She, Rachel, looks up at you with those big brown eyes, the ones that seem like two sparkling diamonds, and you realise you've been looking at her for over five minutes, the papers in front of you left untouched, the words left unread.
"What?" she asks moving those lips, and you're wedding ring feels ever so heavy on your finger, attaching you to where you are, stopping you from getting closer, falling deeper
"Nothing" you say looking away, embarrassed, ashamed, feeling just like your step father
"No what?" she denies you your dignity, you've fallen for her, or fallen in lust with her-you have to pay your penance. And she smiles at you, that striking smile that seems to create life, and you think maybe it won't be that bad, maybe you could do something about it, because, after all, life is short, ever so short, and you're wife's away. You open you're mouth ready to speak, but then something seems to jump at you from your peripheral vision. You look, it's the photo, the photo of her, you're wife, the mother of you're children. Did it really jump? Come to life? Know what you were thinking? No, probably not, but it should have done, and it's enough to make you stop. It's enough to make the legal words of the papers in front of you become ever so interesting again.
"Erm I was just thinking about this Hayworth case" you say, creating the dynamics again, re defining the relationship of colleagues, making the room become a lawyers, and not some sleazy older mans. Returning back to life.
You're sitting in that restaurant now-the one you and your wife used to come to a lot, but don't now. Now things have happened. Now Ryan, Jimmy, have happened and she has happened. And it's hard to keep the same dynamics as the lawyers office, the wine's intoxicating you're senses, the smell of her perfume hypnotising you. But you realise you like it, you feel youthful, young and it's a long time since you felt like that. And you know how lucky you are, that you're sitting with the sexiest woman in the restaurant, the one that all the men keep looking at, comparing their woman to. And that she's here with you, that she wants you, well, she wants your company at any rate. So you move your legs underneath the table, a slight shift that could just easily be an accident, trying to get comfortable, unimportant, but it is, important, because now you can feel her legs up against the fabric of your trousers. You can feel her naked skin touch yours. And you're reminded of the dress she's wearing, black and tight, low and short. You're reminded that she's wearing a dress, that she's here with you, and wearing a dress-that she's wearing a dress for you? She's smiling, telling a story, her eyes are shining and she's beautiful, really, beautiful. You watch the world slow down as she licks her lips, and you feel the emphasis of that tongue. You feel your skin come alive, and you realise you haven't felt that in a very long time. But the wedding ring feels heavy again, the ever present reminder. The trap. And you wonder when you're marriage became a trap, when it passed just being you and her, and became a life sentence. And you realise that maybe you're step sister's right, maybe things have happened, changed, maybe you're in a rut. Maybe that party, that New Year's party, was a good idea, but you blew it, you disallowed it, and now you're here, causing more damage than that ever could. Wanting to cause even more damage.
You leave the restaurant, and she wraps her silk throw tightly around her. She shivers a little and you place your jacket around her. It's what you do, it's how you were bought up, but because it's her, because it's you and her, it feels more. She turns her head and smiles at you, and you're heart skips a beat again. You open the door for her, the door of your car, your family car. And there's the reminders again, you ignore it this time though, allowing you're hand to brush against her waist as you help her up. You climb in too, and start the ignition. She turns the radio on, and suddenly the voice of Frank Sinatra fill the car, it's you're wife's music, it's the song you danced to at you're wedding, the time in you're life you feel complete. But it doesn't feature, it doesn't cause a stoppage in the tension. Instead you listen to the sound of her laugh, it's low now, perhaps because of the alcohol, perhaps because of you. You hope it's because of you. She changes the radio station, and you become younger as you listen to the station she chooses. And maybe because you've become younger, you forget about her, about Kirsten, about your wife, and you're no longer married. You can do this, because no one will be hurt.
You pull up in a parking space at hers, there was no need for directions on the way here, you knew the root, its been burned into your mind.
"Thanks, I had a great time" She says, and you think she's going to go, going to leave. Now you decided you can. But she leans in, she brushes her lips against your skin, and you breath in deeply, letting her fill you entirely. You move your head, slightly, ever so slightly, but it's enough; and your lips find hers. Her soft skin brushes up against yours, and your hands find her hair, pulling her in closer, needing her. She pulls away, and you panic, maybe you went to far, maybe this wasn't right. But she smiles at you, and you fall in love (or lust) again, or maybe you jump, you know what your doing. Your not a teenager anymore, you know you're going to want her, if you go any further, you're not going to be able to let go.
"Coffee?" she breaths and her eyes twinkle, magic You nod slowly and climb out of the car.
It's uncomfortable, in the lift on the way up. There's an old woman standing behind you, so you stand the opposite end from Rachel. But she still catches your eye, you're riveted to her, and you swear the woman can see every little code you send.You crash against the door when your inside. Your lips, tongues, hands, skin, connected-forced together. She moves her leg up your side and your trail your hand along your thigh, feeling her. You move your lips to her neck sliding your tongue along her delicate skin, tasting her. You feel her fingers unhook your buttons and your heart beats double, wanting her. She sighs, and calls out your name, beckoning you in. "Kirsten" you breath. She jumps away from you like fire, and you can see the desire in her eyes replaced with immediate anger "What did you call me?" She asks, screams You stand still, shocked, the alcohol slowly wearing off. She turns the light on and the drink wears off entirely, like a spark. And you know what you've done, and you feel old, and dirty, and guilty. And there's nothing to stop it, because you've really done it now. The ring hangs on your finger like stone, and burns into your skin, it judges you, kills you. "I'm sorry" you say leaving her.
Outside in the parking lot, you grip your hands together tightly, the pains what you deserve. And you deserve it, because you did it. You hurt your friend, you cheated on your wife and you betrayed on your family. You're disgusting, and evil. In the morning you'll think about the importance of calling out your wife's name, of thinking of Kirsten as you were kissing someone else. That your just yearning for your childhood, yearning for the time when you're relationship wasn't tied down with families and bills. And that Kirsten's that important to you, that she's that connected to you, that you love her, Kirsten Cohen, your wife. But right now, you can't stop hating yourself to think about it clearly, rationally. Because you can see Seth smiling in the back seat, and because you can hear Kirsten's laugh. Because you feel married and old. Because you feel unfaithful.