He met her at their usual spot; Downtown, at the Prescott Hotel on the corner of Wilshire and Hamilton. They signed in under false names, took separate routes to the seventh floor, the ninth room on the right.
Cream colored walls, with furniture accented in white and gold. Lights of the lamps dimmed, clothing strewn about that led from the foot of the bed to the front door where she greeted him in nothing but her black lace bra and panty set.
It had been magic; fire ignited within them once again as they rolled and tussled about the large bed, entangled in a love affair that should have never happened.
Her small and delicate hand rested against his chest, her fingertips and nails playing along the thin hairs of his chest. His hand, gently rubbing her back as he pulled her closer; unsure of if he should speak, or remain silent.
Either way, the moment was wrong, and there was no correct action that could make it good unless they found themselves entangled with one another again.
She would have to go when all was said and done. Home to a husband that demanded more than she could give of herself. Home to children who were young enough to not understand the things their father did, and the damage and wrong it led to.
He would have to go when it was all said and done. Home to a wife that sought nothing but his money, and the right to control his every move. To a wife that would take him for all he had, and win, if she knew of his side activities.
“I can’t even begin to understand how we ended up here. How we met, came to be friends, how we fit into each other’s lives.”
“To make it seem right; I’d like to think it was destiny. Only, our paths crossed at the wrong time. Me, married with kids. You, married. Unhappy, the both of us, but unable to leave because of whatever separate problems we face.”
“And we love one another.”
“But we have to steal each other’s love, ‘cause it’s never free. It’ll never be free, will it?”
She shrugged. “Jake would never let me go. You know he wouldn’t. I’d get as far as filing the papers, and he’d drag me right back with the one thing he knows I could never bare to lose.”
He nodded. “And I’d never ask you to take that chance. But won’t this have to end, somewhere… some way?”
“It was just supposed to be fun, between friends. An escape from reality. My escape from the abuse, your escape from your own issues with Isabella.” The thought of his own ‘divorce’ was as laughable as hers.
“Do we keep dealing with personal agony and anguish after moments of passion and ecstasy; just for these brief moments of happiness whenever we can get them?”
Looking into his eyes, she answered the only way she knew how. “Can’t have one without the other, right? But maybe we should step away for a while, see if we can’t work out our personal problems. See if we can’t rid ourselves of the personal agony, so that the ecstasy is worth it the next time we meet.”
“How long, Richelle?”
As she climbed out of his arms, out of bed, and began to grab her clothing, Richelle looked over her shoulders. Tears slid down her face. “I’ll call you, Damien.”
At least, she hoped she would make it to the day when she’d be able to call him, freely.