Enemies to what? To lovers? Is that what we are now? Were we ever real enemies? None of those questions matter, though. Nor do their answers. We can't be anything, we don't make sense. We're nothing but two men who completed a transaction of pleasur...
Name: Marco Alessio Fradiani Age: 34 years old Occupation: English professor Character looks inspired by: Michele Morrone
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Chapter One Marco
Separations suck!
I've been married for so long–I always thought we were happy with our family: Beth, our two kids, and me. I thought we had it all. That I had made it. But here I am, again, getting drunk to forget about my unfaithful wife. I was so close to doing it, too. Until she messaged me threatening to take more and more in the divorce if I didn't tend to her every wish. Who knew Beth could be such a bitch?
Hah, that rhymed.
Whatever. Beth can go fuck herself. Or better yet, she can go fuck the guy she preferred over me. Maybe if she did, she could leave me the fuck alone.
I'm not even drunk anymore.
I sobered up real quick when she texted me earlier threatening to take the kids to her parents who live in Ohio. Now I'm in the club's parking lot, alone like a dumbass, not wanting to go back to my friend's house. He's going through a divorce too, and although I love him, his divorce is his fault so it's hard to be empathetic all the time when he, just like Beth, woke up one day deciding marriage wasn't what he wanted.
At least he understands he was a dumbass, says the voice on the back of my head. Peter is trying to get Luke back which is more than I can say about Beth who can't stand the sight of me. Quite ironic since she was all over me until I discovered she was cheating.
I chose this club tonight to try and find some way to numb the pain, but the club doesn't seem to be my scene anymore. It's too crowded and full of fake happiness that I can't fake, so for the past hour or so, I've been in my car out in the parking lot watching as people come and go out of all the clubs around me.
There's a group of guys walking in front of my car and as I lower my head to rest it on the wheel I accidentally sound the horn scaring the shit out of those guys, and myself. They stare at me, but one stare in particular catches my attention.
Wells Astor.
Wells is friends with Luke —my best friend's husband— and the guy can't ever hide his hate for me, which is probably why the second we lock eyes, he marches toward my passenger door and begins to pound on my window like it was steel instead of glass. I hear a faint "Open this goddamn door or so help me," and I roll the window as much as I roll my eyes. He looks enraged and I smile for the first time tonight.
"What do you want, Wells?"
"I want you to open this stupid door, is what I want!"
I laugh but unlock the door anyway because, despite his over-the-top attitude most of the time, I do find him entertaining. He must hear the lock because he opens the door, plants his ass on the passenger seat, and goes off with me.
