"Oh, man," Patrick said, his voice deep with concern, "What happened?  Are you alright?"

            He led me across his living room, to his couch, and I sat, shaking, tears still rolling off my cheeks.  Things looked slightly different, and it took me a moment to figure out that my last visit was the reason.  The sprinklers going off in his apartment had most definitely caused some damage.  I felt terrible as I looked around and saw books, pages swollen from water damage, a stereo dismantled on an end table after having shorted out, and the most telling evidence, a new kitchen table, standing cleanly over a patch of hardwood with several small scorch marks.  After surveying the damage, I was actually a little shocked he had let me past the front door.

            Patrick hadn't even been home for very long.  He was still in portions of his tuxedo.  Having freed himself of his jacket and tie, and the simple action of un-tucking his shirt, and popping open a few buttons, what was left was a sexy, rumpled version of the put together man I had seen earlier in the evening.

            "I'm not."  My voice was shaking dramatically, "I'm not alright."

            "Ellie, what's going on?"  He walked around the couch, taking a seat beside me.

            I shook my head and took a deep breath, hoping to squelch the tears and steady my lungs.  "You were right."  My lips quivered as I spoke.  "You were right about everything.  He went right back to that woman, just like you said he would."  My voice broke as I said, "She was with him when I came home.  In our house."

            Unable to keep the tears at bay any longer, I submitted and fell right back into my sobs.  Patrick scooted right up beside me and wrapped his arms around my shaking body.

            "Oh, Ellie."  He sighed.  "I mean, it's not like I am going to say I told you so, but I never wanted to see you get hurt like this."

            His arms felt so warm around me, so steady, so very much like exactly what I needed to feel, and I let myself collapse into them.  I felt myself nearing hysterics, my hands clutching onto his arm, my fingers digging into him.  He used his free hand to softly stroke the top of my head, brushing over the my hair that I had spent so much time on earlier, trying to make it look fancy in the spectacular up-do, that was now falling apart, with strands haphazardly dangling about.  When he leaned into me, I buried my head into his shoulder, and he began to softly whisper "Sssssh." in my ear. 

            The tightness of his hold, the soothing tone of his voice, the smell of the cologne, the feel of his breath against my neck, all of it was enough that as the moments wore on, I began to calm down.  Eventually, the tears stopped coming, the shaking subsided, and the sobs disappeared.  I was surprised at how able he was at calming me down, at how secure I felt against him.  But as the hysteria melted away, it was quickly replaced by anger.

            "I can't believe this."  I snapped as I pulled away.  "I cannot believe he would do this to me.  To our family.  In our home!"  I wiped away the remaining tears from my eyes, "I cannot even understand how this is happening.  How he could lie, and, how he, I just, I can't even--” I was suddenly overtaken by rage and flew up off the couch, pacing in front of his coffee table while I continued my rant.  "I mean, I know I have screwed up too.  I know that, I am not oblivious to that.  But, I never took things where he did."  At that point I was really just talking to myself, but out loud.  "How many times, seriously, how many times could I have done the exact same thing that he did, but I didn't!  I spent the whole summer trying to do the right thing with our marriage, and trying to stay away from you.  And just think!  This whole time I have been beating myself up, and fighting all of it, I could have been saving myself a hell of a lot of guilt and stress, and you and I could have been screwing up one side of town and down the other!"  I was at a screaming volume, "All the shit I put you through!  All the shit I put myself though!  Our stupid back and forth, and come on!  I almost burnt down your apartment for crying out loud!"

            Patrick stood up and cut me off, mid-pace. "So is that why you are hear?"  He asked, "To make up for all that?  To start screwing up one side of town and down the other?"  He grinned, cocky, but inviting.  What the grin made me realize is that I wasn't sure why I was there.  Was he right?  Was I hoping to make up for the lost opportunities?  Was I there to drop the final blow to my marriage, sending it out in a blaze of sweaty, animalistic infidelity? 

            The pit in my stomach told me that I wasn't quite ready to pound that last nail into the coffin. 

            But I was awfully damn close.

            "I just,” I sighed, my shoulders deflating as the rage whooshed out of me.  I looked up, holding his eye contact.  "I didn't know where else to go.  When I ran out of the house,” I wrung my hands together, "You were the first person that I thought of.  You were the person I wanted to be with."

            For a brief second, I saw his face overcome with sincerity, my words had cut through his arrogance, through his smirk, and that there were actual emotions lying behind his persistent quest. 

            He came to me, and embraced me again, for comfort, not seduction.  It was everything I needed in that moment.

            We relaxed into each other, our arms wrapped tightly around the other's back, and suddenly, I was a hell of a lot closer than I had been only moments before.  The side of my face lay flat against his chest, his dropped down into the bare skin of my shoulder.  I was suddenly back where I had been weeks before, his every exhale exploding onto the base of my neck, my heart racing in response.  The difference this time was clear however.  My conscience, while still murky, was not burdened as it had been before.  No longer shackled by the notion of a marriage in repair, instead set loose by an unforgivable betrayal.

            Over on the couch, my phone let out a loud beep from inside my purse distracted me, and I knew that it was Derek.  He had called repeatedly as I drove over to Patrick's, and in my desperation I had shut off the ringer.  The beep was a painful, and equally annoying notification that there was a voicemail awaiting me.  A message full of words that I didn't want to hear, of promises and apologies that I wasn't sure I could stand without bursting into a million scattered pieces of rage and confusion. 

            The beep broke my concentration of our grasp and I pulled away.

            "I need a minute."  I smiled coyly, "To freshen up I suppose."

            "You know what?"  He returned my coyness, "I think I'll get us a couple drinks."

            As we stepped away from each other, he lazily trailed his hand over my hip.  All it took, and I was there.

            I grabbed my purse and followed his finger which directed me to the bathroom.

            Once inside, I quietly shut the door behind me and took a look around.  Very much a man's bathroom.  White and black tile floors, black towels hanging on racks with the appearance that he had tried to fold them neatly, but that well, hey, he was a fella and that wasn't exactly his forte.  It was pleasantly endearing.  Humanizing.  I stood in front of his sink, gazing at myself in the mirror.  Not exactly the sexy picture of coifed perfection that I had been at the beginning of the evening.  My perfectly smoky eyes were gone, replaced with streaked shadow and smudged mascara, my hair no longer sleek and styled, instead a stringy mess falling around my face.  I took a deep breath.  The fact that he was still making the eyes at me with me looking as ragged as I did had me feeling even more confident than before. 

            I gave my reflection a reassuring smile, and unzipped my bag.  I began to dig around inside, looking for what few items I had packed the night before that would be able to transform me back into a somewhat attractive version of my current appearance.  I found a tube of mascara, a compact of powder, and a small hair brush, but I was on a quest for a lip gloss that I knew I had stuffed in there.  I dug through to no avail, and not wanting to keep myself in the bathroom longer than necessary, I gave up and just dumped my purse out on the counter.  Pushing around the random mess of tissue packs, gums, and hand sanitizer, I eventually came across the little pot of peach colored gloss. 

            I set to work, wiping off the trails of eye shadow that bled down my cheeks, taking down the rest of my hair, brushing it out to a wavy new 'do, and slathering a thin layer of the lip goo on.  As I quickly rushed through my mini makeover, I kept unintentionally glancing down at my cell phone on the counter, watching the screen flash a little yellow "V", taunting me with the voicemail that I knew was waiting for me.  It was taunting me, torturing me throughout my coital preparations.  I ignored it as I brushed, I avoided it as I powdered my cheeks, I loathed it as I swiped on the wand over my lashes.  As I finished up and smoothed my hair out one final time, I looked at that damn "V" one more time and I couldn't take the temptation any more.

            I grabbed my phone and walked over to the toilet, putting the seat down to sit.  I opened my cell and hit the button to dial my voicemail. 

            You have two unheard messages.

            I took a deep breath and listened as the first began.

            "Ellie, oh my God."  Derek's voice pleaded through my phone, "Baby, please, just listen.  I know what it looked like, I know what you have to be thinking, but it wasn't that at all.  I haven't spoken to her in weeks, I swear.  When I told you that I was never going to talk to her again, I meant it.  She kept calling, but I never answered, not once.  Please, Ellie, please, you have to believe me.  I was just sitting there, I was watching a movie, I can even show you, it was some stupid comedy on pay per view, and the doorbell rang.  It was Veigh, and I swear to you I had no idea she was coming, I didn't invite her.  I was just as shocked as you were to see her!  I told her to leave, I did, I said that she had to go, that I was serious when I told her to stop calling."  His voice got more and more frantic as the message wore on.  "She was really pissed off, but she pushed into the house.  I never asked her in!  I am going to be completely honest with you, I want you to know what happened, I want you to know I am not hiding anything from you, baby.  She told me that she knew that I didn't really mean it, and that the only reason I was avoiding her was because of you, but that she knew I still wanted her."  His voice shook as he spoke.  "She was wrong, Ellie, and I told her that, i told her that it was a huge mistake what happened, just a big, fucked up mistake, and that she had to leave.  And that is when you came home!  You walked in when I was telling her to go, she hadn't even been there more than five or ten minutes!  You left before I could explain, and as soon as you drove off, I ran back inside and told her off, and I made her leave.  I can't swear this to you enough, Ellie, I promise, I swear, I did not do anything with her.  I never called her, I never answered when she called, and I sure as hell never told her to come to the house.  I would never, never do that to you!  To us!  Things have been going so amazing lately, I can't let this ruin that.  I need to you to believe me, I need you to trust me Ellie. I need you--"

            Beep.

            Second unheard message.

            "The thing cut me off.  I don't know what else I can say to a phone.  I want to say this to you, to your face.  I want to know where you are.  That you're okay.  I can't stand that you are out there, hurting, and I don't even know how to find you.  Please come home, Ellie.  Please come back.  I just...."  The longest, most painful pause that has ever been witnessed in the history of time.  "I love you, baby.  Ellie, I love you."

            Beep.

            Oh shit.

            I sat, holding my phone in my hands, staring at it as if it would suddenly fly out of my hands and attack me.  A little cellular bomb, ticking away in my palms.

            My confidence had been replaced with a huge lump, wedged deep within my chest.  The tears I had just managed to banish, were once again stinging eyes. 

            I wanted not to believe him.  Surely those were just the words of a desperate man, a man trying to make amends for his mistakes.  That had to be it.  I knew what I had seen.  I saw her in my house, I saw the way they were looking at each other. 

            I couldn't do it.  I couldn't believe his pleas.  I had trusted him before, I had let him win me over with his declarations of honesty and loyalty, and look where it had taken me.  No, I couldn't risk that again.  I couldn't just brush it all off and go back into the mess, back into wondering, waiting for her to pop back up in our lives.  A cell phone bill showing her number dialed.  A knock on the door, her standing on the other side. 

            No, I couldn't just walk back into that.  He had made his decisions, made his choices.  And he could just leave all the begging messages he wanted, but I wasn't falling for any of that again.

            I jumped up from my seat and rushed back over to the sink, hurriedly stuffing all my belongings back into my bag.  Once again, the tears had been ushered back out of my eyes, and the rage had returned.  I'd had enough, and I wasn't going to walk away from this apartment again without following through, dammit. 

            I gave myself one final reassuring glance in the mirror, and opened the door, heading back out to the living room, where Patrick was waiting for me on the couch, two glasses of wine sitting on the coffee table in front of him. 

            "Started to think you weren't coming out."  He chuckled.  "Was afraid I was going to have to come in after you."

            "I was just," I paused, looking for an appropriate word, "Regrouping, so to speak."

            "Well, whatever you were doing, I am just glad to have you back."  He stood up as I walked over to the couch, and we sat down together.

            I reached forward, taking the glass laid out before me, and took a nice, deep, drink.  He really did have excellent taste in wine.  My brain was ready, in full steam ahead mode, but my heart was betraying the sureness I had embraced by racing uncomfortably. 

            "I'm really glad you're here."  He said smoothly and took my glass from me, setting it back on the table.  "It's been a long summer getting you here."

            He leaned into me, pausing just a second inches from my face, his eyebrow raised, a half smile crossing his lips, and continued towards me.  His mouth found my shoulder, and kissing it lightly.  A huge chill shot down my spine, my breath catching in my throat.  Pleased that contact had been made, and I had finally managed not to flip out and begin shoving him, he carried on, dragging his lips around the bottom of my neck.  His hands began to wander, his right resting on the shoulder he was focusing his kisses on, his left finding its place on my face.  I melted into it, gasping quietly with every warm breath, with each connection made with my skin, and we slowly fell back into the couch.

            There it was.  The fantasy I had been imagining early in the summer was coming to fruition, right on that couch.  The weight and the warmth of his body over mine was more intense than I had ever thought possible, the feel of his hands on me absolutely intoxicating. 

            Now, why at that moment my mind chose to wander off, I will never understand.  Because, I am guessing that most women, when confronted with the situation of having a gorgeous, sexy man, lying on top of them, nibbling and smooching their necks, would not allow such insanity as taking their brains out of the moment.  But no, I am a special breed, and instead of absorbing every single sensation, every second of the experience, I found myself going back to earlier in the night, when I walked in the front door and saw the nuclear explosion that was Derek standing with Veigh.

            I started reliving the moment, wondering, did I really see what I think I saw?  Sure, it looked bad, but was he being honest in his message?  I hadn't over reacted I felt, as anyone would have thought the same thing having been given the same evidence, but was I making a mistake in not taking the time to hear his side of the scenario?

            She was there, but her face wasn't a happy one.  She looked pissed off.  If he had just told her to leave like he said, then that would make perfect sense to her mood.  And if they had been involved in something torrid, surely they wouldn't have been standing in the foyer, especially with him wearing the exact same clothing, in the exact same way he had when I had left for the banquet. 

            But what if I had arrived home before they had a chance to get the freaky going?  Maybe he was about to do something with her, but I interrupted, hence her cranky face, and he feels like because nothing got off the ground that he is free from guilt?

            Although, that doesn't seem like Derek at all.  Obviously he screwed up, but he isn't cruel, and he just isn't the type to bring a mistress to his family’s home for a little naughty Hide The Kosher Dill.  Wouldn't they have gone to a hotel or something? 

            My mind started racing with all the possibilities that might have been unfolding when I stumbled into the house.  There were an awful lot of options that would have backed up Derek's voicemail, a lot of ways that I could have misconstrued the whole deal.

            With my brain in overdrive, I had almost forgotten where I was, and what I was doing.  Or more appropriately who I was about to do.  I was whisked back into reality feeling Patrick kissing along my jaw. 

            It was a pivotal moment.  I had a choice to make.  Was I going to accept what I had come to heed as the way it just be, with Derek and his tartlet frolicking in our home, or would I give him a chance, the benefit of the doubt that it really wasn't what it looked like, as he had pleaded with me to believe?

            Patrick was clearly in the moment, his mind securely in tune with what he was doing, the lucky bastard, and he was getting more and more involved with the process.  Things were, um, firmly in place.

            "Patrick."  His name escaped my mouth, quite breathlessly.  "Wait a second."

            My brain had come to a stop on the notion that if there were that many possibilities, that many ways that things could have been not what they seemed, then I couldn't just not give it every chance to be thought all the way through.  What if it was exactly what he said, and I was lying there, underneath a very delicious man, about to throw everything away on a misunderstanding.

            Patrick seemed to be oblivious to my words, and instead responded with a little moan.

            "Seriously, Patrick, wait a minute."

            "Wha?" he mumbled into my chin his lips never breaking contact.

            "Patrick!"  I raised my voice.

            "What?"  He used the arms to push his torso off mine, and stared at me incredulously.

            "I don't think this is a good idea."

            The look he gave me, the blank stare on his face that lasted for much longer than I would have expected, was really very awkward. 

            "Are you kidding me?"  He finally spoke?

            "No, I'm not."  I realize that it was an uncomfortable moment, seeing as how I was oh, you know, lying underneath the man and all, but a gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do.  "I can't do this right now.  I have to go back home."

            "You are seriously joking right now."  His tone was a perfect mixture of shock and annoyance.

            "Really, I'm not."  I insisted, "I am really sorry, but this just isn't right.  I have to talk to Derek."

            "No, you just think you do!"  He smiled, "When really, you need to let it go!"  With that he dove back down, and commenced with the neck smooching.

            "Hey, no wait!"  I said as I pushed him back up, "This isn't right.  If I were to do this with you, then it would be wrong.  I would just be using you to get back at him."

            He thought for a moment, staring past me to the couch before returning my gaze and saying, "You know what?  I can live with that."  And back down he went.

            "Patrick!" I snapped, "What the hell!  I mean it, I can't do this tonight!"

            "Ellie, come the fuck on here."  He bounced back up, visibly frustrated, "I am sick of this hot and cold thing.  You know that you want to be here, you're just thinking about things too much.  Relax, this is supposed to be fun."

            "Patrick, it's not happening, it's just not."  I made a move to sit up on the couch, but he wasn't having it.  Instead, he hovered over me still, and continued to make his case.

            "I am not doing this with you again."  His voice was insistent, "You came here for a reason, and I am not going to let you chicken out of this like you have every other time." 

            "Okay, you know what, get off me."

            "No, you aren't going to just run away again, this is ridiculous."

            "Patrick, I mean it, get off of me!"  I was getting angry, but also curious as to how I kept getting myself into these situations.

            "No!"  He raised his voice to meet mine, "You're going to calm down, and you'll realize how stupid this is, to keep running away."

            "You let go of me right now, or I swear to all things holy I will,"  Um, I was meaning business, "I will burn your damn apartment down again!"

            Okay, maybe not the best threat.

            "Jesus, Ellie, listen to yourself."  He laughed at my threat of arson, "You know that if you leave now, you will just be back here in a day or two.  That's how it works.  So why don't you just save us both the trouble and chill the hell out now so we can save some time?"

            "Okay, fine!"  I yelled, and decided that if he wasn't going to let me up, then I was going to make him.  I started pushing his chest and using my knees to pry him off of me and the couch, but dang it if he wasn't a strong one.  With every iota of force I was putting out, it was becoming clearer and clearer that I had made a terrible decision in coming to Patrick's.

            "Come on, you're seriously going to try and wrestle me to get out?"  Oh my GOD, that smirk!  What the hell was wrong with me that I let that slide enough to get back there?  "I am not letting you leave here like this.  It just isn't going to happen."

            "God, you are such a fucking creep!"  I shouted at him, still pushing.

            "Yeah, well, I am a fucking creep that two minutes ago you were ready to have sex with, so think about what that means about you, Ellie!"

            So, I was pissed off.  I was frustrated.  I was just wanting to get the hell out of there and talk to Derek.

            And so I did what any normal woman would have done in my situation.

            I knee'd him as hard as I could in the junk.

            He tumbled off the couch like a house of cards.  Well, a house of cards that had just been slammed in the crotch.  Once he hit the floor, I flew up and ran darted across the room, picking my bag up off the floor before reaching for the door knob.

            "Sorry, Coach."  I called back, "But didn't anyone ever teach you that no means no?"  And I rushed out the door. 

            Upon hearing his groans of discomfort, I thought it best to take a kinder road and offer him some thoughtful assistance, so I popped my head back inside.

            "You should really put some ice on that."

            I pulled the door shut behind me and ran to my car.

            I was going home.