DITW 10-11 Conditions

Kimmy’s expression twisted to funereal mourning, her brows raised in sorrow, her lips trembling. He said, “We should talk. Do you want to get changed first?”

“Talk about what?”

He said, “What do you think?”

Now she looked around, her eyes lowered, filled with hurt, breath in short panting through her open mouth. “Okay,” she said, voice tight and clipped, and sat on the stool next to him, her eyes turned to the paperwork.

He put down his pen and rubbed his face. He said, “Harmeet wants me to... Swanson wants me on the team for Rome. I gotta fill out all these forms.”

Kimmy whispered, “What forms?”

He looked at her, and for the first time since she’d come through the door, he wondered if something terrible happened to her. She was bewildered. Out of it. Dumb.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, peering at his paperwork.

He bit his lower lip, his heart hurting for her. “Did you see him at work today?”

She shook her head no.

“You sure you’re okay?”

She said, “What about Rome?”

“They’re moving me up. Well, I guess the team’s getting smaller, that’s what’s happening. I’m still on the team.”

“You’re going to Rome?” Again, her brows furrowed with worry.

“Yeah. I don’t know when. Soon, probably, and maybe more trips after that. . . . Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. When are you going?”

“I don’t know, Kimmy,” he said, changing the subject, facing her and holding her shoulders. “I don’t want to talk about Rome. I will later, but that’s not what I want to talk about.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

He looked her in the eye. “I want what you want. Those things you said when I got home. I heard them but I didn’t hear them. They sank in today. I want what you want. I want to start over. I want us to focus on our marriage.”

Her slim shoulders sagged under his palms. She turned her face up, looking almost doubtful, like this was a trick, like he would say this only to pull it away from her, to mock her. To bully her. “You do?”

“I do, Kimmy,” he said, and smiled a small smile, but a very real and honest one, one filled with hope and forgiveness.

She slipped off the stool, tears coming already, saying nothing and hugging her arms around him, too weak to squeeze him hard, but still filled with ardor and relief. He hadn’t expected her response to be so emotional, yet here she was, crying on his chest again. He held her close and loved the feel of her tears and her breath on his collar. He caressed her hair, smiling and looking across their apartment.

* * *

They went out for dinner at a new Bangladeshi place, and it was weird and awkward at first. So much bad had transpired between them, so much adulterated emotion, but they’d known each other for so long, had spent a lot of time in love; the love he felt for her was what gave his emotions their strength.

When they took their table, a booth by the window, Kimmy scooted in behind him and they sat together on the same side of the table, sharing a blue leather bench. Neither of them mentioned or made fun of how she’d done that—he couldn’t recall her ever having done it before—but it warmed his heart knowing she’d done it because it made her feel good, and he liked to know that being close to him made his wife happy.

They ordered a half a chicken, a Lahori Charga, and Beef Bihari Kababs to share. He ordered a Coke, and Kimmy a Sprite. Kimmy held his hand after they ordered and were alone. He said, “I think the things we have to say would be more useful not being said. We’ve said it all in our own ways over the last two weeks and... Talking about it doesn’t move us any further forward.”

Kimmy nodded, not meeting his gaze, her eyes on the table. “Not saying them proves how much we want them lost in the past.”

The place was empty on a late Monday night, UberEats drivers in and out, though, and he leaned close and kissed her forehead. Kimmy sagged against him, and he put his arm around her.

* * *

Kimmy snuggled in next to him in bed and he was relieved she faced away. If she’d pressured him for sex tonight, he’d have to reject her—and that might hurt her feelings. He wasn’t there yet. Sexuality was the part of their battleship most damaged by their high seas encounter with Devlin Stone.

It felt better than sex to put his arm around her and have her wiggle herself tighter against him. After what they’d been through, sex might be a little while longer in renewing.

What if his sexual feelings for her never returned? Was that a possibility? He’d taken some sturdy hits. But what frightened him the most was his own fantasies, his own darknesses. Kimmy didn’t deserve that, but what if no light could chase away his darkness?

The homey scent of curry and ginger in her hair. It reminded him so much of the time she spent after the miscarriage, puttering around the apartment, a barefoot homemaker. He’d come home to fresh homemade dumplings and a clean apartment and an open evening to spend time doing the things he liked to do.

The truth was there was still much to say about what happened and what should happen going forward. But he chickened out at dinner, enjoying too much Kimmy’s devotion. Not wanting to upset it by beginning what might become a fraught argument: her continued position with Devlin at Stone Brokerage. How, seeing her upset, he’d said, “Did you see him at work today?” See who, Josh? Only your tormentor. The man who took advantage of your wife. Seduced her. The man who, in the aftermath of marital demolition, after finding Kimmy’s panties in his couch, sent you a picture of Kimmy’s naked thigh. Inner thigh.

It had to be Devlin who put those panties there.

He’d pretended Kimmy had planted them there for him to find. But she didn’t do that, did she? Devlin did it. And because Kimmy wouldn’t deny it, the truth was Devlin possessed her panties through terrible means. Kimmy couldn’t tell him what those means were because she was ashamed.

What had she done?

Now he linked the two things together: 1. Devlin possessed Kimmy’s panties and planted them where dipshit Josh would find them, knowing he would put dipshit Josh on that couch. 2. Devlin had a photo that showed Kimmy’s inner thigh.

Was that how he had her panties?

He shifted, uncomfortable, and getting heated with that notion. Strange, sleazy fantasies swirled: Kimmy telling Devlin she was teasing Josh, and Devlin saying let me take some racy pictures and Kimmy falling for it because she wanted to tease her husband, falling prey to Devlin Stone. The photo shoot progresses and Devlin corrupts the innocent wife, coaxing her into believing her husband would go wild for this, urging her to remove her panties. Or at first, just ease them aside a little, let me get a shot that shows part of that beautiful pussy.

How would he know what her pussy looked like, that it was beautiful? And Kimmy wasn’t some country bumpkin just arrived in the city from a bus out of the sticks. She wouldn’t pose for a picture like that unless she wanted to.

Did she want to?

Fuck. He was getting hard now.

But, yeah, that’s the only way Devlin would get a photo like that, unless she was sleeping.

Or fucked unconscious by his monster cock; orgasmed into oblivion, her poor little pussy left beaten and abused and worn out with hot pleasure.

He shifted his hips back, his arousal turning to iron stiffness now. A week ago, after thinking like this, he’d prompt Kimmy with some dirty talk, and they could play around, and she would say awful things that would knock his socks off. Tonight he wouldn’t bother her, had no desire to. In fact, the idea of sex with her disturbed him. Like how his sexuality was demented, and he’d convinced her of its value. He wished he could take it all back. Wished Kimmy had never seen that part of him.

They just needed some time to heal, to come closer, to respect one another again. He had to chase away the desire to know what had happened between Kimmy and Devlin. Maybe she would tell him one day, but he didn’t think she would. Would he ever be able to let that go, though? It was an incredible challenge. If his marriage was worth it, he would meet that challenge.

Somewhere in another room, his phone chimed. He’d left it in the family room, by the couch where they’d watched TV together after dinner—where he cherished spending alone time with Kimmy, not saying much, but appreciating her presence, the comfort of her closeness. Building back a friendship before taking the next step up.

It had to be after eleven. Kimmy had fallen asleep.

Who texted at this time? He was conditioned now to hear that chime like some sexual siren, a Pavlovian lure to perversion.

He hadn’t responded to the first text because he was too smart now to get duped by that fucking asshole. This would be another trick, another taunt, another way for him to endure a terrible, sleepless night. Or it could be Harmeet. Something about Italy.

It wasn’t Harmeet. Not at this time of night.

Although, moving up came with greater responsibilities. More hours to cover those responsibilities.

But it wasn’t Harmeet.

His phone repeated the chime, and he eased back from Kimmy, getting out of bed without disturbing her. He snuck out of the bedroom, going out backwards, watching Kimmy sleep as he closed the door behind him. But in the hall, he came to his senses. Don’t be so stupid. You know who’s sending the text. Why do this to yourself?

Yet, he padded on, moving quiet in their apartment like he was sneaking up on his phone, like maybe he could sneak-check it and Devlin would never know he’d even looked.

He checked his phone and sure enough, it wasn’t Harmeet. It was the unknown number and the beginning of the text.

I know why you didn’t respond and I—

And I what?

He cursed under his breath and opened the text. Again, a flash of skin, Kimmy’s inner thigh—and for a split second, he felt the pang of disappointment. Fuck. He was disappointed it was the same photo?

He didn’t even want to open the text and now he’s disappointed it was the same photo and not a new one.

But it wasn’t the same old photo. And he hated the lusty relief that provoked. He read the text instead, not scrolling enough to reveal the entire image. Not yet. The hurt and the excitement were palpable.

I know why you didn’t respond, and I don’t blame you. You’ve convinced yourself the photo isn’t real.

No, he thought the photo was real. But maybe not, right? No, that wasn’t true. He didn’t know the photo was real. Even if it was Kimmy, if it zoomed out, it could be Kimmy in shorts, Kimmy in a bikini in Cayman. All meant to taunt him.

Or it could be from the day he took her panties and kept them.

The photo’s real. The hard part is convincing you I mean no harm.

Yeah, right. Your best buddy always sent you secret racy pics they snapped of your wife.

I want you to be excited. Look, I know you’re excited. I know you saw the picture, and you didn’t stop Kimmy from going to work today.

You didn’t see her today, asshole. This was more ruse. More manipulation. Why was he even reading this shit?

You don’t hate the picture. You want to see more. How could you not?

That was true. That was one thing he said that made sense.

But I’m not sending more than this one. I can’t. I’m not sending anything vulgar, and don’t ask for a picture of her face. I wouldn’t do that to her, wouldn’t risk having it out in the ether. Too damaging for someone with so much to offer.

What an honorable man. Oh wow, what a real gent.

He scrolled now, his heart absolutely thundering behind his ribs.

“Oh my god.”

It wasn’t the same pic. Well, it was, but it had panned higher up Kimmy’s thigh. He fell to sit on the couch with a heavy whomp.

I want you to see it as much as you do, Josh. I swear. But eyes only, Josh.

Meet me.