I try to sleep, but my head is swimming with emotions. My body is buzzing with adrenaline. Sleep seems like an impossible task. Eventually, I sit up, deciding to get the heck out of this apartment for a while. It's still early, especially for a Friday night, and I can't think straight knowing that Jeremy is just one thin wall away from me. A year, or even six months, ago I would have been out with friends, drinking at a bar, or dancing the night away at a club. When did I become the little old lady who's in bed by 10pm?
I'm going to see Chris. What I have to say to him can't wait until tomorrow. He'll be home from dinner with his parents by now. I need to get some things off my chest, and until I do so I'm not going to be able to sleep. Maybe he'll thank me for my honesty, and perhaps we'll work through this complication and come out a stronger couple. Maybe he won't forgive me and this will be the end of us. Either way, I have to come clean.
After stopping into my room to change into jeans, I slip on my sneakers and head for the door, taking care to be quiet so I don't alert my roommate to the fact that I'm leaving. I shake my head as I take the stairs down to the first level, muttering to myself, "So stupid. What the fuck. That was so stupid." I sigh, shaking my head again. I cheated on my boyfriend tonight. I am a terrible person. Sure, it was just a kiss, a very passionate kiss, but if I hadn't come to my senses when I did...I would have slept with Jeremy. I didn't, but I wanted to. So, what do I tell Chris? If he asks 'do you have feelings for him', what do I say? If he tells me to promise it won't ever happen again, can I make that vow? I'd be lying to myself if I said that kiss meant nothing to me, that I didn't feel anything, because I did feel something. I can admit that I did feel a spark, but is it worth throwing away a fourteen-month relationship for momentary lapse in self-control? I don't think it is.
At the end of the street, I descend the staircase onto the subway platform below. I scan my prepaid pass and quicken my pace down the remainder of the stairs as I hear the train approaching the station. I make it just as the doors are sliding open. I slip inside and take a seat, reaching into my bag for my phone to call Chris and let him know I'm heading over to see him. When I can't feel it, I pull the bag open wide and look inside. No phone. "Shit," I whisper. I must have forgot it at the apartment. It's too late to go back for it now, the train has already left the station. Oh well, I'm sure I'll survive without it for a few hours.
Chris' apartment complex is only one subway stop away from mine. Usually, weather permitting, I walk but I won't walk alone this late at night. His apartment is only one bedroom, but it is much nicer than my place. He has huge windows with gorgeous views of the city, a large walk-in closet in the bedroom, and a washer/dryer combo in the unit. I have to haul my laundry bag down three flights of stairs to the dank basement of my apartment building when I need to do laundry, plus it's pay-per-use. Chris has better water pressure, too. I love showering at his place.
The subway train starts to slow down, so I stand up and make my way over to the sliding doors. When the train comes to a stop, I'm the first to step off onto the platform and make my way above ground. I'm anxious to see Chris and get this conversation over with. As I approach his building, I think I see him, opening the door for a leggy brunette and walking in behind her. It was only the back of his head, but I'm almost positive it was Chris. I quicken my pace, hoping to catch up with him before he gets into the elevator.
In the lobby, I scan the room for Chris, but I must have just missed him. I push the button to call the elevator back down. He's on the ninth floor, otherwise I would take the stairs. On the ride up, I try to think of what I'm going to say. 'Chris, I'm sorry for coming over so late, but it couldn't wait.' No. It's true, but it sounds too urgent. 'Sorry for showing up like this, I forgot my phone. Can we talk?' Then what? 'I think we need to continue our conversation from earlier. I was so surprised that you wanted me to move in, I didn't get a chance to think about what that means for us.' Okay, but what about kissing Jeremy? Should I bring that up before or after we discuss what living together means for our relationship? If I start with that, he might not listen to my worries about moving in with him, or at least not take them seriously.
The elevator reaches the ninth floor too soon. I'm not ready. I still don't know what I'm going to say.
The doors glide open in time for me to witness Chris entering his apartment. Only, he's not alone. The leggy brunette is with him, and her lips are locked on his. I stare, too shocked to move. The elevator doors close again before I can snap myself out of my stupor. I hastily push the door open button, adrenaline hitting me like a slap to the face. When the elevator starts to move rather than release me, I start cursing under my breath, rapidly pushing the button again and again. I give up, riding the elevator down to the main floor and then back up to the ninth. This time when the doors open, I step right off.
I approach Chris' apartment door slowly, a sense of dread washing over me. I can't believe he's cheating on me. Who knew karma worked so swift and deliberately? I didn't suspect a thing. How long has this been going on? Is this a one-time thing or has he been seeing this girl for a while? Why did he ask me to move in with him if he still wants to fuck other people? I feel so unbelievably stupid.
I raise my right hand, curling it into a fist and I'm about to knock when hear something inside that makes me pause.
"Ooh...yes!"
The breathy moan is followed by words of encouragement, too quiet for me to hear, and met with a deep groan on Chris' behalf. My hand falls limply to my side as I listen to their loud, wet kisses, and I am overcome with a strange feeling, like I'm imposing on something I was never meant to know about. I shouldn't feel guilty. I should be angry. I'm too stunned to move, let alone work up the courage to knock and interrupt the pair inside the apartment.
"Yes, baby, yes," The mystery brunette cries out, "Don't stop! You lick my pussy so fucking good, baby. S-so good!"
My stomach turns and a sour taste rises up the back of my throat. I stumble backwards, away from the door. I can't be here. I can't do this. I came to confess that I fucked up, but instead I got way more than I bargained for. It's one thing to discover your significant other has cheated, but another thing entirely to overhear your boyfriend sloppily eating some chick's pussy. I think I'm going to be sick. I get back in the elevator, praying I can keep my shit together until I exit this building.
By the time I get outside and inhale a few deep breaths of fresh air, I no longer feel the urge to vomit. I am, however, shaking like a fucking leaf. My legs feel like gelatin, but I force myself to keep walking, to put more distance between myself and the unfaithful asshole that lives up in apartment 9E. Once I put a couple blocks between me and Chris' apartment building, I start having regrets. I should have pounded on that door and confronted him. I should have told him thanks, because up until that moment I wasn't sure if moving in with him was what I wanted, and now I know it's definitely not what I want. I should have at least told him we were done and to go fuck himself. Instead, I ran away, like a spineless coward.
I decide I need a drink.
There's a bar a few more blocks up this road, close to my apartment. Shannon and I used to stop in almost every Tuesday, since they do a Taco Tuesday promo with buy one get one free margaritas. I haven't been since before Shan moved; Chris prefers to buy from the liquor store and drink at home, and Jeremy is in AA so obviously we don't go out to the bars. It must be after eleven o'clock, if I had to take a guess since I don't have my phone to check, and it's Friday, so that explains why the bar is so packed. I make my way through the crowded room to the bar-top to order a drink.
When one of the bartenders points to me and asks for my ID, I hand it over without hesitation, asking, "Can I get a shot?"
The girl raises her eyebrows as she returns my ID card to my hand. She prompts, "What kind of shot?"
"Right," I internally roll my eyes at myself. "Uh...tequila? Make it a double-shot." It's rare that I order a shot. Generally, I like to have a mixed drink and I take my time sipping it. I don't have time for all that. I just want the alcohol to hit me quick and numb my still-quivering nerves. A tequila shot should do the trick.
"Sure thing." She grabs a bottle from the shelf behind her, salts the rim of the shot glass, and pours the amber-liquor in the small glass, sliding it across the bar towards me, along with a wedge of lime. I lift the shot glass to my lips and down the tequila in one quick gulp, sucking on the lime immediately after. When I look to the bar again, I see the bartender standing in the same spot, watching me. She smirks, asking, "Want another?"
I nod, not quite able to bring myself to smile back just yet. "One more. Thanks." I reach into my purse for a twenty-dollar bill. I place it beside my empty shot glass, which is soon replaced with a full one. I pick this one up, lick the salt from the rim, and gulp down the tequila in one swallow before sucking the wedge of lime dry.
While the bar-keep is retrieving change for my twenty, I glance down the length of the bar to the only TV in the joint, currently broadcasting a hockey game. My gaze drops from the television to the bar-top, where I stare off into space until a movement distracts me. I blink, my eyes refocusing on the arm of the man at the other end of the bar, just below the TV. He wraps his hand around the glass in front of him, lifts it off the bar ever so slightly, and then places it back down. He does this two more times before I notice the anchor tattooed on the inside of his forearm. I know that tattoo.
