Chris is lucky that the incident occurred on a Friday evening, because he's not sure he could have stomached going into work and acting like nothing had happened. Also, because he now has a nasty hangover, getting any work done like this would be a near-impossible feat.
Hazel has a Saturday morning ritual that he knows better than to interrupt, which is perfect for his purposes, as he knows he can't face her anytime soon. He'll have to find a way to escape and talk with Avery while he's at it. His to-do list is growing grimmer by the second, but he can't make any excuses for what happened last night. Even though he got blackout drunk, that part of his memory is still very much intact.
He could of course lie, pretend that he doesn't remember getting a blowjob from the gorgeous blonde next door, but he's never been a particularly apt liar, and he knows for a fact that his wife would see through it instantly.
He's already stayed quiet regarding her extramarital activities, so he figures that he can hold the line for a bit longer, at least until he can talk with Avery and figure out the next steps.
He holds his pillow over his eyes as he keeps them squeezed tightly shut, wishing he could will the answers to all the questions swirling around his mind into existence. The fact is that although he's about to make a run for it, he doesn't even know why. Why should it matter that Hazel knows what happened, especially with her sex escapades? Doesn't this make them even? Why is he so hesitant now? Is it because a third party is involved? One whom he barely knows, but is now having to take their feelings into account.
He supposes that must be it. Avery can be the deciding factor in all of this, especially since her marriage is at stake. She can decide for both of them, and Chris will respect her choice.
And yet... he still feels guilty. Is trusting another married woman with something this important not emotionally cheating? Just another nail in his proverbial coffin?
He sighs deeply and throws the pillow to the side, sitting up slowly to nullify the lingering effects of his hangover. The light shining through their primary bedroom is far too bright, and the shower sounds painful to his ears. He can feel a genuine migraine coming on, but he can't worry about it too much right now. He has damage control to do.
He slips into some casual clothes, including jeans and a random shirt he had forgotten to fold and put away. He hasn't showered yet, but he doubts the purification would do him much good now. Clean hair and a clean body pale in comparison to a clean conscience, and the latter seems most pressing right now.
He grabs what little stuff he keeps on his person and scurries out the door, yelling a quick explanation behind him, which Hazel accepts readily. Though they've always enjoyed each other's company, they have always respected each other's boundaries and individual needs for alone time. It was not unusual for Hazel to lounge on the porch on Saturday mornings, reading a book or magazine, while Chris went grocery shopping or ran other errands. They were never joined at the hip like some couples seem to be, and maybe that's where they went wrong.
Chris shakes his head, forcing the thoughts to dissipate from his stream of consciousness. Wallowing in his grief won't change the past, nor will any reason ever satiate him. Perhaps he's in the bargaining stage of grief. At some point, all stages of grief just appear to be very subtly different shades of gray; he doesn't know where one stops and another begins.
Most days, he feels hollow, but today, despite his mounting anxiety, he feels oddly determined. For once, he can't worry about Hazel and the mess she's created; he has to mop up his own mistakes first.
It feels good to have some autonomy back, even if it's in such a horrific way.
As Chris walks across the lawn to Sam and Avery's house, trying his very best to keep his stride quick but without breaking into a sprint, he has to be mindful to carry his head high. He doesn't want to appear guilty; he's been told in the past that he wears his emotions very plainly.
He maintains the proper amount of composure as he knocks on the door. He swallows loudly as he hears the lock disengage, and then the door slowly creaks open.
"Avery, good morning." He says evenly, poker face in full force as he assesses her expression. He was hopeful on his short walk over that perhaps she was more drunk than he was, that she forgot everything that transpired, and they could both wipe their hands of the entire mess without incident.
One look at her face instantly dashes his hopes. "Chris," She nods curtly, mouth in a thin line as if forcing herself not to grimace.
"We thought that maybe we had left some Tupperware over here last night..." He hesitates, the words sounding almost comically false to his ears.
Avery sighs as she runs a hand down her face. She has dark circles under her eyes, and the sight sends a pang of guilt through Chris's chest.
"You don't have to lie, Chris. Sam isn't home."
"That's a relief," Chris mutters as his shoulders relax.
"You can come in." Avery smiles meekly after an awkward pause. Perhaps she senses Chris's intentions, or maybe she wants to talk with him anyway. No matter the reason, he's grateful for the invite.
They hurry into the house before others notice their lingering at the front stoop. Chris never took his neighbors as gossips, but it would seem that just about everything is keeping him paranoid these days.
"Did you not sleep well?" Chris blurts out. As soon as the words are out, he kicks himself internally. He's here for a specific reason, not to chit-chat. Besides, it's none of his business how she's doing.
And yet, he can't help but feel worried. Worried that he might be the cause of the dark circles, or the impending consequences looming above their heads.
"I didn't." She sighs deeply, shaking her head as she puts her long blonde hair up into a messy bun. She takes a deep breath before turning to face Chris, "But that's my fault. I'm so sorry about last night, I shouldn't have come onto you so strongly. It's one thing that you're married but another that you live right next door-" the words pour out of her mouth like an avalanche. Chris throws his hands up in surrender, feeling helpless to stop her.
"Woah woah!" His eyes go wide, practically bugging out of his skull from what he's hearing. "That wasn't your fault; we're both adults, we both consented."
"Yes," she nods, "but you were drunk-"
"So were you!" His voice pitches up, now genuinely concerned that she's blaming herself far too much. He didn't know how he expected this conversation to go - maybe yelling, Sam kicking him out, and telling him never to come back - but this is something else. Something is viscerally wrong here.
She sighs as she plops down onto a nearby couch. She puts her hands in her hair for a moment, then slowly raises her head to look at Chris, eyes narrowed and tired.
"I make it a habit not to let my one-night stands be people I know, I've broken my one rule with you. And for that I'm sorry, I've complicated our 'neighborly'" she feigns air quotes with her fingers, "relationship already. It's not an excuse, but I was feeling emotional and pent up and-" she shakes her head, a few strands of loose hair falling in front of her eyes. She stares ahead blankly, as if having given up her train of thought.
