Lacking Restraint

Head bowed, she tries to hide the tears streaming down her cheeks. Her nose is runny. Her fingers fumble through the black purse, trying to find a scrap of tissue. She hadn’t plan on crying, and lifts a crumpled carbon receipt from the local supermarket and delicately, without arousing attention, dabs at the tears. She folds the receipt and dabs at her nose. Kneeling on the church pew, she glances at the figures waiting in line for confession.

God, forgive me, for I have sinned. Her heart cries. I don’t pray enough. I don’t honor my mother and father. I harbor jealousy towards my best friend. I sleep with another woman’s husband. God, forgive me my sins. Her ear rings. Her heart calms. And she feels a gentle breeze across the back of her neck. I promise I’ll be good, God. Just tell me, show me, speak to me. She pleads.

She puts on her sunglasses and walks down the cathedral steps. She hopes no one notices the dried streaks on her face. Her size 6 ½ feet carry her to the beige car and she sits for awhile, composing herself. Heaving a sigh, she drives off to meet her lover in their hotel down the street. I’m going to tell him today. I have to tell him it’s over. She can only imagine what it’s like to be the loving wife, who shares his life, his tantrums, and his kids. But she’s the other woman who plays with him on his free time, who caters to his physical needs and occasionally, boosts his male ego.

He grabs her by the waist as she enters their room. He nuzzles her neck and whispers, “I’ve missed you.” She tries to disengage but he pulls her into an amorous kiss, his tongue probing her mouth open. “Stop,” her arms push against his chest. He looks confused and runs his fingers through his hair. He sits on the edge of the nicely made bed and waits for an explanation. The window shades are open and she sees the city lights starting to come alive in the darkening hours of the day.

“I can’t,” she mutters. She doesn’t look at him. She can’t look at him. She shuffles her feet, like a child does, who’s been caught fibbing. She backs away and heads toward the door. “Don’t go,” he pleads. He rises from the bed and catches a hold of her wrist. “What’s wrong?” She simply shakes her head, her voice caught in her throat. “Look at me.” He pulls her face in his hands and kisses her lips. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel the same.” He tears her purse from her fingers. She struggles and he lays his chin on top of her head. His arms wrapped around her, afraid to let go, afraid she’ll walk away, afraid she’ll walk out of his life. “I feel guilty,” she whispers, her lips brushing against his shirt.

Her stomach turns and she feels a wave of nausea rise. She closes her eyes and lets the dizziness take over. She leans her head against his chest. He rubs her back, his fingers knowing exactly which spots to touch. “Let’s just lay here,” he brings her towards the bed. “It’ll be okay,” he whispers in her ear. “You want this, and I want this. We need this. You know that,” he continues. She falls into him and he wraps a leg around hers. His feet caressing hers. She closes her eyes and wishes she could disappear. Wishes she could have the willpower to say no, to leave, to be the real good girl she pretends to be everyday.