Diary of the Mistress

Chapter V | Five

I hate you.

I wish I could say those words to him and actually mean them. I don’t hate him. I love him; I love him so much that it’s pitiful. I love him so much that I’m ashamed in myself.

I’m in love with a married man.

He slid his foot in between the door before I was able to slam it, staring at me with those large brown eyes, expecting for me to give in.

I always give in, always.

My heart hurts when I think of losing him, the little of him that I do have. The thought of no longer having this affair scares me, maybe because then I’ll be alone.

Alone.

That’s my biggest fear, to live the rest of my life by myself, so I settle for this. I settle for being his side piece that only gets spurs of his time, our fingers grasping at each other’s bodies whenever we get a moment alone.

This is not my idea love; it’s no one’s idea of love.

The look he gives me, it’s so…irresistible. He knows that. He knows how to work me, exactly how to press my buttons. That’s the worst part. This happens often, Abraham disappearing with no word and reappearing with some sorry ass excuse.

Like I said, I always give in. I let him whisper those lies into my ear with his husky voice, somehow our lips end up colliding and our clothes fall to the floor. Every time.

That’s what he expects to happen today, to get some morning sex from his mistress while his wife is at home tending to the chores and taking care of the children. He will have his way with my body, hold me as if I was the only woman in the world and then leave.

I end up lying in the sheets feeling dirty and alone, forced to live with my decisions. He chases me, this is not one sided. But why do I give in?

Love.

You can’t help who you fall in love with, not even a gold band around the ring finger can stop those feelings. Trust me, I know.

Gripping onto the steel door handle, I stared at him, my lips pressed tight together as I watched him squirm. It’s usually not this hard, by now his hands would be tugging at the thin material of my clothing.

Not this time though.

“Why are you here?” I muttered, the attitude audible in my voice.

Abraham took a deep breath, clearing his raspy voice. “Ashton, I’m sorry, okay.”

Chuckling to myself, I shook my head, looking back up at him. The hall of my building was completely silent, the irritation growing on Abraham's face as I continued to stay quiet.

“What do you want from me? I’m sorry, Ashton. I really am.” He said, trying his best to keep his rough voice down to a whisper.

My socked foot tapped against the hardwood floors, my fingers tugging on the thin tank top that I was wearing, suddenly growing uncomfortable to not have clothes on around him.

Ironic, right?

“I love you. I fucked up, I know. But I love you and you know that. Just let me in so we can talk and fix this.” Abraham held onto the back of his neck, looking up at me with pleading eyes through his thick lashes.

The weak side of me wanted to indulge in my guilty pleasure once more, allowing him to enter my house and do what we do best, but I didn’t.

“No, just move your foot, Abraham.” I spat, my eyebrows raised as I stared at him.