The Persistence of Memory

Chapter Twenty Two

What if Aidan had asked me the other question? The right question. Would this be happening differently? I didn't deserve him. I didn't deserve either of them. Until this moment I'd never felt such pure and utter self-hatred. Not even after the funeral. Not even as I'd held Oliver's head on my lap as we'd cried for our son.

Aidan had been the only thing that had given my life any purpose or meaning since that happened. How did I explain that's what he was without telling him the rest? He'd made me feel something other than guilt and self-pity and self-hatred for a while. I can't tell him that. He might think even less of me for it. As though I'd used him in some way. Maybe I had. I'd used him to claim back some happiness and self-worth because I was selfish and self-centred. I'd let him distract me from everything else that was drowning me. And he'd succeeded. For a little while.

Oh, you're a distraction alright.

"You were what I needed," I manage before the tears begin to roll down my face. I still need him. I can't have him. I'm married. I said yes.

"He can't make you happy Eloise," he says. Like he knows me. How can he know me? "You're not happy. With him. I don't know if I can make you happy either but I know he doesn't."

"I haven't been happy for a long time, Aidan. It isn't Oliver's fault."

"Nothing's his fucking fault is it?" He flares. "He seriously can do no fucking wrong, can he?"

"That's not it," I shake my head.

"Then what is it? Why are you so fucking unhappy then? Why were you so miserably sad in the gallery that night? Why were you crying that day in the park when you thought I wasn't looking? Why, Eloise?"

My heart stumbles slightly, tripping over his words. He sees everything. He sees me as I am. Maybe he does know me. No man has ever seen me how Aidan sees me. I doubt any man ever will.

"That painting sitting in your studio is exactly who I am, Aidan. Cold and empty."

"Bullshit. I've seen you." He steps closer. "I know you. I know every inch of your body, and if you'd just fucking let me I'd learn every inch of your soul. I'd drown myself in it, in you, and I'd never come up for air. Don't do this, Eloise, please." I close my eyes as he comes closer and then I feel him. I feel his arms slide around my body and his breath against my face as he brings his mouth to my ear. Know my soul? Oh, I don't want him in there. Delving around looking for things that it didn't possess. "You know how good this is. How good we are. I know you do. You felt it." He pushes me back against the counter and his hand slides between my legs.  He strokes blatantly at my bareness, his fingers urgent and tempting, his grip possessive and desperate. I moan softly at his touch. Traitorous filthy need. "Come with me," he begs. "We can both go home together. Leave him, be with me. Choose me, Eloise."

I squeeze my eyes shut tight trying to drown out his words. But god his touch is loud. "Aidan, please."

I try and push at him but I'm weak. Of course, I am. I've always been weak when it comes to Aidan. He kisses the side of my neck, rough lips and rough beard against my needy skin. I can't feel anything except his touch and it occurs to me that I should memorise it because it will be the last time I get to feel it.

"Aidan, please don't. We can't. I can't. Not now."

"Come with me. I'll spend my life trying to make you happy. I need you." His voice is raw and desperate and the tears streak my face as I stop fighting him.

In my mind, I try and picture us together. I picture him trying to make me happy. Aidan who'd spent his life trying to forget his misery and make himself happy would try and do the same for me. Even though I don't deserve it. It wasn't fair. It wouldn't be fair to Oliver. I owed it to him to try and fix this. Fix the mess I'd made. I have to stop being so selfish. I made a vow. I said yes.