ML Roberts - The Wife – Part Four - Till Death Do Us Part

Weak.

Weak.

Weak…

‘You want me because I’m not the woman you married,’ I breathe as his hand presses against my breast. ‘That’s what’s making you hard, right?’

He looks at me for a second, his eyes burning into mine, and then he steps back. It’s like he’s suddenly been yanked from a trance; like he can’t quite believe what he’s doing, and it breaks my heart. It fills me with anger. Two very different emotions clashing, fighting against each other.

‘You need to go, Ellie. Now.’

The anger’s winning. Sadness is just a waste of time, it’s sucking up the energy I need to fight this battle.

‘Because I’m not Ava?’

He takes another step back, rakes a hand through his hair as he stares at me again. ‘I’m not doing this, okay? I want you to go.’

I walk towards him. I hold his gaze, I need to stay strong. Focused. He needs to know I’m not just going to roll over and give up without fighting this.

‘What does she do to you, Michael, to make you keep running to her?’

‘You need to go.’

‘Is it the prospect of a younger body, hmm? A body that isn’t damaged, like mine? A body that isn’t scarred? Does she fuck you in ways you never dreamt of…?’

He grabs hold of my wrist again, his eyes blazing with an anger I haven’t seen in him before, but he doesn’t scare me. I don’t think anything scares me anymore. I think I passed that point a long time ago.

‘You need to leave, right now.’

What nerve have I touched? What button did I press?

He opens the door and lets go of me. He’s giving me the chance to leave without a scene – which I have every intention of doing, but this isn’t over. This is so far from over.

I reach out, cup his cheek, move my mouth so very close to his. ‘You caused this, Michael. You did this, with your reckless behaviour.’

‘I did a lot of things I’m not proud of, Ellie. Remember?’

We stare at each other for a few loaded beats, and then I step back from him. I turn and walk away. As I head towards the lift I feel that anger rising, bubbling away inside of me, threatening to explode. I need to get out of here now, I need to go to work, do something normal. If I knew what normal was anymore.

‘Ellie?’

I stop walking, and look up to see Liam standing there in reception, his hands in his pockets, his face serious. Concerned? He might be. I’m not sure, I can’t really read his expression.

‘I need to get to work…’

He grabs my hand as I pass him, swinging me around to face him. ‘What’ve you done?’

I don’t know, what I’ve done. But that anger’s filling me now, flooding my veins. I’m angry with myself, with Michael. Liam. I’m so fucking angry…

I look up into his eyes, and he gets it, he feels that anger coursing through me, burning my gut, it’s relentless. I need to channel it, rid myself of it before I go anywhere or do anything, and he knows that. Liam won’t turn me down. Liam is the weakest of them all, I know that now.

I kiss him, and he responds in a heartbeat, he always does. His fingers wind in my hair, his body hard against mine, but we can’t stay here. People are watching, we’re in too public a place…

He takes my hand and we walk briskly towards the toilets, we can’t wait. I don’t want to wait, I need him now. He’s my medicine, my fix – and this is urgent. Michael may have rejected me, but Liam would never do that.

Michael. My husband. Rejected me…

I lean back against the wall as Liam quickly checks inside, then he takes my hand again, drags me into a cubicle, kicking the door shut as he throws me back against the side of the stall. And for a beat or two we just look at each other. He smiles at me and my heart starts racing; he’s a beautiful man, Dr Liam Kennedy. But that momentary second of calm quickly dissipates. I’m here for a reason. I need to vent, I need to release that anger, let it seem like I’m making Michael pay for his deceit. His betrayal. By fucking his best friend? By taking part in my own deceit? My own betrayal? It’s so messed up, so confusing. So wrong. But we’re all in so deep now, I can’t see a way out.

I reach down to unzip him, I take him in my hand, feel his hardness grow and I ache for this release now, I need him. This man. This .

He rests a hand on my hip, swings me around, then yanks my jeans down. He nudges my legs apart with his knee, and he’s inside me before I have a chance to draw breath, his fingers sliding between mine up against the wall. He thrusts into me with an almost violent force, and I buck back just as hard, I grip him tight, I want to hurt him. That’s why he’s here, a vehicle for me to take my anger out on in the only twisted way I know how.

He lets go of my hand, reaches down, and he touches me. It’s all I can do to stop myself from crying out. And he senses that, pushes my head around slightly so my mouth catches his; so my cries seep into him.

‘Harder,’ I whisper. I need him to go deeper, it makes me feel safe. Protected. But I also need to feel pain. To know that I’m still alive and not just sleepwalking my way through the nightmare that my life has become.

He takes hold of my hand again, grips my fingers tight as he pulls out of me. Then he slams back into me with a force that pushes the breath from my body, but the pain it causes is beautiful.

Your best friend wants me, Michael.

He wants me…

It’s crazy, brutal sex. Hard and fast. Wrong. Sordid. Dirty. Sex.

He makes me come with his fingers, his body buried deep within mine as I tense up. And as my release ends, his begins. I feel him explode inside me, feel him flood me with his toxic power, and I fall back against him, his arm circling my waist, holding me. For a second we stay there, in silence, my head resting against his shoulder, his breath hot on my neck as his breathing slows down.

His fingers remain curled around mine. He’s still inside me, and for a second or two I allow calm to spread through me. I breathe in deeply and squeeze his hand before I ready myself to let go of this, to head back to reality. I have a job to do.

I needed him. He temporarily fixed me, but I’ll break again. I always do. But I know he’ll be there. To fix me…

I don’t want Michael to know that I called Ernie. And I asked Ernie not to tell Michael I’d been in touch; asked if we could meet away from the university. I don’t want my husband to know I’ve talked to him. And Ernie’s going to ask why, of course he is. As far as I’m aware Michael hasn’t told any of his colleagues that we’re not even living in the same house anymore, that we’re barely talking. Or maybe he has, I don’t know. I’m about to find out.

I park the car and head inside the pub – one I chose because it’s a little way out of Durham. A country pub, in the true sense of the word. Cosy seating, a real fire, beams on the ceiling; it’s quaint. I’ve been here before, once, with Liam, so I’m vaguely familiar with its layout, and I scan the room as I look for Ernie. Professor Ernie Waterford, a man who isn’t just Michael’s work colleague, he’s also his friend. Our friend. He was Michael’s lecturer before he became his mentor, and he’s always been there, on the periphery of our lives. I just have no idea how much Michael’s confided in him over the past year or so, if at all. Maybe he hasn’t needed to. He’s had her , hasn’t he?

He’s sitting at a table in the corner, by the fire, which isn’t lit today because we’re heading into summer. I make my way over to him and as I approach, he stands up, holds out his arms and hugs me. The usual, familiar bear hug I always receive from Ernie.