The Last Exhale Part 23

43.

BRANDON.

My eyes reek with disgust. Can tell by the way fear scatters across her face and make her run in the opposite direction. I move forward until her footsteps relent.

"How'd you know I'd be here?"

Sydney's question reminds me of the last time I stalked her here. "Followed you here from the gym."

"You've been here the whole time?"

"Pulled up next to you while you were tying your shoes."

"You've been here the whole time?" She repeats her question enunciating each syllable in disbelief.

I nod what she already knows to be true.

"Why?"

I ask myself the same thing. Don't know why I'm standing in front of the woman responsible for my twin no longer wanting to be in my presence. We shared the same womb for nine months, now he doesn't want to be in the same room together. "We need to talk about what happened."

She sighs. "I'm still trying to put those pieces together myself."

"That's not good enough. Your husband and his cohort lost their cool and have scarred my brother for life. Cops committing crimes; something's wrong with that."

"Well, my husband's not able to tell his side of the story, so until then, keep him out of it."

Sydney stands in my face and defends the man who bored her to death, the man who led her to my apartment. Led her to open her legs for me. "You brought him into this." For a second I lose my cool. "Don't try to subtract him from the equation now."

"He's in a coma, Brandon. Have some compa.s.sion."

How dare she ask for compa.s.sion. "Oh, like the compa.s.sion you reserved for my cancer-stricken wife when you came knocking at my door with open legs."

She charges at me like a lion in heat. Her hands land on my chest, shoves me and shoves me some more until I lose my balance.

"So both you and your husband respond to problems with violence, I see."

She comes at me again. This time I wrap my hands around her wrists, stop her before she has the chance to make any more impressions in my chest. My hands defy my judgment when they pull her into me. Her feet defy her when they move toward me.

I don't kiss her first, nor does she kiss me first. Our lips meet at the same time. Tongues dance to the same tune. Both of us trying to make sense of how we got here, while letting our frustrations dig this hole deeper.

Sydney slides her tongue from my mouth, but her lips stay on mine. "This is how we got here."

I know she's referring to the first time we were out here and unbeknownst to us, we had been caught at the beginning of an affair. I rub my fingers through her hair, feel the wetness of her scalp. Makes me think of the wetness between her legs from the last time we were in this position. I draw her face closer into mine.

She kisses me hard, kisses away the consciousness to our sin.

I kiss her hard, kiss away whatever consequences our sin will create.

Another man's wife comes out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around freshly cleansed skin.

I'm sitting on the edge of a rented bed as naked as I was the day I was born.

She stands in front of another woman's husband, lets me remove the towel from her body. My hands linger across her skin, feel her shiver underneath my fingertips. She parts her legs, lets my fingers travel to her warmth. Wetness welcomes me into her cove, makes my nature rise. My finger stirs her deep, makes her moan loud enough to make doves cry. She straddles my thighs. I slip deeper, try to get lost inside.

"Promise me something," she whispers in my ears.

"Hmm?"

"Don't leave me hanging like last time."

I make no promises as my lips graze her neck, teeth leave impressions on her skin. I do say, "You know you'll go home a different woman, right?"

"And you'll go home a different man," she says back.

We kiss hard. Definitely no turning back from here.

This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to be here. I went to the gym because I knew she'd be there. I wanted to confront her, blaspheme her for speaking to me many moons ago on the treadmill. She interrupted my life with a common confusion. But the way she locked eyes with me, showed interest in trying to get me to know who she was...I've been stuck ever since.

Sydney leans against me, chest against chest. I lie back on the bed, she follows. Trails her tongue down my neck, comes back up, sucks my lips.

I'm still stirring her insides, her juices making a smacking noise as my finger slides in and out of her. She removes my finger from her, places it in her mouth. Watches me watch her. She winds her hips against mine, moves against me like she did on the dance floor. Her swollen lower lips glide up and down my manhood, giving me a hint of what it'd feel like to be inside.

That gets me.

I raise her up off me, lie her on the bed in my place, plant myself in between her thighs and let my nature rise inside of her.

We've officially entered the place of no return.

44.

SYDNEY.

I'm lying in the bed next to another wrong decision.

My body aches from running it into the ground to clear my mind only to turn around and fill it back up with a hunger for a married man. A man whose wife is on the verge of her last exhale.

Regret fills the air like carbon monoxide in a closed garage with the car running. It's always the moments after when your actions. .h.i.t you with the force of an avalanche.

"I didn't think it would be so easy to do this." Brandon breaks the silence and awakens my ears as if I'm hearing for the first time. He's lying on his back staring into darkness.

I swallow. "What?"

"This." He rolls over, places his lips on my bare shoulder still damp from our second session of exploring each other.

Unlike the last few times he's kissed me, this time I freeze under his touch. Feel a part of me tiptoe out of my body and out of this bed.

He pulls back causing a draft to blanket over me. His eyes gaze in my direction, penetrate my thoughts. "Wow."

This wasn't how I was expecting to feel. Ecstasy turned to regret in a matter of seconds. A few minutes ago, we brought each other to pleasure beyond words, filled the longing our souls longed for. Now all I want to do is run out of this room. Guess I was expecting him to feel the same way. "I'm sorry," is all I can find to say. At this moment, I truly am.

Brandon tosses the covers back, the comforter grazes my lip.

Again, I apologize.

He flicks the switch on the wall lamp, shines the light on our adultery. Stands above me in the buff, his manhood as lifeless as a man on insulin. "You're no better than Rene."

I fling the covers off me, stand up on the bed in front of him. Every hair on my body raises along with the octaves in my voice. "Did you just compare me to your wife?"

He shifts back a step, but doesn't back down. "I did. She turned cold toward me when she felt I couldn't do anything else for her. You've turned cold toward your husband, turned to me, got what you wanted. Now you don't even want me to kiss you anymore."

"That's not true, Brandon. You can't even compare your situation with your wife to this."

"Why did you come here with me?"

My eyes stay on his as his eyes stay on mine. "The same reason you wanted me to. Let's not kid ourselves, there's been chemistry brewing between us for months now. This was inevitable, no matter how much we told ourselves it wasn't going to happen. But that doesn't mean I have to be comfortable with the end result."

He bites on his top lip. "Do we end here?"

Feels like someone knees me in the back of my knees. My balance falters. He reaches to catch my fall, places my feet on the floor. I take that as my opportunity to look for my clothes; put some distance between us. Need s.p.a.ce to gather my thoughts.

Brandon speaks up for me. "Take that as a yes."

I drop my clothes. "No, that's not what I said at all. I honestly can't say what I want right now. I've got to get to my kids, make sure they're doing all right. Need to go to the hospital and check on my husband. You need to see about your wife and your brother. Too much is going on right now for us to make any decisions."

"Tell me how you really feel," he says, his feelings spoiling the good s.e.x we just had.

An aggravated sigh rumbles between my lips. I pick my sweaty clothes off the floor, take them with me into the bathroom.

I don't know how I was expecting to feel after having relations with another man other than my husband. Part of me hoped it would give me an excuse to be able to leave my marriage. Another part of me hoped it would cause me to realize what a good thing I have at home. Right now, I don't feel either way, but I do know an affair doesn't settle anything. It only creates more chaos and confusion.

When I walk out of the bathroom, Brandon is sitting on the edge of the bed, his clothes in a pile at his feet. He looks up at me, his eyes swimming in a pool of a fading memory. "Thanks for nothing."

Brandon was right; I have come home a different woman.

As I step in the shower I've stepped in every day for the last few years, all of a sudden it doesn't feel like I belong. Doesn't feel like I deserve to be here, though my money has helped pay for it. Everything in this house I have helped pay for. Feel like my money is worthless. Feel like I'm worthless.

I rinse the residue from another man away from my skin in a shower I've made love to my husband in. Watch as the suds of adultery bubble down the drain, watch as they travel down to a place I might be going soon.

I dry off regret, but it drips from my heart. As I walk into the room, my eyes focus in on the bed, see visions of me rolling around with another woman's husband. I was happy. I felt good. It felt right. Not necessarily being with him, but not being with my husband felt right to me. The moment that moment ended, reality came rushing in like waves in a tsunami. Came crashing in, drowning me in the decisions my heart led me to make.

I have become my father trying not to be like my mother. I've become an adulterer, all because I was afraid of becoming a lonely woman.

My fears brought me here, to this place of brokenness.

I shake my head too hard for comfort, feel an immediate throb in my head. I have got to get myself together. This pity party isn't going to help matters one bit. This is one of those moments I need to confess my sins to someone who can do more for me than a priest.

Before I can finish dressing, the phone is in my hand, speed-dialing my favorite spa in town. Soon as I can confirm, I'm in the car, wheeling my troubles to Conscious Kneads. Whoever canceled ten minutes before I called needs to have a national holiday recognized in their name. Talk about perfect timing.

"Jeez, girl," she says as soon as I walk through the door. "Say nothing. Room 3. Flick the light when you're ready."

I nod, because if I say anything, I might just choke on my tears.

She adds aromatherapy oils to the diffuser, puts on my favorite song and sets it on repeat. "La Jetee" by Isotope 217. Sounds like a marriage of mystery and the blues. The first time I heard it was during a customer appreciation mingle she had a few months ago, I asked her who the artist was and requested she give me a ma.s.sage to it the next time I was on her table.

"Thanks for remembering," I tell her.

"It's my job," she says, then flicks the light to red.

The moment her trained fingertips smooth oil across my back, I swear I'm about to lose it.

"Breathe, Sydney. Just breathe."

I comply.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

I hold my breath as long as I can as she slides her cupped hands up my back. On the downward pressing movement, I exhale. Feels like the last exhale my lungs will ever make.

An hour later, I'm standing up front, handing my ma.s.sage therapist my Visa for the best therapy session known to man. "Fatima, you don't know how much I needed that."