I gently place my hands on her hips and try to pull her toward me lightly, but she doesn’t budge. My heart clenches, and adrenaline pumps through my veins. Anxiety floods my system. She didn’t safe word. I know she didn’t. I would’ve heard her. “What’s wrong, doll?” I keep my voice calm and even, but inside I’m freaking the fuck out. I don’t like to see women cry. And sure as fuck not because of me.
“I hate you.” Her breathy words barely register as she lifts her head from the sheets. Her eyes are red-rimmed and glassy from tears. Her chest spasms as she takes in a shuddering breath. She may as well have punched me in the gut. What the fuck happened?
“I hurt you?” I just don’t see how. I don’t know what I did. “I didn’t mean to hurt-”
“Get out!” she screams with tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, and then covers her mouth with her hand. She winces as her son lets out a wail from down the hall.
I don’t know what the fuck happened. I open my mouth to protest, but she moves past me to get off the bed and immediately puts on her robe. She leaves the room without taking a look back.
She hates me? Did it really hurt that bad? It couldn’t have. I didn’t even get the head of my dick in. I slowly climb off the bed as I walk myself through everything that happened. She was loving it.
Your husband never fucked you like this, did he? I close my eyes and let my head fall back. Fuck! I groan out loud and grab my shirt off the floor. Fuck! How could I be so fucking stupid? I lean my forehead against the wall and close my eyes. I’m such a fucking asshole. She’s not some bitch, looking for a night of fun and running around on her husband. She’s a widow, for fuck's sake.
I bend down to put my underwear on, trying to think of a way out of this shit. I need to backpedal fast. As I reach for my pants, I catch a glimpse of something under the bed. I sink to the floor and cover my face with my hands. There are boxes under the bed with his name on them. I look on the dresser and see pictures of them. A cute fucking family photograph catches my eye.
I feel like such a prick. He just fucking died. I shake my head and scowl. She doesn’t need this. She doesn’t need some prick bossing her around and using her like I am. I swallow the lump growing in my throat and pull my pants up. I need to get the fuck out of here.
She deserves better than this. Better than me.
I huff a humorless laugh and push my emotions down. She’s too good for me anyway. And I have no place in my life for her. I start to open her bedroom door, but I can hear her humming a lullaby to her little boy. My heart clenches, and tears prick at my eyes. I don’t fucking cry. She said she hates me. Told me to get the fuck out. That’s fine. I can do that for her.
I take a peek down the hall. The door is only cracked. I clench my fists and walk silently past the door and keep going. I don’t look back or even wince when the floorboards squeak on the stairs. I don’t stop moving until I’m at the front door. I hesitate, but only for enough time to hear her words in my head over again.
She hates me.
I take one last look at the house before opening my car door. Her picture-perfect home that I forced myself into. I climb in my car and leave her behind.
It’s only after I’m halfway home that I realize I forgot my tie. At least she’ll have a piece of me to hold onto. Sadness overwhelms me.
I’m sure she’ll just throw it the fuck out. I would.
Becca
I wake up to the sound of Jax squealing into the monitor. My hands fly to my eyes to rub the tiredness away. They’re so sore. It hasn’t been that long since I’ve cried myself to sleep. Divorce and death will do that to even the strongest women. So I’m not ashamed of that.
But I am filled with shame.
I roll over onto my back and stretch my sore body. My pussy hurts from last night. Evidence of what happened. I let it happen. I wanted it to happen. My throat closes, and my chest feels hollow. I can’t cry over this. I don’t even want to believe it happened. I wish I could just forget him.
What’s even worse though is how sad I was when I heard him leave last night. It fucking hurt listening to him sneaking out and hearing the door close. I held Jax longer than I needed to. Long after he’d fallen asleep in my arms, I just couldn’t let him go.
As if on cue, he screams, “Mommy!” and my room fills with the sound of his little voice. The hint of a smile graces my lips, and I climb out of bed. Time to get ready. I way overslept. But it’s Tuesday, so at least there's no weekend rush. I can get him ready and off to preschool before heading in to the restaurant. Sarah will pick him up, and I’ll make spaghetti. Jax’s favorite. I shake my hands of this numbing anxiety racing through my body.
It’s over. I ended it. My heart pains as it twists into an unforgiving knot in my chest. It shouldn’t hurt this much to do the right thing.
Why does it hurt so much? I’m so tired of being in pain.
I hate the start of the week. There’s always so much shit that needs to be done. I need to make sure everything is correct with inventory first. I’ve got to order everything by two to make sure I'll have it all by lunchtime on Friday. I breathe in deep. I have my checklist on the laptop. I’m supposed to interview managers and another assistant manager today. But I don’t have the time.
I know I should make the time because it would really lighten my load to have the extra help, but there’s just so much to do. And I really try so damn hard to be home every day by five, six at the latest, so I can be there for Jax. Of course, I almost always have to go back to work using my laptop as soon as he’s asleep. But as long as I’m there for him when he’s done with preschool and at soccer practice, that’s what matters.
I can’t miss this time with him. They don't stay kids forever.
I park my car in my spot. The same spot I've parked in every fucking day for the past four years, and a heavy sigh leaves me. I really wish I could take a break. I wish I didn’t have to run myself ragged every damn day. I could sell out. I could take the money and try to invest it so it would last for us. But fucking Rick got us into so much debt digging his way out of financial ruin. And then I was saddled with all the lawyer’s fees from our divorce. And then of course when he died I had to pay his lawyers that tried to take Jax away from me. That bill fucking hurt like hell to pay. I take the key from the ignition. I can’t stop now. Just one day at a time will get me through. And at least I still have my little man. I’ll be strong for him.
Grabbing my laptop bag and my purse, I swing both over my shoulder and get out of the car. I click the button for the alarm and turn toward the restaurant.
A scream tears through my throat as a large hand concealed in a black leather glove covers my mouth and a large body wraps around my frame. No! I scream and flail my arms. No! This can’t be happening. For a moment, I think it may be Dom. But this isn’t him. I know it’s not him. Tears sting my eyes as my throat burns with a shrill scream. I stumble forward as the man pushes his chest into me and crushes his heavy weight against my body, pinning me to the rough brick. My head bashes against it, and it scrapes my cheek.
The stinging cuts hardly register as he twists my arm. The pain shoots up my shoulder. The black sleeve of the man’s sweater slips up his arm and reveals a dark, detailed tattoo of a green dragon wrapped around a red shield. Another man comes out in front of me with a rag. I struggle in the man’s hold, trying like hell to get away.