Driftwood 11
Title: Driftwood (11/?)
Pairings/Characters: Stephen/Other
Rating: PG13
Warnings:
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author's Note: Oh, it's drama time!
Also, I found Kathryn's sad theme song last night totally by accident, haha. It popped up on my Pandora station. It is appropriately angsty and wretched.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
A text message from my cell phone awoke me. It was midafternoon by the light, I guessed. I blinked, confused for a second until it all rushed back to me...the kiss yesterday in the hallway, our sex, his face, his body. The look he gave me. I flushed. I rolled over next to Stephen and pressed into him, feeling warm and content in the bed and not wanting to get out. He sighed contentedly, still half asleep, and threw an arm over me. I heard my phone jingle again. Stephen groaned into my shoulder, and I slide out of the bed to check it, grabbing my shirt to put on and a pair of panties. In a moment of surprise, I saw four missed calls and 3 text messages. It was a message from Liz.
'Why didn't you tell me?'
I was confused. I stood in the living room, rubbing the sleep and grog out of my eyes, and I texted her back. 'Tell you what?'
I sat down on the couch with my phone and turned the ringer and buzzer off on my phone, not wanting to wake Stephen sleeping the next room over. She texted back quickly and before I had a chance to read it, she was calling. I glanced over at Stephen, and slipped into the bathroom, deciding to answer it and hope the exhaust fan covered some of the noise.
"Liz, whats up?"
"Fuck, Kathryn, I've called you four times since this morning, why aren't you answering your phone?"
"I was sleeping. Whats up? Is something wrong?"
"Your cover is blown, that's whats up."
A chill ran over my skin when she said it. "What do you mean? James?"
"No, not James! You're on the front page of some lame gossip blog, along with that man of yours." Liz sounded excited, almost, but angry.
I felt my stomach plummet through the floor. It fell like a hard rock. I was glad I was sitting down. "What man?" Slowly, carefully.
"Stephen fucking Colbert, that's who. Are you telling me you don't know? Eric saw it this morning when he was up early with the kids. You're making out with him in a hallway. Why the hell didn't you tell me? Is this for real? This was him the entire time?" Her voice was exasperated but prying, and nosy. I knew she wanted the gossip. I felt dizzy, dreadful. I had to wake Stephen up. I didn't know what to do. I floundered, my mind spinning in a million different directions.
"Do they have my name?"
"No. Eric recognized you. Woke up me screaming from down the hall. I thought someone had died. They have you listed as an 'unknown woman'. Kathy, I can't believe you didn't---"
I interrupted her. "It'll only be a matter of time until they find out." I heard a knock on the door as the last word left my lips. Stephen. Three times, softly.
"Liz, I have to go. My flight leaves tomorrow morning. I'll call you back." She started to protest and I hung up the phone anyways. I stared at myself in the mirror, splashing some water on my eyes and rubbing my face. I wish I had a toothbrush, but it was still in my suitcase. I collected my thoughts, an increasing feeling of dread overtaking me. This was bad. I wondered if he knew yet, and if I was going to have to tell him.
When I came out of the bathroom, hesitantly, Stephen was sitting on the bed, one ankle resting on his other knee, paging through his phone with a deep furrow in his brow. I paused in the doorway. The room was silent, except for the hiss of the exhaust fan behind me. It felt cold.
"I can tell from the look on your face." I said quietly, still standing in the doorway.
He looked up, slowly, confused, angry. I felt the anger coming back from him, and I recoiled, for the first time fearing he would blame me for this. I blanched--suddenly remembering our night last night, how he kissed me, the way it felt, cradling my face and saying more without words. I couldn't escape the feeling of dread I had. I felt a pang of fear that I've ruined his life. And I felt a pang of even great fear that he ruined me. I wanted to run over and kiss his face, smother him with my lips, hug him, whisper that I loved him, and that we would get through this. I felt the flush of heat to my cheeks before I felt the tears in my eyes when I knew what bullshit that was. I knew we wouldn't get through this, and I knew those were never words I could say.
I turned away from his silent visage and walked to the window, looking down at the city below and around us, busy and bright on a Friday. My heart was thudding wildly in my chest, and as I stared out across the skyline, I frantically struggled to calm down, to relax the rising sense of panic I was feeling. It was all falling apart around me, I could see it coming and I couldn't stop it. I wanted to reach back in time and grab our moments yesterday, and hold to them--I was hoping they would be enough to get me through this alone. My mind reached forward to being identified, and I felt a punch of real fear. This could actually ruin my life.
"Have you seen the pictures?" He said, quietly, evenly. I turned back to him over my shoulder.
"I haven't. I only just heard about it from a friend. She recognized me."
"They haven't identified you yet. It's a dozen photos from a camera phone, and it looks like it's shot from the end of the hallway. Someone was there last night."
He held his phone out to me. I walked over slowly and took it from him, trembling.
For a zoomed in phone camera, they were high quality. It held both of us in profile, and Stephen is clearly visible and recognizable. He was cradling my face in his hands, a thumb on my cheek, looking down at me. My face was upturned towards his, also clearly in profile. I zoomed in our faces and gasped out loud--if I had doubted how Stephen felt (had felt? My heart quickened) last night, this picture was evidence. The look on his face was crystal clear, and even though we were both fully clothed, the picture felt embarrassingly intimate, the space between our faces as private as our bodies, a moment between two people captured without their knowledge. My eyes went from the phone to Stephen on the bed, and he was staring at the window, his jaw clenched tightly. I didn't see this last night, I hadn't noticed it. I felt like I got kicked in the gut. I knew at that moment that he was as tangled up in this as my heart was, and we were both going to walk away from this ruined. I felt, again, tears, and the urge to cry, and the crunch crumble and snap of my heart. Confirmation, beyond a shadow of a doubt on how he felt, and this is the way I received it. I scrolled through the rest of the pictures, driven by a sick curiosity, and they were just as embarrassing, all from the same angle, Stephen kissing me, us pushed against the wall, my hands disappearing into his jacket, our hug afterwards, an amused smile on his face as I pushed him away. It was grotesque. I couldn't stop looking at them, but they horrified me.
I sat down next to him on the bed, silently handing him the phone back. He turned the screen off and tossed it behind him on the bed. We were quiet for a moment. I wanted to reach over and take his hand, but I was worried he would snatch it back, that the anger bubbling under his surface would blow out towards me. I picked at my manicure instead, silent, waiting, nauseous, fearful. What could I say?
"My kids are going to see this." His voice was low and angry.
I felt a pang, and I looked down at the bed. My daughter would see it too, one day. What would I tell her? This is all fucked up. I didn't know what to say to him.
He stood up abruptly. "I'm going to take a shower," and he shut the bathroom door with a click.
I was frozen on the bed, unable to move. I searched my mind for a solution to this, a way to get out of it without getting hurt. I didn't think it was possible. I decided to get dressed. I pulled a pair of jeans and a shirt from my bag, quickly changing clothes and pulling my hair up in a ponytail. I made the bed, ignoring the stain on the sheet, deliberately yanking the comforter back into place. Stephan's phone started to buzz, and I picked it up to put it on the night side table, only glancing it long enough to see the ID said "Paul" on it. No doubt his life was about to explode, the same as mine. I thought about the conversations he would have to have with his friends and his family, a far different one than mine. To me, Stephen was simply a secret. But to Stephen, I was napalm--explosive, damaging, traumatic, potentially career ending.
I sat down in the entry room, debating whether or not the TV would be a good idea. I wasn't sure how much coverage something like this would get. I had my phone in my hand, and felt it buzz--a look down, and I saw my mom's name on the screen. Just great. My goddamn mother. I ignored the call, and she called immediately back. I turned my phone off, and threw it down on the couch. I was nervous--pacing the hotel room, looking out the window, at the bathroom door. My hands were trembling, and I felt nauseated, queasy. I was starting to freak out, and I could sense the rising tide of panic coming on me. I struggled to calm down, breath, focus.
Then I heard the bathroom door open and close, could smell the rush of sweet steam. I heard Stephan dressing, pulling on his belt and pants. I stay quiet in the front room until he came out and stood in the doorway.
"I guess we need to talk." He said, quietly. I looked up at him from the couch. He was fully dressed except for a tie and his jacket, cuffs buttoned and everything. He looked every bit the capable professional man, ready to do info-battle. Like I was a topic to handle. Damage control. In my fear and panic, I felt desire for him, as I did every time I saw him, or was near him. My body betrayed it.
"I guess we do." My heart pounding faster, a hot molten pile of dread sinking in my stomach. Much to my embarrassment, I felt the tears spring up in my eyes before he even spoke. I didn't want to cry through this. I wanted to be a strong woman, and agree with the decision because it was the best choice, and not blubber all over the place.
He sat down next to me, his weight sinking the cushions with a squeak.
"I..." He started, and stopped, running a hand through his wet hair, already starting to fluff. I found it hard to breath, dragging each breath in, my mind repeating one word, over and over again. I knew what was coming, and I would have set the room on fire to stop him from saying it.
No. No. No.
"Before we go any further with this, I need to say this. I am not planning on leaving my wife."
Confirmed. He said it.
I felt something inside of me crumble, falling to dust and sand in my heart. My heart was racing away from me and I stared down at my hands, blurring when I started to cry, each one landing on my tensed fingers. I don't know why that hurt so much--it was something I had known from the beginning. But hearing him say it, confirm it...it ached, it hurt. It hurt so much more than I thought it would. I squeezed my eyes tightly.
"Kathryn, please, I can't handle you crying." I looked at over at him when I heard this, because I heard the crack in his voice. I couldn't do this. I can't sit here and listen to this. I cannot be expected to hold it together over this, not after seeing that photo. I had to get out of here.
"Give me a moment," I croaked, afraid that talking would overflow my tears, knowing the sobbing was coming and I couldn't do it front of him, I couldn't break down like this in front of him.
I stood up from the couch and went into the bathroom, not looking at him, taking my cell phone with me. I went straight to the shower, choking it back, crying as I stripped quickly and climbed into it, grateful the water pressure was high and blasting, and the water hot. I let my tears come with a wretched groan, pressing my forehead into the sweating tile. And I cried, a gasping, choking sob, hiccuping. I cried for my lost heart, and I cried for Stephens--which made me cry even harder. I didn't even know I had his until I had lost it. Gone. He was gone. I tried to concentrate on what would happen now, to prepare myself for what he was going to say, as I assumed it would happen; namely that he would leave, and I will never hear from him again. But those pictures will exist forever. This wasn't some guy I dated for a while, dumped and moved on from. I never have to see those men again in my life. But Stephen would come back to haunt me over and over. News channels, late night shows, gossip magazines, Facebook--the chances to see a video, click a link, read something that brings him in front of me are endless. It's like walking through a minefield. And I would be the joke, the slut, the home wrecker.
The loss of him what really killed me though, a tearing, ripping, gnawing dark hole in my stomach. Losing him. I slid down the shower wall, my knees weak. I crumpled on floor of the hotel room shower, the water hitting me hotly, pulling my knees up to my chin, crying for all that I had lost and never really had. The photo didn't lie--I felt like screaming out loud when I thought of it, a splitting sob that came from the pit of my stomach. It was confirmation, proof that I wasn't completely in over my head--Stephen had been treading water right next to me the whole time, slipping as deeply into it as I was. But I had lost that moment, and any other moment like it, forever. I realized it all, I finally saw all of it. And it was over.
I closed my eyes under the water, knowing I couldn't put it off. I swallowed the pain, and the bitterness. What other choice did I have? I couldn't stay in the shower forever. If I was going to go get famous and get my heartbroken on the same day, at least I would have showered. I couldn't change what has happened. But I can handle how I react to what will happen. I turned the water off, still hiccuping, and brushed my teeth. I got dressed, taking care to towel dry my hair thoroughly, a dull sense of calm and numbness coming over me. My eyes were red and swollen, and I felt fluttery and tired after crying like I had. What else could I do? I could fall apart in front of him, or I could keep it together. I knew what my choice was.
When I came back into the room, Stephen was standing by the window, one arm up and leaning against it as he looked out. He spoke, but didn't turn around.
"Do you feel better after your shower?" He said it softly. I was grateful he wasn't looking at me--he'd see how red my eyes were, he'd know I'd just freaked out in the bathroom.
I paused coming out the doorway, taking him in with my eyes. "I do. Lets get this over with."
I sat down on the chair, across the bed. Stephen came away from the window, pulling the sheer curtains over them--the afternoon sun in the room was bright and hot. I appreciated it. He took a seat on the corner of the bed, across from me, his cell phone clutched in his hand. When he looked up from it, his eyes caught mine and I found myself embarrassed, knowing I looked like a mess. My face was red and blotchy, my eyes puffy. His eyes betrayed his concern and alarm at my appearance, and quickly the emotions were gone, replaced by a stoney face.
"Here's what I know so far. A hotel employee was in the hallway last night, and recognized me. He sold the photos to a website. You haven't been identified yet. I don't know what the situation downstairs is--I haven't called the hotel yet to find that out. But the story is that I got caught, red handed, in an affair. And..." He paused, his hands tapping his cell phone against the bed, his gaze aimed out the window. "I guess they're right."
I swallowed, my throat dry.
His gaze turned back to me, his face anguished. I could see it on him, that this was killing him. Every particle in my body was screaming for me to kiss him, to cross the floor and catch his lips. I resisted, clutching the sides of the chair with my fingertips, digging in so hard they stung. I preferred that pain to the ripping in my heart. I felt like throwing up.
"And this is it...for us." I whispered, pushing the words out before I regretted them, dropping them on the floor in between us.
He stood back up from the couch and went over the window, pulling the sheer aside enough to lean his head against the glass, staring down at the ant-sized people beneath us.
"I think it is." His voice broke. I grimaced when I heard it, the tears in his voice. I looked away, unable to watch him stand there and cry in front of me. It was embarrassing and intimate. In the silence that settled over us, we were both aching to speak. But what else could we say?
Pairings/Characters: Stephen/Other
Rating: PG13
Warnings:
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author's Note: Oh, it's drama time!
Also, I found Kathryn's sad theme song last night totally by accident, haha. It popped up on my Pandora station. It is appropriately angsty and wretched.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
A text message from my cell phone awoke me. It was midafternoon by the light, I guessed. I blinked, confused for a second until it all rushed back to me...the kiss yesterday in the hallway, our sex, his face, his body. The look he gave me. I flushed. I rolled over next to Stephen and pressed into him, feeling warm and content in the bed and not wanting to get out. He sighed contentedly, still half asleep, and threw an arm over me. I heard my phone jingle again. Stephen groaned into my shoulder, and I slide out of the bed to check it, grabbing my shirt to put on and a pair of panties. In a moment of surprise, I saw four missed calls and 3 text messages. It was a message from Liz.
'Why didn't you tell me?'
I was confused. I stood in the living room, rubbing the sleep and grog out of my eyes, and I texted her back. 'Tell you what?'
I sat down on the couch with my phone and turned the ringer and buzzer off on my phone, not wanting to wake Stephen sleeping the next room over. She texted back quickly and before I had a chance to read it, she was calling. I glanced over at Stephen, and slipped into the bathroom, deciding to answer it and hope the exhaust fan covered some of the noise.
"Liz, whats up?"
"Fuck, Kathryn, I've called you four times since this morning, why aren't you answering your phone?"
"I was sleeping. Whats up? Is something wrong?"
"Your cover is blown, that's whats up."
A chill ran over my skin when she said it. "What do you mean? James?"
"No, not James! You're on the front page of some lame gossip blog, along with that man of yours." Liz sounded excited, almost, but angry.
I felt my stomach plummet through the floor. It fell like a hard rock. I was glad I was sitting down. "What man?" Slowly, carefully.
"Stephen fucking Colbert, that's who. Are you telling me you don't know? Eric saw it this morning when he was up early with the kids. You're making out with him in a hallway. Why the hell didn't you tell me? Is this for real? This was him the entire time?" Her voice was exasperated but prying, and nosy. I knew she wanted the gossip. I felt dizzy, dreadful. I had to wake Stephen up. I didn't know what to do. I floundered, my mind spinning in a million different directions.
"Do they have my name?"
"No. Eric recognized you. Woke up me screaming from down the hall. I thought someone had died. They have you listed as an 'unknown woman'. Kathy, I can't believe you didn't---"
I interrupted her. "It'll only be a matter of time until they find out." I heard a knock on the door as the last word left my lips. Stephen. Three times, softly.
"Liz, I have to go. My flight leaves tomorrow morning. I'll call you back." She started to protest and I hung up the phone anyways. I stared at myself in the mirror, splashing some water on my eyes and rubbing my face. I wish I had a toothbrush, but it was still in my suitcase. I collected my thoughts, an increasing feeling of dread overtaking me. This was bad. I wondered if he knew yet, and if I was going to have to tell him.
When I came out of the bathroom, hesitantly, Stephen was sitting on the bed, one ankle resting on his other knee, paging through his phone with a deep furrow in his brow. I paused in the doorway. The room was silent, except for the hiss of the exhaust fan behind me. It felt cold.
"I can tell from the look on your face." I said quietly, still standing in the doorway.
He looked up, slowly, confused, angry. I felt the anger coming back from him, and I recoiled, for the first time fearing he would blame me for this. I blanched--suddenly remembering our night last night, how he kissed me, the way it felt, cradling my face and saying more without words. I couldn't escape the feeling of dread I had. I felt a pang of fear that I've ruined his life. And I felt a pang of even great fear that he ruined me. I wanted to run over and kiss his face, smother him with my lips, hug him, whisper that I loved him, and that we would get through this. I felt the flush of heat to my cheeks before I felt the tears in my eyes when I knew what bullshit that was. I knew we wouldn't get through this, and I knew those were never words I could say.
I turned away from his silent visage and walked to the window, looking down at the city below and around us, busy and bright on a Friday. My heart was thudding wildly in my chest, and as I stared out across the skyline, I frantically struggled to calm down, to relax the rising sense of panic I was feeling. It was all falling apart around me, I could see it coming and I couldn't stop it. I wanted to reach back in time and grab our moments yesterday, and hold to them--I was hoping they would be enough to get me through this alone. My mind reached forward to being identified, and I felt a punch of real fear. This could actually ruin my life.
"Have you seen the pictures?" He said, quietly, evenly. I turned back to him over my shoulder.
"I haven't. I only just heard about it from a friend. She recognized me."
"They haven't identified you yet. It's a dozen photos from a camera phone, and it looks like it's shot from the end of the hallway. Someone was there last night."
He held his phone out to me. I walked over slowly and took it from him, trembling.
For a zoomed in phone camera, they were high quality. It held both of us in profile, and Stephen is clearly visible and recognizable. He was cradling my face in his hands, a thumb on my cheek, looking down at me. My face was upturned towards his, also clearly in profile. I zoomed in our faces and gasped out loud--if I had doubted how Stephen felt (had felt? My heart quickened) last night, this picture was evidence. The look on his face was crystal clear, and even though we were both fully clothed, the picture felt embarrassingly intimate, the space between our faces as private as our bodies, a moment between two people captured without their knowledge. My eyes went from the phone to Stephen on the bed, and he was staring at the window, his jaw clenched tightly. I didn't see this last night, I hadn't noticed it. I felt like I got kicked in the gut. I knew at that moment that he was as tangled up in this as my heart was, and we were both going to walk away from this ruined. I felt, again, tears, and the urge to cry, and the crunch crumble and snap of my heart. Confirmation, beyond a shadow of a doubt on how he felt, and this is the way I received it. I scrolled through the rest of the pictures, driven by a sick curiosity, and they were just as embarrassing, all from the same angle, Stephen kissing me, us pushed against the wall, my hands disappearing into his jacket, our hug afterwards, an amused smile on his face as I pushed him away. It was grotesque. I couldn't stop looking at them, but they horrified me.
I sat down next to him on the bed, silently handing him the phone back. He turned the screen off and tossed it behind him on the bed. We were quiet for a moment. I wanted to reach over and take his hand, but I was worried he would snatch it back, that the anger bubbling under his surface would blow out towards me. I picked at my manicure instead, silent, waiting, nauseous, fearful. What could I say?
"My kids are going to see this." His voice was low and angry.
I felt a pang, and I looked down at the bed. My daughter would see it too, one day. What would I tell her? This is all fucked up. I didn't know what to say to him.
He stood up abruptly. "I'm going to take a shower," and he shut the bathroom door with a click.
I was frozen on the bed, unable to move. I searched my mind for a solution to this, a way to get out of it without getting hurt. I didn't think it was possible. I decided to get dressed. I pulled a pair of jeans and a shirt from my bag, quickly changing clothes and pulling my hair up in a ponytail. I made the bed, ignoring the stain on the sheet, deliberately yanking the comforter back into place. Stephan's phone started to buzz, and I picked it up to put it on the night side table, only glancing it long enough to see the ID said "Paul" on it. No doubt his life was about to explode, the same as mine. I thought about the conversations he would have to have with his friends and his family, a far different one than mine. To me, Stephen was simply a secret. But to Stephen, I was napalm--explosive, damaging, traumatic, potentially career ending.
I sat down in the entry room, debating whether or not the TV would be a good idea. I wasn't sure how much coverage something like this would get. I had my phone in my hand, and felt it buzz--a look down, and I saw my mom's name on the screen. Just great. My goddamn mother. I ignored the call, and she called immediately back. I turned my phone off, and threw it down on the couch. I was nervous--pacing the hotel room, looking out the window, at the bathroom door. My hands were trembling, and I felt nauseated, queasy. I was starting to freak out, and I could sense the rising tide of panic coming on me. I struggled to calm down, breath, focus.
Then I heard the bathroom door open and close, could smell the rush of sweet steam. I heard Stephan dressing, pulling on his belt and pants. I stay quiet in the front room until he came out and stood in the doorway.
"I guess we need to talk." He said, quietly. I looked up at him from the couch. He was fully dressed except for a tie and his jacket, cuffs buttoned and everything. He looked every bit the capable professional man, ready to do info-battle. Like I was a topic to handle. Damage control. In my fear and panic, I felt desire for him, as I did every time I saw him, or was near him. My body betrayed it.
"I guess we do." My heart pounding faster, a hot molten pile of dread sinking in my stomach. Much to my embarrassment, I felt the tears spring up in my eyes before he even spoke. I didn't want to cry through this. I wanted to be a strong woman, and agree with the decision because it was the best choice, and not blubber all over the place.
He sat down next to me, his weight sinking the cushions with a squeak.
"I..." He started, and stopped, running a hand through his wet hair, already starting to fluff. I found it hard to breath, dragging each breath in, my mind repeating one word, over and over again. I knew what was coming, and I would have set the room on fire to stop him from saying it.
No. No. No.
"Before we go any further with this, I need to say this. I am not planning on leaving my wife."
Confirmed. He said it.
I felt something inside of me crumble, falling to dust and sand in my heart. My heart was racing away from me and I stared down at my hands, blurring when I started to cry, each one landing on my tensed fingers. I don't know why that hurt so much--it was something I had known from the beginning. But hearing him say it, confirm it...it ached, it hurt. It hurt so much more than I thought it would. I squeezed my eyes tightly.
"Kathryn, please, I can't handle you crying." I looked at over at him when I heard this, because I heard the crack in his voice. I couldn't do this. I can't sit here and listen to this. I cannot be expected to hold it together over this, not after seeing that photo. I had to get out of here.
"Give me a moment," I croaked, afraid that talking would overflow my tears, knowing the sobbing was coming and I couldn't do it front of him, I couldn't break down like this in front of him.
I stood up from the couch and went into the bathroom, not looking at him, taking my cell phone with me. I went straight to the shower, choking it back, crying as I stripped quickly and climbed into it, grateful the water pressure was high and blasting, and the water hot. I let my tears come with a wretched groan, pressing my forehead into the sweating tile. And I cried, a gasping, choking sob, hiccuping. I cried for my lost heart, and I cried for Stephens--which made me cry even harder. I didn't even know I had his until I had lost it. Gone. He was gone. I tried to concentrate on what would happen now, to prepare myself for what he was going to say, as I assumed it would happen; namely that he would leave, and I will never hear from him again. But those pictures will exist forever. This wasn't some guy I dated for a while, dumped and moved on from. I never have to see those men again in my life. But Stephen would come back to haunt me over and over. News channels, late night shows, gossip magazines, Facebook--the chances to see a video, click a link, read something that brings him in front of me are endless. It's like walking through a minefield. And I would be the joke, the slut, the home wrecker.
The loss of him what really killed me though, a tearing, ripping, gnawing dark hole in my stomach. Losing him. I slid down the shower wall, my knees weak. I crumpled on floor of the hotel room shower, the water hitting me hotly, pulling my knees up to my chin, crying for all that I had lost and never really had. The photo didn't lie--I felt like screaming out loud when I thought of it, a splitting sob that came from the pit of my stomach. It was confirmation, proof that I wasn't completely in over my head--Stephen had been treading water right next to me the whole time, slipping as deeply into it as I was. But I had lost that moment, and any other moment like it, forever. I realized it all, I finally saw all of it. And it was over.
I closed my eyes under the water, knowing I couldn't put it off. I swallowed the pain, and the bitterness. What other choice did I have? I couldn't stay in the shower forever. If I was going to go get famous and get my heartbroken on the same day, at least I would have showered. I couldn't change what has happened. But I can handle how I react to what will happen. I turned the water off, still hiccuping, and brushed my teeth. I got dressed, taking care to towel dry my hair thoroughly, a dull sense of calm and numbness coming over me. My eyes were red and swollen, and I felt fluttery and tired after crying like I had. What else could I do? I could fall apart in front of him, or I could keep it together. I knew what my choice was.
When I came back into the room, Stephen was standing by the window, one arm up and leaning against it as he looked out. He spoke, but didn't turn around.
"Do you feel better after your shower?" He said it softly. I was grateful he wasn't looking at me--he'd see how red my eyes were, he'd know I'd just freaked out in the bathroom.
I paused coming out the doorway, taking him in with my eyes. "I do. Lets get this over with."
I sat down on the chair, across the bed. Stephen came away from the window, pulling the sheer curtains over them--the afternoon sun in the room was bright and hot. I appreciated it. He took a seat on the corner of the bed, across from me, his cell phone clutched in his hand. When he looked up from it, his eyes caught mine and I found myself embarrassed, knowing I looked like a mess. My face was red and blotchy, my eyes puffy. His eyes betrayed his concern and alarm at my appearance, and quickly the emotions were gone, replaced by a stoney face.
"Here's what I know so far. A hotel employee was in the hallway last night, and recognized me. He sold the photos to a website. You haven't been identified yet. I don't know what the situation downstairs is--I haven't called the hotel yet to find that out. But the story is that I got caught, red handed, in an affair. And..." He paused, his hands tapping his cell phone against the bed, his gaze aimed out the window. "I guess they're right."
I swallowed, my throat dry.
His gaze turned back to me, his face anguished. I could see it on him, that this was killing him. Every particle in my body was screaming for me to kiss him, to cross the floor and catch his lips. I resisted, clutching the sides of the chair with my fingertips, digging in so hard they stung. I preferred that pain to the ripping in my heart. I felt like throwing up.
"And this is it...for us." I whispered, pushing the words out before I regretted them, dropping them on the floor in between us.
He stood back up from the couch and went over the window, pulling the sheer aside enough to lean his head against the glass, staring down at the ant-sized people beneath us.
"I think it is." His voice broke. I grimaced when I heard it, the tears in his voice. I looked away, unable to watch him stand there and cry in front of me. It was embarrassing and intimate. In the silence that settled over us, we were both aching to speak. But what else could we say?