A memory that makes them feel guilty.
The night was heavy with a thickening fog, blanketing New York City. Rain pounds against the large windows above the bed he wakes in. The sheets are a crisp white, now smelling like a mixture of linens and sweat. A strip of lights line the walls, all colored red, illuminating the room. The atmosphere reminds Deran of the casinos and nightclubs run by his family. Why would you want your bedroom to look like a nightclub? Is the thought that runs through Deran’s mind as the man turns to his back, staring at the high ceilings. He’s inside a penthouse within one of his many buildings, he recognizes the paint job.
He went home with an escort, though he can’t remember much after that. Deran plucks a strand of dark hair from the pillow beside him which makes him assume the woman was a brunette. Probably slim with a large bust. He finds her panties in the corner hung over the arm of a chair. The sound of the shower mends with the rain pattering against the window and Deran thinks this may be his cue to flee. So, in a relatively hurried state, he gathers his clothing. His jacket, by some miracle, was neatly hung on the same armchair deliberately. Even in a drunken state, Deran wouldn’t risk creasing.
Then, his shoes are slipped on, designer and shiny. He thinks to pop his head into the bathroom and mumble a quick goodbye but doesn’t. He thinks of what his father once said about unfaithful men one time when he was a teenager. Something about how they needed to make up for the lack of dignity, to preserve their manhood by being very come and go. It’s then Deran realizes he may be slowly becoming his father in the wake of his endeavors.
With a steady hand, he opens the door to the bedroom and slips out. The hallway of the penthouse was lined with photographs of people Deran didn’t know and may never know. All smiling wide, playing in leaves, or making snowmen. Just as he’s about to circle a corner, a little girl bumps right into him.
“Daddy?” Her little voice breaks through the silence, her small hand reaching up to rub the sleep from her eyes. Deran, needless to say, was not this little girl’s father. Not even close. Though she’s seeking him. Maybe she had a nightmare that earned her to stir awake in a quiet frenzy, her tired limbs dragging herself from her twin size bed and through the hallway to the master bedroom where her parents should and usually would be sleeping.
Once the young girl comes to, her brows furrow, confused. Deran opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. “Who are you?” She asks then, backing away a little. For a moment, Deran thinks of his own daughter, and then of his wife. Madison was just about the same age, maybe even younger. He wonders how she’d react to a stranger in her home like this.
“I’m —“ Deran mutters a tad pathetically, looking back to the hallway. Usually, he was a confident liar. He could make up a scenario on the spot, a flawless coverup. But when it came to his unfaithful transgressions, he always turned up stunned, unsure. So, with all the impulse left inside him, he walks away and heads for the front door. Once he’s out, the guilt consumes him.
