Guilty. 

            I feel so very guilty.

            Why do I feel guilty? 

            Well, because I am falling for my daughter's soccer coach, and have been imagining many a lustful encounter with him over the last few days.  Sure, I haven't done anything physically wrong like throwing him down naked in the middle of the soccer field and having my way with him, but the fact that I have real, very real, feelings for a man other than my husband has got me feeling like quite the little hussy. 

            Oh and the fact that I have instigated sex with Derek every single night since the bizarre Patrick/lunch thing, trying to cleanse my filthy brain of my mental indiscretions.  Well, that and I have been drifting off into naughty sex fantasies pretty much every hour on the hour, and have a nice build up of sexual tension by the time he and I hit the sheets.

            I am a terrible person. 

            Guilt.

            I haven't been able to even look Patrick in the eye after he admitted to his own attraction.  He has tried several times after camp, but I have always found a way to distract the conversation towards soccer mom emergencies, or claiming that I have to run off for some sort of Super Mom task.  Every time I do this, I see his eyes crumble a bit, and his sculpted face is drowned out by hurt.  I can barely breathe when this happens.  I want to sit him down and talk things over with him, explain why this is all insanity, and then have a hearty laugh at our crystal clear foolishness, but I don't trust myself to follow through with that plan.  Instead I fear that I will stutter through and end up undoing the buttons of his jeans with my teeth.  That would not be the best idea I am assuming.

            No, instead I have chosen to avoid his stare, and sit blushing on the sidelines of the field counting literal seconds until the freaking hell that is my weekday morning’s passes.

            Gwen was somewhat horrified by the developments, and at first guilty in her own right for setting up our little interlude that led to the Hand Holding Incident, but somewhere along the way shifted gears into an Infidelity Cheerleader.  Her mindset seems to be that since this was Derek's original doing, with his own misstep with that evil, hypothetically hairy-moled, bitch Veigh, made even worse by the emotional havoc he brought forth upon me, that maybe I shouldn't be giving so much consideration into a marriage that he easily overlooked while slipping that whore the tongue in the front seat of his car.  So in the mind of my sexually uninhibited pal, I should be embracing my urges, and allowing myself a selfish fling.

            Of course, I tried explaining to her that Derek is not the only person involved in our marriage, but that we in fact have two precious little tots to consider in all this mess, and that hurting them, or subjecting them to the aftermath of an affair would pretty much guarantee several decades of therapy that out of guilt I would offer to pay for. 

            And there is the fact that Derek wasn't pre-planning to get with some other woman, but that it was an in the moment type of situation.  Actually that is my assumption, but I am sticking with that.  Nevertheless, wouldn't that make me the lowest of the absolute low to sit around planning on finding out how far we could go, Patrick and I? 

            Gwen does make an awfully convincing argument when she brings up anything involving that man and shirtless-ness....

            The reality is that I could go around and around in my head the highs and lows of all the decisions I could be making here, but my head knows that backing away from the coach and focusing on fixing the tears in my marriage is the winning option here.  My libido however is unconvinced.

            Right now, I am sitting in my car, stationed in the parking lot of some random strip mall, staring at my steering wheel, once again melting my brain with all the reasons why I need to be strong, be smart, and be faithful.  Why am I putting myself through this bizarre little exercise?  Because twenty minutes ago, Patrick called my cell to inform me that I was in possession of a stack of consent forms, signed by all of my fellow soccer moms, that he absolutely had to have today to be able to pass them along to the school to permit us all to take a trip later in the summer to a soccer game at University nearby.  I offered to deliver the forms myself, but apparently he had to do so himself.  I asked if it could possibly wait until Monday, since being Saturday and all, was it really a matter of life and death?  His excuse was that he was having to create a presentation of sorts to the school board to get clearance for such a trip. 

            So how was he to get these papers of immediate importance?  Well, he asked if I would drop them by his apartment.  Clearly a bad plan, no?  "I'll just drop them in your mailbox, how's that?" I had suggested.  Not so much.  It was at that point I was informed that my assistance was needed to put together the presentation.

            Um.  Yeah. 

            It was a bit of a struggle to have the conversation as halfway through, Derek walked into the kitchen where I was standing, leaving me unable to defend my position properly.  Kind of hard to say that I don't want to come to your apartment because I am afraid we will go all animalistic and incapable of controlling ourselves.  Instead, I kept trying to make various excuses of busyness until Derek, smarty pants that he is, assured me in a voice loud enough that Patrick could hear that he hold down the fort without me for the afternoon.  Seems that the fact that he had gotten lucky for many consecutive days had given him a boost of confidence.  Or he was just trying to prove to me how much it didn't bother him, whether it did or not.

            With Derek announcing his blessing, and all my excuses falling flat before my very eyes, I found myself gathering up an armful of soccer related papers, and zombie-walked my way to my car.

            Which has led me here to my current position in the parking lot.  I want to just go home, mostly to avoid the hideous conversation that will most certainly occur where Patrick and I discuss how this just ain't a good idea, any of it. 

            That won't be awkward.

            I'm in a daze.  A panicked daze, but a daze nonetheless.  The soft hum of my air conditioner is being drowned out by the noise of cars zooming by on the street beside the strip mall.  I can smell the gas from the station across that street wafting in through my vents.  I debate wandering over there to buy a pack of cigarettes.  I mean I am already in deep enough, why not commit to my total self destruction.  Bring on the rock bottom as soon as possible so that I can move the hell on.

            I shake my head as it hits me.  What the hell am I making such a big deal about anyway?  Maybe I have blown this whole thing out of proportion!  Maybe Coach Dixon was just making a casual admittance of flirtation but when he saw how I reacted, he reacted the same way!  Perhaps I have created a huge non issue based off the fact that a guy that flirts with everyone, gasp, was just doing the same to me?  Have I become that housewife that is so bored with her own existence that she takes the smallest situations that wouldn't even register on someone else's radar and makes them huge catastrophic, life destroying events?  That I have taken the emotions brought on by Derek and his stupidity and manifested them into some bizarre soap opera story line?

            I suddenly feel terribly silly.  That has to be it.  I was just too much in my head!  This is no different than any of my other daydreams.  Just the dramatic thought process of a stressed out lady. 

            I giggle to myself and sit back in my seat.  I know now that I am going to Patrick's to work on papers for a soccer field trip, and while I am there, I know that we are going to have a conversation, but not the conversation I had dreaded just moments ago.  No, there will be no talk of how we are going to control ourselves, and how I couldn't possibly cheat on my husband.  Instead I will apologize for the absurdness of my behavior as of late, and hopefully we will all have a good chuckle before we move on, and I file away the embarrassment of creating some wildly unlikely love triangle deep in my mind only to be referenced the next time I feel myself venturing a little too far away from reality.

            After giving my hair a good, long, hard shake, I shift the car into drive, and pull away.

            I am impressed with how light my feet feel when I get out of the car in front of Patrick's apartment.  I am still chuckling in my head as I gather up my things and head to his door and I am hoping he finds my penchant for Drama Queen Behavior as amusing as I now do. 

            How could I have let this get so ridiculous?

            I ring the bell, and embrace the good mood that has engulfed me.  At the very least my imagination has smoothed things over with Derek and me to the point where we are talking again.  Of course I am going to have to pull back the nookie every night behavior.  Don't want the husband to get too comfortable, you know.

            When Patrick opens the door, his face is shrouded with seriousness.  However, once he sees my face, goofy, toothy grin and all, his face shifts from serious to confused.

            "Hi there!" I trill.  "Are you ready to get started?"

            He stares at me through squinted eyes, like he is trying to see the hidden picture in one of those 3-D illusions, while remaining silent and motionless.

            "So, where are we going to work?" I smile, seemingly impervious to the intensity of his expression.  My question again met with bewildered silence.  "Um, are you alright, Patrick?"

            "Yeah," he finally speaks, "Are you?"

            "I'm great!" Seriously, I am giddy from my previous realization.  "So, are you going to work on your stoop here, or can we move it inside?  I hear there is rain coming tonight.  Would hate to get the permission slips wet."

            "Sure, come on in."  He says as he moves away from the door, his arm guiding me inside.

            His apartment is large, unexpectedly neat, and with very personal touches that are sprinkled throughout the living room.  A stack of CD cases, half lying open, with the CD's themselves littered around them.  Like he was so intent on hearing something at that very second he couldn't be troubled to stop to put things back in their rightful place.  The only thing in the whole room that has an actual chaotic feel.  Everything else is surprisingly warm and well kept.  While I was expecting a bachelor pad, of a similar tone as his cocky attitude, like black leather couches and bear skin rugs.  Disco balls hanging from the ceiling perhaps?  Barry White on repeat, in surround sound?  No, in the place of the stereotypical guy fare, there was a soft suede chocolate colored sofa, complete with a matching coffee table.  Impressively coordinated actually. 

            I turn to the wall in front of the couch and see a very elaborate entertainment center complete with giant flat screen television, and numerous electronic boxes that I have no clue what they could all be for.  Anything beyond a DVD player makes me dizzy.  This is why I married a guy with a deep love of things with computer chips and cords, so I would never have to fuss with them.

            I prance past him headed towards the couch, and for a brief second, my stomach makes the familiar lurch as I get a whiff of the cologne.

            He is going to have to stop wearing that crap.  Is hazardous....

            "So shall we get started?"  I am actually becoming annoyingly chipper here, might have to dial it down a bit, "What do you think we should do first?"

            I sit down on the sofa, and start spreading out all the various papers and forms in front on the coffee table in front of me.  Patrick, who has kept his look of un-sureness and statue-like position by the door, finally closes the door and walks behind the couch, as if he is afraid to get to close to the crazy, happy lady that has taken over the body of the uptight, nervous woman who had been avoiding him as of late.  He takes a seat on the opposite end to me, and is still looking at me through quizzical eyes.  He takes a breath to say something, but stops before a syllable escapes.  Instead he rubs his hands through his hair, with a deep sigh, and starts digging into the papers I have placed before him.

            For the next forty-five minutes, we merrily work along, all but whistling a happy tune, and the separation between his stunned demeanor and my exuberance melts away and we meet somewhere in the middle with comfortable conversation and the occasional light quip.  We were very productive, and with the tension bypassed we actually managed to put together an impressive presentation for him to make to the school board.  I was particularly proud of my organizational skills and use of color coding for the binder we had prepared.  Honestly, I never would have thought it would have been so difficult to simply organize a field trip for five year olds, but he informed me that his experience with the private school sector around here has brought new meaning to the words uptight and control-freaks.  A sheer honor to be a part of the madness just makes me feel warm and fuzzy.

            "Well, that went really well, I think!" I exclaim and sit back with a much deserved exhale, "I think it will go over really well when you present it."

            "Yeah," He leans back stretches his arms in front of him, "I really appreciate the help."

            "Anytime!"  I start to pack my things, preparing to leave.

            "Ellie?" 

            "Yeah?" My perma-smile is making my cheeks hurt.

            "Are we just not going to talk about any of this?"  He looks at his feet as he speaks.

            "Talk about which part?"  I respond, "Was the color coding not specific enough?"

            "Ellie, are you kidding me?" he sits forward abruptly and turns to face me, "Not about this, about us, about what happened!"

            "Oh!" I laugh, "I'm sorry!  No, I meant to say something earlier," I am grinning like an idiot, but the feeling is still genuine, "I wanted to apologize about all that.  I was having some stressful things at home, and I guess I just projected it all onto you.  You were just being nice, and here I am, being a big ol' nut job and made it into something ridiculous in my mind.  I am really sorry if I upset you.  I assure you, I've got a grip now, but I wanted to say I'm sorry for avoiding you the last few days."  I grab my bag and stand up to leave, "Do you think we can just forget my little idiot attack, and be friends?  I really am sorry for making things so uncomfortable for you."

            "Ellie, what are you even talking about?"  He looks at me with the seriousness from before.

            "I'm talking about how you were just being you, and being flirty, and because I am always in my head, I turned it into this elaborate situation of us like lusting after each other!" I laugh, "I am so embarrassed to even tell you how ridiculous I was being, but I just feel so bad for confusing you and acting all weird."

            "Ellie, that wasn't in your head."

            "Sure it was!" I laugh, "I know you weren't being serious, and I was stupid for taking it like you were!"

            He stands up in front of me, his brow deeply furrowed, his face shadowed with intensity.  Suddenly my smile is not as real as it once was.  I am begging my face not to let it go away. 

            "I was being very serious." He moves closer, "I do have feelings for you.  I am sorry if that isn't what you want to hear, but it's true."

            "But, you," I feel my smile slipping, and quickly force it back, "No, no that's not right.  It was something I dreamt up."

            "You didn't"

            "Yes, I did." I insist, "I did."  I have lost my smile.  If it is smart, it ran the hell away to hide, which is what I need to do.

            "Ellie," he moves a step closer and raises his hand to my arm.  I pull away before he makes contact and shake my head.

            "No.  No, this isn't right." I am looking at the floor, which is unpleasantly spinning beneath me.  "No, you're just messing with me or something."  Stupid spinning floor.  "I'm leaving."

            I turn and rush to the door, grasping the knob in a death grip to open it.  It barely cracks a few inches before he races up behind me, slamming it shut it a swift, but frightening movement.

            "You have to talk to me," he grabs my arms and turns me around to face him, "You can't just freeze me out again."

            I am backed into the closed door, with him standing only a foot away.  I am dizzy from the thoughts racing through my head, I have no idea what to say, what to do.  His eyes have never looked so green as they pierce my own.  His whole face is unsettling, his angular, perfect features twisted, burning with emotion.  His chest rises and falls in tune with his rapid breathing, his body visibly tense even through his t-shirt.  I am scared.  Not for my safety, or fear of any kind of harm, but I am terrified for what words will leave his lips.

            "I don't," I stutter in a whisper, "I don't understand.  I don't know what you want."

            He puts his hands on my upper arms, securing me in my place before him, and moves closer still, his face inches from mine.  I start to shake.

            "I want you." he says softly, so close to me, his breaths move the wisps of hair that have fallen free of my haphazard ponytail. 

            My heart is pounding so hard, I fear my ribs won't be able to withstand the beating.  Surely he can hear it?  It is deafening to my ears, it is painful in my chest.  This isn't happening.  His grip on my arms is firm, by no means harsh, but they are burning through my skin.  His cologne once again overpowers me, taking the place of any air left to breathe, and I feel that I am choking. 

            "No."  I gasp, "No, you don't.  This isn't real." 

            "Ellie..." His voice is so low, it is nearly inaudible.  He is suddenly taking up the few inches that were between us, his head tilts ever so slightly, his lips headed in a dangerous path towards mine.  I panic.

            "Stop it!" I snap, finding a burst of oxygen to power me, and with strength I was never aware I possessed, I use both my hands to push him away from me, hard.  As he stumbles back a step, his eyes wide now from the blow, I jerk around to once again open the door.

            "Ellie, you have to stop!" he yells behind me, as he too lunges for the door.  I am in a full blown fit of hysteria, and all I can focus on is finding a way out that door.  I turn into him and shove him in the chest again, but this time his was ready for me, and he latches on to my shoulders to keep from tripping backwards again.  "You can't leave like this, you know you can't!"  I drop my bag and start pushing whatever part of him I can manage to come into contact with.  He is as strong as I would have ever assumed, and is quite successful in keeping me in whatever spot he so chooses.  I can feel through the grip of his fingers, through the movements of his arms that he is not only aware of his degree of physical strength over me, but that every movement he makes is with care to not inflict any harm.  All this revelation does is add fuel to my already frenzied fire, and my shoving gives way for desperate thrashing.

            I want to scream at him, I want to swear, but words are failing me.  They simply cease to exist within my voice.  He is so much stronger and capable than I could ever be to maneuver out of his grasp.  He is withstanding my blows to his chest and arms, but not once did a single finger loosen, not one muscle in the slightest.

            "Please," I am breathless, panting from my futile exertion, "Why are you doing this to me?"  I have nothing left in my body to try and push him away from me, so instead, I surrender to the wave of tears that have begun stinging my eyes.  "I just want to leave.  Please let me leave." I sob.

            His face, his eyes are rigid with his own anguish, and he pulls me into him, despite my weakened arms attempts to keep me from being drawn to his chest.  His scent has never been stronger, more bracing than ever before.  He wraps his arms around me, his intent to comfort as powerful as his need to keep me from slipping away.  His right arm is tight behind my shoulders, his left nestled securely around the small of my back.  I stay rigid, defying myself to give into him.  I can feel his heart, pounding just as violently as my own through his chest, his breaths come as shallow and rapid as mine.  I continue to cry, his shirt dampening from my tears.

            "Okay, Ellie."  His voice quivers, and I feel a single hot tear fall onto a small patch of exposed skin on my shoulder where my collar doesn't protect, "You can leave."  His chest quakes as he takes in a breath to bite back his own sobs. "But you have to tell me something first.  Before I let go, you have to tell me something."

            I nod as best I can, every muscle in my body strained to the point of actual pain.

            "Tell me that you don't want me." He whispers into my ear, "You can leave, if you tell me that you don't want me too."

            His hold on me tightens ever so slightly as he waits for my confirmation, his face beside my neck, his breath blowing softly over my skin, causing me to shudder slightly with each exhale, every inch of my skin erupts with goose bumps.  His body is so warm against mine, his touch so consuming.  I summon every ounce of strength my lungs will allow, and inhale to respond, to end this.  With my next words, I will be free, I will go home, and I will live my life with Patrick no longer in it.

            "I can't."

            And I collapse into his chest, breathing him in so deeply, it burns.