Breakfast with a stranger

Mark’s POV

I watched her taillights disappear around the bend of Route 9. I stood barefoot on the gravel outside the motel, the morning chill biting at my skin, and I didn't move until the red glow was completely swallowed by the horizon.

Then I closed the door, leaned against it, and let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding.

What the hell have I done?

The room still smelled like her. Cheap motel soap, stale air, and that sweet, intoxicating scent of her skin. I walked over to the bed, picked up her discarded hair tie from the nightstand, and slipped it into my pocket.

Pathetic. I knew it was pathetic. But I needed something…anything, to carry with me.

I dressed in silence. My hands moved mechanically; buttoning my shirt, zipping my jeans, tying my boots. I checked the room three times to make sure I hadn't left anything behind. No traces or proof, just memories that were already burning holes in my chest.

I walked out, locked the door, and got into my SUV.

I pulled out of the motel lot and merged onto Route 9. The sun was getting higher, and burning through the windshield. I turned the AC on full blast, but it did nothing to cool the fire raging in my gut.

My phone buzzed in the cup holder. I glanced at it.

Elena.

My wife.

The name on the screen hit me like a punch to the chest. I stared at it, watching the caller ID flash, watching it ring until it went to voicemail. I hadn't answered. I had let her call go to voicemail while I was still smelling Becca on my fingers.

Fuck.

I pulled over onto the shoulder of the road, parked my car, and dropped my head onto the steering wheel.

My heart was pounding, and my hands were shaking. I had been in construction for twenty-five years, I had managed hundred-man crews, weathered financial crises, handled life or death safety calls on job sites. I had never panicked like this.

But this wasn't a job site. This was Dave.

Dave, who had been my brother since we were nineteen. Dave, who had stood by me at my wedding. Dave, who had held my hand when my father died and held my back when my business nearly crumbled. And I had just spent the night fucking his daughter.

I squeezed my eyes shut. The image of Becca flashed behind my eyelids, her back arched, her lips parted, her voice crying out my name. The guilt curdled in my stomach, but beneath the shame, was something darker.

I didn't regret it and that was the part that terrified me.

I wanted to feel remorse. I wanted to feel sick, but all I felt was a hollow, aching need to see her again. To hold her again. To hear her whisper "I'm yours" in the dark.

I was addicted, and I was too far gone to stop.

I took a deep breath, pulled back onto the road, and drove the rest of the way home in a trance.

Twenty minutes later, I pulled into my driveway. The house was a modern, two-story building, clean, and perfectly maintained. Elena had decorated it herself, right down to the potted flowers on the porch. It was a perfect life.

I walked through the front door. The smell of breakfast hit me; bacon, eggs and fresh coffee. Elena was in the kitchen, wearing a silk robe, her hair perfectly styled. She looked up as I walked in, her smile warm and familiar.

"Morning, honey," she said, sliding a plate toward the empty seat at the table. "You were out early. Golf again?"

I froze for half a second. Then I forced a smile, slipped off my jacket, and sat down.

"Had an early meeting," I said. "I couldn't sleep."

She tilted her head, studying me. I felt her eyes crawling over my face, searching for cracks.

"You look tired," she said softly. "Is everything okay?"

I picked up my fork. My hand was steady. My voice was steady, but inside, I was drowning.

"Everything's fine. Just work stress."

She nodded, believing me. She always believed me.

I took a bite of the eggs. They tasted like ash.

As she chattered about her book club, about the garden, about the neighbors, I stared at the kitchen window. I thought about Becca. I thought about her bare thighs, her gasping breath, the way she had clawed at my shoulders when she came. And I realized, that I would do it again.

Tonight. Tomorrow. Next week. Every chance I got.

I would burn my entire life to the ground for her.

And I was starting to wonder if I even cared anymore.