slamming the door behind me. My muscles are quivering, the speed in which my pulse is racing impossible to ignore. I’m livid. The fucking jerk has the nerve to turn everything back onto me.
I grab my phone and text Eric that I need to go somewhere and drink. Within moments, he suggests a bar we can meet at on Melrose.
Inside my closet, I change into a pair of black jeans, a very slinky white top with an open back, and my strappy gold pumps to complement the outfit. Stopping by my vanity, I can’t help but notice how much weight I’ve lost from all the stress. I dab on some lip gloss and tousle my hair which I had let out. Not satisfied with the dark circles under my eyes, I apply some foundation and pull out the mascara.
As I make my way back to the kitchen, I search for my keys.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” He leans with his back on the countertop, arms crossed with a smug look on his face.
The worst part is I still hope he will grab me, bend me over, and fuck me into the middle of next week. I hate my fucking cooch for betraying me on so many levels. On a side note, I know I look hot, and I purposely wear this top because it makes the ladies look like they are parading for a Miss America beauty pageant. Oh, and because I know it will get some sort of reaction from him.
“Out. No point staying here.”
“Wearing that?” he blurts out.
“I don’t need your permission to wear anything. Besides, not sure why you’d care since anything involving me doesn’t seem to matter to you anymore.”
Where the fuck are my keys? I open each drawer looking for them to come up empty-handed.
“So, you don’t care that every guy walking past you will fucking look at your tits bouncing out of that top?”
“Does it look like I care? You seem to be confusing me with someone who actually gives a shit. Anyway, it’s a bar, so get over it,” I shoot back.
“You are not going to a bar.” His tone is tense, muscles protruding as he stands across from me trying to intimidate me with his tall stature and fierce glare. I can see he is struggling with that jealous streak of his. Serves him fucking right!
“Lex, you obviously don’t care what I do. You’re lucky I even told you this much because apparently, I have no business knowing why you come home late every night, so you can think what you want. If you think I’m going to try and fuck every dick in that bar, then great. Maybe that will pull you out of this sham that is called our marriage.”
I spot the keys, and dammit if they are sitting on the countertop behind him. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck! I have no choice but to walk over to him and reach behind him.
I can do this—stay strong.
He motions his head to where the keys are sitting and looks over at me. There is a brief, albeit fleeting look of the old Lex there before it’s gone again.
I take a deep breath and walk over. I lean around him, only inches apart for the keys. For a split second, I linger, inhaling his aftershave which seems a little too fresh for my liking. My warped mind immediately jumps to the conclusion that he would only have re-applied it because he had to cover a smell, and what smell would you need to cover? The smell of a woman.
With my emotions battered and ego bruised, I pull away, but his hand grips firmly around my arm, slightly hurting me. My eyes almost close, desperate for any touch, heedless of its intention. The touch is causing a wave of desire within me, ferociously crashing against my morals.
“You are my wife, and you don’t need to degrade yourself in front of strangers.”
Oh, he did not just fucking say that!
I tear my arm away from his grip, fury building inside my chest.
“So, I’m a slut now? And here I was thinking I was just a bored, horny housewife looking to get laid tonight.”
I walk to the back door and open it, followed by a ‘very dramatic’ slamming it shut. I can’t get out of there fast enough, the anger swelling within me causing an outrage of emotions.
Eric, being my lifesaver, meets me at a non-gay club much to my surprise. His reasoning is