“It’s not what it looks like, ok?”
“Well, it looks like you had your cock buried in Stacey here, or is this some new team bonding exercise they’re mandating at the firm now?” I spit back.
My heart is hammering at 100mph. I suddenly taste metal and realise I’ve bitten my lip so hard that it’s bleeding.
I will not cry. I will not cry in front of them.
“Get out,” I say, crossing my arms. “Both of you get out.”
“Babe, please. We can talk about this. I thought you were staying at Chloe’s tonight, I never imagined you’d be back. You can’t just kick me out over something small. You’re overreacting.”
“Something small?!” I hiss. “Something SMALL? The only thing that’s small is your shrivelling cock, now get. The. Fuck. Out.” I enunciate each word, staring at him without blinking. I do not deserve this shit.
Rage and pain fight for dominance in my body as adrenaline courses through me. All I know is that I need them to get outnow.
His expression hardens and I see the moment he pivots his argument before it comes. He’s always been easy to read.
“Emmy, come on. Don’t play the nagging wife, it suits you a little too well. I just needed to blow off steam. You don’t know how fucking stressful this deal is, if we don’t close it then the whole quarter is out!”
I continue to stare at him as revulsion fills my every sense. Who even is this man?
“Please, babe. We don’t have to fall out about this,” he continues. “Everyone does it. It’s fine. It’snormal. Men have needs. We aren’t meant to be monogamous,” he says almost earnestly.
It’s like a switch flips in my brain and all of my swirling feelings coalesce into a single clear thought: this marriage is over.
“Women have needs too, Colin. Or maybe you’ve forgotten that since I haven’t had an orgasm from you in nearly two years. Get out. You’re pathetic, andI’mpathetic for not seeing you for what you are. This is over. We’re done.” I keep my chin up and grit my teeth as he stares at me.
There is enough venom in my voice that he holds his hands up and surrenders.
“Fine. We’ll go.”
Stacey squeaks again as he throws her clothes at the bed and she scrambles to get dressed. I march them to the front door and throw it open, gesturing almost violently for them to leave. I don’t have any more words. My throat feels like it’s closing up and I’m on the brink of breaking down.
The man I’ve lived with for over a decade walks out of our front door.
“I’m sorry,” Stacey whispers as she hurries out behind him. “Happy birthday.”
I slam the door so hard the glass shatters along with my heart.
CHAPTER 2
Luke
“When didSoho get so busy on a Wednesday night? Is Wednesday the new Friday? Is Thursday the new Wednesday?!” Nick throws his arms up as he squeezes through the crowd.
We’re in a pub around the corner from his office and it’s obscenely busy for a Wednesday. I can barely hear him over the hum of Londoners drowning their sorrows in overpriced, bang-average cocktails. I wrinkle my nose as the smell of spilled pornstar martini wafts up from the floor. It’s already sticky and it’s barely 6pm.
Eventually we claim a booth towards the back and I fight my way to the bar to grab us a nice bottle of red. Nick and I have been best friends for years and we still meet up most weeks for a drink. We’ve been through a lot together and he’s always had my back. He got married two years ago and his wife is expecting a baby, which means our weekly drinking sessions are on borrowed time.
He’s in a permanently jittery mood at the moment, flitting between wild excitement, moon-eyed adoration for his wife Priya, and total panic about being a dad. Tonight, it’s panic; I can tell as he pours us both heavy glasses of wine and lets out a theatrical sigh.
“What’s on your mind, Nick?” I prompt, waiting while he runs anxious fingers through his floppy hair.
“Ok, so, what happens if I lose my job? What if the company tanks, or a client bails, or we go bankrupt? What will we do? What will her parents say? Where will we live?” His eyes are wild as the questions tumble out. I school my face into something resembling sympathy. This must be the sixth or seventh rerun of this conversation.
“Nick, mate. Breathe. Where is this coming from?” I keep my voice low and steady. I know I can be incredibly grounding when people are spiralling. It’s a talent of mine.
“We had a pitch go south today and it just made me panic. Everything in life is so fucking precarious and we’re taking on this insane responsibility and what happens if it all goes totally fucking wrong?! What if I can’t do this?” He’s practically breathless with panic now. He looks at me desperately and then down at his hands, fingers anxiously twisting on the tabletop. The fear and the weight of his responsibilities are written all over his face.
