This was initially a one-shot but I was really pleased with the way it turned out and I feel a bit more could be done with this.
Please review!
Fading Forever
Sara sat on the edge of the king sized bed as far away from her snoring husband as she could be. Her head in her hands as she attempted to brush aside all the negative feelings that had flooded her body overwhelming her senses.
She loosened the knot on her robe attempting to reduce the tension in her lower abdomen. She felt sick. Before her husband had returned she had attempted to wash all traces of her lover from her body but soap did not empty the mind. She thought about their last encounter. It had been less than twenty four hours ago. He'd been rough with her leaving a bruise on her jaw from when he'd forcibly turned her to face him when he kissed her, bruises on her wrists from where he'd held her down, a faint bite mark on her shoulder, not that she'd complained. He'd apologised once they had finished. But she'd brushed him off remembering how exhilarated she had felt when he'd taken control.
The sound of the bed creaking slightly caused her eyes to shoot to her husband behind her. He rolled over and resumed snoring. Taking a deep breath she turned away silently thankful for not having to speak to him.
The first thing her husband had wanted once they had returned from the airport had been sex. She could tell from the way he looked at her in the car as she drove them back to her town house. She'd give him a false smile as he looked at her with anticipation while he indicated towards the bedroom. Sara thought about the anxiety that had filled her when her husband had undone the buttons on her long sleeved shirt. She had used make up to cover up the bruise on her jaw and silently prayed her foundation would stay. She'd attempted to think of false explanations for the bruises on her skin.
But he hadn't noticed.
He not said a word about the marks on her skin that had been left by another man who had enjoyed the same pleasures he had. He had not noticed any difference in his wife as he mindlessly thrusted into her while she kept her eyes shut pretending to be anywhere else other than under his sweating, panting body. He'd finished quickly and the proceeded to roll over and fall asleep, his deep breaths soon turning into snoring.
She'd picked herself up from where he'd discarded her on the other side of the bed after use and slowly walked to the shower room on another floor so he wouldn't hear her scrubbing at her skin until it was red raw in order to dispel of the feelings of worthlessness. When she had returned she'd found it impossible to climb back into bed with a man that had disregarded her when making plans. To return to being beside someone who could not see what was happening to their marriage with every moment of their separation.
Sara wandered to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of red wine. Knowing that the alcohol would not help with the conflicts she was facing. It would cloud her judgement further. But she did not want to think about her marriage in the state of sobriety.
She did not love the man that had been her solace. She was sure of that. But the question arose about her love for her husband. Sara did not know if she loved him any longer. She did not know if could love him any longer. He had become the things that she thought she had escaped from when she'd left her college boyfriend. Their conversations over the phone had become shorter and shorter every night as they struggled to find anything to say to each other. When he was there he would want sex and sleep not attempting to engage her or entertain her like he had done early in their relationship.
As Sara sat in the kitchen she realised she felt used; she felt empty.
The man that had claimed to cherish her had begun treating her less like a companion and more like a forced responsibility. She could tell from the way his voice was strained on the phone at he attempted to sound interested in the book she had been reading restraining himself from saying that he had work to be doing rather than listening to her chit chat. She had understood this from the way he no longer cared whether she had an orgasm or not because he had gotten what he'd needed from her.
Her other lover had focused on her pleasure in a way that she never knew a man would. He would make love to her as if it might be the last time. As Sara thought of herself in the throes of passion guilt made itself known in the pit of her stomach for letting a man other than her husband touch her in the way her diversion did.
She could not justify what they had been doing. She had not attempted to rationalise it.
Draining the last of the wine from the glass she filled it up again, the one glass not enough to suppress the anguish that been running through her blood stream. She took the glass and returned to their bedroom. She sat on the arm chair by the window the glass of wine in her hand as she watched her husband sleep.
Moonlight trickled through the window hitting the white sheets of their bed rumpled around the man's frame. His eyelids fluttering as he dreamt. He looked as peaceful, oblivious as he was to her indiscretions. She felt a mix of things as she watched him: ashamed, guilty, and pathetic.
But soon she realised the thing she felt most when she looked at her husband was anger. Because he could not see that he was the one pushing her into the arms of another man.
He was the reason she no longer believed in love.