The Persistence of Memory

Chapter Nineteen

I'm gulping my wine and singing quietly to myself when I hear the door slide open and close again, the sound of her bare feet padding across the hardwood floor. I feel her eyes on me from behind for what seems like a long time before she speaks.

"You're very domesticated. I'm impressed," she says.

I don't turn around straight away, instead, I take a minute to consider my tone and my words as I finish the rest of my wine. Then I turn to face her. She's leaning forward on the kitchen worktop, the blanket gone from her shoulders, as she sips at her own half-empty glass. Her gaze is soft but a little tense as she smiles at me.

"Not really. I just find loading the dishwasher a good substitute for a blow job." My tone is casual but she still flinches from it.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Don't be. You had more important things to attend to, I get it," I shrug.

"I had to get his call, Aidan."

"Oh, I know you did, Eloise." I lift the bottle to refill my glass, suddenly feeling the need to get pissed, suddenly feeling like I could deal with all of this far easier if I was pissed. But then, I deal with most things far easier when I'm pissed.

She comes around into the kitchen and walks toward me. She looks confused and a little hurt. How is that fair? How is she the injured party here?

"Then why are you making me feel guilty about it?" she asks.

"Am I? Do you feel guilty about it?"

"No."

I lift my glass to my mouth and take a generous sip. "And what about when we're fucking? Do you feel guilty then?"

She thinks about this a little longer but not much. "No," she says again.

Something weird happens in my chest at her admission. Relief. Curiosity. It does fuck all to diminish my anger though, which seems to have come from nowhere and snowballed.

"Tell him you missed him then?" I ask as I take another sip. "That you wished he was here?"

Her eyes turning cold and hard instantly. "Stop it, Aidan."

"Stop what?" I continue drinking as she glares at me.

She lets out a deep breath. "You act like a bloody child sometimes do you know that?"

I say nothing and then her face softens again, her gorgeous blue eyes lightening again. From where I'm standing I can see the outline of her perfect body through the soft thin fabric of my T-shirt. She looks so small in it. I always think that when I see her in my clothes. She looks so small and so delicate, like a fucking doll. 

Suddenly I've the notion to bend her over the dining table behind her and fuck her harder than she's ever been fucked in her life.

"I'm here with you aren't I?" she says, her voice soft, pleading. "I asked you to come here with me because I wanted to be with you."

"Yeah, and now I'm wondering why. Was it because he was out of town for a few days and you needed someone to carry your bags?" My tone is way too harsh, yet through the fog of wine and anger, it feels justified. 

She had to know how this felt for me. Standing on the sidelines watching her play the happy loving wife with him. Watching her pretend she wasn't with me. She has to know. I had to tell her.

"Oh, for Christ sake grow up, Aidan," she snaps before turning on her heel and stalking out of the kitchen. "Why don't you do us both a favour and sleep down here tonight?" She shouts over her shoulder as she storms up the large wooden stairs.