I ask her to never do that again

In the morning, I ask, “Please never do that again.”

She glares angrily at me “Than never call me a nickname again. You know better than that!"

Before I could muster a retort, Wiley sauntered out of the guest bedroom, the door clicking shut behind him. His face was aglow with a smug, unspoken satisfaction. He still wore last night’s garish, stained oxford, its fabric wrinkled and sticking to his skin, and his hair was a wild, greasy thatch. The stench—mingled sweat and something raw, carnal—hit me before he even reached the kitchen. Sarah came to him, her eyes shadowed with sleep and something else, her body moving with the languid grace of a woman newly awakened and freshly fucked.

Wiley poured himself coffee, not even caring to rinse the mug first, and perched on a stool across from me. Sarah hovered near him, her lips pressed into a thin, secretive line. Silently, she slid a plate of eggs in front of Wiley, then sat next to me, one foot tucked inconveniently beneath my thigh, as if to remind me exactly where her loyalty rested. I tried not to look at her, but every time I glanced up from my own mug, I caught her watching Wiley with a gaze that bordered on reverent.

The three of us chewed and swallowed, the air dense with a static that none of us dared to break. I kept waiting for Sarah to speak, to apologize or explain or just diffuse the tension with one of her usual, brittle little jokes. Instead, she was quiet and brisk, gathering dishes, scraping plates into the trash, her movements efficient and cold. Wiley, however, basked in the silence, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he delighted in the awkwardness he had engineered. Every so often, he’d shoot me these glances—half challenge, half pity. I wanted to punch him, to knock the smugness off his face. But I also wanted to know what, exactly, had transpired on the other side of that wall.

Finally, after Sarah had disappeared into the bathroom, Wiley leaned over his plate, dropped his voice, and said, “You know, you really shouldn’t call her by that name. She hates it. Always has.”

I stared at him, the words catching in my throat. He shrugged, then shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth, unbothered. Sarah returned, her hair coiled into a bun, her skin glowing and damp from a quick rinse. She didn’t look at me as she asked, “So, what’s your big plan today, Wiley?”

He stood, stretched, and announced, “Actually, I’ve got to run. Meetings all morning. Board wants updates on the project. I’ll probably be tied up most of the day.” He began gathering his things—jacket, laptop, phone—while Sarah trailed him to the front door, her hand hovering near his arm with proprietary intimacy.

“When will you be back?” she asked, and the softness in her voice made me want to vomit.

“Next week, probably,” Wiley said, shrugging as he slung his backpack over his shoulder. “The board wants weekly progress reports, and honestly, I need to be on-site more if we're going to turn things around.”

Wiley gets cleaned up and leaves.

After the door closed behind him, Sarah and I stood in the hallway, the silence stretching between us like a chasm. I could hear the distant hum of his car engine fading as he drove away, leaving us alone with the wreckage of whatever we'd become.

"Sarah," I started, but she cut me off with a sharp shake of her head.

"Don't." Her voice was flat, emotionless. "Just don't."

She walked past me toward the kitchen, her bare feet silent on the cold tile. I followed, watching as she began mechanically loading the dishwasher, her movements precise and controlled. The domesticity of it felt obscene after everything that had happened.

"We need to talk about this," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

She slammed a plate into the rack so hard I thought it might crack. "Talk about what, Liam? About how you can't control yourself? About how you ruined our most intimate moment by calling me that name? YOU KNOW I HATE NICKNAMES"

I flinched at her volume, feeling cornered. "Look I am sorry... I just heard that pig call you that so many times, when he was... well and it just slipped out."

Her face twisted in rage, eyes flashing with hurt. "You know I was going to cry myself to sleep."

I seized on that comment, leaning forward. "But you didn't, did you."

She was taken aback, mouth opening slightly. "Well no... I..." She stared at my face, and I gave her a look demanding an answer. She sighed, shoulders dropping. "I was still horny, ****, and I knew you like listening to it so..."

She was right. I had told her I enjoyed listening. The contradiction made me feel ridiculous, but I couldn't help myself.

"Well normally I would enjoy listening... just not when you cut me off like that..."

She sighed, the anger seeming to deflate out of her. "This is stupid. We're both just hurting each other."

I ran my hands through my hair, suddenly exhausted. "You're right. I shouldn't have called you that. I know better, I was just lost in the heat of the moment."

"And I shouldn't have run to Wiley's room," she admitted, her voice softer now. "I was upset, I and lost in the moment too."

We stood in silence for a moment, the dishwasher humming between us.

"Can we just... move past this?" I asked finally. "We both screwed up."

Sarah nodded slowly. "I'd like that. I don't want to fight about it anymore."

The rest of the day passed in cautious normalcy. We cleaned the apartment, paid bills, ordered takeout for dinner. By evening, a tentative peace had settled over us. When Sarah touched my arm as we finished putting away leftovers, I felt the familiar spark between us.

"Maybe we could try again tonight," she whispered, her eyes meeting mine with nervous anticipation.