Love Triangle: Six Books of Torn Desire

by Willow Winters

  The room is mostly gray, just like the city. There’s a paned glass mirror above the long sofa and black and white accents everywhere. I hated that mirror from the moment we got it, but Kat loved it so I never said a word.

  My eyes scan the room in the faint light from the city that’s shining through the gap in the curtains.

  Five years of marriage, six of creating this place together.

  Each piece of furniture is a memory. The wine rack that we purchased was the first thing we bought together. The gray sofa with removable pillows was a fight I lost. I didn’t want the cushions to be removable, because they always end up sagging, but Kat insisted the brand was quality.

  The plush cushions still look like they did in the store, and I wonder if she was right or if it’s just because we don’t even sit on the damn thing.

  I’m never here and she’s always working. What’s the point of it?

  The bitter thought makes me kick the duffle bag out of my way and head past the living room and dining room, straight to the stairs so I can get to bed and lie down with Kat. It’s been almost a week since I’ve slept in the same room as her and I refuse to let that go on for another night. I pause to look at the photos on the wall.

  They’re all in black and white, the way Kat likes her décor. All but one, the largest in the very center. It’s also the only one that’s not staged.

  She’s leaning toward me, and her lips look so red as she’s midlaugh, holding a crystal glass of champagne and wrapping her fingers around my forearm. Her eyes are on whoever was giving a speech. I don’t remember who it was or what they said, but I can still hear her laugh. It’s the most beautiful sound.

  She was so happy on our wedding day. I thought she’d be stressed and worried, but it was like a weight was lifted and the sweetest version of her was given to me that day. There’s nothing but love there.

  My eyes are on her in that picture, with a smile on my face and pride in my eyes.

  I tear my gaze away and keep walking, feeling the weight of everything press down on my shoulders. I’m exhausted and like the childish fool I am, I wish I could just go to sleep and this would all be a dream.

  I want to go back to when we first married. Before we both got caught up in work and decided to live separate lives. Before I fucked up.

  I just want to go back to that day.

  As I pass the open office door I hear the clicking of the computer keyboard. So many nights I’ve come home to this, so many mornings I’ve woken up to it. She’s always in this room, which is a shame. There’s hardly any light, or anything at all in the room. File cabinets, papers, a shredder and a desk. There’s not a hint of the woman Kat is in this room.

  I guess it’s the same as the living room, but at least there’s a classic elegance there. It’s nothing but cold in her office.

  “Hey babe,” I say softly and Kat ignores me.

  I clear my throat and speak louder. “I’m home,” I tell her and again, I get nothing from Kat, just the steady clicks. There’s an empty wine glass and two bottles on the floor by her feet.

  Maybe she’s a little drunk, maybe she has her earplugs in too, but still, she’d hear me.

  My teeth grind together as I grip the handle of the door harder. She deserves better. Yeah, I know she does. And this is the shit I deserve, but I don’t want it. I won’t go down without fighting for what I want.

  The standing lamp in the corner of her office is on, but it’s not enough to brighten the room. Even the glow of the computer screen is visible.

  “Do you want to talk?” I ask her and her only response is that her fingers stop moving across the keys.

  She doesn’t turn to face me or give any sign that I’ve spoken to her.

  “I don’t want to fight, Kat,” I tell her and force every bit of emotion into my words. “I don’t want this.”

  She turns slowly in her seat, a baggy t-shirt covering her body to her upper thighs. Her exposed skin is pale and the dark room makes her look that much paler. Her green eyes give her away though. Nothing but sadness there.

  My body is pulled to her, and I can’t help it. I can’t stand that look in her eyes. Before I can tell her I love her and I’m sorry, before I can come up with some lame excuse, she cuts me off.

  “I wanted to last night,” she says and then crosses her arms. She looks uncomfortable and unnatural. Like she’s doing what she thinks she should be doing.

  “I’m here now,” I tell her and walk closer to her. There’s a set of chairs in the corner of the room from our first apartment and I almost drag one over, but I’m too afraid to break eye contact with her.

  At least she’s looking at me, talking to me, receptive to what I have to say.

  “Ask me whatever you want,” I tell her and deep down I’m screaming. Because I know I’ll answer her. I’ll tell her everything just to take that pain away, even if it’s only temporary, even if it fucks her too.

  Her doe eyes widen slightly and she cowers back, swallowing before answering me. “Aren’t you tired?” she says softly and her eyes flicker to the door and then to the floor.

  She doesn’t want to know the truth.

  “Yeah, I’m exhausted. But I’m not going to bed until you do.” I lick my lips and clear my throat, hoping she’ll give in to me. For weeks I tried to stay up with her or brush off the fact that I’d pass out while she was still working and vice versa.

  “I can stay up for you,” I offer her. It’s not what she wants, but it’s something.

  “Well this has to get done, and it’s going to take hours.”

  “I can wait,” I tell her but the second the words slip out she turns back to the computer and says, “Don’t.”

  With her back to me and her fingers already flying across the keys again, I’ve never felt more alone and dejected.

  “I’ll go unpack and relax on the bed then,” I tell her, gripping the door to stay upright and keep myself from ripping her out of that chair and bringing her to bed.

  She whips around in the chair and asks, “Here?”

  It takes me a moment to realize why the hell she’s asking me that and when I do, it’s like a bullet to the chest.

  A mix of emotions swell in my gut and heat my blood. Anger is there, but the dejectedness is what cuts me the most.

  “Is that alright?” I ask sarcastically.

  She nods, conceding to let me stay in my own damn house, but the look in her eyes doesn’t fade. She really wants me out. She wants me to just leave? Did she think I wouldn’t fight for her? That I’d let this destroy us? It may ruin me, but I’ll be damned if I let it ruin us.

  “I said I don’t want a divorce.” My words come out hard. I’m sick of this. “I want you,” I tell her with conviction and walk closer to her, not leaving any space between us.

  “I don’t know what I want,” Kat says, gripping the armrests of the desk chair as her lips turn down into a painful frown and her eyes gloss over. Like she’s on the verge of breaking. The last thread she was holding has snapped, leaving her falling. I’m not there to catch her, because I’m the one that pushed her over the edge. And I hate myself for it.

  It’s my fault, and this is all on me, but I’ll make it right.

  “You don’t have to, Kat,” I tell her and move just a little closer. I need a chance. She’s vulnerable; I can feel it coming off of her in waves.

  I cup her cheek in my hand to lean down and kiss her, but she pushes back, quickly standing and making the desk chair slam against the desk.

  My pride, my ego, whatever it is that makes a man is destroyed in this moment. My limbs freeze and the tension makes me feel like I’m breaking. Literally cracking in my very center.

  I lick my lips, finally letting out a breath as Kat whispers, “I’m sorry, I’m just …”

  She doesn’t finish, and I have to look up at her before I can stand upright again.

  “You just what?” I ask her.

  “I don’t know, Evan,” she says with desper
ation in her voice.

  “Don’t think,” I tell her, grasping for anything to keep her from running. “Just let me make it better,” I offer and she stands there, in nothing but that t-shirt and looks at me as if I’m both her savior and her enemy.

  I walk slow, each step making the floor creak ever so quietly. I don’t rush it until I’m close enough to her to feel her heat. And she lets me, standing still and giving me the chance I need.

  My lips crash against hers, my body pressing against hers and forcing her back. Each step she takes, I take one with her.

  “Stop,” she tells me and pushes me away. My breathing is ragged as my hands clench to keep from holding on to her as she leaves me. I can still taste her, my body ringing with desire to make it up to her.

  To ease her pain and remind her how good I make her feel. It’s what she needs. It’s been weeks and I can’t deny I need her even more. I need to bury myself inside her heat.

  My fingers wrap around her hips and I push her back against the wall. Her arms wrap around my neck and she comes in for the kiss this time. Taking the passion from me, letting me give her what she needs. The comfort and escape from reality. A welcome distraction to the fact that our marriage is at risk.

  In this moment there’s nothing but what we feel for each other. Nothing else. No logic or reason. Just the devotion and intense desire.

  I’m grateful it still exists. I only wish this moment would last forever. Where we’re both weak for each other, desperate and drunk with lust.

  “You’re mine, Kat,” I whisper in her ear. My breath is hot and it’s making the air between us that much hotter.

  Her back arches against the wall and she pushes her soft body into mine. A quiet moan spills from her sweet lips. I stare at her face, the expression of utter rapture with her eyes closed and her lips parted just slightly.

  I rock my palm over and over, putting pressure on her swollen nub and feeling her cunt get hotter and wetter.

  “This is mine,” I whisper louder, not holding back the possession in my voice.

  A strangled groan fills the air. At first I don’t know if it’s from me or her, but the sweet cadence of her voice prolongs the sound of pleasure as her body writhes against mine. She’s so close.

  I tear the thin lace fabric of her panties off in one tug and watch her face as her eyes pop open. The gorgeous green stares back at me with a mix of emotions, the overwhelming two being desire and vulnerability.

  I don’t give her the chance to second-guess this. This is how we’re meant to be. Together, raw and bared.

  I only release my grip on her to unzip my pants. The sound mixes with Kat’s heavy breathing.

  “Evan,” she whispers my name as if it’s a question.

  She wants me, although she knows we shouldn’t do this. Fuck, I know she’s going to question this. Maybe even regret it. But she just needs to feel me again; she needs this as much as I do.

  I press the head of my dick against her opening, and slide myself through her slick folds, teasing her and watching as her eyes close tight and she squirms when I just barely touch her clit.

  So close.

  “Evan,” she whispers and this time it’s a plea. One I can satisfy.

  In one swift stroke I slam into her, buried deep and making her scream out.

  Her nails dig into my shoulders as her body’s forced against the wall and her head falls back.

  I kiss her throat ravenously, desperate to taste her, but not willing to mute the sounds of pleasure she’s making.

  My thrusts are primal, ruthless. I take from her over and over. Each time her back hits the wall and her whimpers get louder and louder.

  Her grip gets tighter as my balls draw up. My spine tingles with the need to cum, but I need her to cum with me. I’m desperate to feel her walls tighten around my dick. Desperate to feel her pulsing and milking me for my cum.

  And the moment I think I can’t take any more, she gives me what I need. Screaming out my name as her orgasm rips through her body.

  “Fuck,” I groan into the crook of her neck. My dick pulses and I cum hard, buried deep inside of her pussy. My heart hammers hard and fast and refuses to stop as she clings to me for dear life. Her eyes are closed and her teeth are digging into her bottom lip when I finally look at her.

  “I love you, Kat,” I whisper as I pull away from her, finally breathing and starting to come down from the highest high.

  “I love …” Kat starts to reply, but she doesn’t finish. She doesn’t look me in the eyes.

  She’s so ashamed to love me, she can’t even say it back.

  Chapter Nine

  KAT

  So weak and pathetic, I don’t deserve to heal.

  The deceit I’ve accepted is all that lets me feel.

  Hold back the lies, let truth die, I accept the painful pill.

  Just hold me tight, I won’t fight. Yours to keep, and yours to kill.

  I don’t know what I’m more ashamed about as I toss the throw blanket over the sofa and make myself get up.

  The fact that I fucked my husband.

  Or the fact that I then refused to go to bed with him.

  Not that I told him that. I hid behind work and then snuck out here, to the living room. I didn’t sleep on the sofa for more than a few hours. Maybe that’s what I deserve for being so weak and falling right into his arms the moment he pulled me in.

  It’s like a spiraling dark hole and I’m falling deeper and deeper, to the point where what I want and what I’m feeling don’t make sense and nothing adds up.

  I couldn’t possibly feel more pathetic at this point. And it’s because of him.

  Because I love him and hate myself for it.

  I glance at my phone on the dining room table as I make my way to the kitchen. I already know what Sue would say. She’d feel sorry for me for going back to the man who cheated on me.

  Pity and sorrow for the pathetic girl, clinging to an unfaithful man. Even the bitter thought echoes what I feel.

  The thing about love though is that it’s not a light switch. You can’t just turn it off. You can’t erase the memories and move on. She knows that much, she just chooses to forget it.

  My head throbs and I’m not sure if it’s from the lack of sleep or caffeine. Even the faint sounds of city life from stories down are enough to make my temples pulse.

  I groan as I rest against the wall of the living room and try to calm the headache. I close my eyes and feel the weight of all the stress from the last two weeks.

  I need aspirin or coffee. Or both. My heart sputters as I slowly walk up the stairs, knowing Evan’s lying in bed alone and that it was my choice.

  As I pass the office I remember last night and my thighs clench; I can still feel him inside of me. I can feel his lips on my neck, his rough hands on my body. Taking from me. Relentlessly, possessively. Each step brings my body temperature higher and higher, yet my heart hurts more and more.

  Why won’t the pain just go away? Why can’t my head just shut the fuck up so I can pretend I’m okay for just a moment?

  The bedroom door is open and as I walk through the door, I can’t take my eyes off the perfectly made bed. The cream and white comforter with black dahlias is pulled tight, looking pristine. A crease forms in the center of my forehead as I walk to the bathroom, listening to my heart beat with each step, but finding the bathroom empty. Evan wasn’t downstairs, I think as I open the cabinet and silently grab the bottle of aspirin. He wasn’t downstairs, and he’s not up here.

  I swallow the pills without water, staring into the mirror as my heart clenches. Did he even stay last night? Did he find me asleep on the sofa and decide to leave? It’s what I wanted, wasn’t it?

  The cabinet door slams shut; I give the push more force than I meant to, but I ignore it, walking quickly down to the kitchen.

  I just need coffee. Coffee will wake me, rid me of this headache and give me the energy I need to deal with this mess.

  And it’s
such a chaotic mess. A mix of emotions and desires that thrashes me side to side like an unforgiving earthquake. The only thing certain is that I can’t stand on my own two feet. At least not without a cup of coffee.

  A sarcastic huff of a laugh leaves me as I round the bottom of the stairs and head to the kitchen, a pitiful smile adorning my lips.

  I suppose I can live a sad and pathetic life. Maybe I’ll be a cat lady, a woman who works herself into the ground. I’ve never thought much of what I would be.

  Using the cup next to the sink, I fill the glass with water and pour it into the back of the coffee maker, remembering the days when having a child was on my mind. Back when my career was a dream, when my time was monopolized by Evan and we owned the world together. We could be and do anything we wanted.

  I slip the K-Cup into the machine and turn it on as I remember how he’d hold my belly and plant a kiss there, just below my belly button, telling me what a wonderful mother I would be one day to his son.

  We were fools. I knew this would never last. I knew it back then. Just like I know it now.

  I lick my lips and take in a heavy breath, slipping the ceramic mug with Rise and Shine scrolled on the side under the spigot to the coffee machine.

  I would say that was back when I was young and stupid, but I still am young and stupid, aren’t I?

  My bare feet pad on the tiled kitchen floor as I open the fridge and search for the coffee creamer. I stare longer than I should at the empty spot on the shelf. I can’t even remember to get creamer. My teeth grind back and forth and the throb comes back with a vengeance in my temples.

  I slam the fridge door shut as the coffee maker sputters to life. It’s quite something when you’ve fallen so hard that a mundane task like going to the grocery store is enough to push you over the edge. Maybe I’ve truly gone crazy.

  The front door opening is the last thing I need right now. The door closes softly, like Evan didn’t want to wake me. I wipe under my eyes and push my hair out of my face as I lean against the wall with my arms crossed, waiting for him to make his way in here.