A woman knows, right?!

Episode2

My 12 o clock meeting had cancelled on me so I had decided to call home on my lunch break to check on Simon, he'd not been feeling great this morning and whilst it meant I probably wouldn't have time to actually eat, I could just squeeze in a quick check if I power walked both ways. It also meant more steps for the day, so double bonus really!

My first thought was that I must have wandered into the wrong apartment. It happens right? There was that cop in America who wandered into an apartment on the wrong floor and shot a guy who was just relaxing in his own apartment! It happens! Not that I own a gun. Or would shoot someone.

That must be it, wrong apartment, and there just happens to be a guy who looks a lot like Simon who lives here. It's not like I can see his face anyway! It's far too busy between the legs of some girl I have never seen before, making her scream like she's starring in a porno and grab the bed sheets like she is holding on for dear life.

The bed sheets. The sheets I bought last month to make the apartment a little more 'us' and less 'man cave'. I'd slowly been adding little touches over the last few months, a couple of scatter cushions here, matching table lamps there, a few scented candles in the bathroom, I was waiting to talk about changing the bigger items. It's just a coincidence that the couple who live here, where the guy looks like Simon and they apparently have mind-blowing s*x, have the same sheets. They are from Debenhams, they probably sell a million sets a week!

Okay, now it's getting awkward. What is the socially acceptable amount of time to stand staring at a couple you've accidentally walked in on whilst they are getting it on? I don't have a definitive answer but I'm pretty sure I am way past that point. They still haven't noticed me standing here in the doorway. If I just back out quietly I'm sure I can escape, back to my own apartment and my own perfect guy and make it my future life's mission to never run into them again. Perfect, it's a plan. As quietly as I can, I back down the hallway to the corridor and out of the front door.

Strangely enough, the number on the door matches my apartment number. Slowly other features drift into my consciousness; the gray paint in the hall, the fluffy white rug on the floor (another Debenhams purchase Simon had not been too keen on), the furniture in the bedroom, a picture of us on the bedside table. This is happening. This is my apartment, my sheets, my perfect guy. Apparently, not so perfect after all.

I've daydreamed in the past about what I'd do in this situation. Would I run in yelling and screaming, tear them apart and force them onto the streets naked, whilst proclaiming what they had done, so everyone would see them and shame them? Or suddenly turn into some brazen s*x goddess and jump in and join them? I imagined I would have a perfect, cutting speech that would render them speechless and ashamed, groveling for my forgiveness and realising the error of their ways. The truth, it's fair to say, does not live up to my fantasies.

My lower lip starts to wobble, my hand stalls as it reaches back towards the door handle. What do I do? This is my home, my life, my whole future. Simon is the one! We are supposed to grow old and have babies and be that couple who you see staring into each others eyes and holding hands in their seventies. This is not how this is supposed to play out. Am I misunderstanding the situation? Is it possible to misunderstand your boyfriend going down on another woman?

Swallowing back a sob I push the door open and walk in, almost instantly wishing I hadn't. It seems that in the two minutes I was outside contemplating how my life was falling apart, things have progressed. Simon is now on top of the unknown girl and her legs are wrapped around his waist, her hands grasping his shoulders. The moans are just as enthusiastic as before, now accompanied by Simons grunts for extra effect.

I clear my throat, but they are clearly far too occupied for that subtle of an interruption. White hot rage suddenly surges through me. Those are my sheets, MY sheets, that I picked for MY home with MY perfect guy.

"Get off my sheets!" I barely recognise my voice as it erupts from me, a piercing, shrieking noise, several octaves higher than I remember. I pick up the nearest thing to hand and throw it at the couple who have suddenly paused mid thrust. It's a book, the summers latest must read thriller. Unfortunately, I'm a paperback kind of girl rather than hard back, but it still makes a satisfying thud as it hits Simons shoulder.

"Fia, what are you doing?!" Simon yells as he scrambles up, rubbing his shoulder. His companion screams and grabs at the sheet leaving Simon naked, looking indignant.

"What am I doing? What am I doing?! Are you serious? What the hell are you doing? Bringing some skank into our home, onto my sheets!"

"Hey!" Skank girl seems to object to being called a skank. Whatever, she is still grabbing my sheets.

"Give me those!" I yell as I storm over and grab at the sheet. "These are my sheets, you don't just come into someone's home and take their sheets!" Part of my brain is recognising that this is not the most appropriate argument for right now but the part connected to my mouth is not paying attention.

Skank girl has a surprisingly strong grip for someone who is, I finally notice, really rather petite. And put together, it looks like she knows how to contour, and her hair is shampoo advert shiny. I can't comment on her sense of style given she's currently naked on my bed.

Simon joins in our tug of war attempting to cover his manhood, "Fia, let go of the damn sheet!". His voice breaks me out of the trance I'd entered and I let go causing them both to stumble back. The whole scene suddenly strikes me as so ridiculous, so funny that I start laughing, peal after peal of manic laughter escapes me and I can't stop. My laugh must sound as deranged as I feel, as the expressions on their faces remind me of people in movies who are trying to talk someone down from a ledge.

"Claire, just get out of here, I'll speak to you later" Simon calmly commands skank girl. Although I guess I should call her Claire now. Claire seems such an innocuous name, so bland for a woman who's been sleeping with my boyfriend. Claire sounds like someone who would be great at remembering to bring a dish to a pot luck, someone you could rely on for a lift, someone your mum would like. Claire, it turns out, is someone who does as she's told as she grabs her clothes and runs out of the room dressing as she goes. Although not before shooting a scathing glance at Simon. Interesting, seems she's not best pleased with him either.

I watch her leave, the front door slamming behind her, before turning back to Simon. The white hot rage has already ebbed away and I realise we are standing in silence. Another minute goes by and I realise it's not silent, there's a rasping strangled sound coming out of me, and hot round tears are dripping off my face. Simon watches me warily, both of us waiting for the other to make the first move, but what do you say when your dreams are being crushed right in front of you?

"Fia, I think we need to talk"

Well no s**t Sherlock.