it outside.

  Mischa moved much slower, more languidly, and she didn't look excited at all. She looked somewhere between annoyed and going-to-her-own-funeral. She had a fedora shoved down low on her head, covering hair that looked damp, and she wore a large pair of sunglasses. Her dress was long and simple enough, but the thin material clung to her curves, and she held it up and away from her feet as she walked. So graceful. So beautiful. So out of place with the other man.

  They don't even look like they're together. At all. Just two strangers who shared an elevator. That poor man. That poor girl.

  ~Well, I Didn't See That Coming~

  Mischa glanced at her cell phone, then glanced at her husband. Jet lag had knocked him out, like a baby. He was even still wearing his clothes, stretched out on top of the covers, snoring away.

  She chewed on her bottom lip, debated whether or not to answer the incoming call, then grabbed the phone and tiptoed across the suite. She slowly opened the door, wincing at how loud it sounded. But when she glanced at the bed, Mike was still out cold. She slid out of the room and eased the door shut.

  It was an all out dash after that; she ran to the other end of the hall, answering the phone as she went.

  “Hello?” she panted, stopping when she got to a wall.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Tal demanded. She grimaced. He sounded pissed.

  “Nothing, I just snuck out of the room,” she whispered, pacing back and forth, staring at the door she'd just left.

  “You wouldn't have to sneak out if he wasn't there,” Tal snapped.

  “I know, I know,” she groaned.

  “What the fuck happened to the plan!?”

  “It's still the plan!” she snapped back. “It's just … delayed, alright!?”

  “No! No, not fucking alright! Grow a backbone, Mischa!”

  “Hey! I'm trying! This is hard for me, and you're not exactly making it any fucking easier!” she hissed.

  “Well, excuse me, but I'm already very aware of how shitty you are at dealing with difficult situations. Why is he still there?” Tal asked. She chose to ignore his “shitty” comment.

  “Because, I didn't get a chance to say anything yet,” she started. She could hear him take a breath, a big one, probably so he could yell at her, and she barreled right through him. “He wanted to see all these touristy sights, and I couldn't exactly dump him at the Grotta di Fornillo, knee deep in tourists!”

  “Did you spend all fucking day there?” Tal's voice was snide.

  “No, but we did go just about everywhere else. The man can walk for days, Tal. I had to beg for lunch. Then he wanted to fill me in on everything that's gone on at home – everything I've missed out on because I was avoiding his phones calls for somebody else,” she threw back at him. If he was going to make her feel like shit, then he should feel that way, too.

  “Don't you put this shit on me. You spent all day together. You walked around. You talked. All things that were in the original plan,” he pointed out. Mischa rolled her eyes.

  “Sometimes plans go differently when they're put into motion!”

  “No. No, they don't. I live my life by plans, and you know what? You make a plan, you follow a plan, you execute a plan. So far, you've only accomplished step one,” he informed her.

  “You know what? Whatever, it's too late. Bitch all you want, the day is done, it's after ten o'clock. Tomorrow, I promise,” she swore to him.

  “Did you fuck him?”

  She was shocked.

  “Is that a real fucking question!?” she demanded.

  “Of course it is. You cheated on him with me, who's to say you won't cheat on me with him!?”

  She felt as if she'd been slapped. She yanked the phone away from her ear and hung up.

  How the fuck could he say that to me!? How dare he fucking say that to me! Who the fuck does he think he is!? What the fuck does he think is happening between us!?

  Mischa clenched her teeth together and let out a mock shriek, pacing double time between the walls.

  It's a very valid point. You're the bad guy here. Not Mike. Not Tal. Just you. Don't get angry. Understand where he's coming from, and move past it.

  When her phone rang, she answered it.

  “I'm sorry,” Tal immediately said, his voice even and flat.

  “I'm sorry, too,” she managed to respond in an equally even, flat tone.

  “Fuck, Misch,” he groaned, the flatness falling away. “I'm just … I know it's hard for you, I know. But it isn't exactly fucking easy for me, knowing you're up there with him. Knowing he's gonna sleep next to you tonight. What if he touches you!? What if he wakes you up the way I woke you up!? I'll fucking kill him.”

  “Stop it, no you won't. And he won't do that, either, he's not like that. And even if he randomly decided to be, I won't let him. I promise you. You and me, right? You said that. You said it,” she reminded him.

  “I know, I know. It's just … hard.”

  They were both silent for a while and Mischa put her back against the wall before sliding down it, lowering herself so she sat on the floor.

  “When I came to Italy,” she started, her voice thick. “I had my plan. But nothing went according to that plan. When I slept with you, that didn't go according to plan. Nothing has gone the way I thought it would, and nothing was easy like I thought it would be.”

  “That's not true,” his voice was soft.

  “All of it's true,” she sighed.

  “Falling for you was the easiest thing I've ever done,” he whispered. She managed a watery smile and picked at the edge of her dress.

  “Yeah. Yeah, there's that,” her voice was barely above a breath.

  “Promise me you'll talk to him tomorrow,” the hard edge was back in Tal's voice. She nodded.

  “I promise. I've already told him that after breakfast we're going to the beach. Nothing else, no other stops, just the beach,” she assured him, running her fingers up her leg and clasping her knee.

  “If I don't hear from you by noon, I'm gonna call the room,” Tal warned her.

  “I don't appreciate being threatened,” she snapped.

  “I don't appreciate being shoved into the background.”

  Touché, Mr. Canaan.

  “Alright, alright. If you don't hear from me by noon, feel free to call. Would it make it easier if you had his cell phone number?” she couldn't keep the sarcasm from dripping off her words.

  “I already have it. Noon.”

  Then the line went dead.

  How does he know everything!?

  *

  Mischa's foot tapped out a staccato beat on the cobblestones. She chewed on her bottom lip and tugged at a lock of hair. A blind person would've been able to tell how nervous she was; Mike just ke
pt shoveling eggs into his mouth.

  “Hey, wanna go for a run on the beach?” he asked.

  “Huh?” she hadn't been paying attention to him.

  “A run, on the beach. You said you wanted to go to the beach,” he reminded her.

  The beach. The beach where I might have fallen in love. The beach where I'm going to end our love. I'll never be able to go to a beach again.

  “Oh. Yeah. No, no running, Mikey,” she told him. He glanced over his sunglasses at her.

  “Remember how gung ho you were about exercising before you left,” he said in a careful voice.

  “Excuse me!?”

  “I'm not trying to be a dick, babe, but you were so determined to lose weight. You don't wanna gain it all back while you're here,” he pointed out. She sat up and put her hands on her hips.

  “Are you implying that I've gained weight?” she asked, glaring at him.

  “No. Well, I mean, maybe a couple pounds, which is fine, you look fine. But it only takes a couple more on top of that, and then you're right back where you were,” he warned her.

  Fuck this.

  “Are you done?” she snapped, standing up from the table.

  “What? I just started, I -,”

  Mischa walked away from the table.

  He caught up to her outside, laughing and giving her a quick sideways hug.

  “C'mon, sweets, don't be mad at me,” he begged in his baby voice, kissing the side of her neck. She resisted the urge to push him away.

  He still thinks your skin belongs to him because you haven't told him that you gave it to someone else.

  “I'm not, Mikey,” she assured him, then let him hold her hand. Link their fingers together.

  They chatted some more as they made their way to the beach. He talked about all the things he wanted to do while he was in Italy, and how excited he was that he was sharing the experiences with her. Mike had never traveled out of the United States. He didn't like to fly, and he'd once said he had no particular desire to travel. It was one of the reasons why they never went on vacation. Never even had a real honeymoon. Mike was a homebody.

  “This is so beautiful,” he groaned, letting go of her hand and jogging up to the water. Mischa trailed behind him and stopped a ways back. Glanced to her right, to an outcropping of rocks that hid a special beach. A special secret.

  “It is,” she whispered.

  “And I'm so glad I'm here with you,” he added, turning back towards her.

  She smiled as he walked up to her. She had missed him, in her own weird, fucked up way. She enjoyed talking to him sometimes, he could be so funny. She had missed that. She would miss it so much.

  “Mikey, there's something -,” she began.

  But she was cut off by him suddenly kissing her, wrapping his arms around her so tight, she found it hard to breathe. When he broke it off, she gasped for air, beyond bewildered.

  “God, I've missed you, Misch,” he moaned, kissing down the side of her neck.

  “What are you doing!?” she exclaimed, wiggling under his touch as his hands wandered down her body.

  “I know things have been weird at home, I know, but this time apart has made me think. We're gonna try, okay? We're gonna try. You put in all that work to get your body back, so I'm gonna be more attentive,” he told her, kissing his way to her ear.

  Wait … did he just imply that we weren't having sex because I'd gained weight!?

  “Mike, stop, I need to talk to you,” she said, pushing at his hands as they got grabbier.

  “We talk all the time. Shhhh,” he replied, then his tongue darted in her ear. She literally jumped.

  “What are you doing!?” she squealed, jerking her head away from him.

  “Spicing things up, trying something new,” he laughed.

  “Blech, you know I don't like that! Stop it!” she demanded as one of his hands ran over her breasts.

  “C'mon, there's hardly anyone out here. Let's be naughty,” he suggested, his other hand moving to her ass and holding her against him as he ground his hips back against her.

  “Let's not. I have to talk to you. Michael, stop,” she snapped, planting her hands on his chest and pushing. The use of his full name caught his attention and he finally leaned away.

  “What? Are you okay?” he asked, ducking his head to look her in the eye. All the flirtiness from a moment ago was gone, and Mischa got the feeling he was finally seeing her. Really looking at her.

  And it wasn't a pretty sight.

  “No, I'm not okay. Not at all. I have to talk to you, about something important. Something big,” she urged.

  “Oh god. This is gonna be one of those talks, isn't it?” he complained.

  Baby, you have no idea.

  “Just sit down,” she replied, before dropping to her butt. He sat in the sand next to her.

  “Okay, what's so important that it can't wait till after our amazing holiday?” he asked, his voice snide.

  Oh god. I can't do this. How am I going to do this?

  “Mikey, we've got some problems,” she started out slow.

  “I know, babe. I just told you that I want to work on them,” he said back. She swallowed thickly.

  “I know you said that, but … we've had these problems for a while, and … I just …,” she struggled for words.

  “What?”

  “Sometimes things aren't fixable,” her voice was so small, even she could barely hear it.

  “What do you mean? Of course they are. You've just been gone, it seems weird, we haven't seen each other in a month. Have we ever gone that long without seeing each other?” he pointed out. She shook her head.

  “It was weird before I left. It was weird before I even agreed to this job. It's gone too far. It's not fixable anymore, Mike,” she told him, staring down at her knees.

  “Wait,” his voice was serious and he turned to face her. “Wait, wait, wait. What are you saying, Mischa?”

  “I'm saying …,” her voice kept giving out.

  “Tell me you're not saying what I think you're saying,” he begged.

  “I am.”

  “No.”

  “Mike.”

  “No.”

  “Mike. Things haven't been right for a while, and you know it. You're unhappy, I'm unhappy. It's gone too far,” she tried to explain

  “No! No, we can fix this! Just come home, and we'll fix this, I want to fix this,” he told her.

  “I don't.”

  He gasped.

  “Are you saying you want out!?” he sounded completely shocked.

  “Yes.”

  “You want a divorce!?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jesus, Mischa, we've been together forever! Just like that!?” he was yelling now.

  “Not 'just like that'!” she yelled back. “This was a long time coming, Mike! I tried to talk to you about it! So many times! You always pushed it aside, or patronized me, or promised to change, or ignored me! So many times! Not 'just like that'!”

  “Baby, baby, baby, you're upset. I get it. Whatever is wrong, I'm sorry. Just please, come home. Things will be better at home,” he stressed.

  “They won't. Things were worse at home. I hate it at home. I'm sorry, Mike. God, I'm so sorry. You have no idea how sorry. I'm just so fucking sorry,” she started to cry.

  “You hate it at home!? How can you say that!? You're the best part of home! You're my best friend!” he shouted.

  “I should've been your wife!”

  Her shriek settled around them, caused a few lone people on the beach to look up.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, looking completely lost. She wiped at her eyes.

  “I've had a lot of time to think about this, Mike, and I think we've always been great friends. I hope someday we can be friends again. But I don't think we were ever … ever … we were never lovers,” she stressed, Tal's voice running through her head.

  “'Lovers'? Is this a joke?”

  “No. I wish it were. G
od, I wish it were. I just couldn't have this conversation over the phone with you. I had to tell you in person. I'm sorry,” she sniffled. Mike's hands went into his hair and he bent forward.

  “Had to tell me in person. In person. Why couldn't you come home? Why did I have to fly across the world!?” he demanded.

  “I'm sorry. I couldn't come home, I just couldn't. I'm so sorry, Mike, I'm so sorry,” she was having trouble breathing through her tears.

  Suddenly he was moving, shuffling across the sand. He practically tackled her, resting all his weight on top of her. She fell backwards, giving a muffled yell as he kissed her again. His tongue dove into her mouth, aggressive and rough, not his usual style. She twisted her head away.

  “Stop it!” she cried out.

  “You've just forgotten what it's like. You love me, Misch. I know you do. I know it,” he whispered, kissing her jaw and her cheeks and her eyelids.

  “I do love you, Mike. Just not that way. Stop it,” she repeated herself, pushing at his hands.

  “You do. And I love you. I love you,” he stressed, kissing his way down to her chest.

  “Stop it!” she shouted, pushing at him hard enough to knock him off of her. He looked shocked.

  “Jesus, what was that?” he asked, sitting up and examining his elbow. Misch sat up as well, folding her arms over her chest and drawing her knees up.

  “I told you to stop,” she replied.

  “I was just -,” he started, then broke off the sentence. Lifted his eyes to her. Stared at her. His mouth dropped open and she started shivering. But not in the good way.

  “I'm sorry,” she whispered.

  “You keep saying that. Why do you keep saying that!?” he demanded.

  “Because I don't want to hurt you,” she cried.

  “It's a little late for that! Why don't you want me to touch you, Mischa!? Why couldn't you come home, Mischa!? What the fuck is going on!?” Mike roared, jumping to his feet. She climbed to her feet right after him.

  “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Mike. Please, I'm sorry,” she babbled. He got up close to her, put his face right in front of her.

  “You cheated on me,” he hissed.

  Not a question. A statement. Fact.

  “I'm sorry,” she sobbed, putting her hands over her face.