Chapter Text
You slowly wake up to the sound of his phone alarm. Matthew, your husband, is still deeply asleep. You sigh, exhaustion hitting you with your very first breath away from the wonderful dream you had last night. A stranger was kidnapping you, doing things to you you couldn’t even name. It was your hidden fantasy, the one you could never share with your husband, even if he held a knife to your throat. You push yourself up on the cozy bed and already ache to lie back down the second your feet touch the carpet. You walk around the bed to turn off his alarm, glance at your husband for a moment, then press your lips together as you head back the other way.
There was a time when you would’ve jumped on him, showered him with kisses, when you both would’ve laughed at the sudden attack and he would’ve gotten back at you by tickling you until you couldn’t breathe from laughing. But that was before. Before your marriage. Before your failure.
Your routine is well-oiled. Your outfit for the day is as corporate as it gets. A skirt suit with heels that have slowly crushed your feet over the years. You brush your teeth while staring at yourself in the mirror. Your thirties have barely started and you already feel worn out by life. Your husband eventually wakes up and joins you. No good morning, no kiss. He grabs his toothbrush next to yours and follows his own routine. You stand there side by side, spitting into separate sinks, so close and yet so far. For a brief moment, you brush your hand against his, just to feel him, and he sets it down on the counter without even noticing. You take longer than necessary, maybe he’ll notice your black satin slip hugging your curves, the ones you maintain by going to the gym three times a week, maybe he’ll give you a compliment for once.
He finishes up, then gives you a chaste kiss on the forehead.
“I slept really badly.”
“Oh yeah?” you reply with toothpaste in your mouth, spitting before splashing water on your face. When you look through the mirror, he’s sitting on the toilet. “Why?”
“You snore louder and louder. Sounds like a tractor.”
“I can’t help it, you know.” You lift your nightie, walk half-naked across the bathroom to toss it into the laundry basket. You slide off your panties right in front of him. He wipes his face while peeing sitting down, looking at you without really being there. It’s like you’re invisible.
“Do something about it. Buy those nose things, I don’t know. I need to sleep at night.”
“We’ve been married for two years, Matt. Are you telling me you’ve been sleeping badly this whole time?” you ask, a little hurt. You cover your boobs out of reflex. His gaze on you isn’t innocent anymore, and strangely, you like it less than you thought you would. He flushes and walks over to you.
He’s tall, a little soft around the stomach, with round cheeks. You fell in love with his personality, he fell in love with your looks. And you thought you’d be happy together. He used to be so romantic, showering you with attention, and now you have to beg for crumbs. He’s charming, handsome to some, but for some reason, he doesn’t attract you like he used to. You’re trying, though. You have sex when he wants to, you fake orgasms and he’s satisfied. You are too, as long as it stays pleasant. Still, you want more from your husband, from the man you chose to share your life with.
“It’s morning, let’s chill with the complaints, don’t you think?”
“Do you even love me?” you murmur to yourself.
“Of course, babe. Stop overreacting. I just said you snore, not that I’m asking for a divorce.”
“Yeah.” You smile anyway. He kisses you quickly, then pulls a face.
“Did you eat something with garlic yesterday?”
“No, why?”
“Your breath still smells, and you look like you got hit by a bus. A good shower will do you good.” He turns the faucet on, water hitting the tub as your emotions start spiraling.
He squeezes the flesh at your hips, kisses you one last time, then walks away with a mocking chuckle. You stand there, stunned. Yeah, it’s morning and you haven’t had time to put makeup on, but that’s no reason to make fun of you. And you literally just brushed your teeth, why tell you that you smell? You hold back your tears and step under the water. You turn the heat up, wanting it scalding.
A well-oiled routine. Matt showers after you while you get dressed. You don’t eat together before leaving. Every time you step out of the bedroom, you see his car already pulling away from the driveway. Sometimes he leaves while on the phone with his mother. She calls him several times a day and you don’t get a say in it. You’ve learned to live with it. You head to work too. You treated yourself to a brand new Mercedes, with your own money. You contribute more than him to your shared life because you earn more. That was the deal back then, and now you regret it bitterly. At least he can’t say anything about your spending. Except for the comments you could do without.
You chose this house for the quiet, upscale neighborhood. Four bedrooms, planning for kids someday. You’ve tried countless times, but your period always came. You drive through downtown Salt Lake City. Your mind drifts back to the miscarriage you had a few months ago. You had barely found out you were pregnant when, two weeks later, you lost the baby. Maybe it was stress. Your mother-in-law can be a real demon when she wants to be. It didn’t affect Matthew, but you, you’re drained. You hide your grief in your work, and for now, it works.
It’s still early. The sun is just starting to rise. Your husband works at a luxury store, so he always has to wake up at dawn, and you got used to doing the same. Your status is higher, you’re a manager in a big event company. You’ve always been proud of your journey. Lately, you’re not so sure your husband is. You’re the only one parking in the underground lot. All the spots are still empty. You head up to your office, drop your things, then go down to the cafeteria to grab a strong coffee and something to eat. It’s convenient, you just need to take the elevator for breakfast.
Your badge bounces against your chest as you walk through the lobby. The décor is cozy, neon pastries glowing along the walls, and in the distance you see the empty cafeteria tables. You smooth your high curly bun, knowing you look good, ready for the day. Suddenly, you breathe into your hand to check your breath, nothing but mint. You wonder why your husband made that comment this morning. He didn’t even ask if you slept well. Your chest tightens at the thought. You still love him. You want to fix things, you just don’t know how.
A man in a hoodie, jeans, and slightly dirty boots pushes a floor scrubber with ease. His cap is pulled low over his face. You only see the stubble of his beard and his raven hair brushing the nape of his neck. He has a nice profile, you can’t tell how old he is. Your heels click against the white tiles, but he doesn’t turn to look at you. If anything, he stays focused on his work. You wonder where old Jake went, he probably retired. You used to exchange a few words with him, just to think about something other than your marriage. It was nice. Now that little moment of escape is gone with him. You pass the man, turning your head for one last look before entering the cafeteria.
You order your coffee, chat about the mild weather with the waitress, nice, but clearly tired. While she prepares your drink, you hear the hum of the floor scrubber. And then, you get an idea. Once everything’s ready, you tap your badge to pay. You manage to carry everything in both hands, carefully heading toward the exit without spilling your coffee. You slow down, walking straight toward the stranger cleaning the floor.
“Hi…” The man keeps guiding his machine toward the wall. It rumbles loudly. “My name is…” He doesn’t stop. “I thought you might like something to eat. It’s my first time seeing you here.” You hold out the small bag of cinnamon rolls with a napkin. Your coffee and your own pastry burn your other hand. “Please… it’s kinda hurting me to hold- ouch! Ouch!” You fidget, trying to figure something out.
The coffee spills slightly onto your hand. You swallow a cry, stepping back. You don’t know what to do. Your skin stings where the hot liquid runs. A presence moves closer. You barely have time to look up before the stranger takes your coffee and both bags, setting them on the floor. He grabs your hand, pulls a clean cloth from his pocket, and wipes it.
He’s a head taller than you. Broad shoulders. From the way his muscles move under his sweatshirt, you can tell he’s athletic. His cap hides his eyes, but you catch a glimpse of blue. Your mind goes blank. Completely blank. Like your brain just shuts off. You don’t know what to say. He wets the cloth slightly with the tip of his tongue, then presses it gently against your skin. It’s cool, soft, soothing. You should be disgusted. You should stop this interaction. But strangely, you let him do it without saying a word. His presence is overwhelming, like something dark radiates from him. He’s wearing leather gloves, not the blue latex ones cleaners usually wear. His skin is lightly tanned, his lips look almost painted they’re so well-shaped, and his Roman nose fits his face perfectly. His square jaw tightens with every movement. He’s tense, for a reason you can’t grasp.
He wraps the cloth around your coffee cup, places it in your right hand, then gives you the two small dessert bags in the other. He lowers his cap again and goes back to his machine, which he had stopped without you even noticing.
“Wait… I bought this for you.”
“I don’t need it.” His voice is softer than you expected.
“It’s just something small to snack on, you know, to start the day right. I swear they’re delicious, I get them every morning. Please, I just- it’s really nothing. And you helped me, so you can see it as my way of saying thank you.” You hold out the small bag, a hint of desperation in your gesture.
You don’t know why you insist, but you wait. Even when he turns his machine back on and walks away from you, you wait. After a moment, your gaze drops to the little bag. You smile at your own stupidity. Of course he’s not going to take it. You feel ridiculous, awkward, unworthy. You feel the tears rising, the ones you’ve been holding back since this morning. You wish you could’ve talked to Jake, he was always so kind to you. Thanks to him, you had the strength to face a long workday. He used to warm your heart, talking about his grandchildren, and now he was gone and you were trying to buy a stranger’s attention instead. Your arm falls limp at your side. Tears wet your lips. You really need a vacation.
Your steps quicken. Screw the coffee. You pass the man and head toward the elevators. You press the button to go up several times in a row, like it’s going to make it come faster. Every second you spend waiting wraps you in shame. And you can’t even wipe your tears because your hands are full. One is red from the burn, the other still holding pastries you don’t even want anymore.
A sound lets you know the doors are about to open. You’re sobbing silently. Then you feel someone next to you. You’ve reached your breaking point. Something heavy, unbearable, crashes down on you. You don’t even know why it hurts this much. Your mind goes foggy, you don’t want to move, you don’t even want to breathe. The man takes the things from your hands, you stay completely still while he does. Then he turns you toward him, and you break down completely.
You wonder how you got here, what went wrong in your life. What did you do to feel this pathetic? It’s like he knows exactly what you need. Suddenly your face is pressed against his sweatshirt, his arms wrapping around you. He holds you while you cry. The cafeteria music feels far away. You forget who you are, where you are, your hands sliding over his back as you sink into him. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. He smells like sweat and something else, but you don’t care.
The elevator doors open again. You snap your eyes open, panic flooding in. You push him, but you’re the one stepping back. You look for an escape and jump into the elevator.
“I’m sorry- I don’t know what came over me.” you mumble, pressing the button to go up. The doors take forever to close. The man picks up your coffee and the small bags, holding them out to you, his head lowered so his cap hides part of his face.
“Your breakfast.”
“You can keep it. Please, I- I-”
The doors close on him before he can step in. Your hand is pressed against your chest, your breathing quick and uneven. You cling to the steel wall and slap your own face at your stupidity.
A well-oiled routine. Your team hangs on your every word. You’ve pulled yourself back together, you don’t have a choice. You’re the manager, and you’ve got a press conference and a gala to organize. You get two texts from your husband telling you he’ll be home late, he’s going golfing with a friend. The day goes by, your emotions locked down. Buried deep where they belong. You don’t go back to the cafeteria all day, cutting back on coffee won’t hurt. You’re too afraid of running into the man from this morning. What you did, what you let happen, it was stupid.
You get home to an empty house. Leftovers in the fridge are more than enough. You take a quick shower, slip into a pretty nightgown in case Matthew comes home tipsy and wants you. That’s where you’re at now, waiting for him to give you attention. You think about how crazy he used to be about you. He chased you for months before you agreed to go out with him. You got married a year later, and you don’t know what you did for that passion to disappear.
The tea by your bedside is almost gone. Soft lighting fills the room. You sit under the covers, a book resting on your knees. Your hair falls loose over your shoulders, a strand wrapped around your finger as you read. You hear noise in the bathroom, Matthew is back, getting ready to join you. You glance at your phone. It’s 11 PM.
“Hey…” you say when you see him come in. He drags his feet to the bed and drops onto it like dead weight. You laugh softly, he looks exhausted. He must’ve gotten wrecked at golf. “Everything okay?”
“Long day. And this headache is killing me.”
“Do you want some Tylenol? I’ve got a box right there.” You set your book on the nightstand.
“No, I’m good.”
“You just said you’re in pain.”
“It’ll pass.” He crawls up to the headboard and slips under the sheets.
You stay sitting there for a moment, your nightgown highlighting your boobs. You want a little comfort, you missed him. But he doesn’t pay attention to you. He lies on his back and goes on his phone. You lick your lower lip, then eventually settle beside him. He lifts his arm and you’re glad to rest your head on his bare chest. His skin is soft. You run your hand over his stomach, gently.
“Maybe we could plan a vacation. Somewhere sunny.”
“Why? It’s September.”
“I don’t know… go somewhere, recharge after everything we’ve been through.”
“Babe, what the fuck are you talking about?” He lets out a dry laugh, but you keep caressing him.
“I lost the baby, Matt.” you say softly, careful not to let the pain bleed too much into your voice.
“We don’t even know if that test was real. And it lasted what? One or two weeks? It’s nothing. Some women lose their child at nine months or worse, after birth. You should consider yourself lucky. You were barely pregnant anyway, that baby didn’t stand a chance.”
“Is that really what you think?”
“Yeah! Look, we can go see my mom next weekend if you want. You love swimming in the lake near her house. Soon it’ll be the season, we’ll go skiing too. How’s that sound?”
“Perfect…” You turn to the other side of the bed, pull the covers over your shoulders, and switch off your bedside lamp.
Matthew puts his phone down, turns off his light too. He moves in behind you, wraps himself around you, his hands on your chest. He’s hard against you. You close your eyes and grip your pillow tightly. You don’t want him anymore. You don’t want any of this.
“I missed you, babe. You smell good tonight.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“’Cause of what I said? It’s been months, get over it. We can try again now, have a baby.”
“Matt… please. I’m serious.” You grab his hand as it slides up your nightgown. “I really don’t want to.”
“C’mon, babe. I’ll be quick, yeah? It’ll help my headache.”
“Matt-” You hear a strange noise coming from the row of closets across from the bed. “What’s that?”
“Nothing.” He licks your ear, making low, animal-like sounds. “You’re so sexy.”
You stare at the closet in the dark, you feel like you see something move. Matt spits on his fingers, pushes two of them inside you. A silent cry escapes you. You’re not turned on, too dry, it hurts. You start struggling to get his hand off you, but he’s so heavy behind you.
“Stop! Stop now! I said I don’t want to!”
“What? Why are you yelling at me?” He pulls away from you, hands raised. You quickly turn the light on and jump out of bed.
“What’s wrong with you? I said no!” you snap, tears in your eyes while he acts like nothing happened.
“You chose that nightie for this, babe. Don’t tell me you didn’t want to have sex tonight.”
You don’t know what to say to that. It’s true, you wanted intimacy but not like this. Not like you were just something for him to use, not the woman he promised to cherish for the rest of his life. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. You grab your pillow from under him and rush toward the bedroom door.
“Come back. You know it’s cold out there. Babe?”
He’s right. The heat isn’t on in the living room. With barely anything on, you’re already shivering. You throw your pillow onto the couch, unfold the blanket from the armchair and lie down on the cushions. The garden light faintly filters through the curtains. You fix your gaze on a spot on the coffee table, curling into yourself. The blanket isn’t very warm, but you don’t want to move. You keep holding your tears back, you don’t want to cry. He doesn’t deserve your tears. You just want to sleep so tomorrow comes faster. You shiver under the blanket, exhausted, hurt, and after about an hour, sleep finally takes you.
Your eyelids slowly close. Your body settles despite the cold. It grows heavy as your mind quiets down. You’re half asleep when you hear footsteps approaching the couch.
“Leave me alone… Matt,” you murmur, drowsy.
The man stands in front of you while you drift off. Your left hand hangs off the edge of the couch, the one you burned with coffee this morning. You didn’t put anything on it, the skin is red and swollen. Your fingers twitch as you start dreaming. The man sits on the coffee table, leans forward on his elbows, and keeps watching you in the dark.