Cruel Infidelity

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She can still hardly believe it’s finally happening. She inspects her lipstick in the rectangular bathroom mirror and removes some of the beige lip color with a sheet of toilet paper. Today is the day she finally gets to meet Andrew’s parents and the last thing she wanted to do was show up looking like a whore in heat.

Would they accept me? she wonders. Have they met any of his other girlfriends? Had they met Heather? She shakes the thought from her mind, unwilling to entertain it.

Having lost almost 50 lbs wasn’t enough to ease her anxiety. His parents hadn’t met her at her heaviest, so they’d likely see her as a lazy fat girl. It’s not like she can open with, “Hello, I’m Rachel. I used to be fatter than this.”

The door clicks open and closes gently shut again. She turns to find Andrew standing in the bathroom doorway. “You ready to go?” he asks, giving her a one over.

“Yeah, let me just grab my coat and purse.” She brushes past him, glancing back.

“That’s a nice shirt, is it new?”

She turns, “It might as well be, I hardly get to wear any of my nice things.”

“That’ll all change soon,” he assures, placing his hands in his jacket pockets.

Does he think I look nice? Why hasn’t he said anything? She purses her lips, keeping her gaze to the floor.

“Nervous?” he asks, getting into the car.

“A little.” She forces a smile, quickly ducking in beside him.

She wipes her clammy palms on her black leggings. “Do I look alright?”

“Huh?” He glances at her, his eyes squinted in confusion. “Oh, oh… yeah, sure. Don’t worry about it. My parents won’t care that you’re poor.”

Rachel’s eyes widen. What does that mean? She bites the inside of her cheeks. She turns her gaze to the window, Andrew’s words turning into jumbled sounds.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. She thinks of her daughter, remembering the first trip they took to the river together. The sun had been shining, and they’d packed a picnic. It was a beautiful day aside from the yellow jackets.


She jolts into the present.

“Are you even listening to me?” Andrew asks in an exasperated tone. “Earth to Rachel!” He snaps his fingers in front of her face. “Wake up.”

“Will you stop, I was thinking.”

“What about?”

“Meeting your parents, I’m just nervous, okay?”

“Well don’t be, there’s nothing to be nervous about.”

“Nothing to be nervous about?” She retorts. “Your father is a very prominent lawyer and your mother is on the city counsel, how is that nothing to worry about?”

“You don’t know them like I do. They’re actually quite simple, boring people.”

Rachel exhales. “Whatever you say, Andy.”

They pull onto a street and begin to slow. Rachel braces herself, sensing they must be close.

“They’re thinking about moving to a gated community down in LA,” he states absently.

“Oh yeah?”

Andrew sniffs. “Yeah, and they can’t do it fast enough if you ask meWe’re here.”

Rachel breathes in through her nose and blows air out through her mouth. She tries her best to stand up straight, not wanting her tendency of slumping her shoulders to give the wrong impression.

“If you were a date back in the day, I would have sneaked you down the back,” Andrew says with a childish grin. “The stories I could tell you.” He shakes his head, still smiling. “But alas, you are to be my wife.”

He bangs on the front door with the side of his fist. Rachel stiffens. She tries not to dwell too much on the back entrance.

“Oh. It’s you.” a short woman in a maid’s uniform says.

Rachel glances up at him, unsure of what to make of the lackluster greeting.

“Howdy, Marta,” he says, pushing past her.

Her brow crinkles and her suspicious, hostile gaze meets Rachel’s.

Hola, me llamo Rachel y estoy la novia de Andrew. Mucho gusto.” She holds her hand out.

Marta stares at her hand. “Soy Marta.”

“Rachel!” Andrew calls. “Don’t talk to the help!”

Wide-eyed she looks at Marta, unsure of how she should handle this situation. She doesn’t want to be rude.

Marta’s face hardens. “Aguas…” she says under her breath before turning.

“Come on, what the hell Rachel,” Andrew says, tugging on her arm. “Who taught you to speak chicken?”

“Are you drunk?” All this time she’d been worried of embarrassing him, but he was doing a fine job of that himself.

Andrew laughs. “I already have one mom, I don’t need another.”

Rachel looks around. “Where are they, anyway?”

He laughs. “They’ll be home soon. I didn’t want to deal with all that mumbo jumbo.”

“So… they’re going to come home to find us already here?” She sighs. “That’s so awkward!”

“How the hell is it awkward? They’re my parents.”

“Whom I haven’t met yet!”

“Whom?” Andrew repeats. “Does that work in the plural?”

“Will you stop!”

“I’m seriously asking.”

She closes her eyes and exhales. This can’t be happening. “Why are you drunk? Are you really that embarrassed of me?”

He sighs loudly. “Oh don’t pull this shit now, Rache. Let’s not make it all about you, okay!” He stares at the ceiling.

The lack of volume control and the way his tongue slops around like a useless log between his teeth indicates he’s much drunker than she first suspected. How hadn’t she noticed this before? Was she really so self-involved that she managed to miss it, or had he been drinking on the way? She remembers the coffee cup he kept sipping from.

She crosses her arms. “I can’t fucking believe you,” she hisses.

“Is that any way to talk to your future husband?” He smirks.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice calls. “Andy, dear, are you here?”

, , está aquí.” Marta’s voice echos through the hall.

Gracias, Marta.”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “I wish people wouldn’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Speak chicken for their benefit.

“Since when are you so ra–”

“Andrew! Honey, your father and I weren’t expecting you until later.” She hugs him, and then notices Rachel.

She gives a little wave of her hand, one leg crossed in front of the other.

“Who’s your little friend?” his mother asks. She looks confused.

Rachel’s heart falls. She searches Andrew’s now reddened face. God, he is so drunk, it’s disgusting.

“That’s Rachel, mom.”

“Rachel…” she says aloud, appearing to search her memory bank. “Is that the one that–”

“Mom, this is the mother of my child. I told you about her, remember?”

Andrew and his mother stare at each other for a long second, as if communicating something telepathically.

“Ah yes!” She nods. “Rachel…” Her face goes blank for a second. “I must have forgotten. Sorry. I’m not getting any younger.” Her lips curve upward, but her creepy, blue eyes bore into her like two lasers ready to fire.

“Is Andrew here already?” A man’s voice calls.

“In the kitchen dear, he’s brought a guest.”

“A guest?” His father appears in the doorway. He smiles at Rachel, giving her an appraising glare. “It’s certainly been a while since he’s brought a female over for Thanksgiving.”

“Dad…” Andrew gives him an annoyed look.

“huh? Oh, right.” He turns to Rachel. “Nice to meet you, dear. Will you be staying for dinner?”

She looks at Andrew.

“Jesus Christ, dad. Obviously.” His eyes shift to Rachel and then back to his mother. “We’ll be down in my room, just text when it’s ready.”

“That won’t be your room for much longer, I’m thinking about renting it out to Clare’s son, Jason.” his father announces.

Andrew shakes his head. “You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t test me, son.”

“Come on, Rache.”

“Shouldn’t we… stay up here and…” She bites her lip. Andrew’s already opening the door and heading down the stairs. She quickly trails after him.

“Is this an apartment down here?” She looks around.

“It’s my room.” He turns, pulling her close by her chin. “I want to fuck you,” he growls. It would seem that Andrew has regressed into a rebellious teenage boy. Were his parents a trigger for him? The tension in the home was palatable. She was sure the old wood swelled with bad memories. He’d gotten drunk, was rude, and now wanted to have sex with his parents upstairs? No way was this actually happening.

“Let’s make a baby right here.”

“They’re right upstairs!”

“That’s what makes it so fun, come on, don’t be a prude.”

She’s not sure if she likes this version of Andrew. Was this the Andrew Heather met and fell in love with? Things were starting to make sense. “I really don’t want to.” She backs away, folding her arms.

“Come on, don’t make me rip those clothes off you.” He tugs at her shirt. “I’m going to make you scream.” He takes her mouth into his and all she can smell is fireball. “Let’s see those tits,” he groans. “I need to suck on a titty.” He sucks a nipple between his lips, and her knees turn to jelly.

She stifles the moan aching to be released. “Andrew,” she whispers, begging. “Don’t.”

He unbuttons her pants, slipping a finger into her soaked pussy.

“Is the door locked?” she asks in a shrill whisper.

“No,” he answers, sucking on her earlobe. “And they could come down here any second.” He unfastens his jeans, freeing his hardened cock. He sits on the couch. “Ride me.”

She removes her pants, knowing he isn’t going to take no for an answer. The sooner she does this, the sooner she can stop worrying. She needs all the seed she can get if she’s to get pregnant before her daughter turns one.

“Does fucking to get pregnant turn you on, too?” He thrusts from below, clutching her ass. “I love it,” he groans, thrusting upward again.

Rachel shifts her hips and bounces faster, hoping to quickly drain the milk from his balls.

“Andrew?” his mother calls through the door. “Marta’s set out some hors d’oeuvres if you’d like to come up and have a nibble while we wait for Uncle Ryan and his wife. Did you tell your friend we don’t do Turkey?”

“Don’t stop,” he hisses through gritted teeth. Pushing her onto her side, he plunges inside of her, his cock zipping in and out like a hack saw.

“Say, does Rachel like smoked herring by chance?”

Rachel stares up at Andrew’s crazed expression. His eyes wide, face red, and his neck veins protruding. His balls slap audibly against her sweaty ass.

His mother knocks again and Andrew slumps over her. His cock pulsates as he shoots his load. “Be right there, maaaaah!” he shouts. “Jesus-fucking-Christ.” He sighs, sitting up. “That woman needs to get a life.”

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