The Five Rules of Cheating
(as agreed upon by successful cheaters all over the world)
I. Just don't fucking do it.
"Are you sure this is okay?" Naomi asks you for the twenty-third time this evening. You've been counting, because even though she's marrying your sister and you are kind-of-friends nowadays, she's an annoying bitch.
"Yes. We've cleared this up a long time ago. She's your friend, you like her, there's no fucking rocks in here." You try not to remember the argument which was followed by apologies which was followed by the fucking best kiss of life until now and then by quite a number of other kisses. You're so not thinking about this now. You've just gotten engaged, your sister's getting married and with the way she and Naomi go on, it should be clear that she's the gay one, not you.
There's no reason to tell the bride-to-be, that if you have a problem with her being here, it's not because of a stupid rock. So, you push all thoughts of soft, always slightly chapped lips and wandering hands from you mind.
Instead, you walk into the club with Naomi, smiling, greeting people and listening to everyone telling you what "a lovely couple" the blonde and your sister are. You've heard that often enough during the last five years. It's quite easy to ignore the threat of past memories, brown hair and mysteriously glowing blue you're too annoyed by all the talk of weddings, white dressesand self-written vows you excuse yourself to go and have a fag. You don't smoke, but you need some peace. Outside, leaning against the cold wall of the pub is where you see her. She's late. Of course she is. It would ruin that fucking image of hers to be on time. Your eyes meet, the dark street lit only by the strays of light through the half-open door.
"Katherine."
"Elizabeth."
It's been seven years since you ran away, but she doesn't look all that different. Still beautiful. "How are you?" It seems like a nice, sensible thing to say.
She shrugs, doesn't reply. Comes closer, looks at you like she still knows everything. "How's that engagement working out for you?"
It's your turn to shrug. "Good enough."
"Ever think about me?", she enquires and you really fucking hate her for being such an arrogant, confident bitch. You don't answer her, and you don't need to. Not when she's got you backed against the wall, the rough stones against your back in harsh contrast to her soft body. She's way too close.
You try to leave, to walk away- this is a mistake after all-, but you've never been able to resist her. So you don't- not when she captures your lips in a fierce, bruising kiss that feels as good as you remember, not when she presses up against you, touching you everywhere and not when she slides up your dress and roughly pushes her hands into your soaked- she'll always make you wet- knickers.
You come kissing a woman you've sworn to hate, your moans muffled by her mouth.
II. Don't go back.
You ring the door on a dark, rainy Tuesday evening. Work was stressful and for some reason, you're afraid to go home to that suburban terrace house where Mark, who loves you, thinks adoption is a great option and proposed on Christmas, is waiting for you.
You know what you're doing is wrong. You remember from somewhere, in the far end of your mind, that this is forbidden and painful. She opens the door and doesn't ask any questions. You appreciate that.
"Well come on in then", is all she says.
This time, it's you who pushes her onto the bed with its red satin sheets. She's beautiful in a pair of black knickers and a man's shirt (You don't feel jealous. You can't.). You unbutton it, slowly taking in her smooth skin as she gasps and shivers beneath you. Your fingers brush over soft breasts and hardened nipples, moving on slowly across her abdomen. She pulls you down for one of these hot, bruising kisses as you slide a hand into the slick wetness between her legs. She begs for more as you slide one, then two fingers into her, as she clenches around you and comes moaning your name (which you pretend not to hear).
She seems vulnerable lying under you. Her hair is spread out on the sheets and she looks fucking delicious. Your sweaty and wet and feeling guilty, but you don't care for much longer when she flips you around, slipping her hands under your bra, rolling your nipples between her fingers. She rips of your blouse, buttons flying everywhere.
"That was fucking expensive", you complain.
"I'll buy you a new one", she murmurs and you stop bitching when her mouth replaces her fingers, licking and kissing your tits. She's careful at first, but as you writhe up beneath her she alternates between sucking your nipples and softly biting down. You gasp when her moves move lower, when she pushes up your skirt and pulls down your knickers.
"Wet for me", she whispers and you can feel her warm breath on your cunt, which only serves to make you more wet. Her mouth is on you now, a long finger moving, twisting and curling inside of you. She's cruel, pulling away a second before you come, resuming moments later until it's you screaming her name.
Many minutes later when you're actually breathing again you look around the flat.
"Jesus, Ef, you live in a fucking dump."
There's only a single room, as far as you can see- presuming the door leads to a bathroom- filled with a sofa, a television, a bed and some kind of kitchen. Books and clothes are lying around on the floor
She simply smirks down at you. "Like it?" You laugh, because she could always do that do you and because you can't deny that it feels good to be away from the sickeningly cute atmosphere of a well-kept house. You're running away from happiness back to some illusion of passion. But when you look at her getting slowly out of bed, grabbing a shirt from somewhere without bothering to pull her knickers back on you know that maybe it's a little bit more than that. Because maybe, just maybe, you've just been running away for a long time. "I should go."
She doesn't ask you to stay, simply kisses you square on the mouth the second before you leave. "See you." It's not a question or a request, simply a statement. She's right. You're back two days later.
II. Don't stay the night.
"I'm sorry about this honey. I know you wanted to go out for dinner with your parents this weekend, but the conference might mean a breakthrough for the company."
You smile and tell him it's fine. What's wrong with an ambitious man after all? You should be surprised at yourself when you call your mother to tell her your feeling bad, but you're not any longer. You're becoming far too good at this.
She's home. She seems to be most of the time. You're not actually sure what it is she does, so you ask.
"Most poeple think I don't work, you know."
You're lying in bed after some pretty amazing sex, satisfied and naked. She's pulled the sheets up to cover her breasts and you stare down at her. She's not lazy. In the end, she gives in.
"I'm an art teacher." There's a slight blush on her cheeks when she admits more. "Half-time. I draw a bit, too."
You'd love to see that, but judging by the look on her face, she's shown you enough for a night. Instead, you decide that she looks cute with a blush. Soon enough, the sheets are back on the floor. When you fall asleep in a naked tangle of limbs, you pretend it's just exhaustion and laziness making you stay.
It's quiet humming that wakes you and you open your eyes to Effy making coffee at that tiny stove of hers. She's wearing one of these button-up things that make her look way too hot again and smiles when she turns around to see you awake. She's beautiful. "Sleep well?" You nod. She pours the coffee and brings it you. It's black and strong, in small cups. You taste it carefully. It tastes like her- strong, slightly bitter, maybe sweet. Different from the sugary, weak coffee with too much milk you usually have. You look up at her with the question obvious in your eyes. She settles down on the bed.
"Tuscany", she elaborates. "Two months after university. Coffee, wine, pasta and Italian men. Perhaps some history stuff, but I'm not too sure on that." You both laugh and you have another sip of the coffee.
"Nice", you decide. She smiles softly. It's a real haven't seen Effy smile that way for quite some time. She kisses you quickly on the lips before lying down back onto the bed.
"It was a good place", she says. "Consider going there for your honeymoon." It's not an insult, nor jealousy. It's just Effy with knowing eyes and dangerous smiles, saying what she thinks. You don't know how to reply or what to do, so you kiss her.
It's late on a fucking lovely Sunday afternoon when you leave after a day of shagging, talking and her self-made Italian pasta. You ignore the smile on your face and the look in her eyes.
IV. Don't get caught.
It's fucking Naomi who catches you. It makes you feel guilty, it embarrasses you and it annoys you to no end. You're lying in bed, naked and alone. Effy's gone for a shower, but right now, you're not in the mood to get up. Your eyes are closed, occupied with memories of the brown-haired beauty next door writhing underneath you. You hear a door open and close again and smile softly. Nothing happens, though. "Fucking come over here and kiss me already", you complain.
"My wife, your sister, might mind." That certainly makes you open your eyes as you hurry to pull up the sheets. "Naomi! What the fuck?"
"Relax, Katie, nothing I haven't seen before." She's holding the keys she used to enter in her hands and you curse her and your, well whatever she is, for being such friends. Naomi's eyes harden as they scan the room, taking in the scattered clothes, the two sets of coffee cups and of dinner plates neither of them could be bothered to clean up yet and the bed with her naked sister-in-law in it. You can guess what she things as expressions of anger, fear and for a few seconds spitefulness cross her face. To her credit, she voices none of it. "How long?" she asks.
There's little use in lying. "Your hen night." Their honeymoon was meant to last two months and surprise flickers across your face when you realize that you've been carrying this one for that long.
"Are you okay?"
You shrug slightly. You might be friends now, but what the fuck are you supposed to answer."Don't tell Em", you request. Your sister has clear opinions on cheating, affairs and love. Very clear.
"I won't tell Emily, Katie, not now." It's only fair, you think, because her cheating caused Emily to hate that kind of behaviour so fucking much. "But the two of you", she nods towards the still-closed door (Effy's deaf in the mornings) "better sort this out. Or you'll hurt everyone. You need to make a choice."
You know that it's the truth, but you're still angry and guilty. Of all people, why did it have to be her? Better than your sister maybe, but she's just too fucking understanding.
"Go home, Katie. Emily's on her way there. She missed you." She walks towards the door and knocks harshly. "Elizabeth Stonem. You better come out right fucking now. We are talking."
She's wrapped in a towel when she comes out and actually looks slightly flustered for once. Despite everything, you're enchanted. You leave quickly, but not before a short, supportive kiss Naomi pretends not to see.
V. Don't fall in love.
You haven't been able to stay away. You tried, of course. Tried not to think about nothing but her. You had to after the whole Naomi-incident. The problem is, you can't. You missed her too fucking much. You've missed her talking about people (psychology), life (philosophy) and art (culture). You've missed her coffee and her half-naked outfits. You've missed waking up with her on top of you. You've missed sneaking glances at her drawings and the way she laughs and shakes her head when she catches you. You've missed the way she feels, the way she kisses you like there's no tomorrow, the way she makes you feel (happy).
You feel guilty when you go and visit Naomi and Emily and pretend everything is simply fucking fine. You feel even more guilty that you wait for Emily to go and make some tea and for Naomi to take a shower before you reach into the blonde's handbag for her keys. You're only going to take one of them. You know what you're doing is wrong, but you really need to see her. She's not going to be home now- which is why you need the fucking keys- but it would help to go there, to feel her presence in the small flat.
"You owe her better than this."
"I fucking hate you, Campbell."
"Me or yourself? I married my girl."
"It's not always as easy as you make it sound."
She laughs. "It is. Believe me, I know. In the end, it comes down to chosing."
"I'm not gay. I'm engaged. This just fucking never happened."
"I don't care if you're gay. Well, I might find it slightly hilarious, but that's it. I care that you've fallen in love with her, Katie, and I know you're not the only one."
"Not the only one in love with her? Anything you want to tell me, Naoms?"
Steely blue eyes turn on her. "Stop making this about me and fucking admit what's wrong. She's been hurt more than enough."
"I know. I fucking know! Don't you think I feel bad enough all of this?" you scream back at her.
"Just make it right, Katie. Stop running."
"You high and mighty bitch. Just because my sister forgives you everything, you're not a morale apostle," you continue on.
She interrupts your rant. "Stop it, Katie. I know my mistakes and I'm not judging you. I'm just caring. Get used to it." She snatches her keys from your hand and finally, finally walks into the bathroom.
She's right, and you know it. It's still not easy though. It's easy enough fucking Effy, being with her, talking with her. It's harder admitting that you want her more than anyone else. It's harder accepting that you haven't had sex with the man you claim to love in nearly three months. You're scared- she might not want this, might not want you and you might just like the idea of escaping.
The truth doesn't come storming down. It takes you two more days to accept that it's not just an affair, because the passion between Effy and you has so little to do with secrets and cheating and so much with the fact that you maybe love her. It takes you another day and a talk with Naomi to understand that perhaps she wants you too.
The next steps are easier. You tell him that it's over. He's surprised and angry, but when his best reason for staying together is that you already had a design for the wedding invitations made, you know you're making the right choice.
You do "stuff" at work until it's all the way you want it to be.
You even manage to tell Emily. Which is fucking difficult.
Despite all of that, despite the loving encouragement by the very annoying newlyweds (whenever they're not shagging, that is), despite the fact that this really does feel real, it takes you an entire week to pluck up the courage to go there. In the end, you find yourself standing in front of her door, ringing, waiting for her to open. She looks surprised when she sees you, hurt and vulnerable and so fucking afraid you simply want to hold her (maybe forever).
Instead, you hold out your right hand. She takes the two tickets and looks at them. Flights to Florence. School holidays are starting in two weeks. You checked. "I'm sorry", you offer, hoping she understands. You're sorry for using her, for maybe breaking her a little bit more, for letting her be the affair and for taking this long to come here. She shakes her head and now the fear is everywhere in you. "Am I too late?" Finally, at last she looks, reaches out again, but for you this time. And smiles. For real. "No."
The kiss is like every other one and like none of them. You're lost in familiarity, passion, lust- and love. You're lost in Effy. "I love you", you whisper. Then, Effy's mouth is on yours again. You hear the quiet reply moments later and this time you're the one kissing Effy, holding her. "You make me whole", she whispers.
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