The Other Woman

I sank into a trance for a while before admitting to Kiara that I was the "homewrecker" in the video. This time, she called me.

"I'm free now. Can I come over?" she asked cautiously.

"Sure. Bring some cold medicine for me."

I must have been running a fever. My skin felt hot to the touch.

Kiara arrived and saw me looking as red as a tomato. I was reaching out desperately for the glass of water on the cabinet.

"Oh my god! Wait a second. I'm here." Kiara did not even have time to kick off her shoes. She set the bags aside and handed me the glass of water. "Drink slowly."

I chugged half of the water before licking my cracking lips. I stared at her muddy shoes. "You didn't change into home slippers."

It took her a while to come around. She pinched my face in annoyance. "Princess, you're sick, and all you care about is my muddy shoes? I can call a helper to clean your home for you!"

No. I could not tolerate the mud being dragged across my clean floors. I stubbornly stared at Kiara as if I'd burst into tears if she refused to change into slippers.

She reluctantly changed into my home slippers with her hands on her hips. She listened to my instructions and carefully wiped down the surface she had walked across.

While cleaning, she grumbled, "Say, when are you going to stop being a neat freak? You can't live in a sterile environment. That will lower your immunity."

I couldn't help myself at all. I simply could not stand having filth around me.

Kiara wasn't the first of my friends to learn about my obsession with cleanliness. In fact, Ryan was the first to notice.

When I first met Ryan, we were playing a game of Truth or Dare with his friends. He lost the round and had to hug a random woman as a Dare.

He triggered my defense mechanism when he pulled me into his arms. My cells from head to toe seemed to be shrieking, "He's filthy!"

I escaped from his embrace before spraying sanitizer all across my skin as though I had just survived a disaster. New to my odd habit, Ryan stood there and stared at me for a while.

His expression fell. Still, he apologized to me in a friendly manner, "I'm sorry. I…"

He paused when I didn't stop spraying the sanitizer. Growing worried, he explained, "I'm not filthy! Maddy, I take daily showers and wash my socks every day. This is…"

I waved at him and clarified, "This has nothing to do with you at all. I'm just a neat freak."

That was pretty much a pointless statement. It didn't take him long to realize I still thought he was filthy.

…

I felt like barfing again. This time, I puked all over the throw I bought on my first trip with Ryan. It was a pale-colored throw that was easily stained. Sometimes, Ryan would leave crumbs all across the surface when he snacked in the living room.

Thankfully, he lived with me, and I always made sure to clean the throw and keep it pristine.

On many nights, Ryan and I cuddled under the throw with our backs resting against the couch. He'd watch his sports games while I watched my documentaries.

When I looked away for a bit, I would always find him staring intently at me.

"What's wrong? Do I have anything on my face?"

"Maddy, you're gorgeous. You're much more interesting than the game." He loved saying sweet nothings to me with a straight face. Sometimes, he would blush like a teen, and his ears would turn red.

I could not hold back from wanting to kiss him. However, I needed to brace myself before kissing him. I made sure he had brushed his teeth and washed his face. Then, I gave him a slight peck.

Ryan was never satisfied with a peck. He would ask for more and pester me throughout the night for a second kiss.

Before I passed out, I always thought, "I need to get rid of this throw. It's filthy."

…

I woke up in the hospital. Kiara sat beside me while scrolling through clips of hot guys on her phone. I had to call out to her a few times to get her attention.

"Oh, you're awake! Let me get the doctor. Do you know you lost a huge part of your scalp? The inflammation led to a fever. That woman was really something!"

Of course, I knew. It hurt like hell. At the same time, I didn't feel the pain most of the time because I seemed to have forgotten about the wound.

Now that Kiara mentioned it, I started to feel the prickling pain on my scalp.

Anyway, I knew I would heal from the physical pain. The broken parts would be removed. Even my shattered heart would become whole again.

After Kiara left, I stared at the half-empty IV bottle. The contents flowed through the tube into my veins.

To be honest, the scent of disinfectant calmed me down. Starting from yesterday, I felt stuck in an odd state of mind. My body remained in this world, yet I felt like I was out of it.

My soul wandered listlessly while searching in vain for a place to settle down. Thankfully, I found a moment of solace in the smell of disinfectant.

Perhaps, I might get out of this weird state of mind if I stayed longer at the hospital and avoided meeting Ryan.

At that moment, Ryan entered my room. He followed behind Kiara nervously. His bright, cheerful face was wrought with distress.

"Maddy, why are you here?"

I ignored him and sank back into my trance.

Kiara plopped into the seat by my bed and grumbled, "I ran into Ryan when I was getting your meds in the lobby. He wanted to follow."

Then, she rolled her eyes at Ryan before adding, "His wife is staying in this hospital as well."

Her blunt attitude turned his nervousness into embarrassment.

"Listen, Maddy. I don't love Jessie…" He worriedly approached me. After he took a step forward, I arched my back defensively, like a porcupine.

I barked at him in a trembling voice, "Don't come any closer!"

He ignored my warning and stepped closer, and that was when it hit me—the smell. A sour odor clung to him, curling into the air around us like an invisible mist. Panic surged through me as I fumbled desperately for my sanitizer.

Ryan froze. His face drained of color when he noticed my reaction. He tried to understand my sudden aversion toward him.

In the past, Ryan smelled great. He carried a sweet scent, one that I described as the scent of warm sunshine. I could not explain it well.

I often found myself sniffing him like a puppy despite being a clean freak.

Now, I couldn't tell if something had changed about him or me. Was it his scent that had soured—or had my emotional changes twisted it into something terrible?