short thing, just because i'm a procrastinator. a note: i have two multichapters going on right now ("fallen" and "back where i belong") plus a long missing year os (iridescence); so if you're in need of something to read and you feel inclined to do so, check those up ;)
oq thirties au. there are no names so it could be read for any m/f couple.
tw: adultery, mentions of domestic violence, probably rated m-ish
Until That Day
She always meets him there. She's come to consider it as their hotel, she's come to appreciate their usual room as a second home, almost. He's never been at her place, she's never been at his, and it just makes the whole thing dirtier and more shameful. She's always prided herself to be classy and elegant, but in times like this, she feels nothing more than filthy.
He calls her babe, lovely, darling, never asks, takes what she gives, talks calmly about the terms of their blooming relationship. He arrives first and leaves after her, rents another room to mislead anyone that could be in their tracks. No notes, no phone calls. Just the arrangements for another date through a common friend, who's been the one who introduced them, at a social gathering.
She always smokes a cigarette, after the love, and pours rosewater on her body, to gain an essence of purity she's lost since a very long time. They are careful not to leave anything behind – a forgotten earring, or a watch.
They never talk about the future.
It is not said if they even see a future. They content themselves with savoring the other, relishing each other's pleasures. Sometimes, they don't even speak much. Mouths devouring each other in moments, his fingers carding through her hair. Relieved sighs of tormented souls.
She cries, when she's on the train to get back home. She cries and she feels unworthy, disgusting. Because he's not her husband, and she's not his wife, and they are cheating, both of them.
But where there is a love like that, is it so wrong, after all?
He's always told her he has married too soon. Now, his wife is sick since years, she's become a shell of the person she was, and before her downfall, she has even told him to love again, to find someone to make him happy. But he has sworn to stay at her side, in sickness and in health, underestimating what years of that sickness can do to a soul and their loved ones. He still loves his wife, she knows. But he has told her that divorce is impossible, not when one of the partners isn't mentally healthy. He loves his wife like a caring man does, but he's in love with her.
She told him she married too soon. That she had a sweetheart, and he died, and then it was this rich, violent husband or horrific threats. Of course, he wasn't violent at the time – but then, as soon as he'd put the ring on her finger, he was the worst beast she'd ever encountered. And she can never leave his side, because she's a prisoner. These trips are, supposedly, a visit to her aunt, but truthfully, a balm to her battered heart.
So secrecy it is, and today it's their anniversary, and the weight of one year of lies is heavy on her shoulders.
When she enters, he's already there.
Hi, she smiles.
Hello, gorgeous, he answers, standing up from the bed. I missed you.
I missed you more, she replies, but his hands are cupping her cheek and he's watching at her with such devotion in his gaze it makes her weak in the knees. He kisses her thoroughly, slowly, she lets out a small moan, finally, she's waited one month for this. When their lips part, she opens her eyes, his thumb stroking her cheek. How are you, darling?
I'm… okay, she shrugs. He was away on the last two weeks. He came back two days ago.
Was he in a good mood?
Mostly, she replies, pecking his lips. She won't be able to hide her bruises, once he has stripped her of her clothes. He'll get angry. At himself, because he's not able to steal her away.
He looks at her knowingly, but she smiles, tells him not to worry, kisses him again. Come to bed.
His reaction is exactly as expected, when she's bare, covering casually her thigh with her palm, in a useless attempt to hide the blue blossom. Please, my love, she whispers. I just want to forget. Please make love to me.
His eyes soften, he caresses her cheek, he tells her yes, and he kisses her, really this time, with a kiss that promises more and gives her a shiver. He makes her feel beautiful, and wanted, and cherished. He makes her feel a woman, a lover, a person.
She comes with a strangled moan on his fingers, she wants to cry, because this is forbidden and wrong, and yet makes her so happy, so there must be something wrong with her. She wills herself not to think about it, and straddles him, sinking down on him, he almost bites her shoulder before she reminds him, No marks.
I love you, she cries as she comes.
So fitting that she can't have him.
They end up on the bed, side by side, spent, with a stupid smile on their lips, unwilling to pop that bubble of happiness. Until he says, My wife has been diagnosed to have four months of life, they told me today. She won't live more than that.
She doesn't dare to smile, because it's horrible, because she feels a replacement, a second choice. She says, If your wife dies, then I'll run away with you. Or I'll kill him. If I have to stay with him some more, I'll die. Or he'll kill me.
He plops himself up on one elbow, and looks at her intently. I want more, my love. I'm tired of living in the shadows. But please, don't talk about you dying, because my heart can't take it.
It would have sounded cheesy, in another situation, but he's serious, and her eyes water. She turns her head to hide from his gaze. I'm tired too, she confesses. I'm tired of being the other woman. Of being… less.
Don't cry, he begs. He gathers her in his arms, the sweet afterglow of sex all but forgotten. I love you, my darling. Oh, I love you so much.
I love you too, she whispers to his skin. Can you wait for me?
I'd wait till the ends of time, darling. We will be together, one day. Just you wait.
She falls asleep, lulled by the hum of his voice and the scent of smoke, hears an old jazz song from the streets, the window open. She falls asleep dreaming of new worlds were they can be together and he can take her to dinner, where they can walk hand in hand, where they grow old sitting on a porch swing.
Just you wait.
