by Daniel Hurst
I could have just left it. I could have changed personal trainers or even changed gyms, meaning I never had to see him again. But I didn’t because I needed to see him. I craved him. He was the only thing in my life that made me feel alive. So I carried on the sessions, and I carried on loving him even though it was cutting me up inside that he was going home to his wife every night while I was going home alone.
That was when I had an idea, and it was the idea that would change both mine and his life forever.
I decided to follow him home one evening. That was how I found out where he lived. That was how I saw his wife.
And that was where I had the idea to do something about her.
I can’t remember the exact moment the idea came to me, but when it did, I had felt an exhilarating rush because I knew that if it worked then it was going to potentially make everything that I wanted come true.
I went back online and posted an advert asking for an attractive and athletic woman who was willing to do one minute’s work for me in exchange for £200. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I got quite a few replies, and after asking a few of the women to send me their photos, I selected one and told her to meet me near Devon’s house. When she did, I was pleased to see that the woman had been honest in her description of herself and was both attractive and athletic, which was important because I needed her to look like somebody Devon would be interested in. Because she had been honest with me, I was then honest with her. I showed her the £200 and told her what she needed to do to get it.
She had to go and knock on Devon’s door and tell his wife that she had slept with him.
The woman had been a little surprised to hear what I wanted her to do, but I had made sure to flash the money again and reminded her that it could be hers if she did what I asked. So the woman agreed. She was to knock on the door, tell the woman who answered it that Devon had been her personal trainer and that they had slept together and that she was telling the wife because she felt guilty about it. Then all she had to do was walk away and she would get the money.
The woman did exactly what I asked of her, and I was happy to give her the money.
Then all I had to do was see what the fallout from her words would be.
It was a few days later, during my weekly gym session with Devon, when I noticed that he was a little quieter and less enthusiastic than normal. I had asked him if everything was okay, and he had tried to let me know that it was, but he had done a bad job of it, and that’s when he asked me for my advice. He told me that he had been arguing with his wife, and she was accusing him of something that he didn’t do. Did I have any suggestions as to how to make things better? I said that I did. I told him to be a man and go home and assert himself. Tell her the truth and let her know that she had to trust him, or their relationship could never survive.
I told him to do that because I knew that his wife would not be satisfied with something like that. How could she be? There was no way she could ever trust him fully again after what the woman at the door had told him. It was a few nights later, when I was making a check on Devon’s house, when I saw him packing his things into the back of the car. He was moving out. His wife had made him leave. She could clearly no longer trust him.
That meant their marriage was doomed.
Of course, I had no idea that my plan was going to work, but it did work and with Devon no longer attached to anybody, I was able to have another go at sparking his interest in me. I again asked him for a drink after one of our classes and he accepted the offer this time. Presumably, it was either that or go back on his own to wherever he was staying. One drink led to several, and by the end of the night, Devon was in my bed.
He ended up spending rather a lot of time in there while he went through the divorce process with his wife.
It had worked. I had snared my dream man. I had turned unrequited love into reciprocated love. I had proven all those people on the forums wrong. I wasn’t doomed after falling in love with the wrong person. I was lucky, and I had made it work.
It was one year later, just a few weeks after Devon’s divorce had been finalised, when he left my place early one morning to go to the gym. But he never made it. His car was struck by a drunk driver who had veered onto the wrong side of the road, and that was it. Devon was gone.
He would never have been on that particular road at that particular time if he hadn’t stayed over at mine. But I couldn’t think like that. I had loved him, and I had ensured that his last few months of life had been filled with love. But that didn’t change the fact that I was alone again.
I’d lost everything that I’d worked for. I felt helpless. But I had learnt one thing.
I had learnt how to get a person who wasn’t available.
I had created a system to test even the strongest of marriages.
All I had to do then was share it with the world.
26
REBECCA
It’s nice to no longer be alone in the house after spending most of the weekend on my own. Sam moved back in after we had finished at the pub and he had gone back to the hotel to gather up the few things that he had stored there. He had already paid for that night’s stay, but I’m sure he was more than happy to check out early and get back to his own bed. He’s lying in that bed right now waiting for me to finish up in the bathroom, and I wonder if he’s hoping that we are going to be doing a little more making up when I come to join him under the duvet. I guess we should. It’s only natural for a couple to talk things through first before getting physical to show that things are back to normal. But it will be the first time that I have been intimate with my husband since the suspicions of him being unfaithful first surfaced, and I’m not sure how I’m going to feel when we are in the moment.
Will I be fully engaged with him and able to enjoy myself like I used to? Or will my brain be filled with thoughts of that other woman and how Sam might have been intimate with her?
I pick up my electric toothbrush and go to turn it on, but the battery is flat, reminding me that I forgot to put it on charge when it ran out this morning. It’s hardly surprising that I forgot to do such a simple task when my mind was filled with more important things. I’ll just have to make do with brushing without the battery, using elbow grease instead of electricity to clean off the food and wine I consumed in the pub earlier today.
As I brush my teeth, I stare at my reflection in the mirror and notice how tired I look. It’s been a while since I had a good night’s sleep, and it’s showing. Hopefully, I’ll get a good eight hours tonight before work in the morning, but I won’t hold my breath. It’s not because I might be up late into the night making passionate love to my husband, nor is it because Sam might be snoring loudly when he falls asleep. It’s because my mind is at that stage where it’s so riddled with doubts and worries that it’s impossible to quieten my thoughts and achieve the peace of mind required to drift off into slumber. Even the glasses of wine I consumed today at the pub won’t help me much because my mind becomes even more active when I drink alcohol. As I finish up with my teeth and put the toothbrush onto the charger so that it’s more useful for me the next time I use it, I get one last glance at my haggard face and think about how ‘lucky’ Sam is to be getting to spend the night with me.
Walking back into the bedroom, I see him lying on his side of the bed. He has his hands behind his head and looks very much at home, which of course he is, but maybe he looks a little too comfortable considering that he has spent the last two nights in a hotel because of some troubling things that he can’t explain. But I’m probably just reading too much into things, and I know it’s unhealthy to do that. It’s also unfair on Sam as well because if I say that I am trusting him then I can’t be judging him or analysing his behaviour when he is just being himself. If he looks comfortable and casual in the bed, it’s because he is comfortable and casual, and not because he is feeling smug, or satisfied, or like he has gotten away with doing something that he shouldn’t have.
‘I
think I might have had one too many at the pub,’ Sam says to me as I take out my earrings and place them on my dresser table. ‘There’s nothing like starting the week with a mild hangover.’
I smile as I pick up a hairbrush and start to comb my hair. But Sam is clearly getting impatient for me to come and join him in the bed, and I see him wriggling in the reflection of the dresser table mirror before he tells me to come and join him.
‘One minute,’ I say, making sure to get my hair in a semi-decent state before I go and lie on my pillow, so it’s not got even more knots in it than it’s going to have in the morning.
‘I’ve missed you,’ Sam tells me, slurring his words slightly, which reinforces what he just told me about potentially having one too many drinks today. But I appreciate the sentiment, even if it is a little cheesy.
‘It’s only been two nights,’ I tell him. ‘And you called round yesterday to get some things.’
‘I know, but I still missed you.’
I smile and put down my hairbrush before heading over to my chest of drawers.
‘What are you doing now?’ Sam moans, clearly extremely eager to get his hands on me under that duvet.
‘I’m just getting my clothes ready for the morning.’
‘Leave it.’
‘No, you know that I like to get it done so I won’t wake you when I get up.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘It only takes a second.’
Sam lets out a deep sigh, but I carry on with what I’m doing because it really will only take a second. I’ve gotten into the habit over the years of getting out my clothes for tomorrow the night before. That’s because I get up earlier than my husband, sometimes even two hours before him due to how early I have to be on site some mornings, so it’s easier for me to do this than to be scrabbling around trying to do it quietly in the dark the next day. I always get out a pair of jeans, a pair of socks and a pair of knickers, as well as some kind of top, although it doesn’t really matter so much what the top looks like because it’s always covered up by my coat and my hi-viz jacket by the time that I get to the site anyway. I could just leave this until the morning like Sam says, but I’ll do it now so that it’s done and it’s one less thing to have to think about on a Monday morning.
Opening up the second drawer, I take out a top before opening the first drawer and rummaging inside for socks and knickers. I find a pair of black socks, and I place them on top of the chest of drawers with the top before going back into the drawer for the knickers. Any pair will do, I’m not going to be flashing them to anybody after all, and I’m just about to take out a rather large and unflattering pink pair when I notice the red panties in the drawer beside them.
I know instantly that they are not mine because I do not own a single pair of red panties.
Picking them up and holding them out in front of me, I get a better look at them, and it only confirms what I knew. They are definitely not mine. They are very skimpy and very sexy, and they are two things that the underwear in my drawer can never be called.
So if they’re not mine, who the hell do they belong to?
I dread the answer, but I have to have it, so I turn around and face my husband in the bed, holding up the pair of mystery knickers in front of me.
‘What the hell are these?’
Sam’s satisfied expression suddenly becomes more serious.
‘What?’
‘Who do these belong to?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about these!’ I say before throwing them at his face.
‘Hey!’ he cries as he gathers them up and looks at them.
‘They’re not mine. So who the hell do they belong to?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘No!’
‘How did they get in here? I sure as hell didn’t put them in here!’
‘Neither did I!’
‘Are they hers?’ I ask, almost before I’ve even had a chance to think the question through.
‘Who?’
‘Hers! That bitch that turned up on our doorstep last week! Do you they belong to her? Has she been in here?’
‘No, of course not!’
‘She’s been in here, hasn’t she! That’s how she knew where you lived. That lipstick was hers, and those knickers are hers too!’
‘Rebecca, calm down!’
‘Get out! I want you gone now!’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve only just come back.’
‘I don’t care. I can’t do this.’
‘Just take a second to think this through. If I had been cheating on you then why would I put that woman’s underwear in your drawer for you to find?’
‘I don’t know! You obviously made a mistake!’
‘I haven’t made a mistake because I’ve done nothing wrong!’
‘Then how did they get here?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Is that your answer for everything? The woman at the door. No idea. The lipstick on the shirt. No idea. Knickers in our bedroom. No idea!’
‘Rebecca, please, you need to calm down.’
Sam gets out of the bed and tries to come closer to me, but he is still holding the red panties in his hand, and the sight of them is making my blood boil.
‘I’ve been an idiot. I should have listened to that bitch when she told me what you had done. I should never have given you a chance.’
‘Something’s going on here. Somebody else has put these here.’
He holds up the knickers, but I lash out at them and send them flying away into the corner of the room.
‘She put them here!’ I say. ‘Right after she fucked you in our bed!’
Sam is clearly stunned at my outburst and choice of words, but I’m only saying what I’m thinking. But I need to get away from my cheating rat of a husband, and I need to do it now. But if he won’t go and get out of my sight then I will have to go somewhere myself so that I don’t have to look at him anymore.
Storming into the bathroom, I slam the door behind me and quickly lock it so that he can’t come in after me. I hear him trying the handle before banging on the door, but I ignore it and put the toilet lid down to take a seat on it.
‘Rebecca! Open the door!’ Sam calls out as he continues to knock, but I’m not planning on letting him anywhere near me.
Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
‘Just pack your things again and get out!’ I scream back at him.
‘I’m not going anywhere until you open this door and let me explain this.’
‘What is there to explain?’ I cry back before I feel my breath catch in my throat and a wave of nausea come over me.
Am I going to be sick? I think I might be, so I quickly get up off the toilet lid and open it up so that I’m prepared just in case.
The reason for my sudden sickness is that I feel like this is going to be the moment when Sam confesses to sleeping with that other woman and, in the process, destroys the whole concept of our marriage as well as the plans I had for the next forty years of my life.
This is it. This is the moment when the truth comes out.
This is the moment when my world comes crumbling down.
Is it any wonder I’m going to be sick?
‘I haven’t cheated on you, Rebecca. I swear.’
Sam’s words through the bathroom door are not a confession. Instead, they are a continuance of the same thing he has been telling me all week. Even now, after the evidence is becoming insurmountable, he still refuses to do me the decency of telling me the truth.
Who does he think I am?
‘Then how did those knickers get in here?’ I scream back at him. ‘Answer me that!’
‘I don’t know,’ he replies.
‘You’re going to have to do better than that!’
‘It’s the truth. I honestly don’t know, but I swear I’ve never seen them before!’
‘I’m sick of you swearing
things. I’ve had enough of it. Just go!’
The sickness has passed for the time being, but the tears are coming on strong now, and my eyes start stinging as I take several deep breaths and do my best not to have a nervous breakdown right here on my bathroom floor.
‘Rebecca. Please open the door,’ Sam tries again.
‘Just leave me alone!’
The volume of my voice and the venom in my words comes as a shock to me, but I guess it also comes as a shock to Sam because he stops trying the door handle.
Ten seconds later and I can hear him opening and closing the wardrobe door in the bedroom, which suggests that he is doing as I have asked and is packing up his things to make a return to that hotel. But I’m not going to go out and see him before he leaves. I’m going to stay in here until I hear the front door close behind him. Maybe I’ll stay in here all night, kneeling down on the bathroom floor with my arms resting on the toilet seat and my face over the bowl.
Why not?
It’s not as if I have anything to come out of here for anymore.
27
SAM
I’m getting a feeling of deja-vu as I stand in this hotel lobby and ask the woman behind the desk to provide me with a keycard so I can access my room. That’s because it was only a couple of nights ago when I checked in here after Rebecca had kicked me out the first time. Now I’m checking in again, although technically I’m not because I still have a room booked for tonight after assuming I would need it before my wife and I made up at the pub. But that reconciliation has already broken down again, and here I am, back at the hotel and back to square one.
‘Here’s your card, sir,’ the polite receptionist tells me as she slides the white keycard across the desk towards me.
She can probably see on the system that I already checked out early this afternoon, but she hasn’t bothered asking me why I’m back, which is a relief. It’s also a relief that my room is still available and they didn’t give it to somebody else because that would have been another problem for me and I’ve already got enough of those. Thankfully, the keycard is back in my hand and that means I can now go up in the elevators and get into my room where I can put my bags down and try and figure out what the hell I’m going to do next.
