I think back on how those dark eyes bored straight into the very depths of me as he moved in and out of me. He knew exactly how to touch me, where to touch me, as if we’d been making love forever. He knew how to take control and just let me be.
I let him touch me. The guilt of it makes me shiver. Nick would be so disgusted by me if he could see me now, and that’s how I want it. The man I love is gone, so it only seems fair that the woman he loves should be gone, too.
I hear faint voices coming from somewhere out in the house. There’s a female voice, mixed with his deep one.
Holy shit, I don’t even know who he is.
You are a pig, Tabitha. A whore.
I look for my clothes and find my jeans at the foot of the bed, and my shirt and bra on the other side of the room, torn in pieces. The knife is lying on the floor and I shiver as I remember how the blade felt against my skin; cold and sharp.
You liked it.
I pilfer his dresser and find a white T-shirt. It’s huge, so I tie a knot in the back and creep out into the hallway, wondering if I should go to him or just hide in the bedroom. The voices are coming from the kitchen, so I slowly make my way down the hall, hoping I’m not interrupting something I shouldn’t be. For all I know, he could be married, and I could have just slept in his wife’s bed.
She sees me first and stops talking, her face literally freezing in mid-sentence. She turns to him. “Um, who’s that? I didn’t know you had company. Why the hell didn’t you say something?”
“She was sleeping.” He’s making coffee, wearing nothing but jeans. Even from where I’m standing I can see the long scratch marks I raked into his back last night. Can’t she see that? Why isn’t she questioning it?
She keeps staring at me in such a way that makes me think this must be some sort of girlfriend. She doesn’t look mad, though; just shocked.
“I … I’m sorry. I just—” I mumble not knowing what to say. “I should go.”
How, you idiot? You came here with him.
“No,” he says to me, running his hand through his hair nervously. “She’s just a friend. My cousin’s girlfriend, actually.”
“Fiancée, actually,” she corrects.
He makes a face at her. “Whatever.” He turns to me. “She was just checking in on me and the cat.”
She nods in agreement. “I got worried when I didn’t hear from him last night, so I just drove up to check on him. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She grabs her purse and keys. “I’ll be going, then.” She glares at him on her way out. “Call me later.” She turns to me. “Nice meeting you.”
“You too,” I say, debating whether I should ask her for a ride, but she’s out the door too fast. I’m not sure I buy this story of her being a cousin’s girlfriend or fiancée.
I stand in the hallway awkwardly, feeling as if something weird just happened, like he didn’t want her to see me here.
“Um, I’m sorry. I woke up and heard voices …”