I Still Believe In Us

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the first story I've written - of any kind - since high school creative writing classes, so hopefully I don't embarrass myself too much. This is a brief character driven piece about how a young couple deals with one of them cheating, and how they try and get past it. This is not a story about characters you always make the right decisions, in fact, you might well find it a story about characters you never make the right decisions, but while this relationship dynamic might not work for everyone, I do hope I'm at least somewhat successful in making the case that it's believe for them. There is no sex in this story, partly because I'm not yet confident enough in my ability to write it well. I hope to change that. I really appreciate anyone willing to read this or even leave feedback to it, though I would be extra appreciative if any feedback came with a reason (less "I hope all your fingers fall off so you can never type again" and more "I hope all your fingers fall off so you can never type again because you suck at writing dialogue.") Thanks again!

"How late do you think you'll be?" I asked Holly while she gave herself one last look in the mirror. I couldn't imagine why. She'd done nothing but look at herself in the mirror for the last few hours as she got dressed for her girls' night out. I winced imagining all the discarded clothes and hangers she must've left strewn all over the floor, or all the open vials of cosmetics that probably dotted the bathroom, whose lids I'd spend half the evening tracking down. The outfit that won out - a white tube top that showed a strip of midriff above her belly button, skin tight black shorts that barely made it past her thighs, and open heels - was more revealing than I would've liked, but less revealing then she would've worn a year ago, so I wisely kept my mouth shut. Besides, she was also wearing the amber necklace I had gotten for her last birthday. Although she had cooed and smiled over it at the time, I had seen the first glimmer of distaste in her eyes when she opened it - jewellery was never my strong suit - and I knew if she was wearing it tonight it was mostly so I would notice and feel good. Which I did.

"Mmm, I don't know," she said. "I guess around 11ish?"

"Well, call me if it's going to be much later than that. Even if you're gonna be with..." I let the sentence trail off and she looked away, sheepish. An awkward silence hung in the air before her phone dinged.

"That must be the Uber." She chirped. "Bye Tim!" She gave me a quick kiss on the lips and I squeezed her around the waist, careful not to come near her hair or makeup. As usual, I was briefly intoxicated from the smell of her berry and caramel scented shampoo I loved. She practically skipped out the door, turning around to holler out "don't wait up," although we both knew I would. After locking up behind her I sighed and trudged upstairs to the bedroom of our rented townhouse, where I knew some kind of unholy mess would be waiting.

That was the closest either of us had ever come in almost six months to acknowledging the elephant in the room. To acknowledging that sometimes, when Holly goes out with her friends, she's also going to find another man to fuck. Or maybe it's always the same man. Or maybe it's every time she goes out. I don't know. What I know is that she can't help herself - impulsive control isn't Holly's strong suit in the best of circumstances, let alone when she gets horny or tipsy or excited. What I also know is that, as long as I never have to see it or hear it or think about it, I can live with it. She's worth it.

I first met Holly almost eighteen months ago, when she was working as the front door receptionist at an apartment building I was considering moving into. She was 25. "It's my first "grown up" job" she had beamed while I was waiting for the realtor. Although older at 32, I felt like I had just started my first grown up job too. After getting my PhD in American literature I bounced around a few fellowships or adjunct jobs before finally being offered a tenure track position in the city I'd just moved to. Teaching students raised on 10 second video clips and 280 character limits to enjoy James Baldwin or William Faulkner was sometimes an uphill battle, but so far there've always been enough who are truly interested to make it worth it.

I didn't take the apartment, but on the way out I did make another stop at reception. I couldn't get her out of my head. Not her thick, dark blonde hair, her small black eyes, her easy smile, or her easy conversation. I lingered by her desk for almost an hour and don't think I said more than a few dozen words, all while she filled me in on every topic that popped into her head, from her favourite skincare influencers to which reality shows she was watching to who among her friends was friends was fighting with who. All topics I couldn't care less about yet I hung on every word. She was so bright and bubbly and sweet sounding, even when she vented, that I could've listened for hours. "I'm sorry to interrupt," I finally blurted out, "but if I don't ask now I'll lose my nerve. Can I take you out to dinner?"

She smiled wide like she'd been expecting it. "Of course!" I got the feeling she gets asked a lot and rarely says no. "But you better impress me! I don't come cheap." I met her a few nights later at a new high-end Thai place slightly outside my price range. She was late, ate less than half her food, had one more drink than she should've, and again monopolized the conversation. I was just as enraptured as before. After knocking back one last daiquiri she surprised me with an invitation back to her place. We had to tiptoe to keep from disturbing her roommates and her room was a cramped, cluttered mess, but that night I slept better than I had in months. "I know the cool thing to do is to keep you waiting," I told her over the phone the next day, "but I'm not a cool guy, and I don't know how to play these games. I had more fun with you last night than I have in ages, and I'd really like to see you again." We had dinner again the next night, and then almost every night since.

I guess it's true that opposites attract. I'm introverted, quiet, a homebody, probably too self-serious and stuffy for my own good. She's loud and gregarious, always up for going out and doing something and being the centre of attention while doing it. There were clashes, especially at first. I still cringe remembering faculty parties where she showed up dressed more like an Instagram model at a photoshoot than a guest at a formal dinner party, loudly and tipsily telling one of my senior colleagues how boring his work on Old English poetry sounded (not that she was wrong exactly...) Her friends didn't exactly trip all over themselves with excitement at me either, being split initially between whether I was an old sleaze looking to get with a younger woman as an ego boost or whether I was just your run of the mill stick-in-the-mud best ignored. I like to think I've won them over, either through being a good sport about their barbs, a good and non disruptive host when one of them needs a place to crash or, I hope, by making them believe how truly devoted I am to their friend and to making her happy.

We've since rubbed off on each other, or met in the middle. I try a lot more things and accept a lot more social invitations than I ever would have before her and she's learned to appreciate the comfort and peace of a quiet night in with just us. I've started to take better care of myself, eating better and exercising and even trying one or two skincare products she's recommended so that I can look my best for her. She's taken up reading for the first time since school, and while she doesn't always love my recommendations it touches me to see her forge ahead anyway so that we can have something to talk about. I've helped her find a job she can actually care about and take pride in, doing administrative work at a local nonprofit, while she's helped me learn to unplug from work when I got home, and to realize that not every meeting or committee is life and death. She made me a better person, and, more importantly, made me want to keep being better. To be somebody she can be proud of, just like I'm proud of her.

Which is perhaps why, when I found a large chalky white stain on an otherwise bright red dress one night after she came back from out clubbing, I didn't react as explosively as I had always thought I would have.

It was a Friday night like this one six months ago, not long after we'd moved in together. It was a scene that had played out for us dozens of times in the past and would dozens of times in the future; I, waiting on the living room couch with some movie I was only half paying attention to, heard a pair of keys fumbling in the door and went to let Holly in, handing her a glass of water which she gratefully gulped down. Although she'd cut down on her drinking considerably since we started dating, after she stumbled while taking off her Uggs boots I decided letting her get up the stairs alone was a risk not worth taking, so I scooped her up bridal style and carried her softly up to our room.

She giggled as I picked her up and gently kissed my face and neck almost the whole way up. "I'm a princess," she slurred, "and princesses deserve to be carried." Even with her makeup smeared and her eyes drooping she was still the most beautiful woman in the world to me. "You are a princess." I whispered. She dramatically flopped down on the bed once we arrived and I had to coax her into sitting up again so I could take her dress off. "Okay, arms up" I sighed, ignoring her protesting moan. I slid her dress off intending to fold it, and that's when I saw it. The white, almost powdery stain right by the crotch.

"Mmm, can you get me more water?" She asked.

"Of course" I said sitting down. "Right after we talk about this." I shoved the dress into her arms and she looked at me surprised. I'd never been harsh with her before. She must not have known it was there, because she scrutinized the dress for a few minutes before bursting into loud sobs. She wrapped her arms around me and started squeezing so hard it caught me off guard.

A half dozen sentences started competing with each other to get out first, and I heard choked out variations of I'm sorry, I love you, I didn't want to hurt you, I didn't mean it, and I couldn't help it before she ultimately settled on "don't me mad." She sobbed it into my neck over and over while still gripping on to me. "Don't be mad, baby, don't be mad at me. Don't get mad at me. Please Tim, just don't be mad." And, to my shock, I found I wasn't. Or at least, not the way I thought I'd be. Up until this very moment I always assumed that, if I were cheated on, I'd go full scorched Earth. I'd yell and scream and throw the slut on the sidewalk and righteously make everyone she ever met knew the full depth of her betrayal until she was alone and miserable and lamenting ever having done me wrong. But looking at the pathetic creature crying into my chest and holding on to me as though I were a life raft, I just felt... exasperated?

Yes, exasperated. Like when she promises to wash the dishes as I head off to work and I come home to find them piled high and filthy in the sink. Or when I pick a movie for us to watch then spends most of it sneaking glances at her phone. It's not my favourite thing in the world, but it's not the worst. It's who she is. You see, while objectively "I couldn't help it" was probably the weakest of her excuses, it was the one I bought the most. Like I said earlier, impulse control is not her strong suit, and I had no doubt that while out giddy and excitable and with a cocktail or two in her, a handsome young man sauntering up probably wouldn't have much trouble talking her into anything. It's not much in the way of an excuse, but I knew that she would never do anything to intentionally hurt me. Or at least she never had before. Some people are good at compartmentalization, and I'm sure she felt her life with me and her time out clubbing were emotionally completely separated. And hell, maybe people would think this is weak, or pathetic, but why couldn't I do the same?

"Are we gonna break up?" She shakily asked, finally getting it together. I already knew the answer was no, but I stared at the wall in silence for another minute. I may have decided to forgive her, but I wasn't above letting her sweat a little bit longer. Finally I turned to her and returned her hug. "No Holls. We're not." She seemed to almost melt in my arms, and I could feel her relief as she pressed herself deep into me.

We held each other for a few minutes longer before I pushed her back a little and stared into her eyes. I still could hardly believe what I was about to say next. "Holly, listen to me. You can never bring this back home with you again, do you understand? No stains, no smells, no..."

"This will never happen again!" She shouted, sounding almost scandalized. "Baby, this was the biggest mistake of my life! I'll never do this to you again."

I stared at her a while before smiling sadly. "Don't make promises you can't keep." "But honey-" "It's okay. It is. I've thought this through." Actually I hadn't at all. "I love you Holly, I do, and I know you love me. And if you can keep this... this... this part of you... this need of yours, if you can keep it out of the house, if we can manage some kind of don't ask, don't tell... I don't know. I don't know, okay? I don't know how I'll feel tomorrow, or a month, or a year, or in ten, but I want to try. I want to give us a chance to have the life I thought we did."

"We do have that life Tim" she tried to soothe, leaning in to hug me again. "I love you" she said, kissing me softly on the lips. "I know it sounds self-serving, but I'm so so grateful that you're willing to give me this chance. I'm gonna deserve it. You'll see. We're gonna make it."

"We're gonna try" I said, trying to sound a little more chipper than I felt. It was beginning to dawn on me that I was in truly uncharted waters here, suddenly and quickly processing a lot of emotions I'd never felt before or ever knew I could feel. I didn't know what would happen, but I knew I believed in us. Or at least I believed I believed in us. It would have to be good enough. "I'm gonna go to sleep Holls. You are too. And in the morning, we're going to do our best to act like this never happened." I squeezed her hand before heading over to my side of the bed, undressing and tossing my clothes to the floor as I did. I saw one of my socks go under the bed but didn't feel the energy to go get it. "Oh well" I thought as I got into the covers, "one more thing to put off until tomorrow."

And, from then until tonight, when I asked her to call me if she thought she'd be late, the subject never came up again. Not that I didn't anguish over it from time to time, wondering if I'd made the right decision, but we both busily threw ourselves into being extra attentive and considerate partners to compensate for this new unspoken tension between us. Sometimes I would get uneasy when she was about to go out without me, and while I did my best to keep it to myself I know she noticed a few times, even cancelling on her friends sometimes to set my mind at ease. She always told me she just didn't feel up to it, but I knew the real reason. I managed not to go insane looking for evidence of any outside dalliances, and she never let me find any. At the very least she never came home looking or smelling out of place, so whatever she was doing she was doing it in a place with a shower, saving me the mental anguish of picturing her huddled up in some nightclub booth or the backseat of a strange man's car.

Back in the present, after cleaning up the tsunami she left across our bedroom and bathroom floors, I reheated a plate of old moussaka we'd made together earlier in the week then went back to the bedroom, where I tried to get a head start on my grading. The essays I had assigned were a cut above average, and I smiled with satisfaction to see more than a few of my students had put in a real effort to connect with the material. But I must've been more tired than I realized, and before long I was gently shaken awake. I opened my eyes to see Holly standing over me. "Hey" she smiled, "you must've been pretty out of it."

"Sorry, I didn't hear you come in. You must've been quieter than usual."

"You mean I wasn't stumbling around like a moron?" She scoffed.

"Among other things.

"It's no big deal. I just didn't feel like drinking tonight.

"What time is it?"

"A little after 9:30." I sat up straight. Though I couldn't place why, her coming home too early made me feel unsettled.

"You're home a lot earlier than usual, you didn't drink or celebrate... is everything okay?" I asked, sounding sterner than I meant. She avoided looking at me for a while before turning to face me and giving me a sad smile.

"Yeah. I get why you're asking, I do, but... it's not that. I think I just don't enjoy that kind of partying as much as I used to. Maybe I'm finally too old for all the noise, for all the energy."

"I hope this isn't for me, I want you to be able to go out, to enjoy yourself."

"No." She cut me off. "It's for me."

We both sat in silence while she started to undress, stripping down to her black lace bra and panties and folding her clothes over our hamper. I got undressed too and we both went back to the bed and resumed our quiet. "It's just earlier, when you asked me to call even if... you didn't see how anguished you looked." She started to tear up.

"I didn't mean..."

"Don't! Don't apologize! I'm apologizing. That night you were so sure of yourself, so decisive, that I believed you. I believed you when you said if we just never talked about it, never thought about it, then it wouldn't affect us anymore but it has affected us. It's affected you, I know it has! And I'm sorry."

"I wasn't sure about anything that night." I told her. "I just couldn't watch you cry like that."

"Well maybe you should've. Maybe you should've yelled. Or not! I don't fucking know! Maybe we should've seen somebody about it. All I know is what we did didn't work. I mean, do you want to just keep going like this for the rest of our lives?"

"But things have been going great recently."

"Only because we're both on our best behaviour all the time to avoid everything we should be facing. Together. I don't want us to be Boy Scout and Girl Scout around each other, I want us to be comfortable and open, the way we were before I did this to us." I didn't have much to say to that, so I just took her hand and we stayed still for the next few minutes. Finally we turned to face each other agian. "I've never slept with anyone else." She said, "Never even been tempted. Not since that night."

Looking deep into her eyes, for the first time in six months I realized I believed her without reservation. I didn't know what to say. It was the one possibility I hadn't considered. I started to open my mouth but she anticipated my question and answered it. "Would you have believed me?" I didn't have to say anything out loud. We both know I wouldn't have. "In order to forgive me you built some version of me in your head as this floozy with no willpower who can't help but drop her panties for any guy with a smile and a pick up line." "Holly." "And to forgive myself I built some version of you in my head as this emotionless robot too evolved to be hurt by what I did. But I'm sick of living with these fake versions Tim. I want to live with the real you. I want you to live with the real me."

"I want that too, Holls." Silence again. "Fuck, maybe we can't do it on our own. Maybe we should see somebody. I still can make things work."

"Tim, I know we can. Even at our lowest I've never been as happy without you as I am with you. I love you Tim."

"I love you."

"I love you but going forward we'll need to talk to each other more. I mean, I know I already talk more than enough for the both of us but you need to also. I know you like being Mr. Problem Solver but I want to solve your problems too. Especially when I'm the fucking cause of them." I started to think about the last few months. About the anguish I'd tried to suppress, about the guilt she must've felt, and all I could think was what a waste of time. How many more months or years would we have spent like this without facing our real feelings if not for some minute slip of the tongue I made earlier this evening, or without the soul searching it evidently inspired in her. The way we'd lived these last few months seemed so ridiculously misguided that I couldn't help laughing out loud. "What?" She asked, laughing herself. "What is it?"

"Did you really not fuck anybody in the last six months?" We both laughed harder, although I'm sure neither of us really knew why. "Nope" she got out.

"God damn Holly," I said, pulling myself together. "You really drive me crazy, you know that?"

"Oh yeah?" She rolled her eyes. "So why are you still with me?"

I reached out, put my left hand behind her neck, and pulled her close to me, kissing her deeply. "Because you also drive me wild.