The Persistence of Memory

Chapter Twenty Two

I nod and he moves toward me into my body space, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me tight to him. The scent of him is strangely unfamiliar. Too strong, too artificial. He kisses the top of my head as hugs me to his chest.

"We'll be okay. I understand why this happened and we'll be okay, I promise you. It'll be okay." I'm too stunned to respond.

He understands?

How the hell can he understand? I don't fully understand. All I understand is that I wanted Aidan. I wanted him like I'd wanted nothing my entire life, and because I'm selfish and self-centred like I've been my entire life, I took him. Oliver understands this? Of course, he doesn't. Because he's never understood me. Because he's never known me. Not really. He told me he wanted to spend his life trying to get to know me. The problem was, I doubt very much Oliver would like me very much once he got to know me.

He certainly wouldn't have wanted to marry me.

He moves away from me and grabs the dishtowel I used on my mouth to wipe his own. Then he walks to the fridge and opens one side of it, grabbing a handful of ice that he balls into the towel before walking out of the house. It occurs to me that maybe he's excused himself out of politeness because he doesn't want to witness the awkward goodbye between Aidan and I.  Oliver has impeccable manners. It was one of the few positive things my mum had ever said about my husband.

I'm not sure how long I stand there staring at Aidan's pancake batter before I hear him coming down the stairs. His footsteps are heavy and loud and my heart speeds up a little more with each step. I turn around slowly, lifting my eyes to him. He's dressed in the clothes he wore when we arrived; dark jeans, light blue t-shirt, his jacket in his hand. He has his sunglasses on, and like always when he wears them I feel deprived of his eyes. For a moment I think he's going to leave without saying another word but he doesn't. He comes toward me carrying his bags and stops.

"Did you ask him to leave as well?" He asks, placing the bags down by his feet.

"He lost his case. He went out to get some things," I tell him quietly. Aidan nods and looks around the room before bringing his eyes back to me.

"I never had a fucking chance, did I? You never had any intention of leaving him. Not really. It was never even on the table." His voice is filled with absolute conviction.

"Aidan..." I shake my head.

"It was about filling some fucking hole," he smirks, cruelly. "Some void in your unsatisfying life and your predictably troubled marriage. I was just a bit of fucking excitement for you in the end." The scorn in his voice is unbearable.

I plead with him with my eyes. "No, that wasn't it. You weren't that. You were more than that, Aidan."

So much more. He'll never know how close it came to being us. How close I came to walking away from my life and never looking back. How close he came to making me happy. What use would it do to tell him that now? I can't bear the idea of him thinking he meant nothing to me and hating me for it, but perhaps his ire and hatred is exactly what I deserve.

Why can't he understand that it was always going to have to end like this? I'm Oliver's wife. I had been Aidan's lover.

He reaches up and removes his glasses. "So then what the fuck was I?"

I feel the tears come again, choking me, stealing the breath from me. I feel my mouth twist up into some echo of a smile as I meet his grey-blue stare. His eyes look drained of their usual colour. Normally bright and otherworldly, right now they're a poor imitation of how they normally look.