The Inner Compartment: The Core Laid Bare
Megan feels Don get out of bed. An orange haze streams through the paisley-curtained windows. She's not alone.
Amy lies beside her.
"Ugh." Megan groans as she rolls over to the space Don has vacated, still warm and smelling of his night sweat.
She had pushed Don back onto the bed. Straddled him. He was too drunk to fight her, even though he tried to sit up.
Her stomach starts to churn.
"Oh God, did I . . . ?" she whispers to no one. She turns to see Amy sleeping next to her – peacefully. And she remembers more.
Amy putting his hand up her skirt. And forcing him down on the bed with a kiss. While she watched.
"Did we . . . ?" No. It couldn't have happened. Not that way. She wouldn't do that to him. But still, she wants to make sure he's okay. She slips on her pink ruffled robe and quietly heads towards the kitchen, leaving Amy behind, still asleep.
Megan finds him in the kitchen fumbling around, looking for coffee. He hasn't showered yet. That's a good sign . . . she thinks.
He pulls her in for a couple of brief kisses as the phone begins to ring. They're distracted and break away from each other.
It's Stephanie. Don smiles his first smile of the day as he takes the receiver from Megan. Megan can't read him as he listens to the voice on the other end of the line.
And she is pissed. She thought she had sent Stephanie away for good. She bangs around in the kitchen to express her anger while Don expresses his concern for Stephanie over the phone. He moves away from the noise Megan is making to finish his conversation.
When he hangs up he puts his hands on her hips and tells her that he needs to leave even though he was supposed to stay the whole weekend.
"But you're still coming back next weekend, right?" she asks him hopefully.
"Of course." Too quickly his eyes dart away from hers.
Something is wrong.
Amy comes out of the bedroom to say goodbye.
Don stares at Amy and looks perplexed - but it's more than that. Megan can see the trauma lining his face. She's seen that face before. As the front door closes behind Amy, Don closes his eyes briefly and lets out a soft sigh.
Oh no.
Don tells Megan that he's going to take a shower and leaves her alone in the kitchen.
She tries to take a drag of her cigarette but then throws it down into the ashtray instead. She collapses against the side of the counter, her head in her hand, overwhelmed with dizziness.
She couldn't have.
But she did.
Megan remembered back to the morning she had woken him over a year ago – after his fever had broken. She'd been concerned.
Don said to her, "You don't have to worry about me."
She began to leave the room.
"Wait."
She turned around at the door.
"You don't have to be concerned that I'll cheat on you."
"What?"
Don motioned for Megan to come back and sit beside him, patting a spot on the bed. She sat down. Why would he be talking about his now?
"Andrea – the woman you saw in the elevator – well, I killed her."
"What!?" she exclaimed, almost jumping of off the bed.
He grabbed her forearm, keeping her in place.
"Listen . . . it's not what you think," he fumbled around for some words and finally found them. "Look, you already know she was someone I had slept with. A long time ago. When I was with Betty."
Megan nodded. He ran his hand through his hair roughly.
"Well. . . she came to the apartment. . ."
"What!?" his hand was on her forearm again, restraining her.
"Will you just listen?" Don was still so weak from being sick and obviously not going about this the right way. "It wasn't really her but I thought it was."
"Oh, okay. Your fever?"
"Yes, that must have been it . . . She . . . oh, God Megan – She forced herself on me. Made me have sex with her." He looked down at the floor and then looked back up. "So I killed her. For you - for us. So you see you have nothing to worry about."
He looked at her hopefully.
Megan placed a hand on Don's forehead to see if he was still warm.
"You don't need to do that, I'm fine." He took her hand off of his brow and held it in his, looking her straight in the eye. "I'll never stray from you."
Megan sensed there was more to this fever dream. Much more. He seemed erratic. She thought back carefully to what he had said. "She forced herself on you?"
"Yes! I didn't want to do it. I don't want to do it. But she . . . "
He looked down, shame burning his cheeks. Megan stared at him, perplexed. This was only a dream, right?
"I told her no. But I was weak, sick. She pressed against me. She could feel me growing hard, even though I honestly didn't want to . . . "
He paused, his eyes darting around, blinking furiously, but still downcast. "When it was over she told me that it would happen again. And that I would enjoy it again. Because I am sick . . . She told me I was sick."
He looked up at Megan, his eyes raw. "And that's when I killed her."
"Honey, you didn't kill anyone. I was right here with you the whole time." She moved some of the hair out of his eyes. "Has this happened before?"
"Me killing someone?"
"No," she said and paused, thinking how best to word this. "It's just that your reaction seems so extreme. Instinctual. I'm just wondering if something happened to you . . . ?"
"I killed her for you. For us."
"No, Don," she said, and gave him a serious look.
As he stared at her, he began to break down. His face crumpled and she took it into her hands, cradling him. She pressed her forehead against his, feeling his tears fall onto her cheeks, "Oh, honey."
Eventually he was able to talk, but he couldn't look her in the eye.
"I was only a teenager. And living in that whore house."
He paused.
"Aimee told me that I liked it. I told her to stop."
He took in a deep breath and shuddered.
"I had been sick – she had taken care of me. I just wanted her kindness. Not. . . not. . . not what happened."
"It's okay," Megan rubbed his back to soothe him.
"She thought I wanted it. Told me I did. She taunted me. Because she lifted the sheets and saw my erection."
Megan felt him cringe.
"I didn't want it, Megan, I didn't," he said desperately and dissolved into a torrent of tears again.
"I know, Honey," she said and tilted his face up to look at her. His eyes were so haunted. "I know."
Megan returns to the present, sickened by these memories. The dizziness is overwhelming. She staggers to the bedroom to go lie down. Don is still in the shower.
As she flops face first into the bed, she smells their sex and begins to cry. How could she do this to him?
The beginning of their tryst comes flooding back to her. How she had approached him with Amy. Offered both of them to him.
"Kiss her. I know you want to."
"I don't want anything right now," he had said.
She had pressed on his groin and felt the hardness there, misinterpreted it.
"Don't lie."
"Oh, God. What have I done?" she buries her face in the sheets, wishing she could only smell herself and Don within them. But Amy's scent is there, too. Amy/Aimee. . .
She hears the shower turn off and decides to fake being asleep until Don packs up and leaves.
She cannot face him.
TO BE CONTINUED . . .