My Time in the Affair

by Stylo Fantome

  Her eyes were covered, so of course she couldn't see, and it came as a shock when she felt his hands on her shoulders. Pushing her. Shoving her. Hard enough to knock her down. She landed hard on her ass and let out a shout.

  When she finally got back to her feet, Mike was already off the beach. Mischa waited for a while, wanting to give him space. But they couldn't end it like that, not with his heart broken and her ass bruised. Eventually, she went after him.

  She went all the way back to the hotel without a sight of him, and she halfway wondered if he would be there, or if he'd taken off somewhere else. As she approached the suite, she got her answer pretty quick. The door was wide open.

  Mike was grumbling to himself as he carried an armful of clothing across the room. She didn't realize it was her clothing till after he'd flung it all over the balcony. She sighed and entered the room.

  “I didn't think you'd show up! I figured you'd be busy screwing someone else!” he shouted at her, scooping another arm load of clothing out of her bags. She sat at the foot of the bed. Watched more of her clothing go over the railing. Did nothing to stop it.

  I deserved that. I deserve this. I deserve so much worse.

  “Can we talk?” she asked, her voice scratchy.

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  “Michael, we have to talk about this,” she begged.

  “You should have talked to me about 'this' before you cheated on me!” he full on yelled, dropping the clothing he was carrying and steaming up to her. She had never in their entire relationship seen him so mad.

  “I know! I know that now! I do! I'm an awful fucking person, and I don't deserve kindness or forgiveness! But please, just talk to me!” she begged.

  He dropped down into a squat and his hands went back into his hair. He was struggling for air, and she was pretty sure he was crying, as well.

  “You're right. You're right. I'm sorry,” he breathed.

  “Don't be. You don't have to be sorry,” she panted, struggling for air.

  “This doesn't have to end us,” he said in a quiet voice.

  “What?”

  “It really doesn't. I understand why you did it. I do. We can work through this,” Mike went on.

  Hmmm, not the direction I was hoping for.

  “No, Mike. No working through it, I'm sorry. I really am, but it's too late,” she said softly. He walked on his knees over to her.

  “It's not. It's okay. It'll be okay,” he stressed.

  “It won't, Mike. It won't,” she assured him. His hands gripped her wrists, held on tightly.

  “I can learn to live with it! I promise! I can forgive you. We'll go to therapy, we'll take courses, whatever it takes.”

  “I don't want any of that. I don't want this. I'm sorry.”

  “You just slept with someone else, I understand. You got it out of your system, we can work past it,” his teeth were clenched together.

  “No,” she whispered, responding to everything. All of the above.

  She could practically see the light bulb go on over his head, and his eyebrows shot up.

  “You didn't just sleep with someone,” he said softly.

  “No,” she repeated herself.

  “You didn't get it out of your system,” he added, slowly rising to his feet. He didn't let go of her wrists and she was forced to stand with him.

  “No.”

  “You're still with him.”

  “Yes.”

  The word had barely left her lips and he was shaking her. His hands moved to her upper arms and he really jerked her around. Mischa shrieked, her head whipping back and forth. She braced her hands on his shoulders, begging him to stop.

  “Why!? Why should I!?” Mike was shouting.

  Then he was moving her, dragging her across the room. She yelped and tried to pull away, tripping over her own feet. He shoved her against a wall, then pulled her back and pushed her again. And again.

  “Stop it!” she screamed.

  He did stop, but kept her pinned there, boxing her in with his hands on either side of her head. He pounded against the wall and she brought her hands to her face, screaming at him.

  “How could you!? Eight years we've been together! Eight years! You goddamn whore!” he shouted as he kept pounding.

  “I know! God, I'm sorry!” she yelled back.

  Her hands were still over her face, and he grabbed her left wrist again, yanked her arm forward. She was shocked and she was thrown off guard and she was scared. She wouldn't have thought it possible, that Mike could scare her. He pinned her forearm between his elbow and his rib cage, his grip on her wrist like a vice. He began yanking at her finger.

  “You bitch. I can't believe it. Whore,” he growled.

  “You're hurting me!” she cried at him, shoving at his shoulder, trying to pull her arm free.

  “You think I care!?”

  He kept pulling, and at first she thought he was trying to pull her finger out of the socket. But then she figured out what he was doing, right as her rings scraped over her knuckle and came free. He let go of her and she was still pulling against his grip, so she stumbled backwards, hit the wall, then fell to the ground.

  “Please, no, I'm sorry, stop,” she sobbed, holding up her hands as he leaned over her.

  “You don't deserve to wear these,” Mike hissed, holding her rings in his clenched fist.

  Mischa sobbed on the floor, wrapping her arms around herself. She listened to him stomp around as he gathered his things. He hadn't unpacked much – he hadn't been there long. Then he was storming out of the suite, slamming the door as hard as he could.

  Oh god. Oh god. This was worse. So much worse than I thought. Oh my god.

  She felt like vomiting. She even gagged. She sobbed and shook and managed to get on all fours, so she could crawl into the bathroom.

  Once she was in there, she turned on the shower and dragged herself into the tub. She didn't care that she was still dressed. She didn't care that she'd only turned on the hot water. She didn't care about anything, she just curled up in a ball in the bottom of the tub.

  And she cried and cried and cried.

  ~How Do You Fix What's Broken~

  Tal stood outside his hotel, pacing back and forth.

  “Yeah, yeah, so what's next?” he barked into his cell phone.

  “Well, despite my best efforts to get us reassigned,” Ruiz grumbled at the other end, “we're still on the job.”

  “I told you. If you ever try that bullshit on me again, we're gonna have a real fucking problem,” Tal warned.

  “We already have a real fucking problem. This is going to end, you know that right? What the fuck are you going to tell her then!?” his partner demanded.

  “The truth.”

  “Fucked up, man. You have to know that. It's all gonna be fucked. The both of you have lied to each other and everyone else so much, there's no other way for it to end,” Ruiz informed him.

  “Then that's my problem, not yours. When do you ship out?” Tal asked.

  “I'll message you. Canaan,” Ruiz's voice got serious. “Tell her before you leave.”

  “Mind your own fucking business.”

  Tal hung up the phone. He was angry – not because Ruiz was talking shit. He was angry because Ruiz was telling the truth. Tal was petrified of telling Mischa the truth, because he feared it would scare her away. Feared it would make her hate him. And he couldn't handle that, not anymore. He wasn't scared of much, but a beautiful dancer had him terrified. Somehow, she had managed to stitch her heart to his, and if she pulled away, she would rip his heart out when she left.

  And so he postponed the inevitable. Told himself that after the “Michael situation” was dealt with, they could deal with Tal's issues. Fix her first, so she wouldn't break when he delivered his own blow.

  I never meant to know her, but I've known her for so long. I never want to see her hurt, and I'm going to have to hurt her the worst. When did it get so complicated?

  And on
top of unraveling the never ending thread that was his feelings for Mischa, he had his job. The dark shadow she wasn't even aware of, yet it was looming over their relationship.

  Dooming them.

  Earlier that morning, he'd gotten a call from a buddy, informing him of Ruiz's attempts to get them assigned to a different job. Fucker. Tal had counterattacked and made phone calls of his own. Argued for continued assignment in their current position. Hadn't he provided stellar work? Hadn't he kept things running smoothly? Of course he had. Like a boss.

  By the time he hung up on Ruiz, it was late. Just after noon. Tal scowled as he looked over his phone. No missed calls. He dialed Misch's cell phone, but it went to voicemail.

  “Hey, this is Mischa!” her chirpy voice sounded happy. “Leave me a message and I'll try my best to get back to you!”

  Beep.

  “I'm giving you half an hour, and then I'm calling the hotel,” he growled, then almost cracked his screen with how hard he pressed the end button.

  Tal knew he wasn't helping matters by being an asshole. He knew she was doing something; something much harder than either of them were prepared for, he was sure. He knew it would take time, and that he should give her that time. Give her husband that time. After all, the other man had been there first.

  Fuck that.

  But Tal couldn't help the way he felt, either. And he felt like punching a mother fucker in the head. Her body belonged to him now, he'd paid for it in sweat. Paid for it with his tongue. His touch. The idea of another man touching her …

  Mischa may have cheated on her husband to be with Tal, but that didn't make him doubt her, or her feelings for him. It sounded stupid, but she just wasn't that kind of person. At least, not when she was with Tal. He just knew that, he trusted that. He trusted her. If she said she wouldn't sleep with her husband, then Tal believed her.

  But that didn't mean Mr. Rapaport wouldn't try, and that's where the “punch a mother fucker in the head” part came in to play.

  He knew it was probably a bad idea, but he headed towards her hotel. He wouldn't go confront them while they were dealing with their shit, or even if they weren't dealing with their shit – Tal wasn't that type of guy. But he wanted to be close by for when she called.

  A half an hour came and went. He called her cell phone again, got sent straight to voicemail again. He took a deep breath and called her hotel room. Prepared himself for a man to answer.

  “I'm sorry,” a woman's voice picked up, “the guest you're trying to reach appears to be unavailable. Would you like to leave a message?”

  “Uh, no. Thanks.”

  Tal got to her hotel, then wandered down the street and sat at a cafe. Waited another half an hour, then called again.

  “I'm sorry, the guest you're trying to reach …,”

  Tal didn't wait for the whole speech, just hung up.

  Something felt wrong. It was one o'clock. Surely they had come back. Maybe she'd wimped out and they were having lunch. Or hanging out. Or … playing scrabble. Or … something else …

  She wouldn't do that, you trust her. She trusts you. This is real. You're perilously close to ruining everything for her, giving up everything for her. It has to be real.

  When there was no answer by one-thirty, Tal couldn't take it anymore. It was time for some recon. He headed back to her hotel. He still wasn't going to interrupt them. He was just going to investigate.

  He didn't learn anything by prowling around the lounge and lobby. He finally went outside and headed to the pool area. Her balcony jutted out right over it, and he hoped to get a view into the room. But when he came around the corner of the building, he was a little stunned by what he saw.

  There were clothes strewn everywhere. Floating in the pool, draped on top of umbrellas, caught in hedges. A couple gardeners and housekeepers were scurrying about, trying to clean up the mess. A maid rushed past him and he grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop.

  “What happened here?” he asked, but she shook her head. He switched to Italian and asked the same question.

  “Crazy guest, threw all these clothes off a balcony!” she exclaimed. Tal looked into her arms while she talked. She was holding a few items, but the one that stood out was a black sundress.

  He had done very dirty things to that dress.

  The elevator was taking too long, so Tal took the stairs. He practically lunged up them, taking them three at a time, yanking himself up using the railing. He slowed down before her floor, and composed himself before he went through the door. He just wanted to make sure everything was okay, he wasn't going to burst in like a jealous … lover.

  I'm such a jackass.

  He slowly walked down the hall, acting casual. He wished he had brought his gear, then listening through the wall wouldn't be an issue. As it was, he'd have to press his ear to the bottom of the door. Or maybe they'd be yelling. That would be handy.

  Nobody was yelling when he got to the room. No one was even talking. He could tell because the door was wide open.

  Fuck this.

  He crept into the room, calling out in Italian. He could play it off as a concerned guest if he had to. But no one answered. He walked full into the living room and stopped at a pile of clothing. Misch's clothing. There were a couple items strewn about, laying in a trail towards the balcony.

  “Hello!?” he called out. Fuck subtlety. He didn't care anymore.

  The door to the main bedroom was wide open and he walked inside. The bed was made up and everything looked fine. Then he saw that one of her suitcases was on the floor, and the fold out tray for it had been knocked to the side. Something nasty had taken place.

  “Mischa!” he barked her name, turning towards the bathroom. He could hear the shower running and he stormed in there.

  She was curled into a ball, shaking on the floor of the bath tub. He hurried to his knees and reached for the shower knob, turning it off. The water was freezing, almost painful against his skin. He noted that it was the hot water faucet that needed to be turned, and wondered how long she'd been in there, for the water to turn to ice.

  “Baby, what happened?” Tal whispered, slipping his arms under her and picking her up. He slowly stood and hiked her up against his chest.

  “I was awful. Awful, awful, awful,” she moaned, her teeth chattering so hard, her words were distorted. He sat down on the bed and held her against him.

  “You weren't. You're not. Jesus, how long were you in there, Misch?” he asked, examining her pruned up fingers, taking in her almost blue lips. Mild hypothermia wasn't an unrealistic concern.

  “Not long enough,” she sighed. He pressed her hand between both of his and rubbed up and down.

  “Tell me what happened,” he urged.

  “God, it was terrible. It was so terrible. It was so much worse,” she started crying, pulling her hand away.

  “What do you mean? Talk to me.”

  “Why are you with me!? I ruin things,” she suddenly burst out, shoving at his chest. She was so slippery that he couldn't keep a grip on her and she fell out of his arms, hitting the ground hard on her hip. He went after her, dropping back to his knees, but when he grabbed for her leg, she scurried away and dragged herself backwards into the bathroom.

  “What the fuck happened!?” he demanded, following after her. She put both her hands up, stopping him.

  “Nothing! Everything! God! Just leave, please, just leave me alone,” she sobbed, waving him away. He retreated and sat on the floor, leaning his back against the bed.

  “Can't do that. You and me, remember? I'll always come find you,” he said in a soft voice.

  She curled to the side, shoving herself up against the cabinet under the sink. She sobbed for a while, and he watched. Just sat and watched. Let her work out her demons. Let her give some of them to him. Eventually, she quieted to just crying. Then just tears. Then sniffles and the occasional shiver. Finally, after about twenty minutes, she began moving around. Shrugging the straps of her dress off her s
houlders and working the cold material down her body.

  “What time is it?” she asked, her voice hoarse. Tal glanced at his watch.

  “Almost two,” he answered.

  “Why are you still here?” she groaned, lifting her hips and pulling the dress away from her legs. She kicked it across the room, then laid down on her side, only wearing a bra and panties. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

  “Because you need me,” he said simply. She closed her eyes.

  “I don't need anybody,” she whispered.

  “Tough. Because it works both ways, babe. I need you, too.”

  She didn't answer, and soon enough he realized she'd fallen asleep. Completely worn out. Tal was careful as he moved into the bathroom, gentle as he picked her up. She wasn't as cold as before, but she was still shivering.

  He carried her to the bed and laid her under the covers. Then he got behind her and wrapped his arms around her, draped his leg over hers. Tried to infuse her with his heat. With his soul. With his fire.

  What did he do to you? What have you done to me?

  *

  Mischa woke up so hot, she was completely covered in a fine sheen of sweat. She sat up, shoving Tal's arm off of her. As it dragged down her own arm, she hissed. Something hurt. She looked down at herself, twisting her bicep. There were four bruises, marching down her skin in a line. Finger marks.

  Mike.

  What. A. Fuck show. Misch couldn't believe how badly it had gone. How it had gone, period. He'd been so upset, and she'd been so blunt. She should have done it differently. Taken him back to the hotel. Or actually flown home. Something. Anything.

  I fuck everything up.

  “Are you okay?” Tal's voice was thick with sleep. She shrugged.

  “Not really. Sorry I yelled at you,” she mumbled, staring across the room.

  “Don't be sorry. Yell at me whenever you want,” he offered, and she felt his hand rub against her back. It felt good, and that made her feel even more guilty.

  It was so much easier when Mike didn't know. Then the guilt wasn't real. Not yet.

  “You shouldn't be here,” Mischa breathed.