Alexander's Gift

The Playboy- 8

They lay side by side in the bed, silent with shudderingly intoxicating pleasure. Silent with foreign, inarticulated shame. It ate away at their insides, preying on every last thrill of pleasure that passed through them, saying no, you shouldn't and remember Dick until they lay there breathlessly as if in the final stretch of battling a serious disease. A disease that is black, and creeping, and conniving, and can only be seen from within. It was strange to Dean, and cruel; this darkness that stole the sacred joy from him, twisting his stomach and constricting his throat. It made none of it feel worth all the breathless excitement and worry, and so he hated that disease with all his heart.

It seemed a long time before finally Dean murmured, "Mary, I feel awful stupid saying this, but I can't stop thinkin' about Dick, and I feel I'm going insane!" He turned on his pillow towards Mary, who was staring up at the ceiling with lips pressed together in a quietly angry, white line. It was expected she'd agree, but there was something within that was stopping her. It always seemed there was something in her Dean didn't understand. Finally, just as in the car when she had a sudden, inexplicable about face, she sat up in bed clutching the sheets against her chest. "You should stop feeling guilty. He doesn't deserve that." The words came out icily and made Dean flinch for some reason.

"Why?"

"Because he betrayed me. He broke my trust, and there should be nothing stopping me from doing just that to him." Dean frowned and raised himself up into a halfway sitting position, putting a light hand comfortingly in between her shoulder blades, stroking. "What did Dick do to you? Did he . . . Cheat on you?"

"No . . . I almost wish he did, then things would have been perfectly clear. He's . . . He's an alcoholic." Dean's fingers that had been rhythmically stroking her back faltered, and his stomach turned sickeningly. Dick an alcoholic? That was hard enough to believe, but why would Mary be willing to sleep with Dean because of it? Being an alcoholic wasn't the worst thing in the world- Dean practically was one himself- and he didn't see how that had much to do with breaking the marriage. "I don't think I understand." Dean felt foolish as he said that.

"It's simple. He lied to me about his drinking and it has become just terrible . . . He's not the same man I married anymore-" She whipped around to face Dean suddenly savagely as she hissed, "I don't know why I must justify myself to you. As if you have such high views of the commitment of marriage. Since when did I become anything other than just another body to you?" She looked at him piercingly, and Dean felt himself gradually being forced onto the defensive, and he was angry at her for that. "You knew full well who I was when we started this thing, damn it." Pride swelled dangerously within him, stopping the words from being said which he so very much wanted to say.

"Yes. Yes, I did and I must have been a damn fool to go ahead, anyway, so if you'll excuse me, I think it's time I leave." With that, she surged from the bed and began stumbling around the room, picking up her things that were strewn across the floor. Dean stayed where he was, rather shocked as Mary fumblingly put on her clothes, going out of her way to avoid meeting his eyes. Feeling sick, Dean forced himself up and across the room to grab her by the arms. "I didn't say anything about you leaving."

"Oh, so I need your permission?" She shot back icily, not stopping from her hurried fumblings. Dean's pride was quickly turning into contemptuous anger, and he tightened his grip on her arms to keep her from moving. "Oh, stop it! You know full well what I'm trying to say, so . . . Well, don't make me say it!"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"I don't want you to leave, for goodness' sake, and you are more than a body to me! Now, stop this nonsense and lie back down! You're giving me a damn headache."