Everything I had

Part 112.

I did go quite fast, I admitted that, but it was easy when my mind kept drifiting towards my wife with her new boyfriend and images nothing could have prepared me for appeared in my minds eye.

Him touching her was bad. Her allowing it was worse. But knowing she wanted and craved it from him was unimaginably painful to the extent, a tear of anger slipped my eye as I threw my head back for the last few thrusts.
Didn't want to think of them. Her especially. I shouldn't care about her. But I did. Every day that passed made my love for her grow bigger and I didn't know how to deal with it.

Obviously I didn't. I pulled out and two more strides of my fists and I came into the bucket filled with water on the floor. Poor cleaning lady.

My breathing was heavy. My throat tight and neck stiff.

I needed a moment for myself before I could even focus on Marry-Anne. Her head hung low, fingers pressing into the plastic of the cart before she steadied herself and hopped down.

"You alright—?" I started, but she brushed past me without a glance. Snatched a pack of napkins, and slipped out again, leaving me standing alone in the dark little room.

I washed my hands in the restroom before returning to the table. No one looked at me strangely. No one suspected a thing.

And when I said no one looked at me—I meant it literally. Not even her. Marry-Anne served us our food as if I didn't exist, and when it came time to pay, Jack covered the bill while she pretended the only thing worth her attention was the dark-haired man in front of her.

"Tom, which way you headed?" Dix asked, already moving toward his black Rolls Royce. Four men, and not one of them drove a car under a hundred grand. The thought made me sick, but I swallowed it down.

"South," I muttered, nodding down the street. I didn't give him more than that. My feet felt nailed to the pavement as I lit one of Jack's cigarettes, trying to keep steady. Dix and Joe said their goodbyes, disappearing into their machines, while Jack lingered beside me, finishing his smoke.

"You good?" he asked eventually.

I shot him a sideways glance.
"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I've never seen you smoke. Your profile says you're a non-smoker. And now first night out, you steal one of mine." He wasn't wrong. I didn't smoke. I hated it. Every set I'd worked on had to order me fake ones because I refused to inhale the real thing. But lately, I wasn't making wise decisions. What was one more mistake?

I shook my head.
"My wife's just fucking with my head." I tapped a finger against my temple. He knew enough already. Sympathy tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"I bet it's not easy seeing her with someone else."

"You'd bet right." Even saying it out loud made me recoil.

"You're not heading home, then?" Jack asked, dangling his keys. But with my hands buried deep in my jacket pockets, I implied the opposite.

"I'll... wait a little longer," I muttered, jerking my chin toward the restaurant. Jack didn't get it, but he didn't press either. He left a few minutes later, engine growling low as he rolled past me down the street.

And I stayed. Another thirty minutes. Just to watch the door. Just to wait for Marry-Anne to finish her shift, so I could take her home.
When she finally emerged, her tote bag hung lazily from one shoulder. She spotted me at once and swallowed hard. For a moment I could have sworn I saw her shoulders sink—were it not for the faint smile she forced onto her lips.

"Come on. I'll take you back to mine." I gestured down the street. I'd thought she'd be relieved, even glad, at the thought of sleeping at my place instead of hers.
If she was, she didn't show it.