I don't want to be
your friend
I just want to be your lover
No matter how it
ends
No matter how it starts
You told him it was one night. One rainy night; one night sometime in early June. It had been a cold spring and the flannel sheets were still on the bed – one night of naked flesh; of salty skin. One night and that was the end of it all.
It wasn't one
night. Forget about your house of cards
And I'll do
mine
Forget about your house of cards
And I'll do mine
Before he left, he asked you to tell him everything.
And you almost did. You almost told him about the days spent hanging around the hospital, waiting for him to come out of a rhinoplasty or a tummy tuck. You almost told him about the cups of coffee (two creams, one sugar) waiting for you on the scrub room counter when he knew you had a long surgery. It was the friendship that would have incensed him. You knew this. You knew he would be jealous more of the smiles shared in hospital corridors; of the uproarious laughter when he told a joke at the eleventh hour of sleep deprivation.
Because it was a world he didn't share. You sat at home and you sat at the table and you sat in front of the TV, and he rustled newspapers while you kept one eye on a novel and one eye on a mindless show, on just to create noise. It wasn't always that way, but that's what you remember, because it got to the point where it was that way for so long that you couldn't really fathom the earlier days of laughter, sex, activity and love.
It was a change to see the light in his eyes when he watched your body move under scrubs or better, under the red dress that you wore when you wanted to feel extra-good that day. You knew your sex appeal in scrubs alone; you enjoyed making his cheeks redden a little when you moved your leg a certain way, when you were hyper-aware of the way your dress fell over your curves. And the appreciation was like life-blood to you; you didn't need his love.
Every woman wants to
feel like she's sexy to someone. And you were. That someone just
wasn't your husband. Fall off the table,
Get swept
under
Denial, denial
So you described the one night to him, because you both knew that was enough. There was no detail; there were no embellishments.
"I fucked him. In our bed. With the sheets. And the comforter your mother bought us two Christmases ago."
That was literally all
you needed to say, but he blinked painfully, once, twice. And then he
raised his eyes to yours and asked, "Truth, Addison. It was only
the once?" The infrastructure will collapse
Voltage
spikes
Throw your keys in the bowl
Kiss your husband goodnight
You could have come clean then. You could have told him about the first night in the on-call room, when you and he were nearly dead with exhaustion, but fire lit the air between you and you found the energy for an open-mouthed kiss; for the bucking of your hips against his; for the way that he bit on your neck and you clenched your fingernails into his back. You made him bleed; there were dark spots on the shoulders of his scrub top. And all day after that session, you found your hands shaking when you remembered the exquisite way he made you come.
You could have told him about the times at Mark's apartment when Derek worked late; you could have told him about the bachelor pad that smelled of spicy cologne and a mixture of dirty socks and raw, male musk; about how you stole one of his pillowcases so that you could bury your nose in it during the nights that Derek slept at the hospital because it was just too tiring to come home.
You had the chance for
atonement. You had the chance to be totally honest; free of your
guilt. Fall off the table,
And get swept under
His eyes locked with
yours; the lines on his face seemed more pronounced, and you paused.
And you remembered that admitting to an affair gave him the upper
hand; left him blameless. And whatever he is, and you know he didn't
deserve it, but still – whatever he is, he is not blameless in this
situation. Denial, denial
Denial, denial
Your ears
should be burning
Denial, denial
And so, you denied it.
"No. Just the once."
And he moved out the next day, anyway.
The remorse didn't come until much later. Maybe it was best that way.
The memory of the affair when he was so absent was sweeter than what followed. But Mark was never meant to be long-term.
You just wish now that you had known that, because in your denial to save one, you lost both.
A house of cards never stands long.
Your ears should be
burning
Denial, denial