All I wanted was a marriage that was something more...

Present

The front door opens. And closes.

I open my eyes to find the glowing of the clock displaying the time.

1:30 in the morning.

Another late night at the office.

The floor creaks as he nears our shared bedroom.

I turn so I can watch him enter.

I want to see him…again…like this.

My eyes are trained onto the door as the knob opens and he walks into the moonlit room.

He doesn't look at me of course.

Instead his eyes are down, already slipping off his loosened red tie.

His dark grey suit jacket slips off next and onto the floor so carelessly that I want to scold him for it.

But I bite my tongue instead, watching him unbutton his white dress shirt.

One by one the buttons come undone, revealing more and more of my beloved's pale skin.

He turns so his back is facing me, as if he wants me to see what I already know is there.

The shirt litters the floor next and my eyes widen.

Fresh and angry red nail marks bite his skin from his shoulder blades and down his muscular back.

At least they cover the ones from last week.

I watch as the one I love unbuckles his belt next, his dress pants sagging around his hips.

I press my thighs together, feeling warm from simply staring at his long and lean frame.

I can't help myself, he is naturally gorgeous.

His pants fall down along with his boxers briefs which he quickly picks up and shoves into the hamper.

Like I won't notice the white stain later when I go to do wash tomorrow.

He's facing our shared bed now giving me a full view of his perfect, taunt body.

How did I get so lucky? I think.

Then I notice the red marks trailing across the V of his hips and I know my luck has run out.

A flash of red hair moves towards the dresser, and his body is already covered with new boxers and an old high school t-shirt before he climbs into bed next to me.

He lays on his back, his arms folded behind his shaggy hair, his golden eyes closed, and a content look on his face.

He still doesn't know I'm awake.

Or he does and he simply doesn't care.

He used to try to care though.

Used to try and hide when he came home late.

Back then I remember thinking how cruel he was for trying to hide it.

Now I realize I had it good back then. Back when he still cared.

I stir next to him purposely and put an arm around his broad chest.

To get a reaction from him.

Sometimes I do.

Sometimes I don't.

Tonight he pretends to be sleeping but doesn't move away from me.

Then I smell it….

And it's not perfume.

I think I would be happier if it was perfume.

Then I would feel just a bit better about what my husband was doing during these late nights.

Just a bit.

But I'm not stupid.