by Ford, Brynn
Shit.
Given what tomorrow would mean for her, the day we'd expected Lucy to arrive, the day we'd expected to start our family, I was suddenly overcome with worry at her disappearance. Thinking about the marks I'd seen on her body two weeks ago, the ones I'd attributed to cheating, I feared I had gotten it all wrong.
She wouldn’t hurt herself.
She wouldn’t do something stupid.
Would she?
I started calling and texting her, but couldn’t get a response. I searched every nook and cranny of our tiny apartment, opening every closet door with a horrible, however irrational, fear that I’d find her hanging with a rope around her neck. I didn’t know where the hell she was and I didn't really know what she was capable of doing.
There was literally nothing I could do, so I waited. An hour passed. Then two. Then three.
I was searching the bedroom for a note or sign of where she might have gone when I tried dialing her again for the hundredth time. I had sat down on her side of the bed and my heart sunk when I heard the low hum of a vibrating phone. I followed the sound and found her cell, tucked underneath her pillow on the bed.
“Shit.”
Desi would never leave without her phone. She was practically attached to it. My fingers hovered, ready to start calling hospitals and police stations in a furious panic, but just then, I heard a noise at the front door. Keys in the lock. I bolted to the door just in time to see her stumble through.
Alive.
Safe.
Drunk off her motherfucking ass.
She smiled at me, the whites of her eyes tinted pink and hazy. She staggered forward, right into my arms with a tight hug.
“Babe, hey,” she drew out the word hey in a drunken slur, “I missed you. So sorry I didn’t call. I lost my phone.”
I was pissed and it was evident by the bite in my tone, “You didn’t lose your phone. You left it under your pillow.”
“Oh, yeah,” Desi said, as if just remembering she left it there, “Can I tell you a secret?” her voice dropped to a whisper, “I left it there on purpose.”
I snapped, “Why the fuck would you do that?” I grabbed her by the shoulders holding her back at arms length so I could look at her, “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? I was ready to call the fucking police.”
She looked momentarily contrite, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you would care I was gone doing God knows what with God knows who,” she narrowed her eyes at me, “You never seemed concerned with it before.”
Rage bubbled in my chest and I hissed, “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
My anger was building. I took a deep breath and counted to five before speaking again.
“I’m worried about you.”
“Are you now?”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Des?”
“What exactly are you worried about, Vaughn?”
“You," I snapped, "I’m worried about you, Desi.”
“Sure you are, honey,” she patted me on the cheek condescendingly and it took all of my resolve and patience to restrain myself from backing her up against the wall.
“Babe, you’re really fucking testing my patience. I’m trying really hard to be understanding here. I know how upset you must be given that tomorrow is –”
“Given that tomorrow is what?” she cut me off, hurt and anger and despair written all over her face, “Lucy’s due date? Our daughter’s might-have-been birthday? Oh, did you finally remember?”
Shit.
She knew I had forgotten. I had thought, like an asshole, that she wouldn’t realize I’d forgotten since I’d brought her home a care package tonight.
Fuck.
She jerked away from my hold and turned to the side, putting her hands on her belly.
“Look at this skinny little waist. No baby in sight,” she lifted up her shirt and snatched my hand, putting it flat on her stomach, “You feel that, babe? Nothing. No kicks. No heartbeat. How big do you think I would’ve been if our baby hadn't died?”
She stalked over to the sofa and grabbed a throw pillow, holding it to her stomach with one hand while she pulled her shirt over it with the other, “Like this? Or maybe bigger,” she added a second pillow, ridiculously overstuffing her shirt.
I watched this all unfold with wide eyes. Yes, she was drunk, but she was also clearly losing her fucking mind. It scared the shit out of me. She slinked back over to me with two pillows under her shirt and stood right in front of me, her pillow belly touching mine.
“How’s that for a reminder, Vaughn? Maybe I should’ve done this last week instead of just texting you about it.”
She didn’t text me last week.
Wait.
Fuck. FUCK.
She had texted me, but I’d been too busy at work to respond. It wasn’t about Lucy though. It couldn’t have been.
“I guess you forgot about the text, too?” she added with snark.
As she tossed her throw pillow belly back on the couch, I opened my phone to check. I rubbed my forehead as I read the text she’d sent me just over a week ago.
DESI: Do you think we could plan something special for next weekend?
No, no, no.
I fucked up.
I truly, seriously fucked up.
I’d never responded to her text. I’d never mentioned it in person. I’d completely forgotten she’d texted me at all. I'd been busy at work and ignored it, thinking I would respond later, but clearly, I never did. It never occurred to me that she was distancing herself because of my colossal fuck up.
“Shit, I don’t know what to say, Des. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I fucked up here.”
She turned to face me with a fake smile plastered to her face, “Oh, don’t worry about it, babe. I found a proper distraction for my grief so you don’t have to be bothered with it anymore.”
I should’ve focused on my screw up, I should’ve been groveling in apology and taking care of her needs in this moment, but I was selfishly concerned with this distraction she just mentioned.
“Wait, who were you out drinking with tonight?”
She came over to me and slipped her arms around my waist, “No one. I was out by myself.”
Her eyes were truthful as she looked up at me and I believed her on that point.
She continued, “I could’ve been out with someone else if I wanted, you know. But I didn’t want anything to do with any of you assholes tonight.”
Her fingers slipped inside the back of my jeans, pulling out my tucked in shirt tail before diving back in to grab my ass beneath my boxer briefs. I reached around and grabbed her wrists, lifting her hands away.
“Desi, stop.”
“Am I being bad? Do you need to punish me?” she stuck out her lip in a pout and batted her eyes at me.
“Desi, you have no idea what you’re saying. Why don’t you go get some sleep? We can talk more in the morning.”
She shook her head, “No rest for the wicked. You should punish me for being a bad girl.”
“Desi.”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Go to bed, babe.”
“Call me Blue and spank me,” she grabbed my hands and pulled them around behind her, resting them on her ass, one on each cheek.
It took every muscle in my body to pull my hands away from her and deny her exactly what she was asking for. I knew she didn’t really want to fuck right now and I wouldn't take advantage of her that way.
“Desi, I’m telling you no. You really need to sleep this off. Why don’t you just go to bed and I’ll bring you some water.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said before dropping to the floor on her hands and knees.
She started crawling, literally crawling, away toward the bedroom.
I stalked over to her, “What are you doing, babe? Get up off the floor.”
She turned her head over her shoulder to look back at me and purposefully arched her back, giving me a fine view of her ass.
�
�Make me, Vaughn.”
Don't take the bait.
Keep it in your pants.
I already had blue balls from our lack of physical intimacy and she knew that she made me a weak man when she flashed me that fuck me look of hers. She was doing it intentionally, but even I could see it wasn’t out of wanting, it was out of spite. But two could play this game. I’d play along to get her ass safely in bed where she belonged so she could sleep it the fuck off.
“You want me to make you do whatever I want?” I asked, dropping down on my haunches and reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
Her breath hitched and I swear she purred like a happy little kitten being stroked behind the ears, “Yes, baby.”
“Then crawl for me. Get on the bed.”
She did exactly that, climbing up onto our bed as soon as she made her way to our room. She peeled off her clothes and made a show of laying back slowly, completely naked on the center of the bed.
I climbed over her, fully clothed, pressing down over her body to give her one sensual, passionate kiss. She tried, but she was so wasted and exhausted that she hardly kissed back. It was no matter, I had no intention of doing anything more.
I just needed that taste of her for my sanity.
“What I want is for you to go to sleep. Sober up. Tomorrow morning I’ll apologize to you properly for being a neglectful, inattentive husband when you needed me most. But for now, all I want is for you to sleep it off.”
She was passed out before I finished the last sentence.
I went out to the living room to grab a blanket off the couch to cover her with. She was on top of the comforter and I didn’t want to risk waking her trying to get it out from under her.
I paused in the doorway coming back to the bedroom and had to stop, taking a moment to appreciate the beauty of her curves in the dim lighting.
My wife had always been thin and fit, but when she got pregnant, soft curves filled out the sharper edges of her petite frame. I knew she was still self-conscious about the extra weight, but I couldn’t for the life of me understand why. The softness made her more sensual, alluring. I wished she could see the curves the way I did, as evidence of the life she had created and the daughter she’d given us. She saw it as a reminder of her own perceived failure. I knew she blamed herself for Lucy’s death and I hated that she could think such a thing for even a second.
I’d made it so much worse for her by being a complete and total piece of shit without even realizing it. She reached out to me, tried to connect, asked to do something special the weekend of Lucy’s due date. I should’ve been there, I should’ve texted her back as soon as it came through. But all I’d done was glance at it thinking I’d reply during my lunch break only to forget about it entirely in my preoccupation with work.
We were both doing a truly spectacular job of fucking up what should be our happy marriage.
I covered her with the blanket, pulling it all the way to her shoulders before turning out the light and shutting the bedroom door behind me. Her phone was still in my pocket since finding it under her pillow earlier. I pulled it out and sat at the dining room table. I was determined to break the code tonight.
Eight attempts and eight failures later I was ready to give up. I’d tried our anniversary date, the date I proposed, Lucy’s due date, the date she was born, even the date we thought we had conceived, which, incidentally was also the night we met.
But I haven’t tried her name.
Why hadn’t I thought of that before?
It was Lucy. Just Lucy. L-U-C-Y. I typed it in.
5-8-2-9.
I nearly fell off the dining room chair in relief when it worked. I went straight for her messaging app. With a steadying breath, I tapped to open it.
The first name in the listing was Law. Nerves gripped me as I read the message preview for an unread text. It only showed the first three words for a message sent just a couple of hours ago.
Without any context they were a punch to my gut. It said, “I want you…” and cut off there. I pinched the bridge of my nose, fearing the worst as I tapped to open the thread.
LAW: I want you to know that I’m here for you. As a friend. I know this is a hard weekend for you. Please, just text me back and let me know you’re okay.
That wasn’t so bad, a concerned text from a friend. At least someone remembered, unlike her asshole husband. I scrolled up to read the other text messages from this Law person that had been sent last night.
LAW: What’s going on, Blue? I thought we were meeting at Black Ties tonight. I haven't seen you in almost two weeks.
LAW: Answer me, Blue.
LAW: I miss you.
LAW: Ris texted, told me you're with her and okay.
LAW: Are you really asking her to switch and play dom for you? Why didn't you just TELL me?
Who the hell are these people? And what the fuck is Black Ties?
Each text I read from last night twisted my gut. The words switch and dom were what really had my pulse racing in fear of what she’d been doing. I recognized them immediately and knew exactly what they meant. One of my exes had been big into the whole BDSM scene and had given me quite an education. Desi was meeting with these people who were clearly a part of that world. That’s what brought me to the immediate conclusion that Desi had been cheating.
Desi is cheating.
No, she can’t be.
She wouldn’t.
My brain worked through a million explanations and reasons, trying to find a more palatable conclusion. After sifting through the possibilities, I rationalized this whole thing as abuse. This Law guy was after her. He’d somehow managed to lure her into his sick games. Young and naïve as Desi was, she didn’t know what to do to get herself out of it. That’s why she ignored his texts last night. She needed me to save her. At least that’s what I tried convincing myself before I started reading through past messages from a few weeks ago.
LAW: Just checking in. You healing up okay? I really expected a safeword yesterday, Blue.
First of all…Blue?
Why is he calling her that?
Does he know her real name?
Did she tell him Holly Blue is the nickname I gave her?
Would she really be so cruel to let him use it?
DESI: Yes, I’m fine. Amazing actually.
LAW: Yes, you really are.
DESI: Thank you, Sir. Will you do it to me again? Please, Sir?
LAW: Yes, if you really want it.
DESI: I do.
LAW: We’ll meet at Black Ties on Friday. 8pm.
DESI: Can't we do it tonight?
LAW: No. You need to heal. Do me something in the meantime, though?
DESI: Of course, Sir.
LAW: Touch yourself for me. Make yourself come. Give yourself a reward for handling your punishment like a champ.
I dropped the phone on the table with a clang and stood suddenly from the rush of rage induced energy that shot through me. The wooden chair I sat in toppled over backward at my abrupt movement. I ran my hands through my hair, digging my fingers in with frustration.
"Fuck! Goddamnit."
There was more to that text conversation but I couldn’t bring myself to read it. I didn’t want to know her response. I didn’t need to know any more than what I’d already learned.
I picked up the chair and pulled my own phone out of my pocket, sitting back down and pulling up my web browser. I frantically typed in a search for “Black Ties Chicago.” A bunch of formal wear and tux rental places came up, but the third hit took me to a minimalist website with the information I was looking for. It told me that Black Ties was a private, members only and invite only club that catered to kink culture. There was some contact information and FAQs, but not much else. The FAQs told me what I needed to know. Black Ties was a sex club.
My wife has been meeting another man at a sex club.
Fuck.
My.
Life.
My fist slammed a
gainst the table in rage. If Desi hadn’t been sleeping in the other room, I would’ve completely lost control. I would’ve caused some serious damage to our walls that would’ve resulted in losing our security deposit. Or perhaps eviction.
I was absolutely livid. I probably didn’t have the right to be since I’d clearly been neglecting her needs, but I was livid nonetheless.
I knew rationally it wasn’t just her fault. It was partly mine, too. She’d helped to make that crystal clear tonight. I hadn't been here. I hadn't been present. I'd avoided her with my late nights at work and at the gym just as much as she'd avoided me.
Regardless of that rational thought, I had rage bubbling inside me. Part of me wanted to hunt down and kill this motherfucker tonight. Part of me wanted to storm into our bedroom and confront Desi, to shake her and scream at her and beg to know why she did this instead of coming to me. But the loudest, most insistent part of me wanted to play this game that was brewing, to win this competition. My blood burned with primal energy that demanded I take ownership of what belonged to me.
Desi was my wife and I wasn’t letting her go without a fight.
Chapter 20
Vaughn
That weekend was the worst fucking weekend of my life.
For one thing, I was coping with the fact that my wife was cheating on me. It was that much worse that I had to swallow the fact down dry, because this simply wasn’t the time to address it. For obvious reasons, that wasn’t even the most horrible thing about that weekend. The most horrible thing was reliving the sickening memory of the day Lucy died as I witnessed Desi spiral in suffering.
She woke up crying that morning, on Lucy’s due date. I’d been awakened by the sounds of her quiet sobbing beside me in the bed. When she sensed I was awake, she got up and went to the bathroom and I could hear her sobbing behind the door.
