The Love Affair

Chapter Eight

I didn't dare need to look in the mirror knowing the small redness inflaming the right side of my neck was no other than a fresh hickey. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe myself. What was wrong with me? I didn't object, I didn't even move a muscle in disgust. I was more than content. And now I had the trouble of trying to cover it, knowing that if Nick ever laid eyes on it, it would be a big time for me. For us. Shit, fuck, asshole, I cursed aloud. My stick of concealer would do justice but that didn't mean it completely rid of the evidence. I felt it. It burned. Not literally. But I knew it was there even if it was hidden. And, yes, I was brushing tonight under the carpet. My mouth would remain zipped. No one could know.

He knew what he was doing. It was obvious. He was teasing me like I was his prey. And I was gladly laying myself out in the open road for him. I can't help myself, can I? He's constantly on my mind and when I try to fester some courage to resist, I end up being snatched into his trap like a spider and a fly. But, it's so different. These feelings are unusual, they're not like how I felt or feel with Nick. My body screams, my heart begs, and my feet follow. My mind doesn't even seem it can come up with rational excuses anymore.

I detest my behaviour. At that moment, all I wanted to do was storm out the door and stomp on over to his and shout. But that was dangerous so instead I opted to bleed words onto paper. I headed to my study opening that document and went on a frenzy, writing. My fingers speeding across letters as I furiously let the emotions caged inside burst out. I developed the protagonist's lover further, making him a intense, growing tease, a silly infatuation and irresistible to the helpless protagonist, aggravated by her feelings towards him. I added along the lines how she was devoted to her husband and he (the guy next door) was just some silly flirt. At that point, I didn't care for the similar resemblance, I just wanted to let it out. I needed myself to know and he that I couldn't be controlled. I wasn't tempted, and this story wasn't to be my own.

With the raging monster of insomnia keeping me at bay from sleep, I heard the front door open. I was in bed lying on my side as I had been for the past two hours looking into thin air, and contemplating. I stopped writing at eleven finally feeling that I had released some of the stress. I glanced towards the bedside clock reading three am. It must have been Nick from the sound of the keys being turned in the door. If he was drunk, I probably needed to check on him in case, so I sat up and flung the duvet cover off my legs.

As expected when I looked down the stairs, I saw Nick struggling to take his shoe off. He was trying to take off his left laced shoe. If he wasn't careful, he was going to end up falling onto his bottom as I watched him hop around like a madman, swaying side to side.

"Nick," I hissed, going down the steps, "here, I'll help you. I don't want you knocking your head on the sideboard. How much have you been drinking?" I asked, gesturing him to sit on the end step and I took to untying his shoes laces.

"N-not a lot," he muttered, swatting his hand in the air. "I'm f-ffine."

"No, you're drunk, that's what. Let's get you to bed," I told him as I helped him up, and led him upstairs. I could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath. His hair was messy including his neat quiff that had fallen forward onto his forehead.

Getting him into to bed wasn't as hard as I removed his jacket, shirt and trousers before tucking him in. And as I expected, he was out like a light as soon as his head hit the pillow. I looked at him, trying to reassure myself that this was the man I'd committed myself to. I did love him. Just maybe I wasn't in love with him anymore. My hand naturally touched the spot on my neck making me feel guilt in the form of bile rise up the back of my throat. What was I doing?