Blurred Lines

Coraline snatched her wrist back from Coralie's iron grip as if she had been burned by a hot iron. She masked her initial shock with a haughty glare, stubbornly crossing her arms over her chest. "I have been friends with Desmond for over twenty years. Everyone in our circle knows we are just good buddies. Must you twist people's relationships into something so dirty, Dr. Rowe? If that is how your mind works, everyone might as well only have same-gendered friends. Befriending the opposite sex just leads to gross misunderstandings."

Coralie maintained her composure, keeping her voice steady and firm in the freezing night air. "Of course, opposite-sex friends are allowed. But men and women are fundamentally different. Both you and Desmond are married to other people. You should maintain basic boundaries and exercise caution."

Coraline let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "I did not expect a medical professional like you to be so narrow-minded. During my surgery last week, a male doctor walked right into my operating room. I expressed my deep concerns about it, and what did you tell me? You stood there and said all doctors are professionals."

"That male doctor was the anesthesiologist," Coralie stated coldly.

"So what?" Coraline fired back, lifting her chin. "I am a woman, he is a man, and it was a gynecological surgery. Should we not consider gender differences in that scenario? Are you not dripping with double standards right now, Dr. Rowe?"

Coralie took a deep breath. A headache was beginning to pulse behind her eyes. "Miss Rowe, you are changing the subject. You were hemorrhaging late at night. The only anesthesiologist on duty at that hour was a male doctor. If we delayed the procedure to find a female replacement, your child would not have survived. What matters more? Your child's life or a gender preference?"

Coraline clicked her tongue, looking disdainful. "You are the doctor. Your word is law. Who knows what the actual situation with my child was at that time."

A flare of anger sparked in Coralie's chest. Having her professional integrity questioned was crossing a major line. "What exactly are you implying, Miss Rowe?"

"I am not implying anything. I just want to ask a simple question. If you could be called in from home to operate on me, then why could the hospital not get a female anesthetist?" Coraline took a step closer, her eyes gleaming with defiance. "Since male anesthetists can enter my operating room, what is the big issue with me reaching into Desmond's pocket to get his keys?"

"Enough!" Desmond roared.

He swayed heavily on his feet, stumbling forward before bracing his hand against the cold stone wall of the bar to regain his balance. Reeking of stale alcohol, he clumsily dug into his own pants pocket. He pulled out the keyring and pressed it firmly into Coralie's palm.

"Coraline is pregnant. It is understandable for her to be emotional right now. Let's not argue with her," Desmond slurred, attempting to soothe his wife.

Coralie tightened her fingers around the jagged metal keys until they bit into her skin. She looked up, locking her gaze onto his flushed face. "Are you two truly just friends?"

Desmond's chest heaved. He drew in a long, ragged breath, letting the silence stretch for several tense seconds. Finally, he gave a stiff nod. "Yes."

Coralie stared deeply into his eyes, searching his expression as if trying to peer straight into his soul. After a prolonged moment, Desmond was the first one to break eye contact and look away.

"It is getting late. We are going home," Coralie said.

She steered Desmond toward the parked car. After opening the rear door, she maneuvered his heavy frame onto the backseat and leaned over to buckle his seatbelt. Coralie then walked around the vehicle and slid into the driver's seat. Before starting the engine, she glanced at the rearview mirror and paused. Coraline had slipped into the back seat right beside Desmond. The pregnant woman was carefully and intimately draping Desmond's suit jacket over his chest.

"Do you not suffer from severe motion sickness, Miss Rowe? Why are you not sitting in the front passenger seat like you usually demand?" Coralie asked, her tone flat.

Coraline casually fastened her own seatbelt, keeping her posture relaxed. "I am feeling quite fine today. My motion sickness is not acting up."

Coralie let out a short scoff, turned the key in the ignition, and drove them away from the bar.

The drive back to the Dalton residence was steeped in a suffocating, heavy silence. Streetlights flashed rhythmically through the windows, casting passing shadows over Desmond's sleeping face in the backseat. Upon arrival, the massive house was dark and dead quiet. Coralie's mother-in-law, Helena Harding, prioritized her health above all else and strictly retired to bed by nine o'clock every single night.

Coralie guided Desmond through the front door, supporting his weight, and aimed straight for the staircase to get him to their bedroom.

Footsteps clicked loudly on the hardwood floor behind them.

"Hey," Coraline called out.

Coralie stopped on the first step and turned around.

Coraline stood in the center of the foyer, gesturing toward Desmond. "Are you not going to take Desmond's jacket? How can you be so neglectful as a wife?"

"Place it on the living room sofa for now. I will clean it up tomorrow," Coralie replied in a hushed, restrained tone.

"But you have an early start at work tomorrow, right? Will you even have time to tidy up?" Coraline pressed, her voice rising in volume, echoing off the high ceilings.

Coralie frowned, her patience wearing dangerously thin. "First, hanging up a coat takes a few minutes at most. It will not delay me going to work. Second, my mother-in-law is already asleep. She is a very light sleeper. Are you sure you want to stand in the hallway and argue with me this loudly?"

Coraline let out a loud, mocking laugh, her eyes wide with feigned surprise. "You might be a doctor, but you sure have a way with words."

"Thanks for the compliment, Miss Rowe. But please keep your voice down. Do not disrupt my mother-in-law's rest."

Coraline jutted her chin out, radiating a blatant display of arrogant defiance. "Mrs. Dalton dotes on me the most out of everyone. She will never blame me for—"

"Enough, Coraline!" Desmond roared, his voice cracking like a whip.

He shoved himself away from the wooden banister and let out a heavy, exhausted sigh. His brow was pinched in deep irritation as he glared down at her. "You can throw that jacket anywhere. It is the middle of the night, and you are pregnant. Go rest."

Coraline flinched, stung by his harsh tone. "I am not sleepy," she muttered, a hint of genuine frustration bleeding into her voice.

"But I am sleepy, and Coralie is sleepy too. She has to get up early tomorrow at six o'clock for the morning shift. We need to rest." Desmond ran a rough hand over his face.

Coraline let out a bitter, sarcastic chuckle. "Desmond, have you forgotten all about me now that you are married? I have been helping you all day, blocking drinks for you at the bar, and holding your jacket. Is this how you treat me?"

"How exactly should I treat you then? Am I supposed to spend my life with my buddy or with my wife?" Desmond shot back, his patience snapping.

Coraline's mouth dropped open, rendering her speechless.

Desmond spun around. He reached out and grabbed Coralie's wrist, forcefully leading her up the stairs. "Let's go."

His grip was brutal. The massive amount of alcohol pulsing through his veins had stripped away his usual gentle demeanor, revealing a coiled, aggressive tension underneath. It felt as if a long-suppressed resentment deep inside his chest was now struggling to burst out. He hauled her up the wooden steps so fiercely that Coralie stumbled forward. His fingers dug into her skin like a steel vice, the crushing pressure bruising her delicate wrist bone. He dragged her all the way down the dark hallway and shoved their bedroom door open with his shoulder.

Once inside the room, Coralie pulled her aching arm free and went straight into the bathroom. Under the bright vanity lights, she examined her wrist. Five distinct, angry red marks from his fingers marred her pale skin. She stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash over her, but the heat only caused the red marks to swell and throb even more. She dried off quickly and pulled on a set of long-sleeved silk pajamas, carefully hiding the fresh bruises from view.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, the bedroom was empty. A cold night draft drifted in through the open sliding glass doors. Coralie walked over to the balcony and found Desmond standing out in the dark.

He was smoking.

He had not even bothered to change his clothes and was still wearing the same crumpled suit from the bar. He held a lit cigarette delicately between his index and middle fingers, bringing it to his lips. He bit down on the filter with his teeth before taking a long, deep drag and exhaling a thick cloud of white smoke into the night air. The fluid, practiced nature of his movements proved this was not a clumsy, drunken mistake. He was incredibly skilled at it.

"Desmond?" Coralie called out.

Desmond flinched, snapping back to his senses. He instinctively stubbed out the cigarette against the railing. He held the mangled butt in his palm for a few tense seconds, searching for an ashtray. Realizing he could not find one in their smoke-free home, he walked inside and tossed it straight into the trash can.

"Are you done showering?" he asked, avoiding her gaze.

"Yes. What about you? What are you thinking about out here?" Coralie asked.

Desmond shook his head. "Nothing. I just had a bit too much to drink and needed some fresh air on the balcony."

"Did you use to smoke?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you quit?"

A hollow smile touched Desmond's lips. "Smoking is harmful to health."

Coralie stared at him. "True."

It was such a textbook, noble excuse, yet it felt like a flimsy shield right now.

Desmond grabbed a fresh set of loungewear from the closet and turned away. "You should go to bed. I am taking a shower."

"Okay."

Desmond brushed past her and headed into the bathroom. As he walked by, a heavy, stale whiff of tobacco scent lingered in the air, filling the space between them. The bathroom door clicked shut, and the sound of running water started up a moment later.

A phone vibrated against the glass surface of the coffee table.

Coralie glanced over. The screen lit up, displaying an incoming message.

Cori: 'Desmond, are you asleep?'

Before the screen could dim, a rapid barrage of messages flooded in, vibrating the table relentlessly.

Cori: 'Your wife is a doctor. Why is she so sharp-tongued? She could even argue back and forth with a lawyer like me.'

Cori: 'You are in trouble for marrying such a formidable character. She will clutch you in her hands.'

Cori: 'I cannot sleep. Come down. Let's go to the yard and look at the stars just like we did when we were kids.'

Cori: 'Why are you not responding? Are you really asleep?'

Cori: 'Did you fall asleep, or are you exercising with your wife? You cannot prioritize your wife over your friends. We are the best of friends. If you do not reply right now, we are not friends anymore. Think about it.'

Coralie stood frozen in the center of the quiet bedroom, listening to the shower run. The harsh glare of the phone screen illuminated the toxic, manipulative threats laid bare before her eyes, casting long shadows across the dark walls.