Anthology - A Collection of Fanfic One-Shots

CHEATING

"How did you like the chicken?" Tom asked as he collected our plates to clear them.

"I want a divorce."

He stopped his movements and frowned. "It wasn't that bad. Was your piece dry? I marinated the damn thing for..."

"I want a divorce," I reiterated, looking into his face as he began to realise I wasn't making a joke about the chicken. Surprise and confusion chased a path across his features; smooth high forehead, clear blue eyes I so often lost myself in, lips capable of such immense pleasure it brought me to my knees, cheekbones I could cut myself on and enough three-day chin scruff to leave a rash over every one of my erogenous zones.

Seconds later a heavy scowl darkened his handsome visage as he muttered. "That's not funny, Meg."

His eyes bored into mine; I didn't flinch or turn away. "It's not meant to be funny, Tom. I'm not messing with you – as far as I'm concerned this marriage is over."

"What? Why?" he croaked.

"I'm sick of your whoring around," I told him bluntly, seeing with satisfaction the shock and horror in his eyes.

"You...you know about that?" At least he didn't try to deny it.

I grunted. "I've always known about it." Lowering himself down onto his seat and setting the plates back on the table, he seemed stunned. "Every time you went away I wondered who you were picking up – a waitress? Barmaid? Air hostess? Somebody from work?" I couldn't interpret the look he gave me. "Did you screw someone every single trip, Tom, or was there the odd occasion you were faithful?"

"Meg, I...I don't know what to say."

"The truth would be nice. Are you capable of that? You've lied to me every single day since we met. I knew you were still seeing other women while we were dating but when you proposed to me I told myself I was special, that you would settle down and commit to me alone." I was trying to maintain a calm façade while inside my heart pounded, heating the blood coursing through my veins. I took deep breaths, feeling my face flush.

"Darling, I..."

"Don't call me that," I interrupted. "You haven't earned the right to call me that."

"I'm your husband."

"No," I shook my head. "You're not my husband. A husband would have honoured the vows he made to me and done everything in his power to make me feel like I was the most precious thing in his life; that he couldn't live without me. You...you're just the man I was blindly foolish enough to marry."

He must have heard the controlled violence in my voice for he blushed and looked down at the table. I noticed his long slender fingers were picking at a corner of the pale green linen napkin he'd set aside earlier. Is he nervous?

"I'm sorry," is all he said.

"Sorry for what?" I asked, genuinely interested.

"Sorry for hurting you," came his unbelievable reply.

"No, you're not," I snorted, my voice becoming louder as I continued. "If this were a one-off occurrence I might believe that, but your actions over the past three years are not those of a man who doesn't mean to hurt me. You didn't accidentally fall into all those women's vaginas Tom, it was a deliberate act of betrayal each and every time – so don't try to feed me any bullshit about being sorry."

We sat without words for a while. Finally, "How did you know?"

"Does it matter?" I sighed, closing my eyes and taking his silence as acknowledgement that it didn't.

"Why now?"

That was something I had asked myself so many times. Why now? Why had I waited until our second anniversary to finally cut the ties and opt to leave? "At first I told myself you were young and exuberant, just sowing your wild oats and that you would get it out of your system," I spoke softly, as if relaying the information to myself for the thousandth time. "When we got married I was sure you'd stop, that the promise of fidelity you made would mean something to you. Eventually I began thinking there was something wrong with me, that I wasn't enough of a wife for you – so I set about improving myself. I cut back my work hours so I'd be home to cook your dinner every night when you weren't out of town. I took the gourmet cooking lessons and flower arranging classes and spent hours cleaning to prove I was a good housewife. When those made no difference I started buying the sexy lingerie, thinking I needed to be more alluring."

"You are sexy in those; it turns me on just thinking about you in that black lacy corset with the garter belt and sheer stockings..."

"I knew you liked them; it certainly got me more attention and for a few weeks I thought finally I had you all to myself...then I found lipstick on your collar and smelled perfume on your clothes." It wasn't enough; I wasn't enough. I never seemed to be enough. "When I was desperate I began watching porn to find new ways of pleasuring you sexually, trying to compete with whatever you got from other women that I wasn't giving you."

"Christ! Is that how you learned to..."

"But it wasn't enough, was it Tom? No matter what I tried, you just couldn't keep it in your pants. And finally I began to realise that there was nothing wrong with me at all, that I wasn't a bad girlfriend or wife or sexual partner – the problem was you."

He squirmed in his seat, looking like he wanted to contradict me.

"You're a lying, cheating, despicable bastard of a man-whore and I regret every day I've wasted loving you," I told him, rising from my seat at last.

"I can change," he spluttered, rising also. "I love you Meg, I don't want you to leave." He came around the table and tried to wrap his long arms around me but I backed away and blocked him.

"No Tom." I shook my head again. "Even if I believed you love me – which I don't – I've suffered enough heartache at your hands and I'm not willing to go through any more." I walked to the hall closet, where I'd stored a packed suitcase and my bag and coat. "I'll come in next week when you're in Thailand and collect the rest of my things and I'll leave my keys on the kitchen counter. My lawyer will be in touch about the divorce." I moved toward the door.

"Megan, please! This can't be it. You still love me; you know you do." Once more he attempted to get close but I thwarted him by quickly manoeuvring the suitcase between us.

"Tom," I told him in a steady voice, capturing his gaze so he would see how much I meant the words I was about to say. "Nothing you can say or do will make me change my mind. As far as I'm concerned, I don't want to see your face or hear your name ever again." I removed my wedding and engagement rings and handed them to him, then turned and left, closing the door firmly behind me and taking a deep breath, equal parts scared and exhilarated, before taking the first steps of my new life.

"Cut! That's a print. Tom, Sarah – brilliant work."

Everyone on set clapped as Tom came through the door behind me, winding his arms around my waist and kissing my neck. "Darling, I...God, you're amazing."

I turned in his arms, finding tears glistening on his cheeks. "Sweetheart..." I wiped them away with my thumb then ran my fingers through his hair before kissing him, not caring if our make-up had to be re-done.

"Get a room you two!" Barry, our Assistant Director, teased as he went past.

We broke apart, laughing, then had to move as people swarmed all over the set, relocating props to get ready for the next scene.

"We have to change," I reminded Tom.

His brows wiggled and he winked. "I believe your clothes are in that trailer to your left, Mrs Hiddleston."

I smiled, kissing his jaw before replying. "I think I might need some help with changing, Mr Hiddleston."

"Lead the way," he growled, pinching my bum as I turned to head to our trailer.

"Oh God," I heard Barry mutter, "Don't rush everyone; I think our stars might need a little time to get ready."

"Nonsense," Tom's voice sounded deep and low right against my ear. "I'm ready right now."