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It was so easy to forget about the leaky pipe in the basement until it broke and flooded the whole fucking house. That was what Vic’s wife was: a slow leak that suddenly burst and threatened to drown me.
I eyed my fallen paper bags. I could feel myself starting to hyperventilate and wondered if I should grab one to stave off a panic attack.
“Why are you here?” I managed to ask. Super fucking smooth.
She twitched an eyebrow and then smiled. “I could ask the same of you.”
Ugh. I hate her. I hate that she has more authority here than me. I hate that she’s the Wife and I’m the Mistress. I hate that I slept in his bed like it was ours.
I hate that I’ve let myself get comfortable here.
As if on cue, Vic came out of his study. He saw me and smiled, then he saw his wife and his smile disappeared. “What the fuck are you doing here, Alice?”
Alice. Her name is Alice. I immediately hated all Alices. Then I felt like shit, because it’s not like all Alices are evil wenches. I mean, ?Lewis Carroll’s Alice is pretty neat.
“Is that any way to greet your wife?” Alice sneered.
She actually sneered. My toes curled.
“You wouldn’t be my wife if you would just sign the damn divorce papers,” Vic said, his voice low and threatening.
I felt like a child in the middle of her fighting parents. They began circling each other like two tornadoes on a plain, and I was the plain.
I walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I didn’t want to go to the bedroom, because I was reminded that Alice had been there. She had been there before me. I wasn’t naive enough to think I would be the only person Vic would love in his life. I had past loves. We all had past loves. I suppose I was simply hopeful enough that when I was being loved by Vic, I would be the only one he loved during that time.
Instead of the bedroom, I went into the vinyl room. Since moving in, I’d attached a Bluetooth player to the speakers so I could listen to my MP3s. Vic called me a blasphemer, but, whatever. I liked having all of my music at the touch of a button; Vic’s organizational method was literally nonexistent. If I was in the mood for The Pixies, I had to search for an hour among his vinyls. However, all I had to do was type in “The Pixies” on my phone and voilà!
Whoosh. I plunked down into the chair. I turned on “Habits” by Tove Lo and started playing with my hair.
“Lenny, what are you doing?” I was getting used to Vic’s sneak attacks, so I didn’t jump too high when he just appeared in the room.
“Pondering,” I replied. Vic walked toward me then kneeled so we were eye to eye. Vic was a lot taller than me; however, whether by tugging my face up to him or kneeling before me, he always made sure we could look into each other’s eyes easily.
“What are you pondering?”
Life, love, the unfair cancelation of Firefly. “I’m not sure,” I said truthfully. My brain was in analysis paralysis. “What are we doing?” I asked him eventually.
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
Eventually, we were going to be just like him and his wife. Maybe not as vitriolic, but just as separate. “We can’t keep doing this.”
“Why are you saying this?” Vic asked, his voice getting louder.
“How much longer can you stay here?” I asked. “How much longer until you have to leave to another country for some top-secret mission?”
“We don’t say ‘top-secret,’” Vic grumbled.
I leaned in to meet Vic’s face. “Well?”
“I was supposed to be gone a week ago,” Vic admitted.
There it was. I felt like I’d been hit in the gut. “Why are you still here?”
“Why do you think, Lennox?” Vic stood, running a hand through his long, inky hair. He walked to the other side of the room and ran a finger absently along the row of vinyls.
“Me?” I mumbled.
“Bingo.”
