Cruel Infidelity

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Maybe it would have been wise to heed Chris’ word and leave, but where would she have gone? To her mother’s house, and admit that her entire life has been nothing but a series of grand failures?

She exhales, shaking her head. She sets down two dinner plates on Tammy’s chipped, wooden table. Chris didn’t mean what he said, she tells herself. How could he? It’s normal for men under stress to point fingers and to put the blame on others, it’s just a coping mechanism. All he needs is a good home-cooked meal, and he’ll feel better. He only thinks he needs Tammy.

The idea of switching mates didn’t feel so bad when she really thought about it. Maybe that’s how it was supposed to be the whole time. She frowns when she thinks about the stark difference in cock size. Chris just doesn’t measure up.

The front door swings open and closes and Heather jumps a little. She pretends not to notice the footsteps edging closer, keeping her back facing the kitchen’s entrance.

“What’s this?”

She turns around slowly and stares at his boots. Her eyes crawl up his dark blue, loose fitting jeans, to his plain black shirt, shrouded by a too-large beige coat. His eyes seem to burn through his black-framed glasses. “Well, I imagined you’d be hungry after a long day at work,” she replies, her voice shaking a little.

“I wasn’t at work,” he shoots back, throwing his glasses on the table. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands before sliding his palms through his sandy blond hair.

“Oh, well, anyway, it’s nothing, really,” Heather says sheepishly. “I wasn’t sure what to do. If I should leave or—”

“What did you make?” he asks, cutting her off. He pulls a seat toward himself, scraping it loudly across the linoleum.

“Steak.” Her chin wobbles.

“Ah. Okay, cool.” He glances around. “Did you clean?”

Heather shrugs.

“Looks brighter in here, somehow.” He sniffs.

Spearing the rare hunk of meat with a fork, she places it onto his plate, using her index finger to free it. “I made potatoes too, hope you like them.”

“I’m sure I will,” he mutters. The smell of old whiskey wafts off him. His eyes shift to hers. “What?” he asks.

She stares into his heavy-lidded, bloodshot eyes. “Nothing.” She turns to retrieve the pot of mashed potatoes. “So what did you do today?”

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not… I was just curious.”

“Don’t bother trying to figure me out. You never will.”

She sits opposite him, checking her phone for any activity.

“You know...” Chris starts, chewing on his meat. “You should really password protect that.” He points to her phone with his knife. Heather covers her phone’s screen protectively. “Confirmation bias isn’t going to make your insecurities go away.” He scoops a spoonful of potatoes into his mouth.

“What are you talking about?” she asks, squinting.


“Okay, what do you mean though? What is conforming bios?”

Confirmation biasIs there any beer in the fridge?”

She abruptly stands and reaches into the fridge. The bottle nearly topples over as she places it in front of his plate

Chris stares at her shaking hand. “Looking up shit like, Men prefer thicker women, or Men like women with large breasts...” He chuckles. “Guys like it when girls swallow.” All those search results—”

“You looked through my phone?”

“Will you sit down and let me finish. I’m trying to give you advice.”

She sits, clutching her phone tightly.

“Looking up those phrases is just going to bring you to articles and blogs that tell you exactly what you want to believe.” He twists the cap off his beer, taking a long swig. “It’s not going to help you feel any less insecure about being fat.”

Heather’s face contorts. She shoves herself back from the table and storms out of the room.

Chris leaps up and follows, grabbing her by the arm. “Will you let me finish?”

“Why? So you can call me fat again?”

“I’m not calling you fat. I mean, you are, but I’m not trying to insult you.” She tries to free her arm, but his grip is too tight. He moves in closer, lowering his voice. “You know you’re fat and you hate it, so you’re desperate for reassurances that you’re just fine the way you are and your milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.” He chuckles. “Stop yanking your arm. It’s funny to me how mad you get over a simple truth. Some guys will like you and others won’t, who cares?”

“Right, just like there are guys like you who prefer to fuck women with little boy bodies.”

He laughs again. “Come here.” He pulls her close to him, pressing his lips to hers.

She pulls back. “Stop!”

“Oh, so you stayed at my house all day, cooked me dinner, and now you’re gonna play hard to get?”

She faces him. “Why do you have to be such an ass? I thought you were nice.”

“I am nice.” he says, smiling. “Look at me. I’m so nice that I get walked all over and my girlfriend is sucking my best friend’s dick.”

Heather’s face begins to heat.

“Is that fair to you?” he asks, unzipping his jeans.

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