His other

 He awakens to another day forgetting which woman was in his bed. Walking into the kitchen he glanced towards the foyer, if a designer bag was set on the table, his other was with him. Days seem to mix up for no reason. He hears footsteps creaking along the oak floors and looks up to see his wife. Some days he believes he perceives his others tapping heels striding down the hall, but when he looks no one is there. Even her slippers had a heel, another distinction between his two women. His wife of 20 years arises from the bedroom in a groggy haze. He glimpses at her in such a familiar way reflecting over the past years of time spent and just sighs. Her face is always blank, lacking emotion in her smile towards him. He blinks his eyes and sees the other one. Another too familiar face dancing down the hall towards him glowing as their eyes meet. Always greeting him eyes lit up and intrigued.  His hand releases the cast iron frying pan sounding a clank as it lands upon the linoleum floor, he doesn’t understand why both woman are there. His heart races in fear of confrontation, he glances over to the kitchen table, his wife not there but at the sink, he looks back to the hallway his other one has faded away.  Relief spills all over his body and he stumbles throughout the kitchen in confusion. Preparing to cook his wife  breakfast, he grabs the cardboard carton of  eggs, begins slicing pepperjack cheese and places all the ingredients in the ceramic mixing bowl upon the beaten down Formica countertop. As his hand places down the bowl it  brushes across the warm soft  feel of skin, he looks up and she is there again sitting upon the counter top , her legs stretched apart inside her jacked up night gown waiting for him as she has so many times before. His hand slides into her without hesitation, she arches her back, he is lost again. How is she here? , he thinks while looking over his shoulder to see if his wife notices this other woman. She doesn’t, the NY Times style and arts pages have her interest, she is oblivious.  He turns back; she is no longer on the counter. He massages his forehead with his hand and grabs the bowl from where her legs were. Her scent was lingering on his fingers. He is lost in her for a moment remembering all the sex these countertops have endured with her, he remembers the Formica warmed by her body, the excitement of them on it, becoming a part of it. The water flowing in the sink as she was rested upon the edge, he sees her there, but she no longer is. He glances down at the bulge in his pants and doesn’t want his wife to see.  His other has faded again and his mind becomes clear.  Pouring the eggs into the fryer he and his wife share a short conversation over the recent Jackson Pollack display showing in the city announced in the paper.  With spatula in hand he is cooking, questioning why his other disappears and keeps showing up. To the right he sees a motion, nervous to look, he knows she is back. She is standing tall in her plaid Gucci 4 inch heels, naked, leaning across the stovetop burners. “Holy shit” he exclaims.
His wife jumps up, “are you okay, did you burn yourself?”
He could not find words to answer; he is lost in the vision of her against the stove, in her heels, the openness of ecstasy engulfing him. Remembering how he was behind her, holding her hips.
“No, I didn’t, “he responds
She continued to read while he finished cooking knowing in his heart she has faded again.
He places the breakfast plates on the table, with tea and coffee, looks at his wife and says
”let’s eat”.
She thanks him and sets the paper to the side. She sits across him with adoring eyes. He glances back with endearment yet smiles inside for where she sits the other has so often as well. He is very confused. While eating, the other is now in his head. He begins to remember how she has mounted him on the plastic seated stainless steel chairs. He remembers how the strength of hers legs allowed them to wrap and lock her feet underneath the chairs legs.  She always on top of him, both pleasures satisfied. While she sits upon him remembering her saying, thank god these aren’t wooden, they all would be broken. He laughs underneath his breath and continues to eat.  Thinking to himself, if the chairs could speak my wife would torch them... He shakes his head - the memory gone. Reality sets in as he watches around now wishing she was there having breakfast with him. He is waiting for his other lady to appear in one of the chairs, but she doesn’t. His bulge remains persistent, and he knows no other can satisfy him like her. Other women he can have sex with are suitable and will do to satisfy his bulge, but he thinks of his other to climax. He notices a black scuff mark across the kitchen floor, a permanent marking from his other lady; yes the floor has felt her warmth as well. Lost in his thoughts of her remembering his encounters with her, he feels hers presence in the kitchen, he is craving to see her again. He wants another vision, a quick one; he wants her to come satisfy him. He did not take notice to his wife already beginning the dishes.  As he enters the living room, his other was lying across the couch, a cocktail in her right hand while smoking a cigarette. She was dressed in a gold printed Venetian silk wrap, watching the television. His eyes ogling out of his head, he is mesmerized in her presence.  He cannot fathom why she is there.  His wife calls out to have him help dry the dishes, breaking his thoughts of having his other on the couch again as he has so many times. There skill together was like no other, a force of drive and the deepest connection he has encountered in a lifetime.  He flashes over to his wife and follows her command. Together they put away and clean the kitchen.  She turns to him and places her hand along the right side of his cheek, he then feels his other woman’s nails gently caress the left side of his cheek with her hand traveling to the back of his neck where she would pull gently on his hair, he is looking at both women.  His wife, and his other both side by side, standing in front of him, his wife searching his face, his other accepting him with adoring eyes. His other begins to fade; he cannot reach out for her fast enough, why does she keep disappearing, why isn’t she staying? His wife is remaining there staring at him. She desperately grabs his hand. He accepts it cautiously; his bulge in his pants disappears.  He looks at her; she opens her mouth to speak and cannot find the words. She walks away from him and goes to the bedroom. She calls him in, sitting on the edge of the bed, she begins to sob, while handing him an envelope
Says “I’m sorry”
She walks out to the backyard, sits on the veranda and lights up her smoke.
My Husband,
I have known about her for years now, I have smelt her on my towels; I have removed her hair from my brushes, the shower drain you haven’t cleaned well.  I found one of her earrings in the backseat of your car. I have smelt her on the guest room bedding.  I positioned our bed frame on top tape marks on the floor to find it moved. I have noticed the gifts throughout the years she has given you. These items you would never seek for yourself. I do know you. She is with you every day. There is always something close by to you to remind you of her. Far worse the town’s people whisper as I go by. You didn’t hide her so well, it seemed you wanted people to know, you were proud of her on your arm.   This saddens me to tell you, she is no longer amongst the living, she was taken suddenly. I have been saying this to you for 2 years now.  I believe each day you awake and when her absence hits you, you pop another pill, you check your phone and view old pictures; you scroll through old text messages and respond to them. I see you email her and wonder why there is no response. Your other began visiting our home 2 months after her accidental death. She has become part of the home realizing now she has been there more than me, the neighbors told me so much. She is in the walls. She loved you so, she begged for her life, but I needed to rid of her. You are mine, we are married, and you do not find another when you are married. I could no longer share you with her, others yes, casual flings yes, but you were connected, in love, in lust, in another world with her, which did not include me. After what I did she is here for me now. She is here to taunt me, maybe call it haunt me. I took her away from you, so in return she will remind me each day that she held your soul, who you belonged with, it was her. I thought I won, I really lost.  You are not losing your mind my dear husband. We are both here, your wife and your other. I made the decision for you. I live a  tortured life now, when I am here, each day to watch you look at her in a way you never will for me, to see your face change with excitement, I know when you see her.  I married you, no other, for better or worse, sickness and in health; you belong to me, not her. Why did she have to be the one you were meant for? Now it is me, with you for the long haul; I can be now for she is gone and you will continue to settle with me. Others may come and go in our marriage, new relationships, new sexual encounters, but no one will stick with you as her, she was able to get into your core. I wish you felt that way about me.  
-      Your Wife

His hand went limp and the note fell to the ground, sitting on his bed bewildered by these words. He cannot comprehend his other is gone. It floods back to him. The hospital call, the funeral, her burial. His heart break so deep, he lost 6 months of his life due to his new friend Jack Daniels. He wipes his sobbing eyes and walks to the backyard. His wife was sitting outside, legs crossed, finger clench to her cigarette with her lips forming an unusual smile.   He fidgets with his pocket, digging in his cargo shorts.
He pulled out his service pistol and leaned it against his temple:
“Now my other and I shall haunt you” he whispered through his tears
His body collapses onto the grass. His lifeless body lies next to his wife. She looks at him and knows he is dead. A fluttering  sound past by her, she hears the backdoor opening, she looks and he is there with his other walking into what became their home.  She didn’t look back.