One Week Three Hearts:

by Adele Allaire

  "Do you have any idea how hard it was for me across an entire ocean, not being able to hold you or do anything while you were ripping yourself apart over what happened?" He buried his face in her hair, and that's all it took for the water works to cascade down her cheeks. "You cut me off from helping you. And now I need you to trust me, Rose."

  Last night's granite convictions chiseled into broken pieces, and Rose's analytical mind roared to the forefront. Matt tore through her since the minute he picked her up from the airport, and it served some hidden purpose she couldn't quite grasp. He was a designer who planned things with precision, and the events leading to this point confirmed any kind of consent definitively transferred power to him.

  Rose's exposed raw heart screamed to extend comfort for the small humility he shared, and it drowned out the cautious warnings. Her hands crept up his muscular back and her arms squeezed around him as she watched the waves breaking on the rocks in the distance.

  "Good girl," Matt said. "Now, let's work on the trust. I already told you that I know your limits, and you'll probably never use this with me. But if I ever go too far in the physical pain department, you say the word 'bubbles' and I'll stop whatever I'm doing. Okay?"

  Nodding, Rose asked why he chose the word "bubbles." The word sounded so comical, but Matt explained bubbles were temporary. He didn't want her to be afraid to use it, he wouldn't stop giving her the release she needed, but he would dial it down without question.

  That makes sense. Can I use it if you go off on me like that again?

  The second condition sent her mind reeling. He wanted her to do the unspeakable to prove her trust in him while a deep sense of dread collected in the pit of her stomach.

  Oh please, no. Please don't make me do this. I beg you.

  "You need to trust that everything I say I cleared with Jason is actually something he really did agree to," Matt said. "There are cameras hidden in the top corners of every room. Those are for Jason's eyes. He likes to watch, Rose. It is what he enjoys. Only he can explain that to you, and I hope he eventually does."

  Matt spun her around to face the house, and she saw Mikhel moving around in the kitchen area cleaning up remnants from his earlier meal preparation. The blades of his professional sushi knives reflected the kitchen's overhead lights as he cleaned them by hand, then placed them on the counter.

  An elaborate black tribal tattoo curved around Mikhel's thick bicep and snaked down to his hand holding a long, dense piece of eel. She focused intently on Mikhel's huge skull ring as he rubbed some sort of oil on its skin. Mikhel greased up the eel slowly; each stroke performed with the greatest care.

  Lubricating it. I can't do this!

  "I can't," she panicked. "I need to call Jason first. Please let me talk to my husband."

  Matt's breath tickled her ear. "Nope. That's not how this works."

  His voice softened but she still heard the firmness leak through. "I will give you this promise, although it hurts me that I even have to do so: I will show you Jason's conversation with me about this afterwards. Not before. Please trust me. Is that enough for you?"

  No. Bubbles.

  His hands were on her breasts and dangerously close to where the clamps left their impression.

  "Yes," she said.

  ***

  Still sobbing, Rose ran to her bedroom's bathroom, looked to slam the bathroom door behind her, and realized again that there wasn't a door to close. Barely noticing the smeared mascara under her eyes as she briefly caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she turned on the faucet and tried to get as much water from her cupped hand into her mouth as possible before spitting it into the basin.

  Mouthwash. Find the mouthwash first. It's in my toiletry bag. Find the toiletry bag.

  Grabbing the tightly packed small green bottle sent the toiletry bag skidding off the counter's edge, dumping its contents on the floor. Shaking fingers impatiently pulled at the plastic safety wrapper until she successfully removed it. Rose managed to twist off the cap, and swished the green stinging liquid in her mouth.

  Jason. I am so sorry.

  When her mouth felt like it was on fire, she again spit into the sink. Avoiding her reflection in the mirror, she tried a second round of rinsing her mouth with tap water.

  I still taste it. Oh Jason, I'm so sorry. And that smell is on my hands.

  The soap slipped out of its paper wrapper to fall into the sink, and one of her fingernails caught an edge when she desperately clutched at it. Willing her disobedient hands to stop shaking long enough to furiously scrub themselves clean, her eye caught the sparkling diamond in her wedding band through the soapy water.

  What have I done?

  A rasping sound from her throat grew louder as her knees hit the floor in search of the toothbrush that separated from the toiletry kit during its flight from the counter. Cold marble collided with her wet hands, and she was dimly aware the unraveled linen dress trailed behind her.

  I smell it all over me.

  She abandoned the search and crawled to the corner of the walk-in shower. Guilt and shame consumed her when she reached her destination. Somehow managing to reach up and pull the shower lever, lukewarm water from the huge rainfall showerhead drenched her huddled body.

  The water cut off after a few precious minutes. Matt towered over her.

  "Here," he said, visually annoyed and frustrated. "Read it. And please don't get my phone wet."

  Rose grabbed at the phone Matt offered to her, and she tried to focus on the text dated a few days ago enclosed in the colorful chat bubbles.

  Matt: Here's a pic of the butler/cook they gave us at the house. Mikhel.

  Matt: Says he's half Samoan, half Russian. Looks like a linebacker.

  Matt: Sushi chef too.

  Jason: Get video of Rose sucking him off.

  Matt: Are you serious?!

  Jason: Yes. Very.

  Matt: Are you sure?

  Jason: Stream it if you can.

  Matt: OK

  Rose looked up through her tears at Matt quizzically, and she stretched her arm up to give the phone back to him. Before he turned and headed to the doorway, she noticed the scale of his frustration from his tightly closed mouth and how his lips disappeared into a fine angry line.

  He glared at her from the doorway. "That's your husband, Rose. Your husband. Jason."

  Wait. Please explain this to me. I don't understand.

  It was too late. Matt left her sobbing in the shower with the tattered and torn remains of the wet fabric loosely piled around her. Realizing the magnitude of the conversation made her head unbearably heavy, and it collapsed into folded arms around her knees.

  ***

  Rose couldn't tell if her tears mourned for Jason, herself, or their marriage.

  Leaving the sarong's tattered remains in a wet heap on the bathroom floor, Rose emerged from her half-hearted attempt at a proper shower with stinging eyes from scrubbing off the makeup. Looking into the mirror would probably reveal how red-rimmed and bloodshot they were, and she deliberately avoided confirming her suspicion in order not to launch into another crying jag.

  The empty king size bed served as a reminder to Jason's stark absence. Rose desperately wanted to hear her husband's voice confirm Matt's revelations, but there wasn't a way to get in contact with him. Loneliness gnawed at her stomach. The dinner seemed like hours ago, and there wasn't an obvious way to discern the time.

  Abandoned. Left to rationalize the situation alone.

  Why Jason? Why?

  The sound of splashing compelled her to walk towards the west-facing bedroom window. Matt's arms cut through the lap pool's dimly illuminated water like sharp scissors. Transfixed by precise movements that barely displaced the water around him, every other forward stroke afforded Rose a brief glimpse of his face as he expertly timed his inhales. He pronounced each complete lap with a powerful kick off the wall; this transformed into an effortless underwater glide that propelled him almost to the pool's midpoin
t. His arms reappeared and the mesmerizing process restarted.

  The same hands that guided her head into Mikhel's lap an hour ago now grasped a ledge. Matt effortlessly lifted himself out of the pool. Water rolled down his shoulder blades as he reached for a towel hanging over a chair's back. Rose lost sight of Matt as he made his way to the great room that separated the two bedrooms.

  Matt stood dripping on the tile only a few feet away. Even after the evening's emotionally draining events, a deep ache for his affection trembled her hands clutching the towel closed around her body. Instead of openly confessing her desires, Rose confronted him about Jason from her doorway.

  "What's to explain? Your husband likes to watch you with other men," Matt said as if he was stating something perfectly rational. "I told you that, and you didn't believe me. Why are you asking me to repeat myself?"

  "I don't understand!"

  His impatience radiated like a flashing stop sign. "I also told you that it wasn't my place to talk to you about this," he said as he brushed water off his arms with the towel. "Ugh, they are putting way too much chlorine in that pool."

  "Please be serious for a minute," Rose pleaded.

  He rolled his eyes at her. "Really, Rose. You embarrassed Mikhel and I when you ran off like that," he said. "Get some sleep because we have an early start tomorrow. I'm going to show you the volcano."

  The audible click of his bedroom door's lock signaled finality. There wouldn't be any further discussion.

  Rose noticed a small red glow in one of the room's upper corners.

  ***

  5

  WEDNESDAY

  The helicopter seatbelt couldn't restrain the adrenaline pumping into Rose's heart when the pilot opened the door. Numbed by the chilled air, Rose ignored the headset banter, and focused on the powerful activity beneath them. Bright red magma shot up from the enormous crevasse below. The overpowering sulfur smell made her cough uncontrollably. It smelled like death, and the light lunch the helicopter tour company provided earlier wanted out of her stomach.

  Regardless the activity, brief imagery from last night's brutal introduction to her husband's desire randomly flashed in her mind throughout the entire morning. As they navigated the tour company's small parking lot, Matt's palm pressed into the small of her back similar to how he pushed open her thighs as she lapped at Mikhel's engorged cock. The vivid memory jarred her enough to stumble over a crack in the pavement. She couldn't bring herself to thank him when Matt grabbed her upper arm to steady her.

  What have I done?

  Escape beckoned. Unbuckling the harness wasn't a difficult task; making an uninterrupted leap from the open door to the volcano below would be the real challenge. Air might push up her dress to block her face, and prevent her from absorbing the exhilarating view rushing past. She wondered if her bones would break before the heat melted her flesh.

  A sacrifice of that magnitude would be a worthy end, but not a realistic escape from the truth. She strengthened her grip on the lightly padded seat edge. Her fingernails scraped against the smooth aluminum seatbelt buckle. The side hugging her stomach warmed to her touch, while the exposed side felt cool. Sunlight made the wedding band on her trembling hand glow as it limply slid off the seatbelt buckle to rest on her thigh.

  The helicopter abruptly turned and changed the scene. Salty blue water transformed the glowing liquid to rising twisted columns of steam. Matt sat across from her, joking with the pilot via the microphone jetting from his headset while evaluating her reactions.

  "And so the destructive force of the volcano eventually creates fertile ground for Hawaii's cattle ranches and coffee plantations," squawked the headset squeezing her head.

  The helicopter door closed, and her skirt's hem stopped whipping against her ankles. Matt's knowing look locked with hers.

  ***

  Not long afterwards, the whump whump music replaced the whine of the helicopter's rotors. Uninterrupted blacktop led them back to the villa. Unlike yesterday's initial trip, traffic lights and stop signs didn't evoke admonishments. Rose occasionally glanced at Matt's unwavering profile for some hidden clue to his silence. Like her own, his sunglasses blocked any deep inquiry into his thoughts.

  Rose's thoughts braided into a tightly woven rope as she stomped past Matt's closed door to the patio. The emotional beating would commence in private. She mentally prepared herself for the onslaught.

  Sure enough, Matt emerged a few minutes later carrying a beer bottle in one hand, and a glass containing something that resembled a watery orange juice in the other. Ice cubes clinked against the glass. The floating bright pink straw almost fell out when he handed it to her.

  Rose sipped the drink through the straw, relieved to discover it was some variation of a tropical punch. The sweet acidic taste lacked alcohol. A glinting remain from her smashed cell phone's screen lay on the rock, the rest washed away by the tide.

  There's a symbolic representation of my marriage. All I'm left with are broken pieces.

  "You flew me all the way out here to tell me the truth about my husband," Rose said without looking at him. "So tell it."

  "Rose, last night was the truth," Matt said. "You need to accept it. He likes watching you fuck other men. He gets off from it. He agreed to this."

  The flat, emotionless statements could've been the weather forecast for the rest of the week. "There has to be more to it than that," she said.

  A jagged edge to his laugh imitated the rocks that cut against the crashing waves. "Rose, you wanted the truth," Matt said. "As far as I can tell, I'm the only one out of the three of us who is actually honest. And you still don't trust me! The two of you use me as some sort of conduit for each other. I'm pretty sure it was that baby making business that really brought it on."

  Matt paused to sip his beer, and Rose thought it was strange that the glass edge never touched his lips. Liquid cascaded from the bottle opening to his mouth. The bobbing of his Adam's apple transfixed her.

  "Jason completely has you as a sex object in his mind," Matt continued. "You want him to cause you physical pain — something we both know he could never do — in order to get over the guilt and shame from not admitting who you were fantasizing about for years."

  Matt took another short drink from the bottle and grimaced. "What a stalemate of a marriage."

  Intimidation hung thick in the air between them, and her ribcage tightened around her lungs. "This is like being trapped in a house of horrors," Rose muttered.

  "You're not trapped here, Rose," he said, pointing to the kitchen behind them. "Call a cab. Keys are on the counter…"

  She jabbed at the ice cubes in her drained glass with the straw. "But I don't drive stick, so tough on me. You're a piece of work, Matt."

  Sideways glances revealed Matt gauged the rate of her breath, any change in facial expression, and the way she nervously picked at loose skirt fiber. Like a lab rat caught in some grand experiment, leaving this maze wasn't an option.

  "Do you still love him?"

  Contract pages flashed in her mind. When confronted, Jason shrugged off Matt's strange clause and explained it away as some sort of pseudo-vow renewal. She willingly agreed to every step. She signed the contract, and Jason deposited the check months ago. Matt could repeatedly insist she wasn't trapped here, but without an obvious exit that lacked life-altering consequences, Rose had no other choice but to stay and deal with this.

  More than a decade of loyalty, devotion, and self-sacrifice sat like boulders placed on both shoulders. Matt knew all the puzzle pieces long before she met him, and after everything they shared, he still let her live in ignorance.

  "Of course I do," Rose said.

  The lounge chair creaked as Matt turned towards her. He lifted his sunglasses. "Let's have it out so you stop using me as an excuse to ruin it. Why did you run off last night?"

  "Because you tricked me to cheat on Jason," she admitted.

  That infuriating laugh of his again. He doesn't understand what it
is like to break a promise regardless of the circumstances. The emotional toll it takes to sever that bond… Jason said Matt never had a healthy relationship so he couldn't possibly comprehend what I was going through last night. The videos, the texts, the phone calls… none of it was so harsh as Matt shoving my head into Mikhel's lap. Told to open my mouth… to suck… a total stranger I wasn't even attracted to.

  And I did it for Matt, not Jason. That scared me more than anything, and when I heard Mikhel groan, it snapped me back into the reality of what I was in the process of doing. Jason's sweet face flashed in my mind, I ignored Matt's fingers spreading me open, and I ran.

  Matt shook his head in disapproval. "Let me get this straight… if you're with me, then it's not cheating. If you are with Jason and I, then it's not cheating. But if you're with Mikhel and I even after Jason specifically requests it, and you go willingly, then it's cheating. That makes no sense."

  The logical appeal poked at her highly valued sense of reason. It threw her off. She grasped at bringing the focus back to Jason while the corner of his left eye turned almost black as his pupil acted like a scanning device.

  "I'm talking about Jason, not myself." Such a weak attempt at deflection. She hardly convinced herself, let alone Matt.

  Time for a bold move. "Did you sleep with Malani?"

  "Not recently." Matt studied her reaction. "Are you jealous?"

  A red framed image glossary sped through Rose's mind. She pictured Malani and Matt fucking everywhere. Matt's head between Malani's legs while she sat on the pool's edge. He bent Malani over and rammed his cock into her on the rocks. Even the lounge chair Rose occupied wasn't sacred: Malani's small breasts bobbed up and down as she rode him, squealing in ecstasy.

  Rose shook her head.

  Matt's sigh signaled he saw right through the lie. "Tell the truth."

  Another failed test.