I Met A Stranger

The drive to Richard’s place was filled with me questioning myself, asking myself over and over again whether I was doing the right thing, whether I should just stay still like he wanted me to. I didn’t understand why these questions were going off in my head like alarm bells, or why my stomach was twisting with nerves. 

Just a few hours ago, I was enthusiastic about seeing him, but right now, all I wanted to do was turn back and go home, be miserable. 

But no. It was our anniversary, and I had the right to see my husband. So I swallowed and soon, I was driving into the house. I stepped out of the car, holding the gift I've brought for him and working on my breath, inhaling and exhaling. Finally, I took the first step into the house, entering the code for the door. I only had this code because I forced it out of him one night when he was drunk.

“I just hope he won’t be mad,” I whispered to myself as I stepped in, closing the door with a soft click. 

The house was clean, everything was in order, and it was quiet. I would have thought no one was here if I hadn’t seen the clothes on the floor and the shoes. Not just his, though. No, there were heels, too, with a silver dress. 

I shook my head so hard I saw stars, staggering back, and I had to grab something to keep myself standing.

“No. No. No. God, please, no.”

I-it was silent. Surely, if there were a woman here, it wouldn’t be this quiet; there would be noise. Yes, yes, there would be noise. Maybe this dress and heels meant nothing. Maybe–

“Oh!”

I went still when I heard that voice. 

“Oh, Richard! Right there!”

I pressed the heels of my palms to my ears as if it would block out the noise, shaking my head, muttering, “No. No. No.”

But then I heard his voice, and no amount of telling myself “no” could drown it out. 

“Ahh, fuck. Natasha, fuck!”

It was like I could hear my world break and crumple around me. It’s like I could see everything I’ve built burn. Like I could smell the ashes. Taste them. 

I didn’t know when I marched up the stairs. I didn’t know when I threw the door open and screamed, “How could you?!”

They both jolted in shock as I caught them off guard, pulling away from each other. They stared at me with their eyes wide with shock, naked, sweating, and panting. And as I watched my husband stare at me while he was covered with another woman’s fluid, the smell of ashes grew so much that it was all I could smell. 

There was no coming back from this. 

“Isabella,” Richard whispered once he snapped out of his shock, his mouth opening and closing. “Isabella, my love, it’s… It’s not what you think.”

“It’s not?” I asked, my voice breaking. “It’s not what it looks like? Are you telling me you weren’t fuckimg another woman? You weren’t breaking your vows?”

“No. No. Isabella…” He got off the bed, naked, walking to me, and I couldn't bear to see him like that. He noticed, and he stopped, his hand reaching out, something like pain in his eyes. But it couldn’t be pain in his eyes, because he put us both in this situation, so maybe I was just seeing what I wanted.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

I shook my head, taking a step back. “What are you sorry for? This is what you’ve always wanted.” I pointed to her without taking my eyes off him. “Her. Everyone knew it. Since we were in high school, she has been all you’ve ever wanted, and you only got married to Isabella because you had to, because of duty. So don’t look guilty because you finally have what you want.”

“You’re right,” he said and my stomach turned. 

His face changed totally, the sorry, guilty mask falling off to reveal his true nature. He looked at me with a smug smirk, reaching out his hand to Natasha. She took her time getting off the bed, not even bothering to put on clothes as she took his hand, gluing herself to his side with a wide smile. 

He dragged her closer to him as if she wasn’t close enough and she giggled like a child, placing her hand on his chest. 

“You’re right, Isabella,” he repeated, his eyes fixed on her, the smirk turning into a smile. “She’s all I've ever wanted. All I think of when I’m with you. I mean look at her.” He caressed her nose with his and then turned to me with a scowl. “And look at you. Is that supposed to be a sexy look?”

Natasha giggled, smacking his chest playfully. “Oh, don’t be so mean, pookie.” She turned to me with a pout. “At least, she tried her best.”

I fought the urge to look down at myself, my face hot with embarrassment, but my hands reached down and dragged the dress down, trying to cover myself. 

Natasha found this amusing and Richard just scoffed. 

I fought back the shame that wanted to strangle me. “Richard, how–”

“I want an open marriage.”

The words completely died in my throat, almost choking me. 

“W-what did you just say?”

He looked me right in the eye as he repeated those words. “I want an open marriage.”

“You’re a bastard,” I whispered, the words slipping out of my mouth before I could stop them. Natasha gasped, but I ignored her. “A cheating, whoring bastard, and I will never forgive you for this.”

I turned to leave, the tears falling and his words followed me. 

“I want an open marriage, Isabella! And I’m going to get it!”

I stormed out of the house with my heart breaking, the crack echoing in my ears. 

When I got to my car, I locked the doors, cleaned my eyes, grabbed the steering wheel, and screamed. I screamed until my voice became hoarse and until my tears dried up. After that, I started my car and drove without a plan.

I found myself in a bar. 

I didn’t question it. I went in, sat on the barstool, and ordered drinks. 

“Keep it coming,” I told the bartender, barely recognizing my own voice. It sounded strange, numb.

He nodded, and the drink flowed. I drank until I felt numb from head to toe, and until there was a peaceful silence in my head. 

“Come morning and your problems will still be waiting for you,” a sweet, cool voice beside me said. Not sweet in a sweet way, but sweet in a hard, rough way. I turned my head to look at him, but my vision had grown so blurry that all I could see were shapes and lights. “And it’ll be worse because then you’ll be dealing with a hangover on top of all your problems, and with how you’ve been drinking tequila like it’s water, I assume it’s a very large problem.”

I turned away from him, throwing back a shot. I don’t even feel the burn anyhow. That’s too bad.

“Yes,” I whispered as I waved for more drinks. “It’s a rather large problem.”

“And you think alcohol will solve that for you, love?”

“Don’t,” I hissed, turning to this stranger I couldn't see. “Don’t you dare call me love.”

I saw him raise his hands, and that was when I noticed that his shoulders were wide. “Pardon me.”

I turned back to my drink, sniffling. “My husband calls me love.”

He hummed. “Your husband…”

“Yes. My cheating, piece of shit husband.”

“Ah. Now I see what the large problem is.”

I was about to have another shot, but he stopped me, placing his hand on mine. I turned to him with my teeth bared, ready to curse him out when he leaned down, getting so close to me, I could smell his expensive cologne and feel his warmth, and whispered, “Your husband is a damn fool, letting a work of art like you slip through his fingers.”

I turned my face to his, and our lips were so close that I could feel his warm breath on my lips. “He is. He’s a damn fool.”

“Why drink yourself to an early grave when you could be planning your revenge?”

“Revenge?” I repeated in a whisper.

I felt his hand on my back, softly at first, then stronger when I didn't pull away. “Yes, beautiful. Revenge.” His hand moved down to my waist, where there was an opening in my dress, and I shivered when I felt his bare hand on my skin. “You should reciprocate, don’t you think?”

“Are you telling me to cheat on my husband?” I whispered. 

I gasped softly when I felt his hand slip lower. “No, beautiful. I’m asking you to reciprocate.”