Promise Me This; Never Let Go

Rafael

I worked so much to make this work. It did work for a long time until we reached New York. Now, I must re-work things so that everything returns to normal. Why must I be the one to fix everything?

"Mr. Nadal. Here are the tapes you requested," Joseph uttered in a business fashion. He gave me five discs securely placed in a burgundy box. I thanked the hotel manager and proceeded to the tennis arena locker room. No one would be in there because Soderling was playing against Roger today. Everyone was outside watching that match.

I walked into the men's locker room, heading directly to my locker. I took out my portable DVD player and placed it on the bench.

I opened the lid of the box and threw it over my shoulder, hearing it make a clashing sound as it hit the floor. Inside the box were five shiny discs. This would take some time to finish.

In all of the discs, only two people besides myself entered in and out of that room on practically a daily basis. The first person is Franchesa. The other person is Matt.

I trust my wife did not allow herself to be involved in an affair with him. Who was I joking? I know she would never betray me like that. One of the biggest things about her is trust. It takes time for her to trust a person, but once she does, she trusts them completely. Consequently, if you somehow make her stop trusting you, it can take years before she will even begin to have even a little bit of faith in you.

As I sat there in the silence, I pondered on what I should do next. I could confront her and ask her how she was able to get in contact with Matt. I was so sure that by staying with me, she would be able to see him again. Oh how wrong I was.

However, I like my second idea more. Standing up, I checked the new e-mail I received. It would take me about half an hour to get there, without traffic. It does not matter. I need to talk to him.

After the taxicab driver dropped me off in front of an apartment complex, I walked in through the doors with my head held high. The receptionist at the desk gasped and looked at the television screen to the left of her.

"You're Rafael Nadal," she gasped, her hand covering her mouth.

I nodded. "May I ask where is Matthew Sander's apartment?"

"Oh sure. It's on the third floor. 3C."

"Thank you."

It is rather amazing how big of a help fame is. I'm quite positive that if I were an average person, she would be suspicious as to why I asked her about a tenant and their exact address.

It could have also been that she thinks I am "cute" or whichever words these young American girls love to use. Franchesa was like that once. She spent hours having to explain to me about those simple phrases so I would understand it. As the years passed, she stopped saying I was cute or adorable. The high school phrases seemed to die. I am not sure if I miss it or not. I was always agitated when other girls would say it to me, but never Franchesa.

In less than five minutes, I was in front of his door. Perhaps he was not here and was spending time with my wife. Well, did he ever ask for permission?! No, he did not. I needed not to be polite with him.

With that thought in my mind, I pounded my fist against his door repeatedly. I could hear him scream from the other side, but I continued to slam my first on the door.

He opened the door, clear confusion spread across his features.

"Stay the fuck away from my wife," I demanded, pointing a finger at him.

I noticed panic swirl in his eyes before he composed himself. "What the fuck are you talking about?" he asked.

"You know already. Do not play dumb. You got your chance years ago. You cannot steal her from me like you almost did before. I have worked too long and too hard to delete all traces of you from her life."

"I'm sure she'll be happy to know her husband just threatened her best friend and invades her privacy," he spat, crossing his arms across his chest.

Best friend? Did I hear him correctly? It only took one week for them to return to that? I cut my attention off of that fact. I will deal with that later.

"She will not know," I said simply as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Really now?"

"Yes," I sighed, bored with this already. "If you tell her, I will expose everyone to your private life, ALL OF IT."

With that, I walked away. I knew he was the type of person who always wanted to win the fight, but he would never win. When it came to Franchesa, I always win.