Chapter 7: Collision

7

It was as if I was under a spell—I kissed her without hesitation.

She hugged me and lay down on the sofa.

It all happened fast, frantic, like we were starving for touch. Just like that first night on the mountaintop, we set our desires ablaze, entangling and tearing at each other, not caring if anyone might open the door at any moment.

At the height of passion, I grabbed her hair and questioned her: “Why did you bring a man to see me? Why get so close to him?”

Natalie answered without resistance: “Because I hate you. I hate that you have a wife, I hate that you left me for so many days, I hate that you abandoned me in that county. You’re a bastard, a despicable man.”

The more she cursed me, the crazier I became. I forgot I was human—I felt only like a beast.

I don’t know how long it lasted; we were both exhausted, holding each other on the sofa.

The karaoke screen glowed blue in the darkness, cycling through pop songs no one was singing. We caught our breath, her hair stuck to my cheek, my shirt halfway unbuttoned.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

I didn’t want to hide from her. “I’m thinking, maybe this is what life is.”

She didn’t reply, just rested her head on my shoulder, holding my arm tighter.

Ten years ago, on campus, Lillian had once shown her love for me in this same way.

Times have changed. I don’t know much, but I know that at this moment I want Natalie, I want this passionate collision, I want to let loose the desire I’ve suppressed for so long.

“Let’s go—don’t you have friends coming?” I said.

“No, I just said that to annoy you.”

“But isn’t there still a man downstairs? At least say goodbye.”

Natalie burst out laughing, then said proudly, “You didn’t notice she’s a woman, did you?”

I was speechless.

She smirked, enjoying my confusion. “I’m leaving in a few days,” she said.

I knew what she meant.

“Don’t overthink it. I don’t want anything from you—just like before, you don’t need to take responsibility.”

Although she said that, I knew I had to make a decision.

I returned home at dawn and lay down on the bed I shared with Lillian.

Ten years in love, and I could no longer protect this marriage, though I was the one who destroyed it.

I took out my phone:

“Let’s get divorced. I don’t want anything.”

Unexpectedly, Lillian called me immediately.

I looked at the time—it was already 2 a.m. She usually went to bed at 11; maybe I woke her up.

Facing Lillian’s questions, I was speechless. She didn’t say much, just paused, then said she’d be home in five days at the earliest.

She was always so calm; no matter what happened, she always seemed above it all, indifferent.

I’d had enough.