"I have no idea what this film is about," I confess to Melanie, when our lips separate for the hundredth time tonight. We're sitting in my living room, curled up on the couch, while a romantic comedy plays in the foreground.
She laughs. Her arm is draped about my neck, like we're teenagers on a date. "That's because we've spent the whole time kissing. Our romantic comedy is way better anyway."
It really is as though we're foregoing the movie to create a love story of our own. We've been eating each other's faces throughout the film, chatting and making our own jokes. The movie is redundant.
"This is nice," she says, looking at me. "Just relaxing like this, watching bad movies, eating junk food."
I cast an eye to the half-empty bowl of potato chips on the coffee table. "Yeah, it is."
What I don't say is that I'm glad the movie is coming to an end, because after all this kissing, my body is screaming for her. I'm not sure how much longer I can wait. And communicating this to her without sounding like a nymphomaniac would be a challenge. Lately it seems as though the nature of our relationship has changed, without either of us addressing it. We've been doing this, whatever it is, for three months, and I've noticed that recently we've spent more time talking than having sex. Something's changed in the way she looks at me, too, which frightens me. I'm familiar with that look; I've seen it once before. I saw it for the first time seven years ago, when Nikki and I first met.
She's falling for me.
I turn back to the screen and watch Sandra Bullock lock lips with Bill Pullman. "So she's in love with the brother now?"
"Yep. She didn't really love the guy in the coma, she only thought she did."
"But everyone thinks she's engaged to him?" I did say I wasn't following.
Melanie chuckles and kisses my forehead. "Don't worry your pretty little head. We'll re-watch it another time."
We're about to kiss again, and hopefully head upstairs to bed, when a hammering at the door startles us. I almost jump out of my skin.
"It's after eleven. Who the hell could that be?" I ask her, as if she would have the answers.
We're both apprehensive when we get up to check. More hammering follows.
"Let me answer it. Just hang back a bit," she orders, suddenly authoritative and in full protector mode. I don't argue.
"Who is it?" she calls out. I can hear the fear in her voice.
A beat, then, "Shouldn't I be asking you that question?"
"Nikki?" I say, alarmed. I step past Melanie and open the door. Nikki sways before me on the doorstep, smelling of booze. "What the...what are you doing here?"
She pushes her way inside, sees Melanie and stops. "What, she answers your door now?"
"Nikki, it's the middle of the night–" I start.
"Yeah, so what is she doing here?" Nikki says, pointing a shaky finger in Melanie's direction. She's drunk as a skunk and about to make a fool of herself, and wake our daughter in the process.
Melanie folds her arms across her chest, looking incredibly pissed off, like someone who knows their night of passion has just been ruined. "Maybe you should go home," she says firmly. She's doing a much better job of keeping her cool than I am.
Nikki gives a derisive laugh. She looks like a drunk outlaw in her leather jacket. "Can you believe this woman, Faye? She thinks I should go home." Then her face turns serious. "No, you should go home. I'm already home. None of this is yours. It's mine! My house, my family, my fucking wife!" she screams.
"Nikki!" I yell, trembling nervously. Is this really happening?
"You think you can swan in here and claim something I spent six years building? You think you can replace me?" She makes a sweeping motion with her hand, tears streaming down her face. "This is all mine."
"It was yours," Melanie fires back, eyes narrowed in rage, that softness no longer visible. "Until you cheated on your wife and threw it all away. I would never be that stupid."
Nikki swings a fist, and I scream for her to stop. She should have saved herself the trouble, anyway, because when Melanie steps out of the way, Nikki loses her balance and tumbles to the floor.
I let out a cry and rush to her side. Her nose is bleeding.
"Get some tissue," I yell to Melanie, who does as I say. When she returns with a fistful, I press it to Nikki's nose and hold it there. She's still crying as she looks at me. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I'm sorry," she sobs, over and over again.
I help her to her feet and lead her into the living room, where the film credits roll down the screen. I sit her on the couch.
Between the bawling and the alcohol in her system, her words are slurred beyond comprehension as she tries to, I imagine, tell me what brought her here tonight.
"You're a mess," I say, looking at her with a mixture of disgust and sympathy, the latter of which I didn't think I would ever feel for this woman again.
"I know," she sobs. Those words are clear enough.
"I'm going to check on Emily, see if she's still sleeping. I don't want her to see this."
It's only when I leave the room and get to the hallway that I remember Melanie. She's nowhere to be found now. I wonder how long she's been gone. I didn't even hear her leave.
I poke my head in Emily's room. She's fast asleep, thankfully. Before I rejoin Nikki, I check the driveway to see if Melanie's car's still here. Sure enough, it's gone. I can't believe I didn't hear her leave.
Sympathy gone, I'm furious as I storm back into the living room, fold my arms, and stand over Nikki, glaring down at her. "You show up at my house wasted, you pick a fight with my girlfriend, and now because of you she's gone."
"I can't do this anymore," she says. Her nose has stopped bleeding, but now it's running. She shakes her head, eyes squinted and wet. "I can't do it. I've tried. You don't want to hear it, but I have to say it, Faye. I have to."
"No!" I shout, realizing what's about to happen.
"I fucked up! I made the biggest mistake of my life, and it's killing me."
"No," I say again, pressing my hands over my ears. But it's no use. I can still hear her.
"My life doesn't have meaning without you. I thought I could live without you, but I can't. I don't want to. Oh God, what have I done?"
"You don't get to say that!" I explode. Now I don't care who I wake up, or who can hear. "You son of a bitch! You destroy my life, break up our family, all for one lousy year. You don't get to have regrets." My tears are heavy and abundant, matching hers. She isn't the only one who's been suppressing their emotions.
"I know what I did, and I have to live with those awful consequences every day. Waking up and not seeing you beside me, not being able to touch you, to kiss you... I've been miserable since I left."
"Shut up!" I scream, rabid energy overtaking my body.
Her head hangs, her shoulders shake as she cries. "I want my family back. I want to come home, Faye."
There can be no pretending I never heard that. I want to throw up. I press a hand to my mouth, tears trickle onto it.
"You married her...in our venue, Nikki!" I crumble to the floor, just as I had when she announced that she was leaving me. I'm just as devastated now as I was then. "In our venue! I saw you. I showed up and watched you marry that woman. How could you do that to me?"
"Oh God." She clutches at her hair with both hands, as though she's lost her mind. "I don't know. It was her idea. I should have said no. I should never have married her at all. I'm disgusted with myself. It's like...it's like I've woken up from a coma and realized that I lost everything while I was asleep. I saw myself doing these crazy things, but couldn't stop it. I don't know what happened to me."
We're both blubbering messes. The room fills with our sobs.
"You broke me," I say, shaking. "I've never hurt this much for so long before. You did that."
She crawls across the floor to me. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I broke myself. I hate myself, I hate my life. I just...I just want to come home."
"You can't." It's as if someone flips a switch inside me, on my emotions. I watch this broken woman in a heap before me, drenched in the misery of her making, just as I was, and my heart hardens.
"Please. Please let me come home. I love you. I never stopped." She reaches out for my hand but I yank it away.
"You can never come back. This isn't your home, this isn't your family, and I'm not your wife. You replaced us, remember?" I get to my feet. She peers up at me with a hopeless expression, as though I've stolen her oxygen away. If she's suffering as much as I did back then, it will probably feel that way to her.
"That has never felt like home, and she has never been a wife to me."
"That's not my problem. You're not my problem anymore." I'm unsteady on my feet, weak and light-headed from all the crying. "You can sleep it off on the couch, but you need to leave before Emily wakes up. I don't want her seeing you here."
She calls after me, pleading with me, telling me she loves me, but I hurry upstairs and lock myself away in my room, afraid that if I stay there any longer my resolve will break again.
Away from her, I press a hand against my bedroom door, tears pouring down my face.
"Nikki," I weep quietly. "I want you to come home, too."