She stood by the dingy dark alley, hidden by the shadows. Tapping her foot impatiently. The minutes seem to be moving extra slow this evening. She had half a mind to walk away, yet she found herself rooted to her spot; waiting for him. The traffic was at its peak. The cars were moving at a snail's pace honking every now and then, people rushing past her in the chilly winter evening. Everyone was in a rush. A rush to reach their place of warmth in this soul-less world. However here she was, frozen to the core and still managed to look like she just walked out of a fashion magazine.
With a hundred thoughts and worries she carelessly gazed at the ground. Her fancy Louboutins clashed terribly against the dirt filled pavement. It was his gift, she thought wistfully. Hidden from the world, she stood. Hidden from the world, she nursed her confused feelings for him. Unsure whether it was love or lust, she had let it consume her completely. It was always she who waited for him. She pictured him waiting for her in this alley with its overpowering stench and the crude graffiti all over the walls. Like her Louboutins he would stand out, with his tailored suit and suave looks. She knew these places. She was like these rats which skittered past her feet. She knew all the nooks and corners of the city so that they won't get caught! Even though she was a sight to behold, she blended in. After all, her life had begun at one of these places.
Was he ashamed of her? Ofcourse not, she berated herself though she was not all that certain. She remembered the initial days of their torrid affair, when he would answer those calls with a look of guilt. She knew it was from his wife. The one who had the right over him. The one who does not have to be concealed from the world. She used to wonder, is he feeling guilty because he is with her, or is it because he has to talk to his wife with her in the room. There was no way of knowing the answer. She had already told him that it doesn't matter. Now when the phone rings, there is no more guilty conscience acting up. He answers the call without any inhibition and sometimes even manages to sweet talk her; giving excuses why he has to "work late". A part of her hated his guts and like a fool her soul melted every time his fingers graced her body.
It's official now, she thought. She is everything she swore she will never be. She is the other woman. The afterthought. The one who is conjured up into existence only when he feels like it. She is way too deep in the relationship to care anymore. She didn't know what the future held. She didn't quite expect him to leave everything for her. Asking questions about their future was like stirring up a storm. So she rarely did. Come to think of it, she couldn't imagine a life with him. That would be a monumental disaster. How much ever she thought she loved him, she will never be sure whether he would feel committed enough not to chase after some new skirt. Jerk, her friends had called him and she agreed. Like a cliché, she had fallen head over heels for him, with his smooth talks. Now, she has this intertwining feeling of love and hate resonating out of her.
She was disgusted with herself but some primitive part of her enjoyed the thrill of dating a married man. In a sinister way she felt powerful. She smiled at herself ruefully and looked up to see him walking down the lane towards her, with his smile which had made her knees buckle. He took her in his arms, still holding a bouquet of her favorite flowers. He kissed her deep. She could taste the nicotine in his kiss. Her tribulations evaporated as she put her head against his chest and inhaled. She had grown to enjoy his scent; a combination of his cologne, sweat and smoke. She didn't want to fall in love, now she was not so sure. They are rare; he had told her the first time he had to hunt down the whole city for them. He always managed to bring her those flowers: blue dahlias. Honestly, she didn't care anymore. The fact that he still took the pains to buy her something she valued brought a certain warmth in her being. In the grim part of the city where no one knew him or her, they walked hand in hand like a real couple.