Inside he felt like something was rotting, wilting away to the seconds inexpressibly, as if a very specific, but indeterminable part of him was being eaten away. It had been half a rainless day since his wife left, due to certain indiscretions on her part, these were the exact words he chose for his now grown-up daughter, who in return projected a face blank and unquestioning, seemingly impervious to the fact that her parents’ marriage of more than two decades had disappeared within hours.
And after his wife left, there was an immediate void to fill, this was only partly emotional, intensely sexual, evidenced by what he did next, with little restrain and in animalistic passion, he devoured his secretary, a willing subject whose admiration for him was clearly uncontainable, and during intercourse, simply wanted to be filled with his very essence, torn and abused, feel her entire physique strained and twisted with sharp and overwhelming pleasure that she blacked out several moments, felt her vision blur and a sting rise from her pelvis and onto her throat, skin now covered in filth and an almost heavenlike fatigue.
For Emmet it was a rage pointed to nothing, an anger split into so many directions that it suffused into one monstrous whole, his wife, who he’d been loyal and loving to, mentioned casually that she had once, many years ago, slept with his now deceased brother. It was a very delicate situation, she perpetuated, saying she was consumed by both grief and guilt, and found all these feelings insurmountable, how her every touch, kiss and “I love you” stunk of deceit and her very choice to stay with Emmet had lost its meaning and sincerity.
Emmet, who was patient and often played victim to her erratic moods, had felt something missing in his wife, who over the past few months, committed to a line of part-time jobs and never settled anyplace,he himself was tempted by his secretary, the fair-skinned Jessica who trailed his every word and step, and had the scent of a youngster: naïve, wishful, untouched. Being someone of power and considerable prestige, he was conscious to avoid scandal, preserving between them an ample amount of professional space, insisting she addressed him by his last name, ignored her evening calls, and once reprimanded her for wearing an ill-fitting red pencil skirt that bound him to his office desk with an interminable erection.
For his wife Manda, the secretary had been an imminent pest, a common fly who buzzed around their life but posed no real threat, she envied her youth and the effect Jessica had on her husband, who returned home looking tense and filled with a desire unspoken for, but Emmet disciplined himself to act steady, undressing his wife gently and showing a compulsive attentiveness to her needs in bed. It was a man suddenly awaken, by an outside force, and Manda felt the intimacy between them shoved out for lust, and habitually compared it to her experience with his brother Ronson, who never pulled or pushed, but played to a harmony they both understood.
Emmet laid there, a sleeping Jessica next to him, feeling honestly relieved of want or regret for just a few moments, looked to the sun withdrawing from his window, felt hit by a sudden dizziness, and began to fall into slumber, dreaming of a wide and infinite space.