Status: In Progress.

Cheating Across the Pond

What I've Done

Head pounding, stomach heaving. Ugh I hate drinking. At least the sunshine on my face felt nice.


Since when did I have an east facing bedroom?

My eyes shot open, which was a mistake. The harsh sunlight made my head feel like a bomb had detonated inside of my temples. I sat up in the bed and everything began to sink in. The dreaded feeling of realization washed over me. No, wait it was more like a pail of ice cold water was dumped over me. The previously incoherent night seemed suddenly crystal clear as flashes of last night came to me. It felt as if it wasn't even me doing all the things my mind reminded me of. Like watching a movie where you're the protagonist.

Last night felt like one long movement. There was no point when I thought, now I'm doing this, now he's doing that. In fact, there was no thought, just two bodies recognizing each other, making themselves whole together.

We didn't sleep until the sun rose.

The bedroom was modern, yet luxurious- kind of how a 90-inch flat screen TV is modern yet luxurious- and had the largest, comfiest bed I'd ever seen. A window looked out into the yard and the bright sun. It had the opulence that matched Cristiano to a T.

Groaning, I rolled out of bed and put on my underwear and slipped on his wrinkled, white Oxford, redolent of his scent, since my clothes were unsurprisingly missing. The hardwood flooring chilled my bare feet and legs, causing goosebumps, as I walked out of bedroom. Or maybe the goosebumps were from the fact that I had woken up in another man’s bed? There was a pleasant ache in my muscles and my hair was rumpled around my shoulders. I padded through the endless hallways, blushing fiercely at the sight of my ballet flats and hoodie in a haphazard pile at the doormat. Our lips locked the second after Cristiano told the cab driver the address and I don't think they parted until the bedroom.

Everything felt so easy, so comfortable as I wandered the mansion to the kitchen.

There he was whistling happily in only a pair of boxer shorts covering his bronzed body, leaning over an omelet, putting the finishing touches on it.

I felt content to just stand there and watch him. All sense of propriety went out the window, I didn’t care that he was just wearing boxers and I was wearing his oxford over my underwear. This just felt right. “Good morning,” I smiled, one of those slow smiles that catch you by surprise, where you find yourself smiling without even knowing it.

“Good morning,” He replied cheerfully, too cheerfully for someone who drank as much as he did and hates alcohol as much as he says he does. “I made breakfast,” A wave of a toned arm. “My shirt looks better on you than it does on me,” Cristiano gave one of his signature sly smirks.

“I thought so, too, but where are my clothes?” I quipped, “You didn't have to cook me breakfast,” I sat down at the table.

“I cook out of sheer pleasure, not an obligation. I'm having your clothes washed. They smelled like the bar. They should be ready soon. Though I would much rather have you in this,” Cristiano poured me a cup of black coffee, “Strong, just how you like it,” He added with a wink.

It didn't strike me until that precise moment. When I was sitting down at breakfast, with someone other than Stephen pouring me coffee, someone other than Stephen making me breakfast, someone other than Stephen's scent wrapped around me.

This wasn't right.

But why was it so easy? Easier than anything with Stephen.

It was all incredibly sobering. It was like kicking down a barrier; the first intrusion of the outside world. With it came the unwelcoming covertness, the need to be cautious, to be discreet, to keep this a secret. A dirty, little secret.

I drank the black coffee greedily, but I was only able to manage a few bites of the omelet; it was all my stomach could handle. I don’t know if it was from the hangover or the realization. “I feel like I didn't get any sleep at all,” I mused after my third cup of coffee.

“Only a few hours,” Cris winked, “You can sleep more here, if you want. I have an interview and some media things to do today.”

“That would be weird,” I said before thinking, “Being in your bed, without you,” The words seemed to tumble out of my mouth before I could even process them.

God, did I drink so much that I'm still drunk?

Or did Cristiano really just have this effect on me?

“My cousin brought my car back for me. I can drop you off at the metro station. We can wait till there aren't so many people in the streets,” He held my gaze, gone was the jovial, cheerful Cris, now there was a hard, seriousness in his eyes and said, “It's you, I think of. Not me. It's different for me. It's always different for a man.” His eyes wandered down and to the side, as if a part of him wished it wouldn’t have to be this way.

It was sobering, such straight talk. It forced me to think. To come to terms with what happened.

“The bed-” I paused, “It’s way too big for one person. And you wouldn't have two tables and lamps like that if you were sleeping alone.”

Cristiano scanned my face and shrugged. With that gesture, we really did re-enter the real world, “I lived with a woman for a while. She left a year ago. The bed was her idea.”

I stared at the half eaten omelet, “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned it.”

He shrugged again and smiled at me, “You didn't know. Even with the tabloids detailing my every movement, you couldn’t have known.”

“If it's alright, could I take a shower now?”

“Go ahead, your clothes should be done by now,” Cristiano began clearing the table, “Don't worry about the dishes.”


When I exited the sleek sports car, I felt like I was making a big stage entrance, though as far as I could see I had no audience. Cristiano dropped me off outside of the town center to avoid the crowds of prying eyes. I ran down the street and walked quickly toward the centre of town, breathing a little easier when I reached the part I often walked in during the morning, but still feeling exposed. I felt distinctly aware of how I smelled of his shampoo and soap as I descended the stairs into the metro station and clamored into the train.

Around me sat businessmen, women with their shopping, teenagers flirting. It seemed so strange to me that something extraordinary had happened, yet no one around me knew. “Do you have any idea what I've just done?” I wanted to say to the grim woman knitting across from me. “Would you have done it too?”

But the events of my life made no difference to the train or the rest of the world. Bread was still being baked, gas pumped, and the trains were running on time. Even Cristiano was at work, giving his rehearsed answers and coy deflections about a possible move to Madrid. And Stephen was at his meetings in a state of ignorance. I drew in my breath sharply: it was only me who was out of step, who had nothing else to do but ride home and feel guilty.

Only when I reached the last few stops did I realize, I didn't want to go home. I saw my stop nearing and a wave of nausea hit me. I reached my stop and walked to my building. I leaned against the cold, steel wall. When I go inside, I thought, I'll have to face my guilt.
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Sorry about the not updating in like 4232452 billion years. I've been struggling with finding inspiration. I hope you liked this chapter :D Please comment and review. They really make my day.