No longer, I wait.

“How is it you know Rupert?”

Concentrating on dust particles, dancing beneath sunbeam spotlights, deemed difficult when the rasp of her voice tore through my ear drums. I didn’t need to glance her way since her peach curls framing a keen-edged jaw leading to full ruby lips had punctured my memory. The moment I opened the door to fox like eyes, fluttering in confusion and frustration, sunk it’s teeth into the backs of my own eyes. Marian seemed to be struggling keeping her focus on the beauty, also. Instead she traced each diamond shaped imprint smothering the glass of freshly made lemonade, I had ensured would cool us down in the scorch of the sun.

Yet, I was suffocating.

Each breath felt as though our uninvited guest had her sleek black four inch heel pressing against my lungs.

I’ve began picturing scenarios in which have the potential to cause me more suffering than what is felt here, in this pause of joy.

Listening to the shatter of my bones as muscles melt, tormenting my body to drop to the floor, only for my being to seep through the rug beneath my feet. As freeing as it sounds, Marian would have to scrub me away.

Already, I’m faced with the bud of my self destruction. Picking at three day old pink varnished fingertips, even managing a couple nicks at the skin surrounding them. With a mind too occupied on silencing the internal hubbub, so much so, the blood now coating my fingers has started to stain my cauliflower coloured dress.

Even with a hallucinatory thread keeping my lips enclosed, as well as my jaw clamped shut, I’m afraid something will involuntary escape from deep inside me. Whether it be nasty words, I’ve refused to speak aloud before, or bile that is slowly rising with each tap of her fake claws upon the vintage arm chair. Maybe, even, my body rejecting my heart and spitting it through the stiff air of the room for the dogs to feast on later in the evening. Either way gasoline has polluted my veins and just a flick of Mistress’ dainty fingers will set me alight.

With the reminder of how I was awoken just this morning, to berry lips caressing the soft of my neck, my cheeks no longer blossom roses. Now I recoil at his actions, begging whatever God may exist to let this be a cruel prank.

My lover has hurt me so, no longer, I wait. Once I believed he was too good to be true, here I sit, proven correct in my doubts.

Half an hour has passed with me mute, Marian unsure and the guest suspicious. Of who? Possibly the both of us and her lover.

Slamming of the navy door, boots heavy on wood, steals our attention as Rupert makes himself known. There he stands, hands stabbing at pockets, with sweat droplets hanging from his neck. Cheek creases disappear with just one indifferent gaze around the room. No fear can be found, not even a shake of skin. Calm and collected as always he looks to each woman in the living room, a quizzical brow the only form of acknowledgment to the situation.

Too soon, my hips long for his hands while stretched thighs, that once rested his head, cry to feel the bite of beard. Half dressed ink mocks me from their place on his arm pushing the first salty drops down the pillows of my cheeks. Black swirls, the tips of my fingers could trace with blindness, will forever taunt my mind.

She bolts from her seat. Most probably thankful to slip from the stale air taking over.

“Finally you’re here!” The words just about leave as her cherry lips meet his, in a loving kiss. “As I was about to say, Rupert is my husband. I decided it has been much too long since he left for business...” she glares deeply into green eyes before continuing. “...so I thought I’d travel up and surprise you, baby.”

Baby.

She is his wife.

Once a fiancé.

Before, a girlfriend.

Now, a wife.

His one love, or what is supposed to be at least.

I was his mistress. A piece on the side. Pussy for when he lusted for his wife. A sex toy at most. Practise for when his other half arrives.

“My love, let me pack up and we can be on our way.” he doesn’t hide the adoration in his tone, to spare my hurt. Instead he beams at the smaller, thinner, happier girl as though she came to rescue him from deceit. Not even a snarl makes way to my face.

“Don’t be silly, I don’t mind staying here with you, if you have work to finish up.” happiness looks beautiful on her. There is no surprise he would be in love with her.

Marian is quick to interfere, unaware of how much more of this I can handle.

“No, I do believe Rupert has overstayed his welcome. You both must be getting home.” not one of us is blind to Marians demand. Yet, it is only three who understand the deeper issue of Rupert’s ‘business trip’.

There I stilled, listening to distant voices, as my lying lover danced from my grasp. Collecting his belongings in glee having his wife glued beside him while I burn his face from memory.

I await his disappearance, too torn to glance his way for a goodbye. Past me would have found it beneficial to out his wrong doings to his wife. Wave my finger in his face like a child winning a prize, but I did not wish to win. Until the day I die I’ll refuse infatuation built from deception. For him my silence was a wound but for her it was relief, avoidance of confrontation. An agreement, of some sorts, to say he belongs to her and only her. As their love grows tighter with each affair unlike those that snap with just one kink.

Numb to my surrounding, I sip my lemonade to feed the dryness now polluting my mouth. Marian stays near the door in preparation for the happy couples departure, her looks of pity rolling from my shoulders.

Fin.