affection I’ve long thought were lost to me.
Breathe, Joey.
“It’s my turn to do the same for you,” he promises before flipping me over and taking my mouth and body for the first time since we’ve reconnected. Cherishing, caressing, loving every scarred inch of us both, replacing every heinous memory with pure ones.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Present
Joey
Memories of sweetness blur my vision, reminding me how far we got before snapping. Our love a bone under too much pressure, fracturing until useless.
Toby has every right to hate me. Even I hate me.
After the door practically yells at me as he slams it, the shower starts running.
What are we doing? Why am I still here? And the more pressing question is, why is he?
We’re married, yes. I love him, yes. If that’s all there is, what’s the point?
I want to be the couple they write songs about.
Where there are books and movies based upon the passion they share.
Never-ending. Constant. Inspirational.
Is that too much to ask?
It’s been over a year since everything went to hell.
It took him time to gather himself, but now we’re back here. Hollow Ridge. The place we both openly loathe. Where she is. He acts as if I shouldn’t care, but even when we were happy, he loved and adored her, all while lying in my arms.
The bandages our love wrapped around him were temporary gauze, faulty enough where her love always leaked through, wreaking its infection throughout us both.
You don’t know true pain until you’re making love with the man of your dreams, and his mind is stuck on the one woman he’s always loved most. He calls me the ice queen, the bitter bitch, the frigid north, but does he not realize he’s made me this way?
He did this.
To me.
To himself.
To us.
We were happy.
In love, if I’m truthful to myself.
Our days were spent together. At Mi Casa, watching movies at night, exploring each other’s bodies. Everything was perfect. Even after I told him about my inability to have children, we were good. Then we collided, a frisson of explosive anger and resentment. A destruction of hate and loathing waiting for the right time to fulminate.
My curiosity came with a cost.
At the time, it didn’t occur to me that the cost would be too much.
No one ever does.
The splashing of water droplets drowns out my despondence. I didn’t lie to him when I told him I loved him. Tears trail my cheeks as the emotions kept at bay finally frees. There are ten minutes tops to get it all out before he’s back.
This is our routine.
He runs.
I charge.
He disappears.
I drown.
My chest that once barricaded a heart now houses a veinless appendage surrounded by ice-covered shrapnel. Frigid as ice, lifeless as the dead, voiceless as silence.
It’s as lonely as I am.
Can he not feel that?
He used to care. Once, his heart made mine fonder, helped it grow, changed me... but I’ve ruined it.
Only, he’s not the only one bitter about it.
Standing in the same place he left me, I swallow back the emotion. I have seven minutes left. Checking the watch on my wrist, I watch as time fades a little more. Six. Instead of waiting for him, my mind sets on its target. The wine closet.
He did so well. It took me a year to know his truths and see the lies he hid behind. Now, it’s apparent more than ever. He’s broken again, and I’ve taken so much.
I’m the bad. He’s the good. We’re the tainted.
The nickel under my hand sends icy tendrils through me. It’s not the cold from the metal; it’s the awareness of what I’ve accepted. The failure of love, the one I can’t seem to let go.
Turning the handle, I peer inside. Wine isn’t my alcoholic beverage of choice, but it gets the job done and puts a dent in his wallet, so maybe then he’ll notice me. Bringing anything stronger into our house only leads to dangerous situations. Regardless of our shared hatred, handing him ammunition won’t be happening any time soon.
Picking the bottle closest to me, I take it to the kitchen.
Another reminder of what I’ve lost. The counters are bare, as are the cupboards, walls, and everything in between. When passion is lost, is there a cure? Or is it the one thing that never grows back, like a lost limb? Cancerous to the body once detached and unable to be lively once more.
I don’t even frown when thinking of that loss. What does it compare to the rest? It’s nothing. Just like me.
Four.
The