Emily comes home ..again

The onions were burning.

I jerked out of my stupor as the acrid smell of scorching food finally cut through the fog in my head. The pan was smoking, a thin grey plume rising from the blackening mess where the onions had been. I lunged forward, grabbed the handle, and yanked it off the heat, hissing as my fingers brushed the hot metal. I threw the whole thing into the sink and cranked the cold water, a cloud of steam billowing up.

My heart was pounding. My breath was short and shallow. I gripped the edge of the sink, staring at the charred mess swirling down the drain, the phone still clutched in my other hand, the screen dark.

The lock clicked.

The door swung open.

"Babe, I'm back! You would not believe some of the stories Mia.." Emily's cheerful voice cut off mid-sentence. "Woah, is something burning?"

I turned. She was standing in the doorway, gym bag slung over one shoulder, a smaller shopping bag in her other hand that I didn't recognize. Her face showing her usual cheer, a few strands of hair escaping her ponytail. She sniffed the air, her nose wrinkling.

Then she looked at me. Took in the scene. Me, standing at the sink, breathing hard, still gripping my phone, staring at her with what must have been a wild expression.

Her smile faded. She dropped both bags by the door and hurried over, concern flooding her features. "Woah, hey - are you okay? What happened?"

I turned away. I couldn't look at her. Not yet.

"What ... What's wrong?" Her hand touched my arm, soft and worried.

I pulled away. My voice felt like gravel. "I got a video. From Jess."

"A video? What video?"

I turned back to face her. I held out the phone. "The bachelorette. Saturday night."

She took it, frowning. And then her face lit up. "Oh wow! Is this from the bachelorette? I've not seen this one." She started tapping on the screen, a bright grin spreading across her face. "Hang on, let me send it to myself. I've been trying to find someone who got good footage."

I stared at her. She was scrolling through the video, grinning, completely unbothered.

"Emily," I said, my voice strained. "What is this? How could you?"

She looked up, confused. "What do you mean?" She looked between me and the phone, her brow furrowing. Then something seemed to click. "Oh," she said, her expression shifting to mild embarrassment. "You mean with the strippers? I know, things went a little further than I expected. I think I was feeling a little wild. The **** probably helped."

"Wild?" My voice cracked. "Wild? Emily, you're deepthroating the guy. You're licking his cock like it's the best thing you've ever tasted, and then you're swallowing his cum!"

Her face went red. She looked genuinely mortified. "What? When?"

She looked down at the phone, her thumb flying across the screen. She skipped backward, forward, backward. "I don't ... where? I don't see ..."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. She was watching the same video I had just watched. How could she not see it?

She kept skipping, faster and faster, scanning the footage with growing confusion. And then she stopped near the end, her eyes fixed on the screen. The moment where the stripper held her down, the bulge in her throat, the gentle swallow.

She looked up, her expression sheepish. "Oh my god, you're right. I'm so sorry, Scott." She bit her lip, looking down at the phone again. "It does kind of slip in there for a moment."

My brain short-circuited. "You're kidding, right?"

"What? You pointed it out." She looked genuinely confused again, as if I was the one missing something obvious. "At least you can see it was an accident, right? I really am sorry. But ... accidents happen, right?"

The words hit me like a bucket of ice water.

Accidents happen.

The man in the worn-out jacket. The spilled coffee. The frozen cafe. The whisper I couldn't hear, and the whisper I could.

You'll watch.

I felt the blood drain from my face. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Emily had stepped closer, her hand finding my chest, her fingers tracing a slow line down my shirt. Her voice dropped, low and teasing. "Maybe later I can show you how sorry I am?"

She licked her lips.

I tried to speak. I managed a few strangled, incoherent sounds.

She giggled. "Hmm, I'll take that as a yes." She pressed a kiss to my cheek, then turned, glancing at the pan in the sink. "Takeout? My treat?"

I nodded. I couldn't do anything else.

She picked up her bags and disappeared into the bedroom. A moment later, she reappeared, heading for the door. "Back in fifteen. Maybe try to clean that up, and open a window?" She pointed at the sink, then flashed me a smile. "Love you!"

The door clicked shut behind her.

I stood alone in the kitchen, the smoke alarm blinking silently above me.

I didn't understand what had just happened.

I turned slowly, lifted the pan from the sink, and began scraping the burned onions into the bin, my hands moving on autopilot while my mind spun in endless, useless circles.