Instintos

(Contains sexual content)

I sat staring at her for a second, uncomprehending.

I suppose, if I had been brutally honest with myself, I would have admitted that I had suspected as much all along. She was an old friend from Seattle, who loved travel as much as we did and had asked if she could join us for part of our trip. He had been particularly inattentive toward me and moody since her arrival in Mexico, picking fights with me for no discernable reason.

Hearing the actual words, my suspicions brought to light, felt like a bucket of ice water thrown in my face. I hadn't seen it coming; we had just been sitting on opposite beds in our shared hotel room, chatting; I don’t remember where Nihan was, he’d been gone for over an hour. Monica was looking directly at me, waiting for a response.

“Do you mean, like a peck on the cheek?” I asked. 

“Oh, no”, she said. “He tried to really kiss me. Twice. It happened while we were being thrown about in that pickup truck a few days ago. Then when he was standing behind me, he pretended to lose his balance and grabbed me, fondling my breasts. I’m not okay with that.” 

I blinked, trying to process this news. 

“That’s not possible. You must have misread the situation. Where was I? Why didn’t I see anything?” 

“You were in the cab of the pickup truck”.

Ah, yes, now I remembered. We had gone to see the saline pink lakes of Rio Lagartos and had missed the last bus back to Playa del Carmen. As we stood on the dusty road wondering what to do next, a pickup with a young couple who had been selling vegetables on the side of the road pulled up beside us. The man leaned out of his window. He was wearing a crushed cowboy hat and was deeply bronzed, the result of life as a campesino. 

“¿Ustedes necesitan un paseo?” Do you need a ride? He laughed at the relief on our faces. “¡Vamos!” Let’s go! Monica and Nihan jumped into the bed of the truck. Everyone decided that it was better for me to sit in the cab. The week before, while exploring some Toltec ruins, I had slipped and fallen, spraining my wrist. The campesino’s wife scooted over so that I could sit beside her. 

While they drove us down the unpaved bumpy road, the couple and I chatted about their lives in the Yucatan and they asked about us, what our lives were like back in the US, which places we had visited in Mexico, and what we liked about their country. As we bounced along, every few minutes, I glanced in the side mirror to see how Monica and Nihan were faring on this rough ride, but I could only make out flashes of movement, and slivers of bright light. 

When we finally arrived at the town center, Monica jumped quickly out of the cab, almost losing her footing as she landed on the dry earth. I thought that was odd but chalked it up to her relief at the uncomfortable trip ending. We thanked the couple for their kindness and returned to our hotel to shower and change.  

As I showered, I couldn’t shake a growing sense of uneasiness. The day had been normal enough. We’d run into a bit of a snag but all had been resolved. Was it something about the haunted look on Monica’s face? Or the way she couldn’t get out of the truck bed fast enough? 

The next night, we took the local bus to a new town, where we were lucky enough to find two cheap hotel rooms. I was so excited that Nihan and I were finally going to be alone, and we could enjoy a bit of privacy. It had been three weeks of sharing a room with our friend and we were long overdue for some romance. We checked into the hotel and I excitedly unpacked, anticipating a sexy night. I missed the warmth of Nihan’s body and the feel of his caresses. I looked up at him with a smile and a wink, but he just stood there stone-faced. 

“I’m so excited that we’re finally going to be alone. I love Monica’s company but it’s about time we had a romantic night.” I said to him.

He just stared at the floor, looking slightly annoyed. I tried again. “Do you want to go and see if we can find a liquor store and buy some wine to celebrate?” 

Suddenly, he exploded. “Why do you always have to talk about sex? Why is there always pressure for us to have a ‘romantic’ night?” Why do we need that? I just want to sleep, I’m exhausted. But no, you insist and insist on creating these situations.” 

I blinked. I couldn’t process why he was so angry with me. “But we’re a married couple and we haven’t been alone for weeks. Don’t you miss physical contact? I sure do.” 

“There you go again!” he said, “You always have to have things your way. Ugh, that’s it, I’ve had enough. I can’t stay here, trapped in this room with you.” He hurried out, slamming the door behind him. I just stared at the empty space where he has just been standing. What just happened? He often had unexplained outbursts like this. Whenever I tried to talk to him about them later, he would accuse me of exaggerating or misinterpreting his behavior. Sometimes he would even blame me for starting the fight, saying that I had unreasonable demands. I would rationalize these events: he’s just tired, he’s worried about something. It never occurred to me that he pushed me away because he was feeling guilty. 

Monica brushed her hair away from her face. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you, but I thought that it’s better if you know the truth.” I suddenly felt irrationally irritated with her and I desperately wanted her to pack her things and leave. Why had she felt the need to tell me this? Passive aggressiveness? That was her calling card. She tended to belittle and malign people that she thought were better off than her. She had always been envious of the great marriage that Nihan and I had. I could feel my face burning. 

“Nihan loves me and would never do anything like that.” I snapped. I wanted to add, “especially with you”, but I held my tongue. “I don’t understand what you hope to gain by telling me this. Just the other night, we were planning a romantic evening together and…well…” I trailed off. Nihan entered the room, whistling. He glanced at Monica, then at me, and stopped in his tracks. He stopped whistling, and in that moment, I knew. She was telling the truth.