The Affair

Prologue

As I sip slowly on my drink, I try count how many I've had, then look at the bottle that sits on my desk. It was brand new when I bought it at the liquor store last night and now it's only half full.

I should be writing, my publisher has been breathing down my neck about getting this book out, incessantly calling and emailing me. I can't blame him, though, because I keep pushing back the deadline. I just can't write anything worthwhile anymore, haven't been able to write for two years, and I don't see that changing anytime soon.

I close my eyes and take a drag from my cigarette, snuff it out into the ashtray as I exhale smoke, and slowly swivel my chair so that I'm facing the windows. I turn my floor lamp off, return to my chair, and stare across the park at her building.

I do this a lot, too much, sit in the darkness and stare across the small stretch of grass and trees. There's a light on, I can see it from here, and I wonder if she's there now. It's nearly four in the morning, so I'll assume she is... unless she's out with a new lover.

The thought makes me close my eyes, sigh slowly, and I finish my drink off.

Does she have a new lover?

Who is it? Someone I know?

Is he handsome?

Does she love him?

Is she with him now?

Does he make love better than me?

I place my thumb and index finger against the bridge of my nose, squeeze so hard that it hurts, and stand. All of those questions are none of my business, she hasn't been my business in over two years.

So why am I watching her building? Why do I still care? Why do I hate her, despise her, yet still love her so deeply that it hurts? I'm jealous of some man with no face, some person that I don't even know exists.

That was always the problem, wasn't it? My jealousy. My insecurities. My anger. My moodiness. All things I've never bothered to try to fix, things that are incapable of being fixed, things that have been a part of me for as long as I can remember. All of my imbalances are the reason she left, aren't they? That's what I've assumed because I've had no other choice. She got tired of it, so she moved on. That's what people are supposed to do, aren't they? You get tired of something, you leave it alone, you stop, you give it up.

But it was supposed to be different with us, wasn't it?

I shake my head as if that will stop these thoughts, but I know by now nothing is going to stop this... except for being with her again. And that possibility is long gone, she's made sure of that. It's not easy to keep her off my mind, no matter the time of day or night.

We usually saw each other during the day, except for when her husband would go out of town. Then we could have lunch, see a movie, go shopping, but only outside of the City. She was serious about us not being seen together, by paparazzi, or bumping into someone we might know. She didn't want to hurt her husband, even if she was hurting him and he didn't know it.

Without much more thought, I throw on the clothes I wore last night. By the door I grab my coat, then go down in the elevator.

I need to try to clear my head, get some fresh air. That's what I tell myself, at least. But I know what I'm doing. I'd never been one for going on long walks before her, not even while we were together, but it's become a habit now. To walk to the other side of the park and stare up at her building, wonder what she's doing, what she's thinking, how she's getting on without me.

Even with my peacoat and my wool suit on, I still get a chill as soon as I've stepped out of my building. It's begun to sprinkle sometime between me leaving my penthouse and coming down the elevator. I consider going back up to get an umbrella, but cross the street instead. There are few cars on the road at this hour, so I get across easily, and begin my walk.