Inconvenient Love

This is bad. I knew immediately from the look on Mark's face that I had made a mistake.

Shit.

I had just woken up from a nap on the couch to the sound of a car door slamming. I scrambled to my feet to greet Mark at the kitchen door as the memories of what I’d done came back to me. I slowed. Waiting.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Mark asked. He stood in the doorway now, towering over me as he always does. Usually Mark coming home from work was one of the highlights of my day. I loved the way he was always happy to see me. I loved his hands and the way he smelled. I loved him. So much.

“Is this a joke?” He sighed and walked to the kitchen table to sit down. His voice changed to a growl. “Today of all days.” His fist hit the table top and I flinched. Unlike the last guy Mark had never once laid a hand on me.

I looked at him with his head in his hands wishing I could speak, the shame was overpowering. Not sure what to do with my own body I started to fidget as I waited for him to look up. I looked everywhere but at him, my gaze unable to settle.

I had betrayed him. And now he wouldn’t want me anymore. My heart felt heavy in my chest from guilt. I can’t believe I did this again. This happened with the last guy I was with too. I messed up, and now Mark won’t love me.

Mark was the kind of guy you were lucky to find. I knew from the start we would make it. He was sweet and cuddly. He loved being outdoors as much as I did, and we did practically everything together. I even loved everyone in his family! How often does that happen?

I waited silently for him to look up. How could I make it up to him? How do I fix this? Every instinct in my body was telling me to go comfort him but I knew I was the source of his grief this time. He didn’t need comfort from me, he needed comfort because of me.

After what felt like an eternity (but was likely about two minutes) Mark looked up. We made eye contact. I looked away. He surveyed the mess that was our home. A trail of clothes on the floor. Shoes kicked to the side. Pillows and rumpled blankets hanging haphazardly off the couch. I burned with shame as he gazed at the cupboards hanging open, their contents spilling out. Scratches covered the dirty floor.

Mark got up from the table with a groan. Finally he addressed me, “It's my own fault for leaving you during a thunderstorm.” My ears perked up, cool relief pooling in my chest. “Oh Duke,” he said, walking over and bending down to scratch my furry ears, “you’re still a good boy.”