Into the Darkness

I stood motionless in the center of the kitchen, gazing out the large window at the drab grayish black sky. The high street lamp created a glowing, misty haze that reflected off the slow drizzle as it floated down onto the wet concrete. Puddles formed, making small cloudy lakes on the dark surface of the road, the grainy water running in small streams to the storm drains, trickling down into the sewer. I hadn't heard my wife enter the kitchen behind me until she opened the stainless steel door of the refrigerator. I turned to look, as she pulled out one of her dark beers; I didn't like the dark beer, too bitter.

"Could you grab one of my beers?" I asked quietly, not moving, but glancing out the corner of my eye at her.

She turned and looked out into the living room, not responding to me. She was tall, long silky legs, with lean muscle. The blue lace panties she was wearing slipped up between the lower portion of her ass, like a half thong, her full round cheeks slightly red. A matching bra squeezed her large breasts together, creating a deep crevasse of lightly tanned skin. She walked, almost on her toes, one leg in front of the other, ass swinging side to side, to the living room, and spun around, her black hair fanning out over her back, then sat firmly down on the old leather recliner, my chair, one leg tucked neatly underneath her. Her dark bangs almost covered her eyes, she hadn't had them cut in awhile. Sipping the beer, she looked down at the bottle, big blue eyes drooping on the edges, the sparkle lost. Her lips were curled down on the edges, face and jaw line taut. Head snapping up, her big blue eyes looked right through me. A single teardrop squeezed out the corner of her eye and ran down her soft face, around her little button, upturned nose, through the corner of her full ruby lips, over her chin, then picking up speed as it traveled down her supple neck and stopped suddenly at the top of her breasts, hanging precariously, before disappearing into the deep valley. A heavy sigh escaped her lungs.

"I can't do this." She whispered, eyes still piercing me.

"Why." I answered back, raising my arms in the air.

"Ryan," She looked down into her beer bottle. "You're just not..." She refused to look up. "I don't know what to do?"

"We should talk about it, give it some time, for fuck's sake." I stepped closer. "I mean, we ARE married." I looked down at my green tee shirt, with a man riding a dirt bike on it. It was my favorite shirt, she had bought it for me, I stretched it out and let it spring back on my chest, trying to clear my head.

"I just don't know. I know you're here, but you're really not" The tears started falling for real now, streaming down her face. "Ryan, tell me what to do." She lowered her face into her open palms and started shaking her head. "I know, you can't, you won't, you never do." Her words muffled loudly into her hands.

"I don't even know what that means!" I spoke back at her, feeling out of breath. "I'm right fucking here." My voice lowered. "I don't understand you when you get this way, it makes no sense to me!"

I watched, knowing I should go to her, help her, put my arms around her and squeeze her until she came to her senses. The room darkened as the outside light began to disappear; I stood frozen, unable to move. The desire was there, but something inside me knew that she had to figure this out on her own, come to her own decisions. She stood up from the chair, wiping her eyes, the light from the overhead lamp sparkling off her wet face.

"I'll figure this out on my own." Her voice was determined, as she picked up her beer and went into the bathroom, never once looking at me.

Again I seemed frozen in place, uncertain as to what I should do. The urge to run into the bathroom and grab her around her waist and shake her, swept over me, but I remained still. I could see her in the bathroom as she turned on the water, slipped her underwear down her long slender legs, then reached behind her and unsnapped her bra, letting the material fall off her large oval breasts and onto the floor below.

The steam from the hot water was wafting out from over the glass panel as she opened the door and stepped into the shower. Leaning up against the door frame to the bathroom, I listened to the water as it rained down on her, and watched the sexy silhouette of my wife through the steam, gentle curves of her shadowy figure. Light and soft, sounds began to rise with the steam in the shower, hanging in the fog and steadily getting louder with each passing second, until I could hear her crying once again, uncontrolled and loud.

"I can't take this!" I yelled into the steam. "I'm going to Shawn's house, you can call me when you are ready to talk." I turned and made for the front door. I am going to ride my motorcycle, I thought, I could use the therapy right now.

Hours later I found myself in the gravel parking lot of Uncle Mo's bar and grill, shivering from the cool drizzle. I wasn't here to get a drink, I didn't need a drink. I wasn't here to play pool or darts, not to chat and laugh with friends, I was here because of a green nineteen sixty-seven Ford Shelby Cobra Mustang. I put my fingers on the door and ran them down the length of the sleek body, the steel cold to the touch. This was my car, unmistakable, given to me by my dying father. Now it was parked at a bar about two miles from our house. I was sure that Rebecca was here to blow off some steam, this wasn't the type of place that she usually patronizes; I was the rundown tavern type, not her. I had been to Mo's before, mostly blue-collar types and truckers. I went around to the back, in the large parking area, where the truckers entered the building. I always liked this place, it was local, with local people and local employees. The sharp blue neon sign that radiated Uncle Mo's Bar & Grill, hanging over the street, flickered and went out, then lit back up, buzzing loudly. The old wooden screen door creaked as I pulled it open.

I straightened the blue button-up shirt I was wearing, then unbuttoned a couple, so I didn't look dressed up, this wasn't that kind of place, and besides, I hated wearing this shirt. Looking down the hallway, I saw the smoke filled barroom, beyond the bathrooms. People still smoked in the bar. The old tavern received notice after notice from the city, threatening to close them down or fine them if they continued to let people smoke inside; they hung each one of the yellow warning tickets on the wall, like a badge of honor; eventually the warnings just quit coming. The place was crowded, with loud chatter filling the air. I scanned the bar and found my wife almost immediately, sitting in the corner at a large round booth, back to me and alone, sipping a drink. This crowd didn't particularly care for outsiders, unless you were a beautiful woman, then it didn't matter. I weaved through the packed bar without so much as a glance my way, I guess I had come here enough to be considered a local. Leaning against the wall, beside the front entrance, I watched her drink, the smoke around her seemed to part, like her beauty would not let it touch her milky skin. The tight jeans she was wearing had rips up and down the legs, cut across her thighs, and the loose black shirt with a deep vee neck, hung off her breasts, showing off a good portion of deep cleavage.

"Can I buy you a drink?" The tall man who walked up next to her table, looked down at her.

"No thank you." She said, looking up at him. His eyes widened when he saw her face and his smile disappeared.

"Y-Y-Yes, yes, sorry." He fumbled the words out, stepping back. He knew instantly that she was out of his league.

"It's o.k., thank you for the offer, that is very nice." She told him with a gentle smile.

The front door opened swiftly, almost hitting me, when a large man burst in, head on a swivel and eyes darting around. I nodded and smiled as he passed, looking right at me, but he just ignored me, like he had better things to do. He stopped at the center of the bar, pivoting and peering around the smoky room, when the whole place went quiet and everyone looked in his direction.

"Yep." I said under my breath and with a half smile. "You're the outsider that everyone in this bar hates."

The man quickly spotted my wife and headed in her direction. Weaving through the crowded room, he stopped at her table, looking down at her. His large arms and broad shoulders were thick with muscle. Running a hand through his short dark brown hair and pushing it off to the side, his cheekbones clinched up, flexing his taut jaw line. He stared down at her with his deep blue eyes and smiled. She looked up at him, making eye contact, causing him to step back a little, his eyes widened.

"Y-You must be Rebecca?" He quickly recovered, holding out his hand. "I'm Mason, sorry I'm late." She put her soft hand into his, shaking it. "May I?" He glanced over to the other side of the booth.

"Why yes, I'm sorry." She answered, nodding her head. "It's nice to meet you."

My mouth fell open as I watched the man sit down across from my wife. I was sure it wasn't a date, she would never do something like that, I knew her too well. I moved over a little so I wasn't directly in front of him, next to a wood post that I could lean on. I was close to a couple of women talking, but they didn't seem to mind me invading their space, and I could now see both my wife and her friend from the side.

Rebecca looked nervous, glancing up and down, looking at the man in front of her, but never for too long. He, on the other hand, couldn't take his eyes off of her. They ordered drinks from the waitress, then went back to nervously glancing at each other. I thought about going over there and telling her to stop what she was doing, that she was making a mistake, but deep inside, I knew that she must make this decision herself, or she would never know what she truly wanted.

"You are simply stunning." The man finally spoke. "Black hair and blue eyes?" His voice rose at the end.

"Yes, thank you." Rebecca smiled. "I'm Irish, my mother is from Ireland."

"Irish?" Confusion riddled his voice.

"Yes, my mother was born in Galway, Ireland, and moved to the States when she met my father, in her thirties." Her voice seemed more comfortable now.

"But the black hair?" Mason was still confused. "I wouldn't have expected that."

"The legend is," Rebecca continued. "that a thousand years ago, the Moors invaded Ireland, and took the women as their wives and that is how they got their black hair, but kept the blue in their eyes."

"Really?" Mason's eyebrows raised.

"Just don't tell any Irish folk that story, or you are bound to get beat up, or worse." She laughed. "The Irish say it was just a dark haired farmer."

My lips turned up a little. I hadn't seen her smile in such a long time, it felt good. The waitress dropped off their drinks and circled back to the bar; I went to stop her, pointing and waving my hand through the crowd, but she didn't see, the bar was getting even more crowded and noisy. I turned my attention back to my wife, who was now drinking what looked like a vodka. Maybe Mason was one of her work friends in town for the first time. Much of her work was on-line, and many of her co-workers she had never met in person.

"How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?" Mason tapped the bottom of his glass on the table.

"Not at all," Rebecca nodded. "twenty-nine, and you?"

"Thirty-one. How long have you known Emily?" Mason asked her.

"I don't know, maybe six or seven years." She shrugged.

Rebecca had met Emily through me, she was my friend Shawn's wife. This was getting interesting. Did Emily introduce them, or arrange this meeting? We may have been experiencing marital problems lately, but you don't just set up your friend's wife with someone. Emily would never do that, would she? Was I that naive? My head felt clouded and I squinted trying to think. What was going on here? Mason scooted around the corner bench seat, a little closer to my wife, as the noise level in the little bar continued to rise.

I listened to them as they talked, each drink going down a little quicker. Rebecca was beginning to open up more and the smile was becoming a permanent fixture on her face. While I continued to be confused as to why she would be with this man, it did make me feel better that the scowl had left her face and she was more relaxed and jovial than I had seen her in months. Maybe this wasn't a bad idea, maybe she just needed someone to talk to. My spirits had just begun to lift when it happened, and the smile left my face. Mason had been moving a little closer to my wife with each drink.

"No!" The word slipped out of my mouth, under my breath. I saw it instantly.

Mason tucked his arm under the table and put his hand on my wife's leg. The movement was quick and deliberate, catching her off guard. Her eyes popped open and breath stopped. Silence filled the bar, or it could have just been my head. I bit my lip nervously, waiting to see what she would do. His hand moved up her thigh as they talked, fingers squeezing her leg, until the side of his palm brushed her crotch.

"I-I-I can't." Rebecca said quietly, bumping his hand away from her leg. "Not yet."

Not yet? What the hell does she mean, not yet? She was buzzed, that's it, and she was just being polite to him, because of the alcohol, that's just how she was. They continued to talk, and the man continued to respect her, even after the rejection. They had a few more drinks and the conversation, while being mostly benign, began to turn a little personal.

"I can see it now." Mason raised his chin, looking down at my wife.

"See what?" She gazed up at him.

"The light freckles on your cheekbones," He ran the his fingernail under her eye, across her face. "and on your chest." His fingers went down to the lowest part of her exposed breast and skimmed up her chest, giving her goose bumps. "Your Irish freckles." He smiled.

"O-Oh yes," She stammered, "they are barely visible." then blushed.

"Have you ever been here before?" Mason questioned her, his head moving a little closer to her face.

"No, it's just near my house, a couple miles." She didn't pull away. "My hus..." She dropped the sentence.

"Do you need to go home?" His face lowered a little more.

"No," She paused, her mouth open. "but I probably should, I'm getting a little buzzed."

Leaning forward, Mason pressed his thin lips against my wife's ruby lips. A moment went by, as he waited for a reaction, but nothing came. His tongue slipped inside her mouth and circled her tongue, wet and long. Wrapping his fingers around the back of her head, his thumb lightly glided up and down her soft cheek. Her hand rose, fingers caressing the rough skin of his face and neck while she moaned lightly into his mouth. I couldn't tear my eyes away as they deeply and passionately kissed for what seemed like an eternity, before Rebecca pulled away, eyes wide and breath heavy. Her breasts were full, nipples protruding from the thin cotton material.

"We shouldn't." She lowered her eyes. "Maybe I should go."

"Sorry." Mason pulled away. "I'll get the bill." He raised his hand, trying to get the attention of the waitress. "Would you like me to drive you?"

"No, it's o.k., I shouldn't leave my car here," She told him. "but thank you anyway."

I was relieved that she finally put a stop to this nonsense. She realized that she made a mistake, and now she would feel bad. It's alright, we would talk about it; she would confess that she made a mistake and we would fix everything. I made my way to the back of the bar, trying to stay out of their sight. Once outside and free of the smoky air, I waited by the side of the building, for them to come out.

The front door of the bar opened and two darkened figures walked out, heading to the back of the parking lot. I could make out Rebecca's sexy walk, the way her hips swayed side to side. She stopped at my car and pulled the keys from her pocket, dropping them in the gravel. She bent over to pick them up, the deep collar of her shirt opening up wide, revealing her ample breasts squished tight by her black lace bra.

"You should probably let me...." Mason's voice paused and his mouth fell open. "Holy shit, this is your ride?" A smile opened up on Rebecca's face as she rose up.

"Most guys would be looking at my tits right now." She laughed. "But you're just looking at my car."

"My car." I whispered under my breath, eyes beginning to narrow.

"Are you kidding me, is this a..." He paused just long enough for her to cut in.

"Nineteen sixty-seven Ford Shelby Cobra 350 GT Mustang." She took a deep breath and her mouth opened with a wide grin.

"Automatic or stick?" His words barely audible through the breathy awe in his voice.

"Stick, of course." Rebecca shot back. "Did they even make automatics?"

"Jesus, no wonder you won't leave it here." Mason was shaking his head up and down.

"But you dropped your keys and that is the first sign that you shouldn't drive." He reached for the keys in her hands, which she quickly pulled away.

"You just want to drive my car." She stepped back, leaning against the car, her breasts pushed out and nipples hard.

"Damn right." He bellowed. "I'll tell you what. You let me drive you home and on the way maybe take it for a little spin, then I'll catch an uber back to the bar, it's only a couple of miles you said, right?"

"Hmmm." Rebecca's eyes rolled up. "And maybe I'll give you a drink or two at my house, for being such a gentleman." She held the keys up to him.

"Deal." He snatched the keys from her hand, his face gleaming like a little school boy.

I couldn't take anymore, that was my car. I pushed away from the wall and ran at a full speed; I was pretty damn fast. I reached my car just as it was pulling out. The Mustang tore away, spitting gravel and dirt onto me. I wiped the brown grainy rubble from the dark blue and grey Jersey I was wearing, clearing the mud from the symbol of my hockey team. The car was headed in the opposite direction as our house. I walked back into the parking lot, kicking rocks and looking at my boots. I needed to go see Shawn and Emily. I'm sure there was a good reason that Emily set up a meeting between Mason and my wife, there was no other way to look at it.

I stood alone in our kitchen, head down. I had been here awhile, and still no sign of them. I was supposed to go to Shawn's house, I wanted to, but I ended up back at home, waiting for my wife. I leaned against the entry way to the kitchen and thought about mixing a stiff drink when I heard the roar of my Mustang pull into the driveway. My mind once again raced, clouded in confusion. I should approach her as soon as she comes in, ask her why she was doing this. This guy was big, but I was bigger and stronger and quicker and probably smarter. I laughed under my breath. He didn't stand a chance. I heard the doorknob rattle, and against every instinct I had, I stepped into the dining room and backed up behind the china cabinet, holding my breath as the door opened.

"Yes, right in here." Rebecca's voice was loud as she stumbled in through the door with an empty beer can in her hand.

"Are you sure?" Mason's deep voice was quieter than hers. "I can call an Uber from out here."

"Don't be silly." Her face was now in a sort of perma-grin, like it was when she became buzzed.

Mason slowly crept into the house, eyes wide, scanning the living room. Rebecca headed straight for the kitchen, and opened the cabinet, pulling a vodka bottle from it, along with two glasses. Mason began walking around the room, looking at all the pictures, picking them up and inspecting them, while she filled the glasses with ice and vodka, applying a splash of sprite. I could see both of them, to some degree, and waited, in the shadows, thinking again that I should let her make these decisions on her own, and we would discuss them later. I had no idea why my mind pulled me in this direction, but it did, and I chose to listen. Turning slightly, I positioned myself so I could peek out into the living room through the opening in the wall next to the china cabinet.