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Three weeks ago, I couldn’t fuck my wife. I tried, but there was a dark bitterness inside of me that prevented me from forgiving her. I told myself she never really physically cheated on me—but, after being the only child from a divorced couple, I’ve always had that fear of abandonment. Maybe I was the one who left, but she was the one who abandoned our vows first. Why is it so hard for me to get over it?
I’ve been sleeping at a hotel, and started to look into apartments for rent.
The phone rings, and I ignore it. The awards on the wall for top seller in the region almost mock me. Maybe I’ll lose my position if I keep avoiding the world like it owes me something.
My coworker Cal walks in. When he started at the firm, he was my biggest competition, and now, he’s content to be second place. How things change.
“Hey buddy, let’s grab a drink,” he says.
I glance at the computer screen. 4:30pm.
“You need one, and it’s officially happy hour in the bar across the street.”
I flick off my screen, and stand. Why else stay here? To avoid going to the hotel I’ve been staying at? “All right.”
“Atta boy.”
I walk by Andrea and tell her I’m done for the day, and before she answers, I head to the elevator with Cal. We talk about the football playoffs, and by the time we reach the somewhat empty bar across the street, my shoulders relax more. I’m not the opening type, and haven’t really talked about my separation with anyone. Not even with the therapist Ava insisted we saw. I canceled the appointment.
Another stab of regret flushes through me. Every day that goes by I shovel more dirt into the grave of my marriage, even if I shouldn’t. I love her, and leaving her hurts me—but I don’t know how to stay with her if I can’t forgive her.
“Scotch please. Double and neat.” I hand the bartender my card, and she swipes it quickly, then gives it back to me.
Cal orders the same, then pats me on the shoulder. “You’ve been quieter than usual. What’s up, man? Single life treating you wrong?”
Single life sucks. Cal’s allergic to any kind of commitment besides work, so he wouldn’t get it. “I’m adjusting.”
“You need some pussy.”
“I’m not disagreeing,” I say, more playful. The bartender brings our drinks, and she gazes at me, her eyes lingering on my mouth. With long dark hair and cat-like brown eyes, she’s the opposite of Ava. She has a sleeve of tattoos on one arm, and wears a bold purple lipstick. My cock tightens against my pants, warning me it’s been asleep for too long. “I’m not ready, though.” I look square into Cal’s eyes, to keep him from trying to convince me to join Tinder or some other weird shit.
“Ready for what? This isn’t some blind date situation. Some distraction would do you good. Unless you’re thinking about going back to Ava.”
I take a longer sip of scotch, the bold liquid rushing down my throat and burning my chest. When I left my home, I meant to do it forever. I couldn’t keep a relationship just to treat her like crap and make her feel bad about her mistake. And, shit, I knew I’d be that prick. Ava didn’t deserve that—neither did I.
The last time we fucked, I called her names, and… while it was part of a game, a part of me, a dark side of me, enjoyed every minute of it. How could I make love to my wife when I’d fucked her like an animal and cussed her out? And liked it. “I can’t go back.”
“Okay, so move on.”
I drink some more. How to erase years of memories overnight? Another question Cal wouldn’t know the first thing about. Screwing is his answer to everything. Other patrons walk in, and the bartender does a slick job helping them in a brisk pace. She glances my way every so often, her pretty eyes carrying a hidden message. A promise.
Blood rushes down to my cock, and I massage the back of my neck, uneasy. I should just pay and go.
“So I told Andrew he could give someone else the commission,” Cal continues, gesturing with his hands, telling a story I should have been paying attention to. “Son of a bitch.”
“What?”
Cal glances at his phone. “Andrew’s calling me. Okay. Gotta take this. Be right back.” He slides off the stool and marches out of the bar, to the quiet area near the lobby.
I raise my tumbler to him, then take another sip. I look around me, and the place is getting packed. Two other bartenders have joined the other one, and are all working swiftly together to get everyone drinks.
“All alone?” says the bartender from earlier, her voice smooth.
I silently read her name tag. Marion.
“You could say so.” I shrug. I’ve been alone for the past few months—even while married. Still, now, without Ava around me, somehow the loneliness stings deeper.
She tilts her head to the side, and flashes me a sexy smile. “I’m taking my break.” She removes her half apron and places it in a drawer, then opens the door leading to the interior of the bar. I watch her, admiring her lithe form, the sway of her hips as she walks. Then, she walks by me, and leans in. “I don’t suppose you smoke, do you?” She cocks her head in the direction of a hallway, and I’m guessing it leads to the exterior of the building.
