Rafael Barba Imagines

Do You Love Her?

The sidewalk was twisting and tequila burned your throat, your limbs heavy and unmoving at your sides. The dull click of high-heels mingling with car horns and the late-night music flowing from pubs. Drunken men and women flowed out of bars onto the sidewalk, the tipsy women doing their best to fend off the stumbling men and their vile advances. You wove your way through the crowded sidewalk as muscle memory guided you blindly in the direction of your apartment.

A man staggered onto the pavement in front of you, clutching a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Your drunken brain at least knew to step around the man quickly and not look back. Before you could scuttle away, you felt a bear-like, sweaty hand place a painfully tight grip on your wrist.

"Hey there honey, where ya goin?" The pig of a man breathed into your face, almost eliciting a gag. You ripped your arm from his grasp and picked up your pace down the sidewalk. You'd spent enough nights on this street to know how to escape drunk guys, even the polite ones.

The nights at the bar down the street quickly grew beyond your ability to count them but you'd never once gone home with anyone. Each night began and ended the same: You'd arrive on your own in a plain dress and you'd leave wasted and alone. It wasn't that nobody sought out your company. In reality, several men and women alike approached you each night to try their luck. Much to their dismay, each night you went through the same motions: Sit, drink, leave.

A cab's blinding head lights brought you back to reality and your legs still moved of their own accord down the pavement until you reached a beautiful brownstone with a pretty iron gate. The proud building before you contrasted against your mussed up, hazy form. The brick structure was the quintessence of class and luxury. Your rancid breath, black cocktail dress and smeared makeup stood starkly against that classy image.

Black heels clicked against the steps as you slowly made your way to the dark, looming door. You knew better than to hope but in that moment, you said a quick prayer. Maybe he'll be home tonight... But you knew he wouldn't be.

Your manicured hands twisted the doorknob and stumbled inside. You flicked on a light switch, taking a moment to look at the room before you. Cream couch, priceless artwork hanging on the alabaster walls, a classic brick fireplace and timeless oak floors. The picture of luxury. And this was your life; hiding behind your perfect life and your perfect house and... your perfect husband. But none of it was perfect, and the tequila on your breath made sure to remind you of that.

Your shoes against the hard wood echoed against the white walls as you made your way to the kitchen, in search of the most expensive bottle of scotch you could find. You crossed the threshold to the kitchen and almost fell over in surprise. He was standing there in the kitchen; red tie loosened, jacket and vest removed and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was facing away from you and fiddling with the coffee machine. You snuck a glance at the clock hanging above the fridge. 2:06. Your eyes resumed staring at his back since he still had not noticed your presence.

Before your mind could catch up to your mouth, your tequila tainted song blurted out, "Where were you?" He barely glanced backwards at you before facing towards to coffee machine again.

"I was at the office. I'm working on a big case." He spoke the words harsh and monotone, as though he'd rehearsed them in his head more than a few times.

"That's funny, because I called Carmen at 8 and she said you left an hour ago." Once you could comprehend your own words, surprise struck you at how even and strong you'd spoken despite your intoxication.

He finally turned to look at you and his eyes raked over your body; judging you, disappointed in you. He doesn't get to do that, you thought.

"Yeah, Liv called me down to the station to help them with this case." Again, so harsh. Does he think I'm that stupid?