The Hotel Room


How did it come down to this? I think as I pick up a key card from the hotel lobby. Jessica had text me earlier in the day. She had told me what room to enter, and what time to be there. And like a fool I follow her every direction, wrapped around her pinky finger like the small silver ring she always wears. 

When I arrive, she is already there, champagne and strawberries arranged so delicately on a tray. Jessica’s long red hair is tied in a low braid, and it hangs so graciously down her spine. She wears a black satin robe, and nothing else.

‘Bonnie, you’re late.’ 

‘Babe I came as soon as I finished work. I’m running out of excuses. Jay knows. I think. He must do.’ 

‘Relax.’ Jessica moves to stand behind me. She rubs my neck, hitting all the right spots.

‘Jay doesn’t know. Brad doesn’t know. Our secret is safe, okay? Trust me.’ 

But that is the trouble, I don’t trust her, I couldn’t trust her, or myself, because we are sick, awful, nasty people. 

I stood at an altar and declared my love to Jay less than 5 years ago. And then 6 months ago I started an affair. Or Jessica started the affair. I don’t remember. 

The neck rub continues, Jessica putting pressure in the correct places. She nibbles on my ear, and breathes in the coconut in my hair. I lose myself. 

‘Okay.’ I say, giving in. Jessica knows just how to push my buttons, it’s one of the things that attracted me to her in the first place. I’d never been with a woman before, but she had. And it showed. 

Slowly, I feel the zip of my dress being pulled down, and I shimmy out of it in a hurry. I turn to face her, her green eyes illuminated by the candlelight. I undo the ribbon on her robe, and kiss the nape of her glorious pale neck. She lets out a low moan, and I push her down onto the bed.

We make love, in a tangle of passion and heat and lies. 

And then I can no longer help myself. I say it.

‘I love you.’ 

‘I know.’ 

Neither of us know what else to say, so we make love. We make love until it turns into hate, until it turns into revenge, until it turns into anger. 

For some reason, after that night, we never made love again.

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