The Unfaithful.

The large heavy door, ornate and aged, looked grandiose given that the street was narrow, dark and uninviting. Traversing a dimly-lit entrance, I scaled the wide, slippery staircase, holding onto the banisters. I reached the top floor, a little out of breath, partly scared, partly mad. I pushed the door which was already open and found myself in a wide hallway. On the left were various rooms, a kitchen and a bathroom. On the right, a living room and his domain.
Many events, or shall I say non events had led me here. I wanted to be here and yet I wished I was anywhere but here. The implication of what was happening was ringing in my ears. I made small talk, trying to stall things. My heart was pounding, threatening to knock me out like a huge wave that throws you onto the sand. The heat from the gas heater was burning one side of my body while the rest of the room still felt chilly. Flimsy curtains tried to hide the scene from the derelict house across the street.
“Did I tell you I have a girlfriend now?”
“Oh, you do?”
“I met her when I was out and about last week. She was distressed. Someone had just tried to steal her bag.”
“How nice of you to come to the rescue. What does she do?”
“She’s an architect.” A pause, and then, “I’ve joined you in the cheaters’ club now.”
The irony wasn’t lost on me. Me, who was feeling exhilarated and guilty at the same time. Me, who would lie and lie some more to try to cover my tracks. Me, who would be outed before the cock crowed three times.