Abby.

It's not a secret that the more forbidden something is, the more desirable it becomes. I feel that impact as I step onto my balcony and the thing of my desire is standing on hers.

She has folded her arms under her breast and her chin is up. I don't know what she is looking at, but she seems to be too focused on it; she barely notices I'm looking right at her.

Her baby pink gown hangs perfectly over her thick frame, glorifying the memory of my hands around her waist.

Our little secret.

Is she thinking about yesterday when I memorized the feel of her breath on my skin, or my hands on her chin, or my lips on hers, how her tongue danced around in my mouth and mine in hers? Is she thinking about how much I wanted her? How badly I wanted to rip off her cardigan right there in front of the hospital without a care about the people watching at all?

Now that I have a taste of what she feels like on my tongue or her body in my arms, I crave more of it. I crave more of Simone.

Her spine straightens inadvertently, pushing out her chest before she turns her head to glare at me as if she is reading my mind and knows exactly all the dirty things I would wish to do to her.

My heart rips from my chest as I lift a hand to wave at her. I plaster a smile on my face and hope she can't see that my knees are buckling.

She offers a tiny smile then her door opens.

Heat floods my face when I see Zack come out. He closes the space between them, pressing behind Simone and wrapping his hands around her waist — right where mine were last night. My mouth dries as my lips trace her movements. She arcs her neck to the side and lets Zack kiss the spot just below her neck.

Simone giggles.

I clasp the railing of the balcony with my free hand, stifling the urge to scream.

“You're up early,” Beth says behind me, forcing my attention to her.

I close my eyes, inhaling deeply before I respond, “Couldn't sleep in.” I turn around to fully face her.

She snatches the coffee mug out of my hands and takes a seat.

“Mmh,” Beth lets out when her eyes dart to Simone's balcony. I don't know what's happening now if they're completely making out in the corridor or not, but I resist the urge to crane my neck and look.

I want to avoid looking affected by it all, it shouldn't have happened in the first place. I shouldn't have kissed a married woman. I knew there would be consequences like my heart bleeding at the sight of her in her rightful owner's arms.

But as dumb and impulsive as I get, I went for it. I took the risk and now I'm paying the damn price.

I turn away and go back into the house without a word and let Beth steal my coffee. Before she goes to work, Beth takes her time to write down sticky notes for the things I shouldn't forget to do. She even went as far as writing down the dosage of the twins medicine like I was never in med school.

When she leaves, I'm left to my solitude. I checked in on the boys; despite being discharged from the hospital last night, the nurse said they needed much rest. So I let them sleep. I start up on breakfast and put it aside when I'm done.

It's almost nine when they finally wake up and start complaining about being hungry. I warm their food and after eating, I administer their medicine.

For the first time in a while, the twins are not running around the house or making a mess like they always do. Instead, they've settled on Beth's carpet and are watching cartoons on TV. That is an indication on its own that they've not fully recovered; it's going to take a while, but they will be fine.

I scroll through my usual apps, from Instagram to Twitter, then Facebook, but nothing interesting is going on. I lost touch with all my university friends when I dropped out of school. There's one: Lester, who contacts me from time to time to hear about my life and the boys, but that's just it.

I grab my notepad and pen and try to sketch something but my head seems to be blocked. I can't get anything out, no matter how rough it is.

There's a ring on the doorbell.

“Come in!” I shout without caring for who it might be. Beth says this part of the neighborhood is the safest anyone can stay in, and from what I surveyed, there are lots of moms and old couples.

“Hey,” an all too familiar voice erupts from behind me. I don't look at her; I just freeze, I think.

I hear her footsteps approach, passing beside me. I want to look at her, but I don't. Instead, all I feel is her proximity, like she is vibrating. A racket of emotions emerges from her quickening breaths and gritting teeth.

She is an anxious mess.

My stomach swoops when I lift my eyes to greet her. She is wearing a dark brown top that matches the color of her eyes and a skirt, the hem reaching just above her knees and hugging her body so beautifully. I can make out where this curve ends and the other one starts.

She's gorgeous.

“Hey,” I gesture to the other couch adjacent to where I sit. “Please.”

Before he can even get the chance to sit, the boys rush to her feet, hugging her legs and jumping in excitement to see her. I wish that was me, my hands on her body.

I shake my head, watching the enormous grin that overwhelms her face. She ruffles the boys' heads.

“Okay, okay, let her sit,” I say.

Simone finally settles down, her hands clasped on her lap before she stares up at me. “They look better?”

I nod. “They're getting there.”

In a moment, Simone's breathing steadies. Serenity seems to float through her as she relaxes deeper into the chair and her face softens. Now she glues her eyes to the cartoons on TV —- since when is a cartoon so interesting —- while she toys with one of her dreadlocks. What I would give to do that to her.

I spend the next few minutes obsessing over how I will bring it all up. Sooner or later we will have to talk, no matter how badly we try to dodge it.

I clear my throat to get her attention, then I lower my voice. “Can we talk?”

Simone's lips part as she considers my question. She swallows and looks toward the door before she nods.

I slip out of my chair and lead us to the kitchen area. Beth's house is identical to Simone's and I'm guessing every other house in this area. So we settle on the island table and Simone is clear she won't be the one to talk first.

“About last night,” I start, my eyes flashing to her, searching for an expression if not a response.

Simone's eyebrows pinch but she doesn't say a word.

“I wanted to apologize.” I pick on the invisible hairs on my arm.

“For what?”

I shrug, eyes dip to her cleavage, and dart away. “For kissing you.” My voice comes out quietly, I'm not sure she heard me.

She peers up at me through her eyelashes. Her face is flat and she isn't giving me anything to work with here. I can't tell if she is upset or sad or anything.

“It's alright, I'm sorry too. It was a mistake and we were both quite vulnerable.” She shrugs.

A small relief but it leaves me with nothing. I open my mouth, “I want you to know that I don't regret a thing, despite it being a mistake.”

A painfully long moment passes before Simone drags her gaze to me and clears her throat, having no idea that her words would stab me hard.

“Well, I regret it. Every part of it.” She holds my gaze while saying these vile words, like she wants me to know she means them all and she is unapologetic about it.

I nod, my shoulders slump even when I plaster a faux relieved smile on my face. Her words crushed me, yes, but she doesn't have to know that. We can both be casual about this.

“I—”

“That's why it can't happen again,” Simone's voice cuts through the air like a sharp knife. She leaves no room for discussions whatsoever; she has made up her mind for both of us, and I can't protest. Not when she is someone's wife.

I press my lips together, breath heaving in my chest. She is asking me for barely feasible things.

“I can't promise that,” I let out, voice low.

Simone's eyes graze past my injured ones, satisfaction clear on her face.

“I can,” she says and leaves the chair.

I hear her say her goodbyes to the boys before the door shuts like it never opened.

I can't give her the one thing she wants so badly, so I bite the inside of my cheek hard —- only letting go when I get the metallic taste of blood on my tongue.

++++

I can't breathe!

Happy reading.

Love, NOMMY 🔥