As we walk through the lobby of my hotel I feel numb. The lights are bright and I feel fully exposed. My champagne buzz from earlier has worn off and I am fully aware of the seriousness of what I am doing. But I still don’t stop. Instead, I rush, pulling Jackson along beside me.
As we enter my room, slowly, we turn and look at each other.
“Nice digs.” He says attempting to lighten the moment. I smile slightly and press us further in through the door.
My downtown suite, the beautiful haven from earlier today, I see now, is completely over the top. Pretentious and grand in the way in which I have become accustomed. Lately, I have come to realize that I attempt to soothe myself with these things, the designer clothes, expensive cars, spectacular jewelry. They make me feel significant, legitimate, at least temporarily. But now it just feels hollow and strange.
“I guess you aren’t exactly hard up.” Jackson smiles awkwardly.
I am thinking now that coming here may not have been the best idea. It opens up a whole reality that we had managed to keep hidden from our view. But now there is no avoiding it. I am struck by how little Jackson actually knows about the details of my life. I must seem like a stranger in this place. This seems to occur to us both as we avoid looking each other in the eye.
“Why don’t we sit down for a minute. And chat. I have some wine?”
Jackson moves toward the couch and I pour us each a glass. I sit down beside him. So many thoughts are racing through my head but I sit in silence. None of them seem to fit this moment. Then gradually he turns toward me and takes my hand and we start to talk. We talk about everything from photography class, to music, to our childhoods. I tell him about Joel, our marriage and our children. I confide in him about everything from my biggest fear to my wildest fantasy. He does the same.
Hours have passed. We lie in each other’s arms on the couch and I have never felt more myself in any other moment in my whole entire life. This both thrills me and brings me the greatest feeling of shame. But I push those thoughts out of my head for now and force myself to be present in this moment. The implications will come soon enough.
I look over and see that Jackson’s eyes are closed. He is so beautiful. His hand is resting on my leg. I take it in mine and gradually get up off the couch. His eyes open. And then I am leading him into the bedroom and onto the bed. I slowly take off my clothes. He pulls of his jeans and shirt and crawls in bed beside me. We hold each other close and explore each other’s bodies. It is like nothing I have ever known before but, at the same time, exactly right.
Eventually, the sun comes up and we drift off to sleep, side by side, without saying a word.
Lyla,
Thank you telling your story and I look forward to reading more.
You are so lucky to have not only one, but two normal men who care about you. As a woman in an abusive marriage, I wish my husband was normal. I would just be happy to have your Joel, but am secretly hoping for a Jackson to come into my life.
Lyla, I’m really intrigued with your post and can hardly wait to read more. Don’t let the negative thoughts of others get to you. You know what is right for you, which is what counts.
Thanks, Laura. Some of our bloggers and writers don’t post directly. They send us their posts or articles and we publish them. I published Lyla’s but forgot to put it under her name. Thanks for your attention to detail!
Question-why does it say this entry is by Jen & not Lyla????
I am so loving this blog and the anticipation of what happens next. Please don’t let these remarks stop you. It’s no one else’s life & it is so courageous of you to share. Whatever happened is already done and your experience may help others.
Lyla, I applaud you for telling your story. People have no right to judge you. They don’t know you, know anything about your life or what is/was going on in it. I look forward to reading more & hope you will continue. I am sure there are other women that are/have been in your situation and want to know the outcome of your story.
I’m sorry, you will regret this forever. No going back. Ruined. Lives…destroyed by your selfishness…