We Have Ended So Many Times
1. Will
"How are things?"
Jack will shrug. "Okay."
They'll fall into a silence. He'll tap his fingers against the bar before resting his hand on hers. She'll think she should refuse. She'll know resisting this is pointless.
This'll happen in Chicago, six months since they last saw each other. She'll be in town for a case (that ended badly). She came to the city and the bar with Danny, but he'll have been long gone by this time. She'll remember his disappointed parting glance, wonder where he'll come down on the crisis of conscience between the friend he'd like to fuck and the friend he's had longer.
She'll be pretty sure he'll choose the former, that Martin will greet her with a cold shoulder when she's back in New York.
She'll wonder what it means that this still seems worthwhile.
After a few moments, she'll remember.
(As if she ever really forgot.)
The first time will be too hurried -- against a wall in her hotel room, neither of them fully undressed. Some foreplay, and they'll do it right -- no, not right, because she'll still be unsure that what they have could ever be right, no matter how it makes her feel -- but she'll at least get to come. And he'll look at her... like this is love.
(Love will still be what she wants most of him.)
He'll still go back to his wife. She'll go back to New York.
"I know," is all that Martin will say. He'll be staring at some papers on his desk at the time. "You shouldn't have lied to me."
"I never lied to you."
That will be one of the biggest lies she's told.
Martin won't respond. He'll never be her lover. He won't even be her friend anymore.
A few days later, Danny will approach her. He'll chase his apology with an explanation of his actions, ones that all have to do with fairness to Martin.
She'll nod and accept, because this is no surprise. Danny's always needed him more, anyway.
"I'm coming to New York," he'll say.
She'll clutch the phone tightly. "I don't think--"
"Yeah. I know."
"This is over, Jack."
(For now.)
2. Is
She thinks Martin's in love with her. Otherwise, they wouldn't be having his conversation. And she wouldn't be compelled to string him along. She feels like a bitch -- a bitch that can't help her need to be desired, even if it's not by the man she wants.
And she helps the man she wants pack his belongings -- including the photos of his smiling daughters. She has flashbacks of guilt, of listening to him use his cell-phone to give his wife a bullshit excuse. Then, he's standing in back of her, and that washes away.
Because what she feels for him has always been more powerful than what she knows is right.
"I feel like there's something I should say."
She turns her head. "And that would be?"
He half-smiles. "If I knew, I would just say it."
"I'm not so sure about that."
"I never lied to you."
She's not sure that she was implying as such. "I know." It was always clear what this was. She just didn't know she'd end up needing it so much. And that was her own fault. "That's not what I was saying, anyway."
"What were you saying?"
She smiles. "If I knew, I'd just say it."
His fingers brush against her cheek as he moves closer. A prelude to a final kiss. And maybe he really does love her after all....
(But does that even matter now?)
"Martin knows," she says, just because she can't deal with another mark of finality. Can't deal with having another last kiss. "About us."
His hand falls to his side. "I'm not surprised."
She doesn't tell him that Martin only knows because he caught her crying over his impending departure. He doesn't need to know.
This is through.
3. Was
"Yeah, I'm still in the office."
She stared at his back, willing herself to not make any noise. The last thing she needed was for this to blow up in their faces.
Not that she believed Marie could be left in the dark forever. Maybe she already knew, and was biding time until she had concrete evidence. And then she'd crush them--
(Bullshit. Even in her craziest moments she did not consider Marie an evil mastermind.)
"I'll be home in couple of hours. Say goodnight to the girls for me."
She raised an eyebrow at the lack of a loving goodbye. She often wondered if he still loved his wife, but never asked. A yes would hurt her way too much. A no would feel like a lie.
He sat frozen for a moment, fingers loosely wrapped around his phone. She wondered if he felt guilty. She wondered why she didn't feel guiltier.
She knew that she loved him.
(And maybe that killed the guilt. Maybe it was the same for him.)
"Jack," she said. "Come back to bed."
He did.
His hands were always busy when he fucked her. On her clit, on her breasts, on her hips. But not now. (The last time that wasn't really the last time.) His fingers dug into her back as she rocked her hips against his. She could feel his breath on her neck, hear his grunt rasp in her ear.
A few minutes after he came he said, "We shouldn't do this anymore."
He kissed her, his hands moving over the expanse of skin he'd marked.
She said, "I know."
She was a liar.
She'd been a liar of the omission sort for some time, but now she was a bold-faced teller of untruths. She'd been asked, and she said no.
Sitting with him now, she knew why.
She didn't want everyone to know. For the secret to end. For them to be over.
"It is over, isn't it?" she said after a pause.
Jack ran his knuckle down the side of her face. "Yeah, it's over."
She nodded. Slowly, she leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her and rested his cheek on the top of her head.
They were over.