Page 6 of The Perfect Marriage

I should have been home with Sarah by now. I rub my hands over my forehead and down my face, trying to massage the nerves back to life. How the hell did I get this bad? I can’t see more than a few inches in front of my face, but I can feel Kelly next to me. I can always feel her next to me. I scooch closer to her, running my hand along her cheek. She’s dead asleep. I whisper her name trying to stir her, but the scotch has a stronger pull on her than it did me.

“Kelly,” I whisper a little louder, but she doesn’t move. The continuous vibration and ding of her phone distract me from her, but I’ve decided that if she’s this tired, then I want her to sleep. I give her a gentle kiss on her cheek and swivel myself off my side of the bed without a sound. I tiptoe to her side of the bed and take her phone off the nightstand. I step out of the room meaning only to silence it, so it doesn’t disturb her—but the text messages catch my eye. I look back into the dark room and then at the phone. I type 4357 into the passcode. The most recent text is from a girl named Jesse.

It reads ‘I’m sorry.’

I scroll past Jesse’s most recent text to those before it. They’re all from Scott, her husband. I read them in order, starting from the earliest at 10:17pm.

I wish you would come home to me.

Why does it have to be like this?

Babe… will you please answer me?

I love you so fucking much. Why can’t you get that?

I didn’t mean any of it. You have to believe me. It won’t happen again. I promise.

Please tell me where you’re at.

If you would just answer. I would leave you alone tonight.

Fuck you, you fucking dumb ass bitch.

You fucking lied to me. You’re not still at work. I just called the cafe.

When I find you, you’ll be begging me for last night’s ordeal rather than what I have in store for you, you worthless bitch.

My muscles clench up in anger, but I keep scrolling anyway. This is her business, and she’s never wanted me to be involved, but I would kill this piece of shit at this moment if I had the chance.

Too late. You’re a fucking memory now.

That’s the final text message from Scott at 11:45pm. Jesus Christ. What a fucking psycho. I want to pick her up out of that bed and hold her close and reassure that we’re not all pieces of shit like her husband. I’m half tempted to text him back but riling him up is the last thing Kelly needs. Instead, I creep back in the bedroom, set an alarm on her phone for 8:00am, and place it on the nightstand. I lean down and plant a kiss on her cheek. I slide my hand up her thigh into her core. It’s wetter than it’s ever been, and I think at first, she’s going to wake up for me immediately. But she doesn’t stir, and when she doesn’t, I take my hand away. I want to be there for her in every type of way—physically, mentally, and emotionally. I wipe my wet hand against my pants and quietly walk out of the room.

Outside, I don’t turn on any lights and I allow my eyes to adjust as best they can in the dark. The coals from the fireplace help me find my way around the living room, and the bearskin rug lets me know when I’m outside the open-concept living room. The embers provide a soft glow as I creep my feet along the hardwood floor. I cross the kitchen keeping my balance with the granite countertops. The dull light of a pale moon provides a dismal backdrop to the front glass façade of the house. I find a pad of paper and a pen and write:

Kelly,

It’s you. It hasn’t always been you, but it will always be you. You’re the words to a story I’ve been trying to write my whole life, and tonight I determined the ending.

Love you, Love me, Adam

P.S. The maid will be here at 9am. Please make sure you’re gone before then.

I leave the note on the counter and walk to the entrance, picking up my items, and gently shutting the door behind me. I look down at my phone before getting into my black Range Rover. It’s 12:30am. Shit, I’m half tempted to stay with Kelly, but I promised Sarah I would come home tonight, and although I won’t get in until nearly 2am, at least, I’ll wake up next to her.

More than an hour later, I pull up to our home nestled in the Kaloroma neighborhood of D.C. The large brick Tudor house with six bedrooms and three-and-a-half baths is much too large for just Sarah and me, and a bit too ostentatious for my blood. But Sarah fell in love with it the moment she laid her eyes on it. It was the expansive fenced backyard and stunning oversized terrace that made her swoon. I thought for sure when she picked out such a large house it was because she had changed her mind about starting a family. We turned two of the bedrooms into offices, one for her and one for me. A third bedroom was converted into a library-study, a fourth into a gym and the fifth into a guest room. She hadn’t changed her mind.

I pull into the courtyard next to Sarah’s matching white Range Rover. Entering the house, I pass through the grand foyer with marble flooring, past the sweeping staircase and into the gourmet kitchen. I place my messenger bag on the counter and switch on a light. I get a bottle of water from the fridge and go to the master suite on the second floor. All the lights are off in our bedroom, except for a lamp on Sarah’s side of the bed.

I push open the door and find her sleeping heavily on her stomach, completely relaxed. She’s wearing a thin black tank top and black lace thong panties, not her typical nighttime attire. I expected to see her in a nightgown. Is she teasing me? Does she want me? Or did she just pass out from one too many vodka sodas, her drink of choice. Her silk-like blond hair is damp and is pulled back into a low ponytail—every strand neatly in place. Even when she’s asleep, she’s perfectly pulled together. My eyes follow the curve of her back and the smoothness of her toned ass, down her sculpted legs. Over the years, she may have neglected me, but she never ignored that body of hers. She stirs a little but doesn’t wake.

By my side of the bed I shuffle off my pants and shirt. My eyes never leave her. She makes me so goddamn miserable, but so blissful at the same time. I fucking hate her as much as I love her. Does she know? Does she care? What am I to her?

I drop my watch on the nightstand a little too hard, and it makes a clunking sound, loud enough to wake her. Her eyes shoot open quickly and then ease when she realizes that it’s just me. I expect her to roll over and go back to sleep, but she doesn’t. Her eyes tighten, and her lips curve into a small smile. She glances at the alarm clock on my nightstand. 1:45am. She looks back at me but says nothing of my late arrival home. Her eyes beckon me.

“I know. I’m sorry I’m late.” I slide into bed beside her.

“Don’t be,” she whispers patting the spot next to her.

---