This is a work of fiction.
I woke up alone in bed. Again.
For being such a light sleeper I wondered and resentfully applauded his ability to sneak away without a sound. Two years of sneaking around in motel rooms and the back seat of his van. Two years! I did the math. We met once every three months for a couple of days. . . so yes, our affair was a solid one.
That word should have left a sour taste in my mouth but it didn’t.
I should feel guilty but I didn’t. I never believed in what society thought relationships should be like anyway. Human beings weren’t wired to be with only one person forever. They were just good at pretending that they were okay with it.
It wasn’t like I loved him or anything. It was more like a craving. You know the feeling, when you go on a crash diet and suddenly smell pizza? Yeah, bye bye crash diet. That’s how I felt when I thought about him. He was tastier than a piece of dessert at the most expensive restaurant in your city. I was okay when he wasn’t around me. I never initiated any conversations or plans, I let him take the lead…because I didn’t want to let on how much I wanted him.
I put his pillow next to me and sighed. His scent was everywhere…on the pillow, the sheets, on me and my t-shirt.
I knew I should get up and get ready to go to work. But I couldn’t.
Today was different.
For the first time he’d slept over at my place…for the first time he had stayed till morning came. He’d left without saying goodbye but I didn’t mind. I knew it made it easier for both of us to walk away without getting emotional.
Otherwise we would feel tempted to cuddle and discuss any feelings that might be suppressed in our heads and hearts and that would be disastrous for our relationships.
I didn’t feel like getting up…so I decided to stay there for a bit.
In a long time…I decided to let myself think about him… about us and the time we’d spent together.
Because for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was the other woman.
To be continued….