 Mackenzie K. Wertman is currently a student at Full Sail University pursuing her bachelor’s degree for Creative Writing for Entertainment. Wertman is a full-time student focusing on her education and the betterment of her writing abilities. She has some prior set experience and has worked as an intern at Haven Entertainment in Los Angeles, California. During high school, she was an active member of her community and President of Students Against Destructive Decisions (SADD). In her spare time, Mackenzie is an avid animal rescuer and enjoys watching her favorite movies. (mkwertman@fullsail.edu) The Candle Light Inn Room 207 at the Candle Light Inn was small and outdated. The room was freshly cleaned, but still unlike any Quality Inn. The shag carpet smelled of smoke and alcohol, mixing with the room’s overall scent of sex. The striped bedding was rough, dingy, and matched perfectly to the piss-colored wallpaper that was plastered around the room. The old-fashioned lamps that hung just above the beds hardly lit the compact bedroom, the only true source of light shinning from the open patio glass door in the corner of the room. Olivia waited just within the doorway, her hand stroking the hideous yellow wall with a small sigh. “Another weekend gone,” she said, taking a step out into the small patio area as she joined Christopher at the table. She sat down on a shitty lawn chair straight across from him before she took a quick swig of her gin and smiled. “It was a fun… business trip.” Christopher simply nodded, his eyes glazing over as he played with the ring on his finger. There was red lipstick speckled across his face and neck, a color that matched the plump cherry blossom lip shade of Olivia’s lips. “Year seven,” she said, her eyebrows rising as she took another drink. “How time flies.” “So it does.” Christopher cringed, his jaw locking and his fingers tightening around the piece of metal that he continued to twist around his finger. “Seven years...” Olivia nodded, a lone finger reaching up to pull at her bleach blonde hair. “Why don’t we celebrate again?” She moved her foot under the table, just far enough so that it brushed against Christopher’s shoe before her toes ran up the length of his calf. His eyes moved away from the ring for a moment, shaking his head and moving away from Olivia’s touch before this gaze returned to same wedding band. “Okay then…” Olivia said, her foot moving to its proper location. She rose the glass to her lips and drank the rest of the gin down, her finger swiping away the lone drop that remained on her lips. “Have you heard from your wife?” Christopher let go of his ring, his face hardening. “No,” he said. He rose from the shitty plastic chair, walking into the room but not out of sight. At the small minibar he made himself a concoction of alcoholic liquids before joining Olivia back out on the cement patio. “I think she knows,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “She has to know.” “Chris…” she said. “We talked about this.” “Yeah, but have you heard from Derek?” “Yes.” Olivia nodded, raising from the table and walking into the doorway. “Don’t worry! They’re both still clueless, as always. ” “Olivia…” he said, following her into the room. “We can’t do this anymore.” Olivia rolled her eyes, falling back onto the lumpy mattress. “Here it comes,” she said. “I could tell this one was coming.” “Cut the shit,” Christopher said. He ran his hand through his hair, his face breaking as he threw his empty class at the concrete outside the door. It shattered, pieces flying both inside the room and across the patio. “I’m serious! We can’t do this anymore. This was the last time. I love my wife. I love Alexis, and you love your husband.” Olivia pushed herself into a sitting position on the bed, her face twisting and her fingers tightening over the fabric of the bedding. “You say that every year,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “And yet every year you still show up. We both do, because deep down we both know the truth. I don’t love him. You don’t love her. I have never loved Derek. I love you. I love you and this shitty hotel room.” Christopher shook his head, looking at the outdated room and the decoration of shattered glass. “You love anything that is damaged.” He walked passed her and towards the mirror that stood just to her left. He paused before it, taking in his appearance for a moment before fixing himself into place. Christopher wiped away the makeup from his skin, tightened his tie, and soothed his hair. He turned to Olivia looking very much like the confident man that had entered Friday night, his shoulders locked and his face hard, his wedding ring in perfect view. “Goodbye, Olivia,” he said. “I hope I never see you again.” Olivia smiled, standing from the bed and moving across the room. “Bye, baby,” she said. She kissed him softly against his lips, running her hand down his chest and placing the key to Room 207 into his shirt pocket. “I’ll see you next year.”
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