by J. S Ellis
‘Well-
The phone rang.
‘Yeah... I know... yes...’ He stared back at me. ‘I got held up with um... something... yes... I don’t know... start off... without me.’
‘It’s incredibly important we keep it secret, no-one and I mean no one should know what happened tonight,’ I said, after he hung up.
‘I already told my friends you are here,’ he said.
Blood drained from my face, and my jaw dropped open. He barked with laughter. ‘If you could see your face. I’m joking nobody knows you’re here, you can relax.’
‘I’m serious.’ I said.
‘I was kidding, nobody knows, I promise.’
‘I better go,’ I announced, gathering my clothes piled on the floor.
‘Wait...’ he said.
‘What?’ I said.
‘Don’t you want to do it, again?’
Afterward, flushed, and burning, and feeling like a masterpiece, a whore, and so ashamed, I ran out of there.
I didn’t know how I could go home to Richard without confessing my sin. I thought I would dissolve in tears, but when I got back, I was surprised how calm I felt as if nothing happened. Richard was laying on the sofa, watching a TV show.
‘Where have you been?’ he asked.
Couldn’t he tell? I stood in the middle of the room, my body stinking of another man. His eyes moved back to the TV.
I took off my coat. ‘I had to meet a client. I thought I told you.’
He frowned. ‘I don’t know, maybe you did, and I forgot.’
‘How did the business dinner go?’ I asked.
‘Swell.’
‘Did you take your medication?’
‘Not yet.’
I grabbed his pills and a glass of water and took them over to him. I watched him popping the three tiny pills into his mouth and wash them down with water.
‘Sophie, have you been drinking?’
‘Had a few drinks, yes,’ I said.
‘Again?’
‘I’m stressed.’
‘Quit your job, I make enough money to sustain both of us. There’s no point for us both to work. There are no mortgages or any lavish expenses, nothing I can’t manage. ’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, I like being independent, and I’ve worked too hard to quit now.’
Had my third shower of the day. How could I have had sex with him? How could I do something like this?
He’s so beautiful.
He was all mine, for a while.
He didn’t ask to see me again anyway. I don’t want to have to fit him into my timetable. I cried, and then slapped my cheek. What were you thinking you foolish, stupid, ridiculous woman?
Anyway, as I was lying there in our bedroom, thinking about how stupid I’ve behaved, Richard came in. I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep.
‘Sophie,’ he whispered.
He kissed my cheek. ‘I love you. I don’t know what I do if I lost you. Please think about that.’
Quit my job? I’ve already lost half of my identity for this man. My job is what gets me out of bed in the morning. I’ve worked hard to make it this far, and my husband wants me to quit? Why doesn’t he quit? He’s the sick man, not me. Why do women have to make all the sacrifices? It’s not going to happen. I’ll be damned to stay at home while Richard runs the show. Well, this marriage is already a one-man show. If I leave my job, I’m sure I’d do something even more stupid than I already have.
5th March,
Evening,
Diary,
Richard was right, there should be a tornado named after me, I am a walking disaster. I don’t want to open this diary in years to come and read about how I became a whore, a bad wife, and a terrible human being. I tried to put that evening behind me and get on with the familiarity of my life. Today, I worked on journal entries. At 3:00pm I had a meeting at the office. Afterward, I made a few phone calls. I left the office at around 18:30, took the tube home and headed to the grocery store. I bought ingredients for supper. I turned to the wine section and browsed the wines, tempted to buy each and every one of them. I opted for a bottle of Merlot. As I was about to leave the section, I nearly hit someone with my basket.
‘Sorr—‘
My jaw dropped.
‘It’s all right,’ Sam said.
His beauty differs from Michael’s. He’s still good-looking, with black and fluffy waves falling over his face, partially covering his blue eyes, fair skin, high cheekbones, and full lips.
‘Oh, it’s you!’ I said, ‘I saw you the other night, you were looking up at my window!’
He looked me up and down. ‘Just admiring.’
‘You what?’
‘I didn’t mean to scare you. I-’ he blurted.
‘What do you want?’
‘... It’s hard to explain.’
‘What’s hard to explain?’
‘Well...’
‘Maybe you can explain this and what happened that other night... The night-’
‘... Nothing happened, we danced. We were having a good time, and then we slipped on the dance-floor, and then you fainted.’
I got a distinct impression that Michael and Sam had agreed to tell the same story. In case I ask questions.
‘Are you sure no-one hit me?’ I asked.
I couldn’t make out a reaction. ‘No, we just fell, that’s all.’
‘It must have been a pretty big fall, I had bruises all over my body.’
‘Look, lady, I don’t know what you want me to say,’ he said, looking into my basket, ‘but you need to take it easy with the booze.’
I sighed. He turned to face me, wide-eyed.
‘You should look on Facebook a little more, you might find something of interest to you.’
‘What?’
He didn’t answer. He went over and paid for things, not looking back.
Are there photos of me from that night on Facebook? Guh. I paid for my things and rushed home.
I checked the mailbox when I got home. There was another note!!! This time typewritten like the first one.
You naughty minx. I know what you’re up to.
Who’s sending these notes? Maybe I should notify the police and show them? But wait... a note that says I’m a naughty minx and someone knows what I’m up too? I’d be a laughing stock. I crumpled the paper into a tight ball and threw it into the nearest bin. That’s where the notes belong.
Richard wasn’t home yet. I logged onto my Facebook and searched for Sam, but nothing. I searched for Evelyne Robinson. Her profile is public. Someone needs to show her how to change her privacy settings. The last time she uploaded a photo, a selfie of herself with another girl, was three hours ago. Evelyne’s a pretty girl, in her early twenties, with long blonde hair, green eyes, low cheekbones, and cupid-shaped lips. She pulls off the boho style beautifully. The daughter of a rich man, with a privileged life who studies, art and takes selfies. I don’t understand the concept of uploading every photo on social media, it’s like you’re seeking approval from society. Look at how great my life is. I don’t get it, and perhaps I never will. Richard stomped in. I closed the laptop.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m writing an email to a client.’
7th March
Afternoon,
Diary,
I never heard from Michael, probably it’s for the best. I served my purpose. That’s how it is with men his age. They lay off and fuck off. I have no plans for this to be an ongoing thing...
10thMarch
Evening
Diary,
Can I see you? M xx
I stared at Michael’s text on my way to work, I didn’t reply though. I entered my office building and took the lift with the other black suits. I pushed the glass door open into the reception. 8:00am and already the phones were ringing, and the printers whirring and jamming. This is my life!
Wendy stopped typing as I approached her desk.
‘Good morning, these are for you?’ she
said, and handed me notes from clients who have called.
‘Thanks, put me through to Mr. Williams. I need to speak to him regarding the profit margins.’
In my office, I sat at my desk and switched on my laptop. My phone beeped -another text from Michael. I switched it off. If clients wanted me, they could reach me at my office. I got on with my papers and figures. It's been brought to my attention that I forgot a deadline for a VAT return. I had to explain to the client, and he has to pay a fine. I must pay more attention. Charles wasn’t happy.
‘Pay it from your own pocket,’ he said when he came to my office to tell me about the mishap, ‘it’s mistakes like these that make us look stupid in front of our clients. Are you stupid?’
‘No.’
‘Do you want to look stupid?’
‘No.’
‘You’re making so many mistakes lately, and it’s making me question your ability to concentrate, Sophie. You have twenty-four hours to fix this.’
Maybe I should quit this fucking job. I pictured it, marching to Charles’ office with my notice and telling him to stop talking to me as if I am dirt stuck under the sole of his shoe!
I left the office at 6:00pm to work from home. I stopped dead as the blood drained from my face. Michael was across the street, waiting. How long had he been there? I told him where I work, but I didn’t expect him to show up there. My colleagues know Richard, so there’s a chance someone might tell him if they started to suspect something.
I dropped the plastic bottle, and the gin poured out onto the ground, I didn’t screw the tab properly! It splashed all over my legs. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me. I picked up the bottle and chucked it in my bag. Michael didn’t move. I didn’t want him to. I couldn’t have him spoil everything for me. I crossed the street and plodded past him, feeling his eyes burning a hole in me. I stopped at the corner, six blocks away from the firm. I fired up a cigarette and waited for Michael. He lumbered casually towards me as if he was on an evening stroll around the city on a cloudy evening.
‘You can’t show up at my work, people can see us together. I can’t be seen in public with you, do you understand?’ I said.
‘You gave me no choice,’ he said softly.
‘What?’
‘Why you didn’t reply to my texts... you were not coming to see me again, were you?’
I ran my hands through my hair. ‘What happened that night... it was...’
It was what? Wonderful? A roller coaster? It’s going to fuck up my life?
‘... It was wrong.’
‘I know but it was great, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s beside the point...’
‘I missed you.’
‘That’s sweet, Mike.’
He kissed me passionately on the lips. I grabbed the collar of his shirt to push him away, my brain yelling at me you’re in public! A rush of anger spiraled into me. I pulled him away, wanting to scream in outrage.
‘Come with me,’ he whispered.
‘I can’t do this,’ I said, studying his beautiful face. I lingered at his lips, but I could.
I have no relationship with Michael, there is no we or us. Still, he arouses emotions in me, ones I have no control over. He gave me an innocent glance, and my heart melted. Maybe just one more time I told myself, just like my drinking, I always say one more time. That one more led to more drinks until I was drunk. This is the same, I knew it, and he knew it.
‘Bollocks,’ I said.
He smiled at me, and stepped out in the pavement, and whistled at the passing taxi. A few heads turned. I shut my eyes. Which part of discretion doesn’t he get! I threw my cigarette to the ground and scanned the area to make sure no one from work was around, although in the rush hour crowds it was hard to tell.
‘How did you learn to whistle like that?’ I asked as we stood side by side.
‘It’s easy,’ he chirped, opening the car door for me, ‘I’ll teach you.’
He gave his address to the driver. The cabbie stared at us from the rear-view mirror, how odd, and strange we must look in his eyes. This thought made me smile. My eyes went to the passing streets and thought, I’m at it again. The taxi stopped at the traffic lights. I placed my hand on the handle and noticed both Michael and the driver watching me. I needed a drink. I couldn’t go through it without any. I searched for my plastic bottle and found there was a bit of gin left. Even a tiny drop helped. Michael swiped the bottle from me.
‘You have a serious problem, do you drink on the job as well?’ he whispered.
The driver could have easily overheard our conversation.
‘I have my drinking under control. I only carry a bottle of water with me.’
He raised an eyebrow at me. ‘You’re a terrible liar.’
‘Just give me the damn bottle,’ I said, trying to snatch it away.
‘I’m not stupid,’ he said.
As we got out of the taxi, he threw my plastic bottle in the bin and stomped past me, inside the flats.
Music blared out from one of the apartments. He took out a set of keys from his jacket pocket and opened the door. I felt unsteady, as though I was walking on jelly. Once inside, I began to unbutton my coat.
‘No, please, let me,’ he said softly.
I stared at his hands, as he unbuttoned my coat. He smelt of soap and sweat.
We need to have boundaries. I can’t have Michael showing up at my work. We again, I have to remind myself there is no we. With Richard, there is we and us, but in that flat there was nothing, I wasn’t myself, I was possessed. In that room, the past, the present, and future were erased. Nothing made sense. Next, he removed the belt from my waist and unbuttoned my dress at the front, taking his time. He stared at my black lace bra. Did he like lace underwear? What sort of man is he? What does he like? He felt the curve of my breasts with his hand. I shivered slightly. They were cold. Someone from outside shouted,
‘I’m going to get you, you cunt!’
A bottle dropped on the ground, glass shattered followed by more swearing. Michael sighed.
‘This is so wrong,’ I said.
‘Nobody has to know...’ he said, kissing my neck and my chest. He then knelt down and kissed my stomach, as I ran my fingers through his hair.
I shut my eyes and gazed dumbly at the ceiling. He removed my tights, and I put my hands on his shoulders to avoid toppling over. I moaned in his mouth.
He nuzzled my neck, as he slipped off my dress. I can do this, I thought, as I removed his jacket and let it drop to the floor. I unbuttoned his shirt and yanked it off with force. My hands were all over him. Of course, I can do this, it was so easy. This will be our secret. Sliding further down, welcoming myself to the rest of him, his neck, his chest, his stomach, I unzipped his trousers, and tasted him salty in my mouth. This will tear me apart. How could I go through life without this passion? How could I think that studying and having a successful job is more important?
Afterward, I dressed and collected my bag. Michael stood shirtless by the coffee table, as I shut the door closed behind me. I shut my eyes in discontent outside his door. We didn’t even set up our next date....or should I say...meeting of sex. This is not a proud moment for me. What are we even doing? What is this?
14th March
Midnight
Diary,
The only thing familiar about my life is my job. I can say words such as ‘trial balance,’ ‘assets,’ and ‘liabilities.’ while I am sitting on a bomb waiting for it to self-destruct.
I went to see Michael tonight. I knocked and knocked, but no answer. I waited for half an hour sitting by his door, but he didn’t show. I ended up nipping to the pub across the street and ordered a shot of vodka. I drowned three in a row. A middle-aged man sat on the stool looking at me adoringly.
‘Nice legs,’ he said.
‘Excuse me?’
‘I said you have nice legs. What’s a beautiful woman like yourself doing drinking on her own? Would you like some company?’<
br />
‘I’m waiting for someone,’ I said, moving away from the bar. I found a sofa by the window and sat down.
From time to time, I peered out of the window, hoping I’d catch Michael on the street. I opened my third packet of cigarettes for the day. I waited another fifteen minutes, then I gave up.
‘Where have you been?’ Richard asked when I arrived home.
‘Had to meet a client.’
‘Hmmm,’ he said and continued reading his paper, ‘how about we go out for dinner tonight?’
‘Sure, let me have a shower first.’
‘Sophie?’
‘Yes, darling,’ I said.
Richard studied me with hard eyes ‘Did you consider what we discussed?’
‘About?’
‘Your job.’
‘We didn’t discuss it, Richard. You were suggesting, and no, I will not quit my job. I like what I do.’
‘I will support you on whatever you decide,’ he said.
The chicken tasted like cardboard in my mouth. I asked for ketchup and took a sip of wine. All I could hear was the sound of forks and knives hitting the plates, and a cacophony of voices, which made me drift off to my escapade with Michael. Each act of love slapping me on the face. Michael pounding me against the wall and wrapping my legs around him. My nails sinking into his skin.
No amount of food or wine will wash off his taste in my mouth. Each time, he touches me, he takes a part of me with him. The drinking, the chain-smoking it can come out in the open, but nobody has to know about this. Do I want an affair? Do I want to ruin everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve? Where did Michael go this evening? Why wasn't he there? I shouldn’t get high hopes of him sitting in his flat waiting for me to show up. He has his own life, friends to meet, a job to go to, girls to shag. Was he with a girl? Don’t even go there my brain whispered to me.
Richard stared at me eating, and I smiled nervously at him. I promised myself, I have to be good for him. Each time, I betray him with Michael, I kill a bit of my husband. Slowly, little by little, I will kill him. He can’t find out about this, it will break his heart.
‘You're eating like a pig,’ said Richard.
‘I’m starving,’ I said.
‘You seem preoccupied.’
‘I’m getting over something.’
‘You seem preoccupied a lot these days.’