So, I’m working on writing a screenplay, and the basic plot is going to be about all three sides of an affair. It’s a movie my sister and I have often discussed making. Well, as of right now, none of the screenplay is written. I’m working on creating my characters and getting to know them a bit better. I’m doing this by writing little pieces from their points of view. Here are a couple paragraphs that I wrote as the mistress. I rarely ever publicize what I write, but I’m feeling brave today. Let me know what you think:
I had never found lying in bed half as exhilarating as the moments when he laid next to me. That’s the one thing people will never understand. It’s a bed: a simple object in which I slept. Yet when he was in it, it was a vessel, and yet a world all it’s own. With him there, I was never bothered by the little noises that happened around me. Not even the night where the sink in the kitchen wouldn’t stop dripping, an audible version of Chinese water torture, but to me it was music. And the room, the bed, that leaky faucet, it was mine…not some sleazy hotel room. That’s how it was easy.
People can blame my upbringing or my self-esteem. They can say I’m some dumb slut that can’t find my own man. However, something no one can ever fully realize, ever get, is that I never felt as though I was stealing anything. He had freely walked in and could walk out on his own just as easily. But instead he chose to come to my apartment, my home. Not a place outside, not somewhere in hiding, but right to my front door. How beautiful that was; how marvelous that I meant enough to him to be intimate.
There was something about him she just never understood, but there was something about him she just couldn’t let go.