I’m fucking broken.
The thought stabs me like the edge of a dagger as I lay my head back against the leather couch cushion. I feel Mandy slide up even closer, her hand trailing higher and higher until…
I grab her hand before it reaches its destination, trying not to crack under the weight of the rejection in her eyes.
“Dean… please. We haven’t been intimate in almost six weeks.” Mandy’s eyes begin to mist, her nails digging into my palm. “I miss you.”
Jesus, I feel like the biggest goddamn asshole. Mandy and I always had a pretty normal sex life—a little vanilla, but I had no complaints. She’s sexy and willing and mine, and yet… I can’t fucking do it.
I’m not ready.
“I just need a little more time,” I say, letting her down as gently as possible. I have no idea how much more time I’ll need. All I know is that it’s too soon.
I just can’t.
Mandy scoots backwards, dropping her chin to her chest as the rejection manifests into anger. “I figured after weeks of celibacy, you’d be all over me.”
A prickling heat crawls up the back of my neck and settles in my ears. Fuck.
“You were only down there for three weeks, Dean,” Mandy continues, still avoiding my eyes. “I thought you would… you know, bounce back by now.”
Only three weeks.
Mandy and I once took a vacation to Cancun for three weeks. It’s funny—I hardly remember any of it. That could have something to do with the unlimited drink packages and the spoiled pozole that knocked me on my ass for a few of those days, but… the memories are vague and fuzzy. Only bits and pieces stand out.
I remember every vivid detail about that basement.
The dripping pipe. The cracks and ridges in the stone wall on my right. The pink foam insulation overhead, peeking out of the wooden beams in the ceiling. The way the sunrise cast a radiant beam of light into our dungeon, magnifying all of the little dust particles in the air. I tried to count them one morning, but the light kept shifting and I’d lose track.
I remember the Daddy Long Leg spider in the cobwebbed corner that never seemed to move. I thought he was dead until I caught the tiniest twitch of one of his thin legs. I wondered how long he could go without food.
I bet he wondered the same thing about me.
I remember the gaudy, floral wallpaper in that moldy bathroom and the way it peeled from every corner, revealing decayed walls and water damage. I recall looking in the dusty mirror, not recognizing the man reflecting back at me.
Cora.
I think about the way she chewed on her lip while we played ‘Twenty Questions’ to pass the time. She took the game seriously, like she was up for the grand prize on a cheesy game show.
I remember the golden glints in her emerald eyes that seemed to fade which each passing day.
I recall the occasional smile I would pull out of her. They felt so magical—so beautifully out of place. Her smile was the closest thing I felt to being rescued over the course of those twenty days.
I remember the goosebumps on her skin when I’d gently caress her cheek, or her hip, or her thigh, trying to bring as much tenderness to the moment as possible. It’s just the cold, I told myself. But sometimes a small sound or squeak would accompany the goosebumps and she’d give herself away.
It was only three weeks, but it’s burned into every cell, every vein, every tainted pocket of my soul.
Forever.
And so is she.
I break down the following Saturday morning and send her a text message.
Me: Can we grab coffee? We should talk.
I pace back and forth through my living room in just my sweatpants, staring at my phone screen and scratching the back of my neck, noting that I really need to get a damn haircut.
She reads the message fairly quickly, and I hold my breath, bracing myself for a shut down.
Cora: I suppose. But only because I’m standing at your front door right now.
I blink at the response, processing her words.
Well, shit.
I jog over to the front of my townhouse, pulling open the door to reveal a bundled-up Cora, sprinkled with snowflakes, her hands in her pockets. Her eyes drift downward as the icy wind blasts me, and I remember that I’m shirtless.
She brings her gaze up from my naked chest with a sharp swallow. “You forgot your shirt.”
“You forgot to tell me you were dropping by unexpectedly.”
“Then it wouldn’t have been unexpected.”
Faint smiles creep onto both of our faces, almost as if we forgot how but we’re trying to remember. I take a step back, encouraging her to enter. Cora hesitates for a moment before moving forward and stomping her snow-covered boots against my welcome mat. I watch her shake the flurries from her hair and notice that one sticks to her eyelashes. I want to lean in and swipe it away, but I keep my arms at my sides. “What brings you by?” I stuff my hands into the pockets of my sweats, rocking on the heels of my feet.
“Same reason you texted me, I’m guessing.” Cora unzips her coat and slips out of her boots, sweeping her fingers through damp hair as she takes tentative steps through my entryway. Her eyes dance across the messy living area littered with empty potato chip bags and beer bottles, random piles of laundry, and my bed comforter I’ve been using for when I fall asleep on the couch at random hours watching mindless television shows. Her eyes are brimming with sympathy as she cuts them back to me, pulling her arms out of her coat sleeves.
I take the jacket from her and hang it over the back of my recliner. “Sorry for the mess.” I scratch the scruff along my jawline—I still haven’t shaved. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
Cora shrugs her shoulders, a gray, oversized sweater dipping off one of them, and continues her idle perusal. “My house isn’t any better.” Her gaze lands on my side table where a book is being used as a coaster for my Miller Lite. “Of Mice and Men,” she mutters quietly.
We make eye contact and it lingers, and the longer it lingers, the harder it is to break away. But I’m the first to lower my head, massaging the back of my neck with my hand. I reach for a stray t-shirt that luckily only smells like my cedarwood deodorant, then pull it on while Cora watches from a few feet away. I clear my throat. “Coffee?”
She nods. “Sure.”
I bring two full mugs out of the kitchen a few minutes later and find Cora on my couch with her feet pulled up. She’s flipping through the book, but sets it back down when I approach.
“Thank you,” she says, cradling the warm ceramic between both palms. She stares down over the rim for a few moments as I situate myself beside her. “It’s the little things I missed the most, I think. Hot coffee. Slobbery dog kisses. My music playlist. The sun on my skin.” Cora takes a sip, sighing as she leans back against the cushions.
I face her, resting my mug on my thigh. Her words are all too relatable. “It’s weird,” I muse. “I thought the first thing I would do after I got home was gorge on cheeseburgers and french fries. Greasy fast food. I was craving a fuckin’ Big Mac something fierce down there.” I watch her mouth tip into a soft smile as she turns her head towards me. “But I’m finding I don’t have much appetite for anything. I munch on shitty snacks and drink beer all day. I’m always hungry, but I also feel kind of sick inside… you know?”