(no subject)
Early April
The pager went off just as she was pulling her scrub top back over her head. Picking the device up off the floor, she gave him a questioning look, her face still showing faint traces of the spent passion between them. He didn’t move from where he was sitting, his eyes closed, head in his hands. “Go. Just…go.” He told her, his voice dull, void of any emotion.
Once she was gone, he shuddered, made a strangled noise in the back of his throat as he asked himself what he was doing. Afraid of his own answer, Dubenko picked up his discarded clothing and got dressed in a hurry, ignoring the fact that his hands were trembling. He had to get out of there, out of his office and away from the hospital. Away from her.
***
The cold night air burned his lungs as he drove with the windows down. He didn’t care; the pain of breathing was preferable to gagging on the cloying smell she had left on his body, his clothes. His skin was sticky from her sweat and his, mingling and drying. It made him itch. Thinking about it made his stomach churn.
He parked the car in his driveway and sat, the engine silent as he looked up at the house he’s made into a home with his wife, their children. It filled him with quiet dread instead of the welcoming comfort he was used to, hoped for right now. How could he go inside now, after what he’d done? The vile, unforgivable thing that he’d done.
He closed his eyes against the stinging burn of tears that were welling up. It wasn’t long before he had to force them open again because of the images that came to him in the dark. His hands on her small frame, soft sighs of pleasure coming from nearly unfamiliar lips, dark almond-shaped eyes that were filled with gratitude and accusations all at once. There was no solace for him there in the car either.
***
In the house now, he had only one urge: to get clean. He all but ran up the stairs and into their bathroom, not stopping to think that he might disturb his wife’s slumber as he closed the bathroom door. He stripped off the scrubs he’d been wearing, balling them up angrily and throwing them into the trash, not the hamper. He didn’t want them touching her things. Soiling them.
He refused to look at his reflection in the mirror when he placed his glasses, his wallet on the edge of the sink. He didn’t want to see what an adulterous monster looked like. The thought taunted him as he turned on the shower. Others followed as he scrubbed at his skin, choked on silent sobs. She’s going to hate him. Leave him. Take the baby away. She’s going to hate him…
It was finally too much for him to cope with as he shut off the water and got out of the shower. His stomach joined the revolt his mind had all ready formed. Crouched over the toilet, he heaved again and again. The burning in the back of his throat as bitter and vile as his contempt for himself.
The pager went off just as she was pulling her scrub top back over her head. Picking the device up off the floor, she gave him a questioning look, her face still showing faint traces of the spent passion between them. He didn’t move from where he was sitting, his eyes closed, head in his hands. “Go. Just…go.” He told her, his voice dull, void of any emotion.
Once she was gone, he shuddered, made a strangled noise in the back of his throat as he asked himself what he was doing. Afraid of his own answer, Dubenko picked up his discarded clothing and got dressed in a hurry, ignoring the fact that his hands were trembling. He had to get out of there, out of his office and away from the hospital. Away from her.
***
The cold night air burned his lungs as he drove with the windows down. He didn’t care; the pain of breathing was preferable to gagging on the cloying smell she had left on his body, his clothes. His skin was sticky from her sweat and his, mingling and drying. It made him itch. Thinking about it made his stomach churn.
He parked the car in his driveway and sat, the engine silent as he looked up at the house he’s made into a home with his wife, their children. It filled him with quiet dread instead of the welcoming comfort he was used to, hoped for right now. How could he go inside now, after what he’d done? The vile, unforgivable thing that he’d done.
He closed his eyes against the stinging burn of tears that were welling up. It wasn’t long before he had to force them open again because of the images that came to him in the dark. His hands on her small frame, soft sighs of pleasure coming from nearly unfamiliar lips, dark almond-shaped eyes that were filled with gratitude and accusations all at once. There was no solace for him there in the car either.
***
In the house now, he had only one urge: to get clean. He all but ran up the stairs and into their bathroom, not stopping to think that he might disturb his wife’s slumber as he closed the bathroom door. He stripped off the scrubs he’d been wearing, balling them up angrily and throwing them into the trash, not the hamper. He didn’t want them touching her things. Soiling them.
He refused to look at his reflection in the mirror when he placed his glasses, his wallet on the edge of the sink. He didn’t want to see what an adulterous monster looked like. The thought taunted him as he turned on the shower. Others followed as he scrubbed at his skin, choked on silent sobs. She’s going to hate him. Leave him. Take the baby away. She’s going to hate him…
It was finally too much for him to cope with as he shut off the water and got out of the shower. His stomach joined the revolt his mind had all ready formed. Crouched over the toilet, he heaved again and again. The burning in the back of his throat as bitter and vile as his contempt for himself.