“Are you insane?” I turn toward my scattered girlfriend, who is shoving an entire carrot into the palms of our ten-month-old. “You can’t give her that. She’ll choke to death!”

I’m not sure if I have ever been able to trust Candace, whose eyes are rolling dramatically into the back of her head. She proceeds to shoot me a look of harsh dismay. “Give me a break, Anthony!”

She flicks a tassel of blond hair flamboyantly over her shoulder. “It’s called baby-led weaning? We talked about this…remember?”

I shake my head in disbelief, completely unable to recall said conversation, and throw my hands up in defeat. “Whatever…I give up. You want to let her choke to death, go for it.”

The house grows quiet, as the tension grows dense, and just as the pot of water comes to an aggressive boil on the stovetop, I begin to realize how truly unhappy I am.

“So are we going to do the guest bath remodel or what?” Candace taps her foot, while waiting for an answer. 

She reminds me of someone, but I just can’t put my finger on it — yes, that’s it. She’s the epitome of a spoiled housewife, only Candace and I are not married, and there's good reason for that, at least from my perspective. Besides, this is virtually the sixth or seventh time she’s asked me that same question.

“I told you we can’t afford it right now until I get paid by these new clients. The job is taking longer to complete than I thought.” 

She narrows her eyes at me, her mouth curling into a twisted snarl. I can almost feel the venom she intends to inject into my heart, and I refuse to take it.

With that, I have decided that now holds my cue to clear the room. I deliberate a hasty decision to leave the house entirely. I need a serious break from this woman. The constant nagging and disapproval was becoming far too much to handle. Who would have thought I’d despise Candace more than I ever did Laura?

I rev the engine of my work truck and back out the driveway with haste, the day feeling like a complete waste of precious time. 

I had planned to go to the job site and check on my crew, see if they needed anything, but in the heat of the moment, had decided instead, to pay a visit to Rachel. 

I am feeling immensely sorry for myself, a theme that seemed to persist over the past few months. My means of escape, found in the affections given to me (very openly, I should add) by the various beautiful women in my life.

Rachel - She was always there for me. Always able to satisfy my needs when Candace could not. I need her now, the feel of her soft body, the sight of her back arched downward as I dig deeper and deeper into a bliss that can never be truly fulfilled. 

The song, Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler floods my mind suddenly and dramatically.

Every now and then I fall apart, and I need you now tonight…

I have to drive through the square downtown to reach her neighborhood. Although I’ve driven through the square hundreds, if not, thousands of times, the hustle and bustle of Friday morning dog walkers and coffee grabbers feels unusually overwhelming today. 

And I need you more than ever. And if you hold me, hold me tight…

When I reach her street, the old majestic walnut trees lining the sidewalk create a shaded canopy of calm. My nerves settle in an instant, the eighties ballad drifting farther away, allowing my mind to focus. I pull up to her quaint little cottage slowly and cautiously, as always.

I am very good at what I do. However, I notice almost immediately that something is off when I approach the house. The curtains are drawn shut, and there’s a black Honda Civic parked out front that I don’t recognize.

I make an effort to appear casual as I stride through her garden, but I can’t shake the sense I’m being watched, perhaps by a neighbor. The feeling is definitely there, pressing against my nerves and forcing me to scan the premises once more when I’ve reached the front porch. I lean in to tap the door with my knuckle hesitantly, my ear turned, listening for her footsteps. 

Nothing.

“Rachel?” The words scarcely come out. I clear my throat and start to say her name again, but I catch the sound of someone or something rustling in the bushes on the left side of the house. It could be paranoia, but I suspect not.

Then without warning, the door cracks open a couple of curious inches. I am forced to peer into darkness on the other side. “Good morning…Rachel?”

“I can’t see you today.” Her voice is curt and muffled.

“What?!” This was a first…

“Anthony, please. I just…I can’t! Come back this evening.” Her voice sounds high-pitched and a little frightened now. I nudged the door open further to reveal her standing there looking all but happy to see me.

“Is someone in there with you?” My heart is beginning to thud aggressively in my chest, as I anxiously await her response. 

I can’t help but notice her shimmery pink lip gloss, and then the smudge protruding carelessly across the right side of her chin. It is most unlike her to look so unkempt. As my eyes scan downwards towards her chest, I realize she isn’t wearing a bra. I can see her nipples clear as day protruding through her very casual and very see-through tank top. She is obviously wearing her “sexy” pajamas. 

At this point, I am fighting to hold back my excitement at the sight of her. I collect my thoughts and shift my focus back to questioning, this time with a little more assertiveness. 

“Who is in there with you?!”

Her head is shaking slowly from side to side, and she looks suddenly stricken with panic. Her hands go up slowly in defense, as though she suspects I will try to hurt her.

“Rachel, I need you to tell me what’s going on!” I begin to feel panicked as well. I know she is hiding something — something I do not care to truly acknowledge or understand. I take a deep breath and lean in to kiss her forehead in an attempt to gain her trust. Oddly, my lips are met with sticky warmth. She’s covered in sweat.

I’m not about to let her keep secrets from me, and as though she can sense my apprehension, she attempts to shut the door on my face. 

With lightning speed, I reach out to block it with my forearm. 

“Let me in this house!” I demand, the rage taking hold within me. She takes a step back, almost tripping on her own leopard print slippers. 

I narrowed my eyes on her. “Something is definitely not right with you.” 

I catch sight of a lone bead of sweat trickling carelessly down her forehead, settling into the gnarled mess of dirty blond locks, plastered randomly across her face. It’s her deep blue eyes that say it all, though.

As if compelled by emotion, or maybe lack of reason, I take a step toward her to slide my hands onto her lower back, and then her buttocks. I feel compelled to touch her in order to gauge her response. Her pajama shorts are loose, and she isn’t wearing panties, allowing me to caress her bare skin eagerly with my hands. I desperately want to take her upstairs and make love to her in a ferocious manner. After all, that was the real reason for my visit. Only, I had to be reminded of the dirty facts, taking wild jabs at my pride, my dignity, and my emotions. 

She can’t look me in the eyes. “I need to tell you something.” Her gaze shifts towards the top of the stairs, then averts nervously to the tiled floor beneath her. “I’m…I’m seeing someone else.”

I grimace in disbelief, incapable of processing this information. I idle like a complete moron for a few moments before the hatred begins to rise within me, my fists clenching together tightly. This person may still be here in the house – this person who needs to be reckoned with. 

He is dead to me…

I lunge for the stairs, my whole body heaving with fury, the stairs feeling as though they may give way as my body shifts clumsily between each stomp. I am a bear. I know my anger has preceded my logic in the past, but this was too much. He needs to pay for what he’s done. 

I kick open the bedroom door like a savage beast, and scan the surroundings. I’m on the hunt for blood.

Sheets are strewn about, dangling in two giant heaps between the bed and the floor. 

The smell—the smell is all too familiar. It’s the smell of body odor—the smell of sex.

Unfortunately, and fortunately for Rachel, the intruder has seemed to have made an escape. I crouch down and check the tiny gap under the bed, but who am I kidding? A cat couldn’t fit under there. I open the closet and spread hung clothing to the sides. Nope. 

For a brief moment I stand completely still to listen for the sound of footsteps…

The house is dead silent. 

“Damn it!” 

I make my way to the bathroom and splash my face with cold water. The mirror taunts me with a reflection unrecognizable — the dark circles under sleep-deprived eyes, the stubble grown just barely shy of hobo status.

How has my life come to this?