The night I cheated

This one has been changed slightly because when I first wrote it, I didn’t really know how the story was going to end…but I do now. Heh. Read the previous ones here if you feel so inclined.

Photo by Meghan Holmes on Unsplash

Contacts and I are not friends. I’m in the process of removing them when I hear the front door to Dominic’s townhouse creak open. That thing needs to be oiled in a bad way.

“Hey,” I call out. “I’ll be right there. I’m taking out my contacts.”

I realize that I’ve left my glasses sitting on the couch and slowly make my way there. My vision makes everything look like it was once part of a Monet, but worse because Monet only shows up when I’m six inches away. I see shapes but objects look painted together, all fuzzy where there should be lines and angles.

He’s standing in the hallway and I throw myself into his arms. He smells different, like some fancy men’s cologne, with hints of patchouli and something woodsy, thick.

I reach up and lower his head, and we kiss. It’s a world-shaking kiss, making all of our previous kisses seem tame. His tongue tastes like caramel coffee and cigarettes.

“You’ve been smoking?” I ask. The man who runs three miles a day, never eats red meat, and is inches from being vegan?

“Hmm,” is his response before pulling me back into an embrace and kissing me again with even more zeal. Now this is the kind of stuff that makes a girl weak in the knees. But something feels off and I hear the front door open again.

“What the hell, Damien? Clare?” Dominic’s voice.

Who in superman’s cape is hugging me, kissing me?

Stepping back, I press the back of my hand to my mouth. I childishly want to start wiping my tongue on my hand. “God, I need my glasses.”

On my way to my purse, I bang into furniture until I feel a hand around my waist and smell the clean lime and woodsy scent I could bask in. I grab my glasses. The world is so much better when you can see.

I turn and look at Damien. He could be Dominic’s replica, except he’s missing dimples, has tats along his neck, and his eyes aren’t warm like whiskey.

“I’m a cheater,” I say, frowning, staring at the man who is grinning at me diabolically. “With Dominic’s evil twin.”


Sascha Darlington


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