An apology

My pace was slow, my gait a dawdle. I stretched the normal fifteen minute walk out into forty, taking the long way around the block, past the chemists with its dark windows and the kebab shop that hadn't opened yet. Street lights flickered on one by one, chasing the last of the afternoon out of the sky. The air had turned cold.

I didn't want to go home.

Not because I didn't want to see Emily. I always wanted to see Emily. It was what she was becoming that scared me. Every time I walked through that door, I didn't know what fresh hell would be waiting, now more than ever.

You haven't learned your lesson.

What lesson was I supposed to learn? That I should have stayed out of it? That I should have just watched, and accepted, and kept my mouth shut? The man had gone out of his way to let me know I'd made things worse, and his words rattled around in my skull the whole way home. Analysing and overthinking what I should have done differently. Perhaps not tried to wrestle a demon? Or whatever he was. It was too crazy to be real, and yet..

By the time I reached our building, the sky was properly dark. I climbed the stairs slowly, keys in hand, and stood outside our door for a long moment, listening.

Giggling. Muffled, from inside. And the rustle of fabric.

As I opened the door, Emily's voice came through, bright and breathless. "Wait! Close your eyes before coming in!"

I closed my eyes and gingerly entered, letting the door swing shut behind me.

I heard her scurry across the floor, heard the bedroom door click shut, heard a few more seconds of rustling, more scurrying. Then she was in front of me. Her hands came up to cup my face, and her lips found mine. Soft, gentle, lingering.

"Okay," she whispered. "You can open your eyes."

She was wearing a long silk dressing gown, deep green, cinched tight at the waist. It hugged her body, and beneath it I could see bumps and ruffles, the suggestion of something structured, something she'd clearly put care into picking out. The apartment was dark, the curtains drawn, just two lamps glowing in the corners. She'd set a mood, that much was obvious.

She took my hand and led me to the couch. Then she knelt in front of me, her hands resting on my knees.

She looked nervous. I'd never seen her look nervous like this. Not waiting for exam results nervous, but something closer to frightened, like she was about to confess to a crime.

"So," she began slowly, "I think I need to apologise to you."

I waited.

"Talking with Mia today, I realised I've been having some… careless moments, of late."

My breath caught. Careless moments. That could mean anything. Everything. Had something happened today, after the posts, after the shopping trip? Or was she talking about before, the things I'd caught glimpses of and never had the courage to name? She’d already apologised for the bachelorette, so this must be something else. So many other things cross my mind - do I even know them all? How much have I missed? I opened my mouth, but she rushed on before I could speak.

"You know how much I love you. And that I'd never cheat on you. At least, not deliberately."

Not deliberately. The words landed like stones in my stomach. She looked up at me with those wide, earnest eyes, apologetic and pleading for understanding.

Her hands had started to move. Roaming up and down my thighs, each pass a little higher, a little bolder, until they were gently pressing against the shape of me through my jeans. I wasn’t sure she even realised what she was doing, more like a nervous habit.

"And I realised," she said, "that this isn't fair. Accidents can happen, sure, but that doesn't make them right. But accidents are still accidents, and some people are just klutzes." She smiled, sheepish. "Sorry. I'm rambling." Klutzes? Like she’s just been a bit clumsy?

She shook her head, like she was trying to clear fog from her thoughts. Then she looked up at me again, and her smile softened into something more serious.

"The point is, I don't think our current setup is working right now. It isn't fair on either of us."

"Emily, I—" The words died in my throat. I couldn't get them out. She was looking at me with so much hope, and I had no idea what she was about to ask of me.

Her hands found my crotch again. This time they didn't move away. She just massaged me gently through the denim, slow and rhythmic, feeling me grow hard against her palm while she watched my face. This was definitely deliberate.

"So," she said, "I think I came up with a pretty good solution."

She glanced toward the bedroom, then took both my hands and stood, pulling me up with her. My palms were clammy. My head felt stuffed with cotton. She led me across the dark living space toward the closed bedroom door, and with every step I told myself I was ready for anything.

I wasn't.

Emily moved behind me, one hand on the handle. She rose onto her toes, her lips brushing the shell of my ear, and whispered:

"I think we just need to be a little more open."

The handle turned. The door swung inward onto pitch black.

Open? I thought, briefly, stupidly.

Then she nudged me gently in the small of the back, and I stumbled forward a step into the dark. My eyes strained, adjusting, and I could just make out a shape on the bed. It was roughly person-shaped, propped and waiting.

The light clicked on behind me.