Consumed

Every moment since I woke up, the thought of her entered my brain and consumed it. It was like the thought of her and my own conscience were fighting for control the second I opened my eyes. Funny, really, considering I had only known her for a few weeks. Still, she was all I could think about. Where was she now, at this exact moment? I would give my left foot just to taste her again.

I used to love Saturday mornings, the slow pace of them, the light creeping in as we slept a little bit later than on weekdays. The kids coming to wake us up—the smell of breakfast worth waiting for. Now, all of that was gone. The only thing I felt was the annoyance of time moving too slowly, and my short temper triggered by the sounds of the kids playing. I had one desire—to see her again.

I met her at a party, which is ironic because I never go out. I’m a married father of two—I have no business being out past 6 p.m. And yet, I was. And I met her. And now my life will never be the same. All I want is to be with her. Feel her. Taste her. Smell her. Be lost in her ecstatic aroma. My life was grey before, but now it’s in full, vivid color.

I got up and went to the bathroom. Looking at myself in the mirror, I could see the craving in my eyes. Did my family notice? I stepped into the shower, but all I could do was daydream about the next time I would see her. How much would it cost? How long would the feeling last? I needed a plan.

“Are we going to talk about yesterday?” my wife’s voice came through the bathroom door, soft but pointed. A wave of anxiety hit me, but I held my composure. I needed to think fast.

“What do you mean, honey?” I called back, opening the door.

“You just seem so distant lately. And yesterday... I didn’t even recognize you when you came home. And it’s not like you to miss bedtime.”

My thoughts raced. I came up with an excuse about work, something vague but believable. Her eyes told me she knew I was lying, but she didn’t press further. She just walked away. Good. No more questions. I loved my wife. At least, I thought I did. I loved my kids, too—or maybe just the memories of us together before all this. But when I was with her, I was free. Is it so wrong to want to feel alive again?

“Daddy!” My kids ran toward me. Normally, I would have welcomed them with open arms. But now? I felt nothing but irritation at the interruption. That scared me more than anything else—more than getting caught, more than losing my job, more than losing my wife. What kind of father thinks like this?

“I think I have to go by the office today,” I said. “My boss mentioned something on Thursday. I’ll call him to check.”

My wife gave me a look. She knew I was lying again.

“Noooo, Daddy! You promised we’d go to the playground today!” my kids whined.

“Maybe you can take them with you and go after?” my wife suggested, ruining my plan.

“Sure, honey. Good idea.” What else could I say? I would have to improvise.

I pretended to call my boss and then pretended to be upset about ‘working’ on a Saturday. No guilt touched me—just the rush of anticipation. It was like a drug in itself, the dopamine, the adrenaline, the mix of excitement and the fear of getting caught, all tangled together.

“I don’t know how long it’ll take, babe. Maybe it’s best if the kids stay home?” I tried.

“It’s okay, they can bring their tablets and wait in the car.”

What an annoying human. Oh well, I’d find a way. “Okay, get them ready,” I snapped, a little too harshly. I could not contain my temper, as I felt her sensing my new find joy, and selfishly trying to ruining it, using our kids as pawns. She was probably jealous, not because she wanted joy herself, but because I had something outside this prison life we shared together. Ownership, not love. No wonder I found love elsewhere.

I stepped into the hallway and pulled out my phone.

Me: “Same place. What time?”

I chewed on my nails, waiting.

My phone pinged; “Ok, in an hour.”

It was happening. I had to suppress my excitement to avoid suspicion. The rush of pure fire burned trough my soul.

“Come on, guys!” I called, noticing that I sounded harsh again. I could hardly wait.

As I was driving, I noticed how tightly I was gripping the steering wheel. My fingers tingled, my mouth felt dry, and my heart raced too fast. I told myself it was excitement, but deep inside, I knew better.

An hour later, I was still unsure how to get away without the kids.

“Daddy just has to fix something real quick,” I said as I pulled up. “Sit tight.” They barely looked up from their screens. Perfect.

I got out, searching for her. And then—I found her. The joy, the relief. Nothing in my life compared to this feeling. Not my youth, not my wedding, not even my children.

After, we went to the playground. My kids played, but I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t wait any longer. I left them on the swings and rushed to the restroom, not a care in the world outside my own desire.

Finally.

I breathed her in deeply, letting her consume me. She burned through my nostrils, into my bloodstream.

I told myself this was the last time. That I would stop before it got worse. Before I lost everything.

But I had told myself the same thing yesterday. And the day before.

I took another deep breath.

And the world went quiet.

And colorful.

And all was well.