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Wide-eyed and angry, Scottie stands behind the door, ear pressed close, her heart beating fast. She thought she'd surprise him by not telling him her flight had been booked almost three days early. She never once thought that she'd be the one to be surprised.
She can't deny that she's feared Harvey might be seeing someone else, suspected that maybe that's the reason he's been making excuses not to talk on the phone: he's tired, or he always has to stay late at work. Their conversations have been strained while she's been in London, the distance between them seemingly more than just miles. But then she'd been pleased when Harvey had said he wanted to see her as soon as she came home. There was something important he needed to tell her, he'd said.
Standing at the door now, it suddenly all clicks into place, for the sounds coming from his bedroom are unmistakably loud.
She has an urge to fling open the door, to run in and hurl herself into his bedroom screaming, but instead she slowly, silently twists the handle, and she edges the door carefully open. Creeping softly, her footfalls smothered by the soft, thick carpet, she inches forward, holding her breath. She wants to get a good look at them first before she confronts them, wants to see for herself what kind of cheap bitch is being fucked in his bed.
As they come into view, her hand flies to her mouth, a shocked gasp fluttering past her trembling fingers. The couple moving on the bed don't hear her though. She knows they don't, because they don't stop what they're doing and besides, their passionate grunts and moans are clearly at the point of reaching some sort of orgasmic crescendo. Wide-eyed, she watches them writhe, their bodies entwined and glistening with sweat.
Mike Ross's face, eyes closed, is creased in an agony of pleasure, and she's shocked to hear Harvey, above him, whispering sweet words of love, words he's never said to her, not even during sex. When she's been beneath Harvey, like Mike is now, her arms holding him close in the vain hope that this time it will be different, that he'll make her feel wanted and loved, he's always been brief and usually silent, reaching his climax with nothing more than a soft grunt. She thinks of the last time, before she'd left for London. She'd wanted romance, reassurance, but there'd been no tenderness, no afterglow, and he'd left her disappointed afterwards, when he'd headed directly for the shower to rinse himself off.
What she's seeing now, however – is this even the same man? She watches Mike wrapping his arms tightly around Harvey's back, taut thighs wide-spread, and then he's crying out, his face hot, eyes closed, and Harvey clutches him close, so raw, so passionate as he drives into him hard, his skin gleaming, muscles rippling as he thrusts in and out. He moans loudly, hips jerking hard, a stream of obscenities gushing forth from his mouth, ecstatic groans blending seamlessly with the other man's cries.
Unable to bear it any longer, she closes her eyes. But the image is already burned there and besides, there are still the sounds in her ears as the harsh, grating gasps eventually become sighs, and as she backs silently away, the last thing she hears is their hushed whispers, declarations of love. Quietly, she slips from the room, pulling the door shut behind her with a soft click, and as she hurries down the hallway, heart mangled, hopes crushed, she has to accept it as the jealousy bites.