The premonition had not been for her but for me. I was a man on the run, on the run from myself, my selfish proclivities and my past which was fast catching up with me. I wanted so badly to detach myself from these but I didn’t know how. I was a prisoner of selves, a captive of my own identity living in a prison of my own creation.
I had always been curious and experimental, still am, and my curiosity had mostly led me into ‘understanding the dark side of humanity’ which had always fascinated me. It had led me to drugs among other things and now to dating a married woman. I felt trapped in a relationship I could not get myself out of and I did not understand why. The fear of being busted and the excitement of seeing her clandestinely produced a rush of adrenaline I had never felt before. One I could not compare or get elsewhere.
I went back to bed and lay there facing up in a trance like state watching the ceiling like I was praying. But would prayers even help, I mean, I had just slept with another man’s wife, broken one of Big Guy’s commandment. Would the Angels in heaven even care to listen to an adulterer’s prayer? I did not feel comfortable going in the presence of the Lord, not with all this baggage of sins.
I picked up the wine bottle, studying it but not looking for anything in particular. It occurred to me that I did not know what brand it was. I checked, it was a Redwood Greek Chardonnay. She had bought it for me on one of our many sexual escapades. While to her it was just a bottle of wine, to me it was a symbol of a better tomorrow. It elicited memories of old, and got me reminiscing on the old times in campus when I was used to illicit liquor, when anything that would knock you off your senses was a downright go. But now things were different. She had infected me with a taste for the finer things in life and I did not want to go back to Egypt.
I felt no remorse whatsoever, which made me wonder if that, made me a good person or a bad person. I thought about the husband whose physique did not quite scream healthy. His body was the kind that would never get flu because it was harboring other serious rich people diseases such as high blood pressure and diabetes and the likes and the flu would simply have no place. I was sure it affected his bedroom capabilities and that was probably why the wife decided to go out.
His wife getting banged was his fault.
I wished I could call her, but it was forbidden. Her husband might answer as he had once before when I had tried, and too many ‘sorry I got the number wrong’ would raise the suspicions of the dimmest of men, which he reputedly wasn’t.
Was she already home? How had she saved me in her phone? Or is she somewhere seeing her other side kicks? While all these crossed my mind, to say that I cared or that they bothered me would be a lie. I had spent so long experimenting that I had finally become the experiment.
Her perfume perforated the room that I could not smell anything else but her which did little for my attempts to get her off my mind. I wanted to end it, detoxify myself from her toxic charm but how would I break it to her that I didn’t want her no more? How would I refuse the pleasure of banging such a beauty without the shenanigans of having to take her out for dates?