Hidden From the Light

The naked woman − Lisa? Linda? − snored softly next to me as I stared at the cracks in the ceiling. She worked at the coffee stand in the lobby of my office building and I had been seducing her for the last week. This afternoon, my efforts had come to fruition in room number nine at the Rose City Motel. While the motel offered an hourly rate, I had paid for the full night in cash. I assumed that Lisa/Linda was aware of the mid-afternoon fling process: small talk followed by my suggestion we get a room, she would act surprised and mildly object with “But you’re married”. I would then spend the next few minutes “convincing” her that it would be all right and no one needed to know but us. She would finally accede and we would drive separate cars to the motel. Once in the room, passion would erupt; the groping, kissing, and moaning would culminate in the two of us mating like rabid wildebeests, showering, and then going our separate ways, preferably never speaking to each other again.

Turning my head on the pillow, I watched her eyes move underneath her closed lids while post-coital shame washed over me. I took a moment to wallow in it, letting it seep deep into my pores. Although Lisa/Linda was a few years younger than my wife, she wasn’t nearly as attractive. Raven black hair, long and straight, framed her narrow face and high cheekbones. Mascara and blue eye shadow, now smudged and smeared, thickly circled her eyes mixing with the drying sweat of our recent exertion. Her thin, cracked lips and slightly crooked nose worked in concert to produce a rhythmic snore that began to irritate my senses.

I eased my leg over the side of the bed and slipped out from under the dingy white sheets. Naked, I gathered my clothes from the foot of the bed and quietly walked into the bathroom. Years of half-assed cleaning left a film on the mirror above the sink blurring the lines in my face and contorting its shape. The dim bulb that provided the only light did not help. I looked sick.

“Humph.” A quick grin spread across my face then retreated. You are sick, I told my reflection. You’re a sick bastard that doesn’t deserve the life you have.

My wife, Mary, would be home in less than an hour. I didn’t have time to shower, nor did I want to wake up Lisa/Linda. That would only entail engaging in the awkward, empty conversation that followed the discharge of lust from our systems. I grabbed a towel from the rack and dipped it in the toilet. I would make do with a sponge bath. Water puddled on the floor at my feet as I wiped the soaked towel across my face and over my thinning hair. The water from the bowl was freezing and I embraced the jolt to my nervous system. I continued to wash my arms, legs, and groin in an attempt to erase, or at least reduce, the scent that was an all too familiar mixture of sickeningly sweet perfume and the musky residue of recent copulation.

I dropped the towel to the floor. It made a watery “schlop” that seemed to reverberate through the tiled bathroom. I peeked out the door to where Lisa/Linda lay. She had removed the sheet from her upper body and curled herself into the spoon position. Still asleep and, if anything, her snoring had increased in volume.

I turned my gaze back to the mirror. Through the foggy glass, a paunch-bellied, middle-aged, naked man stared back at me. I think this is the real you, I thought wryly to myself. In fact, I’m sure this is the real you. Look closer dumbass. Here you are in a seedy, pay-by-the-hour motel with a woman who is not your wife and dripping with water from the toilet. A woman whose name you do not remember whom you are going to leave asleep while you sneak away. You, sir, are scum.

I could not argue with that. Lisa/Linda was far from the first tryst I’ve had. I told myself she would be the last but knew this wasn’t the truth. The sex never reached the degree of satisfaction that I envisioned in my fantasies, yet I kept going back for more. That’s because it’s not about the sex, idiot. It’s not about her. It’s not about them. And it surely isn’t about Mary. Look closer dumbass.

I never considered introspection necessary; I knew what I would find. And when those moments arose that either invited or demanded that I look deeper into myself, I have always opted to peer into the nearest bottle of Jack Daniels instead. Here, in the bathroom of room number nine at the Rose City Motel, I found myself turning inward, searching for validation of my motives. Whether it was the snores of the barista in the next room, the metallic tang of the toilet water as it ran over my lips, the distorted image in the mirror, or some combination of the three, I looked closer.
Through the carefully constructed façade that had taken me a lifetime to erect and fortify, I glimpsed the churning darkness inside of me. Constricting its phantom-like tentacles around my inner being, I could see the formless shadow pulsating in rhythm with the beating of my heart. This is the real you. I could taste the bile as it rose into my mouth and let it sit. It was the flavor of hate. You cannot hide forever. The day will come when you will be exposed and the world will know you for who you really are. Your friends, your co-workers. . . Mary… The cheating, the drugs, the alcohol, the lying… Everything you do stems from the cancer of self-loathing. Affirmations to confirm to yourself that you truly are a despicable, wretched creature. YOU ARE SCUM!

I squeezed shut my eyes to block my inner voice. All these things I already knew but I did not want to have to look these truths in the eye. They were uncomfortable to admit to myself. I had accepted long ago that hate and disgust were the emotions that best described my relationship with myself; well deserved sentiments which I had no desire to change. The roots of my defenses were deep and I was weak.

I quickly dressed and switched off the bathroom light. No longer attempting to be quiet, I saw Lisa/Linda stirring as I opened the door to the room. I heard her voice behind me, “Where are you goin…” The door swung closed cutting off her question and leaving her naked and alone in the darkened room. I have always known the loathing that dwelt inside of me, choking and clawing. I’ve always known the kind of person I am and keep it closely guarded from the world. The day will never come when I look at myself with love, respect, and peace of mind while I shoot fairy dust out my rear in a field of daisies. No. I am the vile, worthless, arid-souled being I think I am and that will never change.
I started the car and turned the radio up loud.

I had to hurry if I wanted to get home before Mary.