The best friend i trusted

Damien had been cold towards me for weeks.

He came home late. He barely touched me. When I tried to kiss him, he turned his face away like he didn’t want anything to do with me. When I asked what was wrong, he always said the same thing.

“I’m just tired, Sophia.”

I told myself it was normal. I told myself if I tried harder, he would look at me the way he used to.

So that afternoon I went shopping to get a lingerie to see if I can catch my husband’s stare.

I walked into the expensive store on Fifth and spent money I shouldn’t have. Red lace. Soft black silk. A set that made my cheeks warm when the sales girl smiled at me.

“Lucky man,” she said.

I forced a smile and paid. The bag felt heavy, but my chest felt light with stupid hope. Maybe tonight he would want me again. Maybe I could still fix our marriage.

I drove home earlier than planned. I wanted to surprise him. I wanted to change into the new lingerie before he walked through the door.

The moment I opened the front door, I knew something was wrong.

I heard soft sounds from upstairs and unmistakably,a woman’s low moan. The wet sound of skin meeting skin.

My feet moved quickly.

I pushed the bedroom door open and stopped breathing.

Bella was bent over our bed. Her dress was shoved up to her waist. Damien stood behind her, hands gripping her hips hard as he thrust into her from behind. Her face was pressed into my pillow.

They weren’t even trying to be quiet.

My shopping bag slipped from my fingers and hit the floor.

“What the fuck is this?”

Damien pulled out slowly. He didn’t look sorry. He just stared at me.

Bella scrambled for her clothes. “Sophia,I…it’s not what you think”

“Get out.”

She ran.

Damien fixed his pants, calm as ever.

“You’re home early,” he said.

I couldn’t speak. My chest felt too tight.

He looked at me again,sighed and continued. “It happened. You never pleased me the way she does. You just lie there. She does everything. She sucks me, she rides me, she lets me take her any way I want. You only know how to lie still and tell me to keep going.”

The words landed like punches. He didn’t apologize but was giving reasons for his betrayal.

I stood there shaking. “How long?”

“Six weeks.”

Six weeks. While I was still trying. While I was still buying him little gifts. While I was still waiting up for him like a fool.

“I hate you,” I whispered.

“Good. Hate me quietly.”

He walked out.

I sank to the floor. The red lingerie spilled out of the bag beside me. I stared at it and felt something ugly rise in my throat.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe I really wasn’t enough.

I left the house with nothing but my bag and the useless lingerie. I walked until my feet hurt. When I saw a quiet bar with low lights, I went inside. I sat at the counter and ordered strong drinks. The alcohol burned, but it didn’t stop the voice in my head.

You’re not enough. You never were.

I stared at the glass in my hands. By the third drink the edges of the room had started to soften. I was tipsy. Not fully drunk, but loose enough that the pain didn’t cut as sharp.

A man sat down on the stool beside me after a while. Tall. Dark suit. Expensive watch. He looked like money.

He didn’t speak at first. He just ordered a whiskey and sat quietly.

After a minute he glanced at me.

“You look like someone who just lost everything,” he said.

His voice was deep and calm. I turned my head slowly. His eyes were dark and steady.

“Please don’t talk to me,” I whispered. “Just leave me alone.”

He didn’t leave.

“You’re shaking,” he said. “At least finish the drink.”

I almost told him to go to hell. Instead I drank. The room felt a little warmer.

He ordered two more and pushed one toward me.

“Drink. Then you can tell me to leave again.”

I drank. The alcohol made it easier to talk.

“My husband,” I said after a while, voice breaking. “I found him with my best friend. In our bed.”

He didn’t offer cheap pity or apology. He just listened.

“Two months,” I continued. “That’s all we had. I brought her into my house. I trusted her.” My voice cracked. “He said I never pleased him. He said I just lie there. He said she does everything I can’t. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m just not good enough. Maybe no one will ever want me the way I want to be wanted.”

The words spilled out before I could stop them. I hated how weak I sounded.

The man beside me was quiet for a moment.

Then he said, low and steady, “Your husband is a fool.”

I looked at him. His eyes were darker than before.

“What kind of man would have you and choose anyone else?”

The words hit me harder than I expected. No one had spoken to me like that in a long time.

I looked down at my glass. My voice came out small.

“I just want to feel loved. I just want to feel like somebody actually wants me. Even if it’s only for one night.”

He was silent for a few seconds.

Then he asked, voice low and rough, “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

I met his eyes. My heart was beating too fast. The alcohol made everything feel softer and more dangerous at the same time.

“Yes,” I whispered. “That’s what I want.”

Something dangerous flashed in his gaze.

He paid the bill and stood up. Then he held out his hand.

I stared at it.

I was still tipsy. Still hurting. Still hearing Damien’s voice telling me I wasn’t enough. But this stranger was looking at me like I was something worth touching.

I took his hand.

He led me toward a private room at the back of the bar. The door closed behind us. The noise from outside faded.

He cupped my face with both hands and kissed me slow at first, then deeper. I tasted whiskey on his tongue. My back hit the wall. His body pressed against mine, solid and warm.

When his mouth moved to my neck, a soft sound escaped me. I hadn’t made that sound in months.

“Last chance,” he murmured against my skin. “Tell me to stop.”

I should have.

Instead I whispered, “Don’t stop.”

His hands slid under my dress. I felt his fingers on my thighs, then higher. When he touched me I was already wet. He made a low sound in his throat.

He lifted his head and looked at me. His eyes were almost black.

“You sure?” he asked again, voice deep.

I nodded, breathing hard.

He kissed me again, deeper this time.

I didn’t know his name.

I only knew I was tipsy, broken, and tired of feeling unwanted.

And for the first time in a long time, a man was looking at me like he wanted me back.