Chapter 1A (Alina)

Alina (Thoughts): “Stop it. Just stop. Don't think about the door. Don't think about the... But he saw me. He just… saw. And Ethan, he was right there. He could have shut it. He should have. Why didn't he? Was he overjoyd in showing me off? Is that what this was? A little show for the neighbor? He looked at me like he’d never seen a naked woman before. His eyes… they ate me alive. And I just stood there. Water dripping down my legs. My tits right there for him to see. And Ethan let him. My Ethan, who starts a a bar fight if someone looks at me for 3 seconds... He probably was in shock. Heck! I was too, I could've ran away, but I didn't... Why do I expect him to react when I didn't... I didn't even kiss him before leaving for work... Now I feel stupid...”

Cling! Cling!

Alina (Thoughts): “Ahhh... I can already smell the stench of whiskey ... I wonder what he wants me to sort out today...”

Alina: “Ahhh! Mr. Burns! To what do I owe the… pleasure?”

Mr. Burns didn't return the pleasantry, with a grim air, he flipped the ‘OPEN’ sign to ‘CLOSED’ and threw the deadbolt with a conclusive thud.

Mr. Burns: “We need to have a chinwag, lass. Those… those… MULIGNANS! …have bought the whole damn street. Porch monkeys! The whole feckin’ lot! They won’t renew an old Irishman’s lease...”

Alina (Thoughts): “There it is. The daily aria. He’s like a broken racist cuckoo clock. Just nod and smile, Alina. Don’t engage. He’s a fossil. A mean, drunk, pathetic fossil who’ll probably be dead by Christmas.”

Alina: “What will happen to the store, Mr. Burns. All this history. The music?”

Mr. Burns scoffed

Mr. Burns: “I came to this country with nothing but the shirt on me back and a healthy hatred of the English! I built this with me own two hands! And now I’m supposed to just roll over for some… some spear-chucking… NIGGAS! …in a suit who probably got the loan from one of their own? SSSSSHHHHIIIITTTTEEEE”

Alina (Thoughts): “Spear-chucker. Really? Where does he learn all these? A thesaurus of slurs he flips through every morning to pick his flavor of the day? I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. Then he opens his mouth and I remember he’s just a old racist drunk with tourette syndrome...”

Alina patted his shoulder.

Mr. Burns: “You can keep your trap shut, that’s what you can do. This is between me and the… NIGGAS! …I don’t need you blabbering to your little friends about how the big bad landlord put poor old Mr. Burns out on the street. CUNTS! I’ve got me pride.”

Alina: “Of course, Mr. Burns. My lips are sealed.”

Mr. Burns: “Good. That’s a good girl. I’ll have your check for you on Friday. Plus a little extra for your trouble. Now… if you’ll excuse me, I need to go find a pub that hasn’t been infested by… NIGGAS! …yet.” He slowly, painfully, slid off the stool and shuffled toward the door

Alina moves slowly between the aisles, sliding vinyl labels into cardboard boxes.

Alina (Thoughts): “I wonder if he’d let me keep some of these… She lifts the Back in Black vinyl, brushing her thumb over the glossy cover. This is so wasteful. These’ll just end up forgotten in some warehouse.”

She exhales.

Alina (Thoughts): “Ohhhh fudge… frick… I’m out of a job. We are so screwed. Ethan’s gym barely sees any clients, we’ve only got eight hundred to our name, rent’s due… at least this month is covered by the 800… barely.”

She rests her elbow on the counter, rubbing her temple.

Alina (Thoughts): “What the hell am I going to do? I’ve got no college degree… thanks, Dad—rotten bastard. Probably still in prison. Hopefully he stays there. Even if I wanted to start college now, we don’t have the money.”

Her chest tightens.

Alina (Thoughts): “Should I go back to waiting tables? God, I hate that… ARghhhhhhh.”

She fidgets with her engagement ring.

Alina (Thoughts): “No. I have to tell him. We’re doing this together… for better or worse.”

Alina: “Hey baby…”

There’s shuffling on the other end before he responds.

Ethan (breathless, strained): “Ahhh! Hi! Uhhh—now’s not… not the best time—”

Something cracks loudly in the background — like wood snapping or a chair hitting the floor.

Alina: “What was that? Where are you?”

Ethan: “I’m fine! I’m fine! At the gym! Working out! Ahhh—”

But there’s no gym music. No clanking weights. Only muffled grunts… and another person speaking sharply in the background.

Her stomach drops.

Alina: “At the gym? Liar. There’s no music. No treadmill hum. What are you doing, Ethan? Who are you yelling at?”

Her pulse quickens.

Alina (Thoughts): “He wouldn’t cheat. He wouldn’t. So why lie? What the hell are you up to?”

Ethan (half to her, half to someone else): “Is it important, babe? I’m in the middle of a session! Stay down—! Sparring session!”

A heavy THUD hits her ear.

It’s not a sparring thud.

It’s a someone just got thrown thud.

Her fingers tighten around the phone.

Alina: “…Talk to you when you get home. Love you. And please… be careful.”

Ethan (short, distracted): “Ahhh—yeah. You know me, I’m always careful.”

Another bone-shaking THUD, followed by a grunt that doesn’t sound like him.

Alina (Thoughts): “What the hell are you doing, Ethan? Are you fighting again? You promised you were done with all that. You promised you wouldn’t go back. It kills you every time you hurt someone. I see it. You break more than the men you hit. for us? Because you think we need the money?”

Alina steps inside, drops her keys, and looks around the empty apartment.

Alina (Thoughts): “He’s always home before me… where are you?”

She strips down to something comfortable, slumps onto the sofa, and stares at her silent phone.

Alina: “Great. Nothing.”

After a moment she forces herself up.

Alina (Thoughts): “Dinner. He’ll show up eventually… I hope.”

She cooks quietly, checking her phone every few minutes. Forty minutes pass, two plates sit untouched, and still no response.

She sends another text. No read.

Alina (Thoughts): “I’m not eating alone. Nope. Not happening.”

Her eyes fall to the laptop.

Alina (Thoughts): “Fine… guess I’ll start looking for a new job. Might as well do something while I wait...”

She opened the laptop. The screen lit u.p

Alina: “WHAT THE FUCK!?”

She rubbed her eyes, certain she was seeing things. The last open tab wasn’t a news site or a sports forum. It was ‘Pornfun.’ The video player was paused on a still image that made her stomach clench: a woman on her hands and knees, a man fucking her from behind while another man’s cock was in her mouth. Another woman on her knees, giving him a rimjob. The title read: ‘Horny Swinger Couples Fuck in the Open.’

Alina (Thoughts): “What the hell is this? Was he watching this? No! No! Ethan wouldn’t… He’s not like that. This is a pop-up. It has to be a virus.”

Her hands trembling, she slammed the laptop shut, then immediately opened it again.

Her curiosity took over her. She clicked on the history. Her heart hammered a frantic, terrified rhythm against her ribs. There it was. Page after page of forum searches. ‘Swinger lifestyle.’ ‘First time swinging.’ ‘Wife sharing stories.’ She saw the comments he’d read, threads where men described the thrill of watching their partners with other men. Suddenly, her eyes caught something else, a series of tabs opened on a sleek, dark site: “Club Anteros.”

Alina (Thoughts): “Swingers club for the refined?’ ‘Contests?’ ‘Money?’ Why is he searching for this? Is this where he was while on the phone earlier? Is this why he’s so late?”

The pieces clicked together with a horrifying, sickening snap.

Alina (Thoughts): “Is this because of last night? When that guy saw me? Is he into this now? Does he think… does he think I liked it? That I wanted to be seen? He wants me to have… he wants to watch another man…”

A single, hot drop of wetness escaped her, soaking into the fabric of her panties. It wasn't from fear. It was from a dark, intrigued place deep inside her that she tried to keep locked away. Her hand, moving as if it belonged to someone else, switched back to the first tab, the ‘Pornfun’ video. Her finger hovered over the play button, shaking. She pressed it.

The screen erupted with sound. A woman’s breathy moan, the wet slap of skin on skin. “Oh god, yes, fuck me harder while I suck his cock,” the woman on screen begged, her voice distorted with pleasure. “You like watching me get fucked by another man, baby?”

Alina (Thoughts): “These people are animals.... Her voice… she sounds like… when I’m with Ethan...”

Alina’s hand slid down her own stomach, her fingers tracing the waistband of her pants. Her eyes were glued to the screen, to the image of the woman being used by two men, her body, shared pleasure. The man behind her grabbed her hips, slamming into her with brutal, rhythmic thrusts. “Take it,” he grunted. “Take both of us.”

Alina (Thoughts): “He’s imagining me. He’s watching this and picturing me. Picturing that guy from last night… picturing him… doing this to me?”

Her fingers slipped beneath the waistband, through the damp curls, and found her clit, swollen, pulsing. She gasped, a small, choked sound that was lost in the moans from the laptop. She began to circle it, slowly at first, matching the rhythm of the man on screen. Her breath hitched. The woman was screaming. “Fuck! Fuck! I’m gonna cum all over his cock!”

Alina (Thoughts): “I shouldn’t be… touching myself. This is wrong. This is… this is what he wants? He wants me to be this. This depraved, hungry thing. He wants to see me get fucked by a stranger… and I’m… I’m so...”

She could feel the pressure building, a tight, hot coil in her belly. Her fingers moved faster, rubbing her slick, wet flesh. She gulped, her mouth dry, her eyes wide and unblinking as she watched the women on the screen. The thought of Ethan watching this, getting hard to the thought of her in that position, was a ****. It was.... terrifying, exhilarating, she never felt anything like that before.

SLAM!

She slammed the laptop shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silent apartment.