The Other Side of Pain
1
She sat on the window sill, her eyes watching the headlights of cars zooming past. She was dressed in the same pearl pink dress from the party that had ended over an hour ago, her hair still in the short, bouncy curls that he adored. She shivered, feeling a guilty chill go up her spine. That guilty chill had plagued her ever since she had started seeing him. But now the guilty chill was as strong as ever. She had to ignore it. It was something she had successfully done for the longest time now. She had watched his car drive off about forty minutes ago; he said he just needed to get a few things and would, "only be a second". How many seconds had actually passed now? She had lost count a while ago. At that point, she only stared out the window of the hotel room down to the parking lot where his car should have been at that point.
He had to be coming back now. He was way over-due. Some of the candles burning around her were starting to get smothered in their wax, the overwhelming cinnamon smell hanging in the room like her own impatience. She got up from the window sill, turning around and facing the door, as if expecting to see him. She slid off the straps of her dress, peeling it off and letting it fall around her ankles. A smile crept up the corners of her mouth. As she stepped out of the dress in her elegant lace undergarments, she remembered when she used to do this for him. In the four months they had been seeing each other, their love started off passionate, but started to dwindle as many different complications arose. They were able to see each other less and less as his record label started getting demanding, how his band members bickered more and more with each other, and how his wife was starting to grow suspicious.
She sighed, closing her eyes, imagining him there, finally in the room with her. It was a chance to save what they had before everything fell apart. She was the one for him, not anyone else. Ever since they had met, it was bound to happen. Despite having a girlfriend, despite marrying her, despite claiming to be completely devoted, he had gone astray. His wife was a good woman, which was why the ever present guilty chill kept creeping its way up her spine.
She crossed her arms over her chest, huffing, growing beyond impatient. She sat down at the edge of the bed, looking down at the floor. Perhaps he wasn't coming back this time. But why wouldn't he? He was so set that night at the party, constantly whispering in her ear how beautiful she was, and how much he loved her, and how much he wanted to make love to her. They had shared soft kisses filled with more romance than they ever had. He held her in his arms during the slow dances, and she just wanted to stay forever. But now she was alone in the hotel room, staring at the floor, her eyes burning with tears. She stood up abruptly, storming over to the coffee table which held a bottle of champagne and two glasses. He wasn't coming back. It was all lies he had told her at the party. Who took forty minutes to get condoms? And why hadn't he had any before if he had told her over and over that he loved her?
He wasn't coming back. He was gone. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling her tears burning. She sobbed quietly once, but only once. She let her head hang backwards, remembering how he used to hold her, how he would kiss and suck her neck softly without leaving those nasty bruises those other men would. How he would touch the side of her face, and how he would only touch her softly. It wasn't an affair of only rough sex and short-lived passion; it was true love. But it was because of his wife the only true love that existed wasn't allowed to live.
She lay down on the bed, closing her eyes. She could feel his hands on her skin, his muscles tensing against her body as his breath came slow but sharp. His lips crushed hers and she melted in their love. She ran her fingers through his thick curls of hair, tasting his mouth in hers. Why had he left her? He was probably back with his wife now, making love to the wrong woman. It was over; he was never coming back. He had gone too far.
He had to be coming back now. He was way over-due. Some of the candles burning around her were starting to get smothered in their wax, the overwhelming cinnamon smell hanging in the room like her own impatience. She got up from the window sill, turning around and facing the door, as if expecting to see him. She slid off the straps of her dress, peeling it off and letting it fall around her ankles. A smile crept up the corners of her mouth. As she stepped out of the dress in her elegant lace undergarments, she remembered when she used to do this for him. In the four months they had been seeing each other, their love started off passionate, but started to dwindle as many different complications arose. They were able to see each other less and less as his record label started getting demanding, how his band members bickered more and more with each other, and how his wife was starting to grow suspicious.
She sighed, closing her eyes, imagining him there, finally in the room with her. It was a chance to save what they had before everything fell apart. She was the one for him, not anyone else. Ever since they had met, it was bound to happen. Despite having a girlfriend, despite marrying her, despite claiming to be completely devoted, he had gone astray. His wife was a good woman, which was why the ever present guilty chill kept creeping its way up her spine.
She crossed her arms over her chest, huffing, growing beyond impatient. She sat down at the edge of the bed, looking down at the floor. Perhaps he wasn't coming back this time. But why wouldn't he? He was so set that night at the party, constantly whispering in her ear how beautiful she was, and how much he loved her, and how much he wanted to make love to her. They had shared soft kisses filled with more romance than they ever had. He held her in his arms during the slow dances, and she just wanted to stay forever. But now she was alone in the hotel room, staring at the floor, her eyes burning with tears. She stood up abruptly, storming over to the coffee table which held a bottle of champagne and two glasses. He wasn't coming back. It was all lies he had told her at the party. Who took forty minutes to get condoms? And why hadn't he had any before if he had told her over and over that he loved her?
He wasn't coming back. He was gone. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling her tears burning. She sobbed quietly once, but only once. She let her head hang backwards, remembering how he used to hold her, how he would kiss and suck her neck softly without leaving those nasty bruises those other men would. How he would touch the side of her face, and how he would only touch her softly. It wasn't an affair of only rough sex and short-lived passion; it was true love. But it was because of his wife the only true love that existed wasn't allowed to live.
She lay down on the bed, closing her eyes. She could feel his hands on her skin, his muscles tensing against her body as his breath came slow but sharp. His lips crushed hers and she melted in their love. She ran her fingers through his thick curls of hair, tasting his mouth in hers. Why had he left her? He was probably back with his wife now, making love to the wrong woman. It was over; he was never coming back. He had gone too far.
♠ ♠ ♠
Rainy days are so miserable...