Fallen Ch. 2

It was brightly lit; unpleasantly, with too much fluorescent light. One of the tubes above us was going out; it flickered angrily.

Maria drew herself up. “What do you want to talk about?” she asked. She folded her arms against her chest and leaned back against a plastic table. Her expression froze for just a second as the table skittered back an inch or two across the vinyl covered floor. She clutched the knife more tightly against her chest. The handle pressed into her breast; she could barely get her fingers wrapped around it.

I leaned my arm against the Coke machine; I was determined not to give up too much.

I realized she had on an entirely new outfit; a lightweight, ivory-colored, open collared summer blouse, with a silk or polyester sheen, and a dark, folded skirt with a hemline above the knees, with black stockings and a pair of high-heeled shoes. She also wore new earrings, and a new gold chain around her neck. It was wider and sturdier than the one she’d had before.

Not for the first time, I found myself wondering where she’d spent the night. She looked beautiful, as always.

“Maria,” I said, “I’m sorry.” Her expression softened, and I hurried on. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

She leaned forward slightly, pushing back against the table.

“Michael-” she murmured. I looked at the third button of her blouse, the first one she had buttoned. Her chain disappeared there between her breasts. Her hair fell forward, across the bare skin around her neck. She was looking down.

“I’m-” She paused and sucked in her breath, pushing out her chest. Her eyes flicked up to mine. “I can’t let you talk to me that way,” she said.

“Ok,” I said.

“No, I mean,” she said, shaking her head, “I can’t have you thinking of me like that.” She looked up at me, catching my eyes. “It hurts too much.”

“All right,” I said.

She lowered her hands to her waist. She ran her fingers along the tarnished blade.

“Michael,” she said, “I missed you.”

“Me too,” I said, “Maria?”

“Yes?”

I was about to ask her to come home with me. Instead, I found myself asking about the rings.

“Oh,” she said. She reached up and grasped her chain and pulled it up. “I’m still wearing them,” she said. She pulled the chain out of her blouse. Her rings dangled at the end.

She looked down at her hand. “I’m afraid my fingers are getting fat,” she said. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get them off again.” She released the chain and smiled sadly.

After a moment her smile faded, but she held my eyes. “You won’t call me that again?”

I shook my head. After a moment she held out her hand to me and let me draw her in. I could feel her rings between our bodies against her chest. Her hair smelled different than it had before; she’d used a strange shampoo.

She pushed me gently back, and looked up at me. Her eyes searched out my face. “Michael,” she asked, in a sad, but fragile voice, “you don’t really think of me like that?” She held still, waiting; waiting for me to say.

I inhaled, and leaned back. I closed my eyes. I don’t know why I did it; I guess I wanted to hurt her, just a little, to get back for what I’d felt. I started to compose an answer, but I don’t know what I would have said.

Instead I felt an impact, on my cheekbone just below my eye.

I realized, while my vision cleared, she’d swung the knife handle, with all her strength, at me, at my face. She still held it in her hand. She was staring up, angrily, breathing through her mouth, her face going red.

“Maria!” It was the blonde woman; she was standing at the door. I turned to face her, and watched as she realized what had really happened. “Oh,” she said. She put her hand up to her mouth. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Maria drop the knife. The blonde woman stared. She started to back away from us, but I pushed past her, roughly, at the door. I remembered her name as she flattened herself against the doorway to get out of my way.

I didn’t stop until I was alone again, in the hallway around the corner, from where the big room was. Nobody else was there. I steadied myself and reached up and touched my face. There was a little blood there, where the skin had parted, but it was tender and swollen to the touch. My head was throbbing. I heard her call out my name.

She rounded the corner, nearly running. “Oh God,” she cried, “Thank God you waited.”

She grasped my shirt, holding me. She tried to reach out to touch my face. I brushed her hand away. “Oh Michael,” she said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize what I’d done. I mean,” she swallowed, gasping, “I didn’t know what I was doing.” She paused, looking up. “I’m sorry.” She tried to touch my face again.

There was a thin red line against the insides of her fingers. I caught her wrist. “Maria,” I asked, “what happened?” She looked at her hand, perplexed. “I guess I was holding it by the blade,” she said. She looked so puzzled and inept; I couldn’t help but smile a little, despite the pain.

She smiled back, uncertainly. “Come on,” I said, “Let’s go.”

I started to turn away, pulling at her, but she pulled back. “Where?” she asked, “Are you going to take me home?”

I turned and looked at her. “Despite what I did?” she asked. She was looking at my face.

“You’ve done much worse than that,” I said. She looked down, at her feet.

“But you’re going to anyway?” I nodded, even though she couldn’t see.

“Come on,” I said, “let’s go.” This time she came with me. “Besides,” I smiled to myself, “I have to. Your car’s almost out of gas.”

She didn’t answer that. I led her past John’s office door, which thankfully was closed.

Once we were in the garage standing outside of Maria’s car, she asked me, while I found the key, “You know we have to talk?”

I glanced up at her. “I know,” I said, “we will.” What I really meant was: not now.

She looked almost as relieved as me.

Inside the car, I glanced at myself in the rearview mirror. My cheekbone, below my eye, was red. A small amount of blood had trickled down. I shook my head as she got in. “I can’t believe you don’t know which way to hold a knife,” I said.

“Oh my GOD, don’t say that!” She shook her head. “I can’t believe what I might have done.” Her voice trailed off. “I’m so sorry, Michael. I don’t know what came over me.” She tried to reach over, but I brushed her off. “I’ll make it up,” she said.

“How much money have you got?” I turned the key, praying the car would start.

“Why?” she asked. The car turned over. The gas gauge didn’t budge.

“I’m out of cash.” I’d found fifty-six cents in the armrest. I wondered if that’d get us home or not.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter, Michael. There’s plenty of money in our account.”

I pulled out. There was a Texaco around the block. I shook my head. “We’re overdrawn,” I said.

“No,” she said, “The money – the back pay I told you about. It’s already in our account.”

I used our debit card at the station, and filled it up. It turned out the money had been transferred electronically. I didn’t ask how much.

Fallen Chapter II Part 3

3.

When we got home, though, despite what she had said, we didn’t talk – not about it. She washed her hand with disinfectant and used up half a box of band-aids taping up the little cuts on the inside of her fingers. I let her sponge my face. Afterward she made Spanish omelets and fresh-squeezed lemonade and wild rice. I had a glass of wine and half a dozen Motrin. Then she laid me out in bed and held an icepack to my face. I fell asleep with her fingers stroking in my hair.

I woke to the ringing of the phone. Maria, in the other room, picked it up, and listened. After a moment, I heard her voice, but I could not make out her words.

She came padding down the hallway, and quietly closed the door.

My head was throbbing, and I hadn’t brushed my teeth, but I hated the idea of getting up. I sat on the edge of the bed a moment, holding my head in my hands.

When I’d walked the few feet from the bedroom to the bathroom, I heard her voice again. She was laughing. “No,” I heard her say, “I told you, he doesn’t know.” I waited. Then: “In the bedroom. He’s asleep.” I felt my heart begin to race. I stood there in the dark.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “I told you what he’s like.” She laughed. “Well, not today… but every other time.” Her voice trailed off.

“I know,” she said, “It’s true. If I’d known it’d be like this, I’d have done it years ago.”

Another pause, while she listened to the phone.

“I don’t know,” she said, “Hold on.” I heard her footsteps on the floor, and I leaned my head against the doorframe, sweating. She crossed back to the living room, and then I couldn’t hear her anymore. She was talking but I could not make out her words.

I swallowed and raised my head. I guessed she was lying or sitting on the couch. I took a careful step around the doorjamb. The hallway led into the kitchen. She wouldn’t see me if she was in the front part of the house.

Her voice was louder now. “Yes,” she laughed, “Yes, I’m wearing them.” On my left was the kitchen table. “Stop it!” she protested. Past it were the sliding doors that looked out into our garden. It was dark outside. “I’m going to hang up!” she threatened, and then she laughed again. The doors reflected the light coming out of our house. I could see her in the reflection.

I was wrong about the couch. She was standing by the door. It was standing open, to let the wind come in, and she was looking out. “A halter top,” she said, “and a pair of shorts.”

She turned, looking out the back, and for a moment I was sure that she had seen me. I stood absolutely still. Frozen.

“I don’t know,” she said. She seemed to be studying her reflection. She paused, considering. “Yes. Alright,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

I breathed out. She could not possibly have seen me.

She smiled. “Like I said, he’s in the bedroom, fast asleep.”

She turned around, facing out into the street. “You have a very dirty mind.” She stood still a moment, put down the phone and then reached down and pulled her shirt off. “Alright,” she breathed, “I did it.” The wind caught her hair, tousling it around her shoulders. She stood there staring out. “No,” she said, quietly, “It’s dark.”

There was a longish pause, and then she laughed. “No way, John. There’s no way I’m doing that.” She crossed her arm against her chest.

“Alright, I guess.” She turned again, staring, then suddenly walked right past me, our rings bouncing between her breasts, to the sliding doors. She grasped the handle and pulled it open, and then the screen as well. “Alright,” she said. The wind was playing with the lining of her shorts and as well as whipping up her hair. She cradled the phone against her neck

“Alright,” she said. She slipped her fingers inside the waistband of her shorts. “Just a little.” I watched as she pulled them down, to just below her hips. “I told you,” she said, “I’m not doing that.” She paused. I could see a pink band of underwear running up from underneath her shorts. “Ok,” she said, “I can see that.” She listened for a moment, and then she bent and slid her shorts all the way down her legs. The underwear she was wearing was barely there. I hadn’t known she owned anything like that. The strap disappeared into the cleft between her legs.

“Yes… All right. I told you that I would.” She sighed.

She was rubbing herself through the front panel of her panties. “Ok,” she said. “Yes. I know you’re right.”

“Oh, God, don’t do that!”

“I know I said I would!”

She stood there listening. “Yes, John, you know I will.”

After a moment, her voice dropped to a lower register. “How deep?” she asked. “How many?”

She stepped out, widening the angle between her thighs. “Yes,” she said, “All the way. What else?”

“I admitted it,” she said. “Do you want me to?”

Her voice was husky: “All right. I love it when you talk to me that way.”

She pulled her fingers out and raised them to her face. “I’m sucking them,” she said. She put them in her mouth. “No. I’ve never tasted it before.”

She pulled her panties down, bending at the waist. “Yes,” she said, “I’m pretending too… Can I touch myself again?” The wind blew a stack of bills off the counter onto the floor. Her panties fell to her ankles and she stepped out. “Wait,” she said, “I think there’s something in the fridge.” The headlights of a car briefly lit up the room. I backed up, back into the bathroom, breathing hard, and I sat down. My head was throbbing. My cock was hard. My wife was naked in the kitchen. The kitchen tap began to run. I waited, sitting there, until I heard her go back into the living room.

“I’m lying on the couch,” she said. Her voice carried clearly, and then I couldn’t hear her anymore. I waited another moment, and then I got up.

The armrest blocked my view of her in the window, except her legs, which she’d thrown wide apart. One of them rested on the backrest, the other on the floor. Her posture made me think of the pictures of her that he’d taken.

I heard her voice again. “My eyes are closed. I can’t see anything.” I stood still. I listened to her breathing. “Yes, alright,” she said, “I’ll do it.” I glanced at the envelopes lying on the floor and then back up at her reflection. She was facing away from me. Carefully, quietly, I stepped around the corner.

She was lying there, naked, except the chain around her neck. She held the phone in one hand; her other hand she held at the juncture between her legs. I could see her breathing, our rings moving between her breasts. I could not see her face.

I took another step.

“Yes, all right,” she said. “I’m trying.” She sighed. “It’s really, really big.”

A board creaked beneath my feet. Her eyelids fluttered; she did not open them. Her pink tongue appeared as she licked her lips. Her eyes moved beneath her lids.

She released the phone, leaving it lying there, and reached down with her other hand. Between her legs she held an enormous looking cucumber, pressed up against the entrance to her cunt. The pace of her breathing increased as she tried to drive it in.

I stood there, looking down on my naked wife: her nipples swollen, her breathing ragged. She was panting into the phone. A sex flush was creeping up around her breasts. Another car drove by, illuminating the room.

I fled.

From the hallway, hanging on to the bathroom door, I heard her talking dirty. “Fuck,” she moaned, “Yes… Fuck my cunt…”

I crept back to the bedroom and lay back down in bed. I was sweating.

I held out for a little while. But as her voice got louder, I felt myself giving up. “Yes,” she groaned, “Oh yes…” I touched myself, just lightly, just trailed my fingertips along the underside of my cock. “Oh fuck me,” she moaned, “Fuck me.” Her voice carried through the doorway. “Oh, I’m coming… I’m coming…! Shoot your spunk inside my cunt!”

She began to come. I spasmed, shooting gobs of cum onto myself. I lay there, my spunk cooling on my belly, staring at the ceiling. I listened to her put down the phone. Then I must have drifted off.

Later on, I felt her climbing into bed. “Michael?” she whispered softly. I lay silent. I could feel her eyes on me. After a little while she leaned down and kissed my forehead, and then my cheek. “I love you.” She settled down beside me and laid her hand gently on my chest. I listened while her breathing evened out and then became deeper.

I resisted the urge to take her in her sleep.

In the morning, when I stumbled out of bed, I found her in the kitchen. “You’re not going to work?” she asked. I nodded yes, but she shook her head. “People will talk,” she said. I opened my mouth, but forgot what I was about to say. I felt terrible. My mouth felt rank; I desperately needed a shower, and I had a headache.

She smiled. “Honey,” she said, “Take it easy. Take the day off work.” She glanced away. “You look terrible. Take a shower, and I’ll make you breakfast. You want my scrambled eggs?” I shook my head, and then nodded yes. Actually I was starving. She got up, humming to herself, and turned her back to me. “Hurry up,” she said, “I have to go to work.”

I took two aspirin in the bathroom, and brushed my teeth and flossed. I examined myself in the mirror, and found that she was right. The bruise had taken over a big chunk of the left side of my face. My lower lid had swollen up, giving me an ugly squinty look. I took a scalding shower. When I was done, I felt minimally alive, though tired, and my face still ached.

The eggs were peppered, and lightly salted. She’d made a batch of fresh-squeezed carrot-apple juice. The butter was still melting into the toast, and she’d set out a jar of orange marmalade.

She was dressed for work: a shapely navy miniskirt with ivory stockings, and a crisp white Oxford blouse. “You look wonderful,” she said.

I grinned at her. “Liar.”

She smiled and turned away from me. “Honey,” she said, “Something happened here last night.” She was looking out into our garden.

I studied her shoulder, the side of her face. “What?”

“It’s something I haven’t told you.” There was bacon popping on the stove. The smell of it permeated the room.

“What?” I asked.

She stood there for a moment, looking through the window. “It’s something you should know.”

“Oh.”

“Remember when I told you I’d tell you anything – anything you wanted to know?” She’d thickened her eyelashes with mascara. I watched them flutter against the light.

“Yes.”

“You have to promise you won’t get mad.” She turned and came around and sat down across from me.

“Yes?”

“He called here last night,” she said, reaching out across the table. “I wanted you to know.”

She watched my face a moment. I swallowed. “Oh.” She looked down.

“I wanted you to know. But it won’t happen again,” she said, “If you don’t want it to.” I saw her blue eyes looking through her eyelashes. She was blushing, slightly.

“No. . .” I looked at her hand. I noticed she’d taken the band-aids off. “What did you two – talk about?”

She looked up at the clock. “I can’t talk now,” she said. “I have to go to work. But.” She paused. “I’ll tell you anything you want.”

I looked at her. I loved the way the sunlight played off her hair. She bit her lip, rising. “I told him,” she said, “how good you’ve been to me – lately – in bed.”

I shook my head. “No. . .” I said. “Don’t.”

“Ok.” She glanced back at me. “I’m sorry, Mike.” She grabbed her purse. “I really have to go.”

“Maria?”

“Yes?”

She paused, halfway in the living room. “What else?”

She turned, presenting her profile to me. “We – we had phone sex last night.” Her cheeks were coloring. “In the house.” She was looking at the couch.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I shouldn’t have brought it home like that. Without asking you.”

“Oh.” I shook my head. After a moment she turned to go.

“Oh, honey,” she said, stopping at the door. “There’s something else-“ She was watching me. “I left my lunch over on the counter. Could you get it for me?”

I rose and picked up a Ziploc plastic bag. Inside were a large green cucumber, a small cup of yogurt, and little plastic spoon.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Oh,” she said, pausing at the door. “I’m trying to eat healthy.” She smiled. “For the baby.” She kissed me and pushed open the screen door.

“Oh Michael,” she said, her last words to me. “The other pictures. The ones you didn’t see. I left them out for you.” She smiled. “Remember,” she said. “You promised. You won’t get mad.” I watched her walk away and disappear into her car.