September 1999

She went to him now to feel beautiful. She went to him now to feel loved. She went to him now despite the chance of getting caught—someone could walk in and see it all, let her husband know of her betrayal, but even with all of this, she didn't care. She went to him now to feel that every move she made never went unappreciated; he seemed grateful for the flip of her hair, the arch of her brow, the tilt of her head as her fingers run down his chest. She went to him now to feel validated, to feel that yes, she was a real person who could be seen and heard. She went to him now to feel alive, that her body wasn't just going through the motions of life in order to trick everyone on the outside.

But most of all, she went to him now because she went to him five years ago, and he gave her no reason to stop trusting him when it ended.

They betrayed other people, leaving everything they built with them in the wake, but they never betrayed each other. They held nothing back. They kept telling themselves that it couldn't last forever, and in the end, they were right, never promising anything they couldn't deliver. That was the only rule they had; nothing said or done that could ever be used against them at some point in the future. If they kept it as clean as they could, no one would be at fault if and when everything ended.

When they were reunited, under entirely different circumstances than before, they recognized each other immediately, but played strangers as they were introduced. And as soon as they were left alone, they agreed that they never would speak of their past. Act like it never happened, and it will all go away eventually. And it worked, on the surface. Deep down, she was always drawn to him. Some days were worse than others. Some days, she would look at him and want nothing more than to slide her hands across his skin. But she kept herself in check, despite her desires.

As far as she knew, he wouldn't be betraying anyone in this process, if they were to start again; Michael was now out of the picture—was it because he found out? Or maybe it was something else entirely—and if he was seeing someone else, she didn't know about it. Maybe it was better that she didn't know about it.

It made it easier for Karen to come to Will tonight.

She had had it; something about Stan tonight really got under her skin. It wasn't the usual; this time, Karen had wanted to speak to Stan, even called his name several times, and he didn't listen. Or he was ignoring her completely. And she realized that whatever it was that had drawn him to her all those years ago—what was keeping her from going back to Will, or going to anyone else; she didn't want to hurt him now that they were married—had obviously faded.

Which meant that she wouldn't feel bad if she happened to slip into the arms she trusted.

Karen had gone into one of the spare bedrooms, one that had a separate phone line that Stan never checked, and dialed Will's number. She got the answering machine, but she knew she would be safe; Grace had moved out of the apartment and was usually oblivious to the blinking red light and the voice shooting through the speakers. "Keep the door unlocked," she said and hung up before she could change her mind, tell him to forget everything she just said.

She wouldn't be breaking the rules they put down when they first met. They didn't have to talk about their past. They would simply be repeating history, and who said that that had to be a bad thing?

To the bedroom. Stan was sleeping soundly; she wondered if, at this point, he would even notice if she left for good. She went to his bedside and touched his arm, shook him gently. Wake up, Stan, she thought. Tell me that you love me and you don't want me to leave. Tell me that you're sorry and you can't wait to talk to me. Let me know that you still care. Nothing. He didn't budge, and Karen couldn't tell if he was truly in a deep sleep or if he was merely pretending slumber to get her to leave him alone. She wouldn't put it past him if it were the latter. She sighed and left the room, raced out of the home and hailed a taxi that would put her at Riverside Drive.

The door opened with ease; he obviously got her message. She found him in the hallway, willing her to come to him. No words, no fillers. Nothing that will weigh this night down. Her lips found his like they had only been apart for a few hours, his fingers tracing the circumference of her waist as he led her to his bedroom. Clothes on the floor. Bare skin against his sheets.

Making love against the moonlight. Something that was once so routine had been sorely missed. Karen didn't realize how much she wanted—no, needed—to feel like this again. She wanted to know how long this would last. She wanted to know if he would do this again. She knew she shouldn't ask, but something inside of her was begging to be informed.

When their breathing evened and became lighter, Will cradled her in the space between his arm and his chest. She looked over at his clock, screaming 2:39 AM, like it was scolding her. It's the early morning; you should be with your husband. You made the commitment. You should act like you did. She glared at it. I'll act like it, she thought, when he starts to.

Silence. It should be broken.

"I could stay here tonight," she whispered, the first thing she said to him. The attraction, the sight of him in the hallway, was too overwhelming for her to speak. "I don't think he'd notice."

"You know you can't do that."

Well. She could. But she shouldn't. And she knew it.

Karen sighed. Five years ago, he would have jumped at the chance to spend the night with her. He would have told her he loved her and actually meant it. He would have kissed her in the morning to ease her into reality. She would have believed, for a fleeting moment, that it could be like this every day. But, although they kept saying that it couldn't last forever, although he let Michael move back in and she accepted that dreaded proposal, she knew she was heartbroken. She had truly fallen, even though she didn't want to admit it. And she could tell that he did, too.

But a lot can change in five years.

Karen got up and picked her clothes up off the floor. Slipped into her skirt, her back towards the bed, towards Will. If she was going to leave, she couldn't face him. If she did, she knew she would want to stay here, and he was right; she really can't do that.

"Can I see you tomorrow night?" She shouldn't have asked that. That sounded desperate.

"I don't know. Let's take tomorrow as it comes."

With that, she slipped her shoes onto her feet and tried to straighten her hair as she walked out of the bedroom. She locked the door behind her and hailed a taxi outside.

Her head against the back seat of the cab, she felt the tears begin to well in her eyes, hot with disappointment. It wasn't his fault; they were only doing what they agreed to do. But it wasn't in her nature to deny something that was so obviously in front of her. It wasn't in their nature, the 1994 them. They were freer, they could say whatever the other needed to hear. But things were different now. Things had to change, and she hated it.

She went to him to feel alive.

But she never realized how quickly she would become numb once again.