Once again, I had only two words to say.
Holy fuck.
Halton
After my last expletive, Fee slipped off the sofa and hurried down the hall to the guestroom. A few moments later, I heard the bathroom door shut and the shower come on. I headed the opposite direction to my room and the large en suite, and turned on the shower, letting it warm up before stepping in. The heat felt good on my shoulders. I was stiff from the odd position I had slept in, but my mind was alert and my head clear. The hot water would help ease the stiffness in my muscles.
I ran my hand down my torso, wrapping it around my cock. I bit my lip to hold in my groan as I stroked myself. Images swam through my head, and I stopped fighting them.
Fee laughing. Teasing me. The way she looked this morning with her hair disheveled and her eyes wide. How she felt nestled against me. I leaned on my forearm, my hand moving faster as my imagination went into overdrive. Fee under me, moaning my name. Her lips wrapped around my cock. Her pussy milking me as I thrust into her. I came hard, my release spraying long ropes over the gray tile. My head fell forward, resting on my arm as I caught my breath. I reached for the soap, absently going through the motions as my thoughts careened through my head.
Why had I slept? Because I was so exhausted, my body had finally given in? Or did it have something to do with Fee? Was that possible? I thought of her confession. I had never met someone who had the same problem sleeping as I did. Although, I had to admit, I rarely spoke to anyone about my lack of sleep. Fee suffered from it as well. But together, we had slept. I needed to know more. I had to talk to her.
I shut off the shower, determined, one other question echoing in my head.
Why was Fee so firmly entrenched in all my thoughts?
I narrowed my eyes, studying Fee seated next to me at the island. She had coffee ready when I came into the kitchen and was calmly reading on her tablet. A bagel waited for me, and after mumbling a thank you, I sat down and ate it, sipping at my coffee.
She looked calm, the pale shadows under her eyes decreased. I had been shocked to see the constant look of exhaustion on my face had lessened when I looked in the mirror this morning. One good night’s sleep had erased a lot of the deep circles.
I cleared my throat. “I’ve never slept with a woman.”
She glanced up, her eyes dancing. She closed her tablet and lifted her coffee cup. “I think we both know that’s a lie, counselor. Care to rephrase?”
I chuckled. “I mean that literally. I have never slept beside another person in my life.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “No, ah, overnight guests?”
“Never.”
“Even as a kid? No sleepovers? Camping trips sharing a tent?”
“Never.”
“I see.”
“How long have you had problems sleeping?”
She drained her cup and stood to get another one. She lifted the carafe, one eyebrow raised in a silent question, and I held out my mug, waiting as she refilled it.
“About five years ago. I started having trouble falling asleep, then staying asleep. I would toss and turn. It drove Scott crazy, and he was very vocal about it. So, if I woke up, I would get up and go downstairs in order not to disturb him. He finally suggested I move into the guest room, saying that even my getting out of bed bothered him.”
I held up my hand. “So you’ve been in separate rooms all this time?”
“Yes. I tried to move back, but he insisted it was better for him—that he needed to keep his mind sharp. He teased me about nocturnal visits, but of course, they never happened.” She lifted one shoulder. “Frankly, it was easier. He brought so much anger to bed every night, I think it set me off and made me tense. He talked and cursed a lot in his sleep, and he thrashed a great deal. I was always worried about him kicking me. I could read if I couldn’t sleep, move around.”
“Did you talk to anyone?”
“I went to the doctor, but nothing short of drugging me to the max seemed to help. He suggested a therapist, but Scott refused. I gave up and accepted it. I would nap during the day and sleep a little at night…” Her voice trailed off and she sat down beside me again. “But last night was the first night in years I’ve had nine hours of uninterrupted sleep. I’d forgotten what it felt like to feel rested.”
“I know. It’s awesome.” I paused. “Five years ago—so it coincided with when your marriage began to fall apart.”
She paused, thinking, then nodded. “Yes, you’re right. We’d been having trouble before then, but things began to go downhill fast. I was never the best of sleepers, but the worse things got, the worse my sleeping became. Separate rooms was the next step. I never put those together.”
I took a long sip, letting the intense brew wash over my taste buds.
“What about you?” she asked. “How long have you had trouble sleeping?”
I stiffened. “Most of my life.”
She didn’t push. “I see. That must have been difficult.”
I shrugged.
For a moment, she looked at me, then spoke.
“You know part of being friends is sharing, Halton. We just slept together. That was a pretty intimate thing.” She tilted her head. “You asked me for honesty. Now I am asking you for the same. Talk to me.”
I scrubbed my face, knowing she wasn’t going to let this go. “My mother,” I said shortly. “When my parents separated, she took me. She wasn’t fit to be a parent. She had severe mental health issues and refused to stay on medication. I never knew what was going to happen next, and I was always on the defensive. Always bracing for the crash, the next high, or the next wave of depression. She couldn’t sleep, and she kept me awake to keep her company. When she would crash, I was so worried, I couldn’t sleep since I had to watch over her.”
I pushed away from the island, pacing the room. “My father fought to get custody of me, but somehow, my mother always managed to pull herself together enough to win. I was a kid, and back then, no one asked the kids what they wanted. Fathers were rarely the ones wanting custody. I was torn between wanting a normal life and feeling guilty over leaving my mother. She was a master manipulator and knew exactly how to guilt me into staying. She made promises over and again—breaking them every time. She wasn’t a nice person in general, so my childhood was chaotic and horrendous. My father eventually gave up and left because he couldn’t stand watching it. He couldn’t handle the guilt and started drinking. He died way too early, leaving me alone with her.”
“Oh, Halton.”
“That’s what love does, Fee. It destroys. At least, it did for me. My parents both claimed to love me, yet I was the one who suffered the most neglect—all in the name of love. I never had a home or security. I had to fight tooth and nail to survive.”
“Did your mother pass?”
“No, she is still kicking. She lives out west. We keep in touch via email on occasion. When she is on her meds, the tone is civil, and on occasion, there is an apology I think she might actually mean but has come far too late. When she isn’t, I delete them, since she likes to blame my birth for the failure of her marriage and her health. Sadly, more are deleted than I read. Usually, I can tell from the first line. In all of them she asks for money. Never a visit or a phone call. Just money.” I held up my fingers in quotation marks. “I owe her that at least.”