She still sits in the same spot I left her in last night, against the windowpane staring out to the backyard. The plate of food I left beside her remains untouched.
The house is eerily quiet, my mother has taken Andy for a few days to give Adriana some time to sleep, but she doesn’t.
The same nightmare plays over and over in my head, the screams that echoed down the hospital hall as the monitor beeps increased in pitch, and the doctors rushed in, the sign he was finally gone.
When his casket was lowered into the ground, I held onto my sister who stood perfectly still. I knew I was losing her too, the grief insurmountable, and not once did she speak nor did she shed a tear. She was catatonic. It frightened me that the once-bright future ahead was now unknown. I prayed every night she would pull out of this coma. I couldn’t lose my sister. She’s my blood, my family, and I wanted to shield her from the pain. I wanted the old, annoying Adriana back, faults and all. I wanted her to tell me ridiculous jokes only to laugh before she reaches the punchline, the kind only she finds funny.
Most importantly, I want her to be a mother to this little miracle who defied all odds to make it into this world. If I were honest, that’s what hurt me the most—watching her son grow more and more each day. To witness him not being embraced by his own mother. It wasn’t her fault—she had to deal with this in her own way. She lost the love of her life, and I couldn’t conceptualize her pain, not in a million years. Nor do I wish it upon me, and with this decided, I do the unthinkable, I find myself pulling away from Charlotte.
At the funeral, Charlotte placed her hand on my forearm, and I felt my body instantly recoil. She pulled away, the hurt in her eyes cutting me deep.
It’s my way of dealing with the grief, I’m crippled inside, and love becomes a foreign concept.
Why do we love when in the end, it’s taken from us, and we are left to die a slow death?
I spend every moment I can in the office, desperate for a distraction. If I wasn’t there, I was at Adriana’s house, trying to bring her back to life. I spend the mornings with Amelia, the guilt eating away at me of not being home sharing the responsibility of our daughter, but distance makes the pain hurt less. Charlotte tries to bring it up a few times, but I simply walk away from the conversation. She knows not to touch me, and therefore, our conversations become limited to Amelia and the talk of the weather.
After a while, Adriana slowly starts to come around, but all around her the memories are a painful reminder of what she’s lost. While we see improvement, the breakdowns quickly accompany it. It’s almost like she refuses to move on with her life. My mother is at her wit’s end, afraid of her daughter doing something drastic, and my father finally suggests she get some professional help. I know Charlotte visits Adriana almost daily, and those are the times I rush home to get changed and make sure I’m gone before she returns.
The sounds of the traffic echo in the background as I sit in my office alone. It’s well into the night, what time, I have no idea. The dim light of the lamp is the only thing illuminating the room. My bourbon sits on my desk, enticing me with its ability to erase the nightmare I’m living.
Last night got the better of me, and for that reason alone, I know I can’t see her tonight. When I see Charlotte dressed in those skinny, ass-cupping jeans and that slinky top—that top—my weakness engulfs me and my inability to fight off the side of me that wants her, the side so desperately needing to be buried in her, means I have to make her loathe me.
I’m surprised to find Amelia isn’t home as I want nothing more than to be smothered by her. In turn, my anger redirects to Charlotte. I know she wants to talk, our marriage right now is a complete train wreck. I know full well it’s my fault, but I do what I have to do to protect myself.
The words I say have the intent of hurting her because I feel myself caving. She’s beyond furious, and when she leaves the kitchen, I thought she would lock herself in our room. I had no inkling whatsoever she would come out dressed in that top, her tits on full show. Has it been that long since I have touched them? My body is betraying me, my cock throbbing at the sight of her, and yet, I allow the jealousy and rage to fight off any desire I feel. She’s justifiably livid at my venomous outburst, and in typical Charlotte fashion, she doesn’t back down. She goes at me and matches me toe to toe, and fuck me, if that isn’t the hottest thing ever.
She searches frantically for the keys, and the second I spot them behind me, I know it’s inevitable what will happen next. I could easily push them away, but the masochistic side of me waits for her to come near me. The overpowering scent of her skin lingers in the air, enough for me to inhale it, and all my senses in that moment weaken.
She lingers, and I know I can have her right there, all of her, but those tortured voices in my head tell me to back off. If I give in now, the pain will be much worse later.
I don’t want to feel pain.
I don’t want to lose her.
I don’t want to love her.
Words hurt, sometimes more than sticks and stones.
And tonight, I speak those words.
After she slams the door in my face, the jealous side of me knows I have no choice but to go to the bar. She will get drunk, and she’s angry at me, and I’m talking steam-coming-out-of-her-ears angry. Any guy with a fucking dick will want in her pussy, and that side of me still needs to control her.
I find myself a stool at the far end of the bar, camouflaged by others who surround me, and thankfully, my height gives me the advantage I need. My eyes fixate on her there on the dance floor, and just as I suspected, all dicks are trying to get their filthy hands on what’s mine. The fury forces me to pull out my phone and text her. I can see her respond, and unlike the Charlotte who is my wife, she laughs it off, only to rub herself up against some bleached-blond fucker who places his hands on her ass.
Acting on impulse, I move toward the dance floor until I feel a hand press up against my chest.
It’s Eric.
“Move the fuck away, Eric,” I grit.
“Lex, let her be.” His voice is calm.
“Let her be? She’s going to be dragged to the back alley and get fucked by that fucker. She’s my fucking wife!”
“Give her some credit, you aren’t such a saint yourself,” he shoots back.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that Charlie wouldn’t be all up on that guy’s dick if she didn’t think you are screwing Montana Black.”
“Montana? Sh… She’s my assistant,” I stammer.
What the fuck is this about?
“Yeah, well, that hasn’t stopped Montana before. Look, I promise you Charlie will come home, vows intact. Just let her have this night.”
“No, Eric… Look!” I point to her, the guy burying his head into her neck. I push Eric aside, but he’s quick to grab my forearm, forcing me to stop for a second.
“Okay, I’ll break it up, but for the record, you’re a jerk. You are hurting my best friend. If you must take her home, then wait until I get another shot in her, and she passes out.” Eric walks onto the dance floor as Charlotte is walking back to the bar. He whispers in her ear only her for to laugh it off. The fucker, annoyed with the interruption, tries to pull her away from Eric, but she resists. Thank fucking God.
I stay at the bar watching her like a hunter. As promised, another few shots down, and she can barely walk. Eric motions for me to come over and just in time as she stumbles into my arms. The weight of her body is as light as a feather, the contact unbearable as again I struggle to fight off any urges which stir.
With her eyes glazed over, she attempts to focus on my face. “Oh, look, it’s my so-called husband. Did you manage to pry yourself away from Montana’s pussy to come see your wife dance?” she slurs her words as she speaks, losing balance, and I swiftly grab her arm to stop her from falling over.
Eric tries to talk, but she tells him to shut up. “No, Eric… if my husband is fucking someone else, then why shouldn’t I? I need to get laid, too, you know… it’s been like forever, and if my own husband doesn’t want to fuck me, then I should find someone who will!” She tries to wiggle herself out of my grip, but my strength overpowers her.
We drive home in silence as she falls asleep instantly. I carry her into the house and lay her on our bed. I stand over her, watching her sleep, her shallow breaths making soft sounds, her chest slowly rising and falling in harmony.
Tonight is too much. I let my guard down and know if I were going to allow myself to give in to my weaknesses, now would be the perfect time.
I remove her shoes and place them on the floor. Next, I unzip her jeans, knowing these will be a struggle to get off. Somehow, I manage to slide them off without her waking up. Her slinky top is much easier. I tug on the strings allowing it to fall gracefully. Her tits are impossible to ignore, and clenching my jaw, I struggle to finish my task.
What’s that again? Undress her? Fuck her?
I try to ignore the anger starting to rise, knowing she isn’t wearing a bra tonight. Who the fuck does she think she is? Don’t use the word, Edwards… don’t you dare call your wife that name.
As I continue to watch her, my cock pulsates, pressing hard against my jeans. The ache is unbearable as I fight back the urge to reach out and touch her. The loss, Lex… remember how painful it is to lose someone. The rational side of me already jumped ship hours ago as without even thinking, I slide her black lacy thong off. I can smell how wet she is. It overpowers me in a way which makes me so weak, any willpower I have left will be unable to reason with me at this moment.
You are weak, pathetic in all forms.
The chances of her waking up will be slim to none. She drank enough for her to pass out until morning. She is incredibly beautiful. How can I deny myself this beautiful woman? I place my hand on her thigh and that jolt electrifies me in every way possible, there’s absolutely no way I’m turning back now. I spread her legs enough so I can see her lips glistening in the pale light. She’s fucking soaked.
I kneel in front of her as she lays before me, legs spread open, and I lean in, inhaling her sexual scent, allowing it to drive me to insanity where all I can think about is how much I need to taste her. My body tenses knowing I’m not strong enough to resist. Moving forward only inches away from her pussy, I stick my tongue out waiting in anticipation until it touches her clit, and I’m ready to convulse.
I move my hand to my cock and begin stroking myself slowly, unable to ignore the pre-cum which oozes out of the tip. I rub it all along my shaft, allowing it to lubricate me as I continue to stroke myself. I’m lost, gently licking every inch of her pussy like it’s the first time, all the while hoping she will remain asleep.
She stirs slightly, and I pull away knowing I can’t risk her waking up. I position her legs so I can see her wide open as I move forward, my cock nestling at the entrance.
Don’t fucking do it, Lex.
Just once, fuck her one more time.
The pain if you lose her will break you.
You have already broken her, just fuck her.
The voices won’t stop, my mind betraying me, and so I stroke faster, every stroke bringing me closer. I grip tighter with the familiar feeling rising from my belly, arching my back, remaining focused on her wet pussy and then, I feel the rush and allow the cum to spray all over her. My body jerks from the intensity of the orgasm, and tiredness takes over.
Like a thief in the night, I don’t allow myself to sleep beside her tonight. Instead, I sleep on the couch, making sure I’m gone before the crack of dawn.
***
Without Kate as my assistant, I go through a stream of interns until I settle on Montana. She’s twenty-three and moved here a few months ago from Florida. She’s excellent at her job, clear competition for Kate. She brings ideas to the table, works long hours without a single complaint, and does nothing but go above and beyond her job duties.
On an impromptu visit, Rocky was quick to notice her looks. He constantly texts as to what she’s wearing, or does her perky tits do that bouncy thing they do when she walks. He’s a perverted motherfucker, and I tell him that every day. I didn’t hire her because of her looks. Yes, she’s stunning. She is short, reaching only my shoulders. Yes, I do know that because we have stood beside each other in the elevator. She has tanned skin and jet-black hair. Her blue eyes stand out against her dark features, and, okay, like I said, she is stunning, but she’s twenty-three, and I’m fucking married. End of story.
It never occurred to me she would be such a threat to Charlotte until Eric mentioned it that night in the club, and Charlotte’s drunken rant only confirmed it. For a minute, I’m surprised she hasn’t mentioned it earlier. After all, Charlotte’s a vocal I-am-woman-hear-me-roar type of chick. Then I remember communication no longer exists in our marriage.
It has been two weeks since the club incident, and I’m needed in the London office to tie up some loose ends. Montana drops some not-so-subtle hints about accompanying me on the trip, but I know if she did, my marriage would be officially over. Not because I have no sense of control, but because Charlotte will never speak to me again.
Part of me does care, I just have a shitty way of showing it.
Two weeks fly by, and every few days I call Charlotte to see how Amelia is. Her tone is always flat. We speak about Amelia, and that’s it. There are no I love you, I miss you, no dirty texts, or video-call sessions. I don’t know why I expect Charlotte to say the words when I haven’t given her any reason to.
I arrived back in LA late last night and know Charlotte has her black-tie gala tomorrow for her firm. Montana’s the one to mention it to me, reminding me of its importance to Charlotte.
Of course, I said I would go. I’m her husband, right? We still need to keep up appearances for everyone.
Montana sits opposite me at my desk, surrounded by mountains of scripts which need reading. With this production company I invested in, we need some massive deals to turn business around. So far, things are progressing nicely, just not as fast as I want.
“I think that’s all the contracts signed. I’ll have the producer and directors in for a meeting, Mr. Edwards.”
“We did it. Thank you, Montana, for staying back.”
“I wanted to close this deal as much as you did. Oh, wow, it is late!”
I glance at my watch, it’s just after ten in the evening.
“Say, why don’t we get out of here? There is this club downtown, and there’s this act I’ve been meaning to show you. He would be great for a few talk shows we have. Plus, he is my brother,” she adds.
“Club?”
“Yeah, it’s the current ‘it’ place.” She laughs, tossing her hair over her shoulders. “C’mon, we’ve worked so hard this past month pulling these all-nighters. Let’s loosen up, a few drinks won’t hurt.”
I search her face, her eyes fixate on mine. What is that look? I have been so absorbed in my grief that I haven’t noticed her blouse buttoned down low, her long legs crossed in a very short skirt, the garters slightly peeking out below.
Fuck, Lex, turn away.
Eric and Charlotte can’t be right about this one.
With a smile, I agree to go. Why? Because I’m a fucking douche, but I’m also a control freak and rarely, and I mean rarely, will I do anything out of my control, except for the night I ate out Charlotte’s pussy when she was passed out. Seriously, Lex, you are letting your thoughts go there when you have this leggy twenty-three-year-old practically laying it all out like an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Montana asks to hop into my car since she prefers to have a few drinks. We spend most of the drive talking about work, nothing personal because the last thing she needs to know is my marriage is falling apart.
We arrive shortly after, and Montana’s right, the club is busy and has been labeled the current ‘it’ place. The young crowds dance seductively to the beats, it is skin-on-skin dancing at this joint. It really makes me feel old, but not to be an egotistical bastard, I could have any one of these girls in here, just like Charlotte could have had any in that bar. Great, you had to go there, Lex!
“There he is!” Montana yells over the music.
A young guy, mid-twenties maybe, walks our way. He has jet-black hair and the same tanned skin as Montana, so I assume they are related. He has a tattoo on the side of his neck which I can’t make out in the dim light.
“Mr. Edwards, this is Jett Black, my one and only brother.”
He holds out his hand, and I shake it.
“Montana can’t stop raving on about you,” I say, politely.
“Well, what are baby sisters for? Will you stay and listen to my set?”
“Sure,” I reassure him.
He pats my shoulder before kissing Montana on the cheek. We stand at the bar and have a few drinks. By the fourth, I feel myself relaxing.
“So, Jett is your only brother?” I ask Montana, breaking the code of not allowing myself to get to know any employee on a personal level.
“Yep, and I have three sisters. There’s my older sister, Carolina, then Jett, then my sisters, Dakota and Indiana. They are twins, a little older than me.”
I laugh as I take a sip of my drink. “So how did Jett escape your parents’ patriotic love for naming all their children after US states?”
She giggles, placing her hand on my hand. “I tell you what, Mr. Edwards—”
I interrupt her. “Lex, you can call me Lex.”
What the hell am I doing?
She loses her train of thought for a moment searching my face for something, licking her lips.
Shit, kill me now.
“Well, let me tell you this, Lex. Jett escaped our naming ritual because apparently, he was born with jet-black hair… but the funniest, yet grossest part of the story my father would tell us is that the moment Jett came out, the doctor congratulated my parents and mentioned his thick black hair and quote ‘for a second there I didn’t know if that was his head or your bush, Mrs. Black’… I know, right?” She laughs immensely.
I join her, impossible not to laugh at a ridiculous story like that.
“It was the eighties… bushes were in then. At least that’s what my mother says,” she points out.
Right. Fuck. Are we talking about Montana’s distaste for pubic hair, which can only mean she’s sporting a Brazilian? Rocky would be in fucking heaven if I even mentioned this conversation to him. Seriously, I need to cleanse my thoughts because they are bordering on extremely unhealthy, let alone, inappropriate.
We sit in silence enjoying the music until Montana stands up and pulls my hand with her. “C’mon, Mr. Edwards. Sorry, I mean Lex, let’s dance.”
“Montana, call me Lex, especially in here.”
“So, you’re off duty as my boss, then?”
“I’m off duty as your boss.”
“Then we better dance,” she teases.
She pulls me onto the dance floor and moves her body a little too close to mine. The dance floor is packed, almost everybody crammed into the small area. I try my best to ignore her body mere inches away from mine, but the bourbon is setting in, and I haven’t gotten laid in God knows how long. Your own fault, Edwards.
Jett Black comes on stage, the guitar strumming at a slow beat as he begins to sing a song he wrote, according to Montana. It is called ‘Afraid.’
No one has ever made me feel, the things you make me feel.
Girl when I’m with you I struggle to breath
Your power has a hold of me
And I’m frightened of this spell you cast over me
So I hurt you because I’m frightened.
I push you away because I’m scared.
I do it because I love you
I do it because I hate you
I don’t know how to be with you
Without being afraid of losing you
I listen to the lyrics. It’s spot on to every emotion I have felt the past few months. I’m terrified of losing Charlotte, yet I push her away. Even in our darkest moments, she has a hold over me, and that frightens me, makes me scared to love her the way she deserves to be loved.
Lost in my own pessimistic thoughts, I don’t notice Montana moving in closer. Her body brushes against mine, and I scream at my brain not to let my cock get hard, but being a fucking retarded piece of shit, it does not listen to me. She knows as she continues to put pressure on it, which in turn makes it worse.
I lean in and whisper her ear, “I think I should take you home, Montana.”
Her eyes find mine, and perhaps she misinterprets my meaning. Yeah, good one, Lex, you didn’t need to deliver it in your seductive my-cock-is-throbbing tone.
She says goodbye to her brother, and I wave to him as we head out the back door.
In the car, there is an awkward silence. Shit, Edwards, seriously, think of something to keep the conversation going, otherwise, your dick will start talking, and that is the last thing you need.
“So, how long have you lived here in LA?”
Great, that’s all you can come up with?
“About six months now. My brother lives here and just signed a major recording contract. Mom is back in Florida, and Dad lives in Hawaii.”
“Divorced?”
“Yeah, around the time I was ten, I think.”
“So, you live here alone?”
“I have a roommate, but she’s not home if that’s what you’re asking.”
Shit! I wasn’t asking that. What the fuck is wrong with me? Honestly, you might think my brain would be smart enough to realize where this conversation is heading.
Instead, I remain quiet until she asks me to pull over at her condo. I don’t know why, but I turn off the engine, almost like I’m on autopilot.
“Thanks for tonight, Montana.” I continue to stare out the front window avoiding her gaze.
“It doesn’t have to be over, Lex.” The palm of her hand rests on my thigh, slowly moving up until it’s sitting firmly on my dick. Fuck!
“Montana,” I warn.
She tells me to be quiet, and I place my hand on top of hers to remove it, but instead, she tightens her grip on my cock.
Fuck! Push her away now!
I don’t know how long I sit there, it could be seconds or minutes.
My head is a scattered mess, and my body is numb, knowing this is wrong. She pulls my hand toward her, directing it under her dress and places it firmly on her bare pussy.
Jesus fucking Christ, do something, Edwards.
I pull away.
Images of Charlotte flash through my mind faster than a bullet train.
I can’t do this.
I still love my wife.
I still want my wife.
I just don’t know how to fix the damage I have caused.
“Montana, you know I can’t do this. You are beautiful, but I’m married.”
She shuffles her body a little closer. “Lex, I know you’re married, not necessarily happy. This can be a one-time thing, I promise. No strings attached. You wouldn’t be so hard if you didn’t want me.”
Where the hell is my voice, the stupid motherfucker runs into its panic room and locks the door behind it.
She takes my silence as a yes and moves my hand back toward her, this time pushing my finger against her clit until I abruptly pull away.
“Montana, no… I love my wife. Despite what’s going on, it will only ever be Charlotte.”
I pull all hands away, starting the engine, waiting for her to exit.
“I… I… I’m sorry,” she stammers.
“Listen, it’s late. I need to get home.”
Montana opens the car door and climbs out, and she leans in one more time. “Mr. Edwards, I don’t know what came over me. I hope this doesn’t change our working arrangement.”
“We can talk about this tomorrow.” I remain still until the door closes.
When I arrive home, I jump into the shower and scrub my body vigorously, attempting to wash away tonight’s events. I know there’s no chance in hell I can continue working with Montana, and fuck if I haven’t just opened myself up for a lawsuit.
Great! You can get your wife to represent you in a sexual harassment claim.
I climb into bed that night, knowing Charlotte hears me. I need her at this moment more than ever, but as I look at the clock, I know my coming home at two forty-five will not be well received.
With her back turned toward me, she moves slightly.
“Where were you?” she whispers with a slight tremble in her voice.
“Work.”
“At this hour?”
“Meetings, sorry. I should have called.”
I yank the sheet over to my side, annoyed she claims most of it. Thinking this conversation is over, I get myself comfortable.
“You should have called, Lex. Despite everything going on between us, I was worried about you.”
“Well, don’t be. And frankly, I’m tired, so good night.”
I turn over with my back facing her. Despite the hour, I stare into the night unable to sleep until beside me, I hear a small sob. Unsure of what to say or do, I ignore the pang in my heart and close my eyes, wishing this nightmare away.
We are broken.
Just how much, I have no clue just yet.
