Inhale, Exhale

by Matthews, C. L.

  “That’s it, baby,” he coos, finally all the way in.

  After he waits a moment for me to adjust to his girth, he begins moving, and it’s deliciously painful, a mixture of pain and absolute bliss.

  “You’re so tight, so fucking perfect,” he groans with each thrust.

  My moans follow suit, this intense sensation building inside of me. Sweat trickles down my forehead, and he’s kissing me again.

  “Jason!”

  He grunts from me calling his name repeatedly, one hand digging into my waist while the other grips my left tit. He kneads it, trying not to grip too tight, but I can feel him swelling. He’s almost ready.

  It’s nothing I imagined, but I’m already slightly addicted to the pain that comes with the release. He continues to pump into me in earnest, my walls squeezing around him, milking him, and bringing me the best high of my life.

  “Lo, fuck, baby,” he nearly cries out, biting my collar, sucking and surely leaving marks. “You’re all mine, Peaches.”

  And when he comes, I feel the warmth in me. It’s a feeling I’ll never be able to describe perfectly. It’s wet, smooth, and hot, and when it leaks out of me, trailing to my ass, I feel like he marked me. I feel like his release coated me as his, claiming me in a way no one else has. It isn’t until I come down from my high that I realize he didn’t wear a condom.

  I’m never this reckless. Ever.

  His body is heavy over mine as he kisses my dampened forehead and rolls off me.

  “We didn’t wear protection,” I mutter softly, knowing I had to say something. Even if it ruins my first time, I had to.

  Fear like ice water coats me. My first fucking time, and I already screwed up. I’m not on birth control. I never saw the reason to be. I’ve always had light periods, and until Jase, sex wasn’t in the books for me.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He throws his arm over his eyes then breathes evenly. He rolls over, cupping my chin, kissing me with so much love. “If anything happens, I’ll be the best fucking dad.”

  And at that moment, I knew he would be. I never doubted him, not really.

  “I know it’s too soon, Peaches, but I love you. I’ve never cared about much in my life other than getting away from my family, but you’re different. Something about you makes me want to stay and build a life.”

  “I-I love you too,” I whimper.

  A new wave of tears flood out from me. I don’t know how it’s possible this early on, but my mind and heart are in agreement.

  I love Jason Collins.

  Part II

  Exhale

  It’s so hard realizing how you were such a huge part of my life, one I couldn’t visualize living without you in it, just to have you stripped from me by each inhale and exhale.

  The essence of you lives in me, in them, in him, but I wonder when I’ll be able to breathe safely again.

  Do you see the tears?

  Do you hear the cries?

  Do you feel my pain, too?

  Where are you?

  - Lo

  chapter thirteen

  Eighteen Years Later

  Lo

  Pain is my prison.

  Emptiness is my cage.

  Death is my reality.

  When you hear tires squeal then screech and whoosh in the next moment, most people wait for the conclusion. The crash. The screech becomes a smash. The whoosh becomes a crunch, and the squeal turns into silence soon after. It’s inevitable. It’s like it’s built in us to wait for that moment. Our ears open up a little more, and our eyes closed in attempt to hear that sound better, the one where the metal makes that sickening noise from becoming a pancake on the road.

  Love isn’t like that. Yeah, you can be bitter and expect love to end in failure, see marriage end in divorce, witness tragedy that you can never imagine overcoming, and see heartache a mile away.

  But unlike a car crash, there aren’t always warning signs. There can be, and maybe I should’ve seen them. Maybe I should’ve realized I’d lost him. I didn’t, though, and now, here we are. It’s too late.

  Sometimes, love dies.

  Our love... it died.

  We’re not divorced, but we might as well be. That would be easier, kinder, and so much nicer than living how we do. Is this really living? It’s unbearable here. The house is hollow. Where there was once love now lives the demise of happiness. It’s a house full of what ifs, one of broken promises, heartbreak, and desolation. A house for a family barely staying together.

  It’d be easier if he left, but instead, he stays, breaking me more with each passing day. There’s not much left of the person he married—if there is, she’s lost—and I’m not even sure if he could find her again.

  I honestly don't know where it all went wrong with us. I’ve torn my soul apart trying to understand what I did or didn’t do to cause this. A person can only cry so much, and I’m done weeping over my loss. It’s time to breathe life back into me. It’s not even my first loss. He’s not the only person I mourn, but he hurts the worst. It's as if I live with a roommate, a stranger, rather than the man I fell in love with. Rather than the man I married.

  We're broken but not.

  Hopeless yet so fixable in my eyes.

  Tainted but pure at the same time.

  We contradict in every sense but blend so well.

  We’re a fucking mess, and I still love him.

  I just need an in with him, to break through this barrier he's created between us. I miss him so damn much. He’s all I’ve ever wanted—all I could dream for in a man. Before this shift, we were best friends, and I want that back.

  There are many theories of our marriage’s demise. That pivotal destruction people say exists, the teetering part off that metaphorical edge—that is the unavoidable ending in a relationship. That particular moment has to be all the death that surrounds us. That’s when I shut down and became numb.

  But alas, I still try for us, and this time of year, I'm only reminded of how much pain I've endured and that it'll drag me down once again. Have you ever feared your own mind? I have, and I do. Every time December comes, I know what will happen once again.

  In twenty-seven days and counting, it’ll be that time again, that dreadful month-long-event of mourning. I have to get out of this house before then, escape before the memories and pain trigger me back to that day, back to a cold-hearted bitter December.

  Back to when I lost both of them.

  Jase, now my husband, doesn’t understand the strangling feeling that overtakes me this time each year. There’s a suffocation that comes with any loss, an almost graspable pain that occurs during the holidays, but also near the anniversary, too. My husband has never lost anyone special to him, and he only sees the pain it causes me from a detached point of view. By not undergoing it himself, he can only feel sorry for me. When he finally gets it, I’ll be heartbroken. No one deserves that kind of agony.

  I’m glad he doesn’t have to experience the dread, the absolute emptiness that comes with losing someone you were so incredibly close to, but I wish he understood. It’s not fair. I think, all around, it would make this less painful, almost bearable, if he could feel what I feel. He could console me, bring me back to life, and know what to do. He doesn't try to understand. There’s this large distance, and it hurts constantly.

  Instead of being a soundboard, he pushed me away.

  December is many people’s favorite month, with Christmas, the coming New Year’s, and snow. But it’s not mine. Never mine. It’s not only the memories and loss of them. It’s also because it’s the month I indefinitely lost my marriage.

  “I can’t do this anymore, Loren. I can’t watch you destroy yourself and abandon us. I’m done trying to reach you. I feel empty whenever I see you. It’s killing me.”

  I nod and realize I’m not even crying. There’s nothing that really clicks within my mind anymore, and Jase knows it. He hands me divorce papers and rubs a palm agonizingly slow over his face.

  I
sign those papers.

  I hand them back.

  Waiting for him to leave, too.

  Jason and I have been married for fourteen years. I’ve dedicated my life to him and our family, but my heart left me when they died. They say we all cope in our own way, and I did it by not feeling at all. That’s not really coping. Whenever her name is mentioned, I cry. As people reminisce, like my baby brother, I shut down again. I can’t handle it. I can’t let the pain through.

  I think of my happy place, and then, it’s just gone.

  Time went on and I unintentionally closed my heart off to pain, I shut it down from love, too. My children don’t have a mom, and my husband doesn’t have a wife. Selfish or not, I continued to let it happen until seven months ago. By the time I realized it, Jason was no longer mine.

  He’s hers. Whoever she is, the one who gets all of his love and time, he’s hers now.

  Anyone can see it in the way he avoids me, won’t touch me, and how curt he is with both the kids and I. Even though it smacked me straight in the face, I didn’t realize it at first. For some silly reason, I believed he’d wait for my recovery, for me to be ready to live again. It wasn’t my brightest idea, and it sure as hell wasn’t the truth. I would have waited for him or helped him cope. I would have been there.

  Secretly, in the back of my mind, I knew this would happen, that he’d lose the love he had for me, for us, and leave. After the first mention of divorce, I shut down. But he’s still here. He hasn’t left. For whatever reason, he stayed. I blinded myself for so long, and now, I’m paying for it.

  Am I delusional to think I can fix us? Now, after all this time?

  I’ve been a stay-at-home mom for a very long time. Fifteen years to be exact. Finally, after years of being stuck at home doing the same thing every day, I gave in. I begged Jase to let me venture into corporate America for a job. I needed space, breathing room, and a place to not be a wife, mother, and nanny all-in-one.

  Something, I need something to grasp onto.

  Not to suffocate from memories, from the constant work at home.

  I crave to feel desired, loved, and wanted again. Lately, Jase doesn’t want me. There’s no yearning on his face, not even a lick of interest. His eyes are stormy skies, dead puddles of blue and sorrow, but they are so telling. The love that always shone brightly in his eyes is nowhere to be found, yet I still look for it every day.

  You know that feeling when your spouse is gone for eleven hours, and when they come home, it finally feels like home? When without them there, you’re missing something spectacular and special? That feeling isn’t there for him, or that’s how it appears to be.

  When he comes home, I feel like I can breathe again, like the air and oxygen is finally making it into my lungs. But him? He’s stony and frigid, and that’s if he even comes home.

  Jase spends more time away than he spends here. Some nights, most really, he doesn’t make it back to me. I always played it off that he’s dedicated to his work and not because he’s with another woman, but in my heart, I know. He smells different, and I’ve seen the condoms and lipstick stains.

  Jase walks through the door, his normally messy hair is almost ragged, as if someone pulled on it or dragged their fingers through it a ton of times. My stomach churns, and when I make it to him, he swallows hard. I notice his throat bob, and then, he weaves away from me.

  “I’m tired,” he barely whispers.

  The kids are already sleeping, and when I follow him to our bathroom where he’s undressing, I see the lipstick stain on his neck. The urge to vomit rises, literally making me grip my stomach in disgust.

  Lipstick stains. Messy hair. Regretful eyes. All the signs, but I refuse to accept them.

  He wouldn't.

  He loves me.

  He loves our family.

  Were happy, right?

  I do nothing. I say nothing, and he starts the shower, disappearing behind the curtains. My heart leaps, knowing he’s been with someone else but not wanting to think about it. The niggling at the back of my brain propels me forward, and I find myself digging in his briefcase. Upon all the normal paperwork and files, I find a stash of condoms and a lace thong tucked into one of the inner pouches.

  Before the tears come, I run to the spare bathroom. The cool tile tethers me to the room. The tears fall freely now, pelting the floor and dripping down my cheeks. The sobs are coming faster, choking me with emotions. My breathing speeds up, and my chest squeezes. Is this what a broken heart feels like? No, he wouldn’t do this to me. No, I can’t accept this.

  Staving off the despair from that knowledge and the memory is nearly impossible. Our kids miss their daddy. They tell me often. Ace is moodier about it than not. Our little man has become volatile. Little man is a stretch, he’s fifteen and aggressive to other kids and mouthing off in class. I’m not even sure what to do.

  I know it’s not Jase’s place to tell me to get a job or not, but he always says he doesn’t need me to get a job. I could go get one. I should go get one. I don’t need his permission, but I also feel like we should discuss it more. We should work together for it.

  That’s what couples do.

  After asking him to allow me to get a job and get out of the house, everything felt even stiffer between us. His response in turn was an immediate “no,” but that won’t stop me this time. I’m picking myself, and my kids don’t need me home twenty-four seven anymore. They’ve hit that age where I’m not a constant necessity. Usually, I blow off my needs and desires, chalk it up as not the right time, or maybe in a few months, but no more.

  I can’t stay here any longer. I’ve been the perfect wife for years. At over thirty, I want more. I need more.

  Our love story is sappy, poetic, and beautiful, but mostly, it no longer exists.

  When your husband’s brother is your best friend and confidant, you know there’s something wrong, though Toby has always been my best friend, even before Jase existed to me. Admitting that I’m closer to Toby than my own husband feels dirty somehow, but he’s been here. He’s always here for me and the kids.

  I try not to live off the what ifs, but when I’m sad and lonely, I can’t help but imagine... if I gave Toby a chance.

  Ace and Jasmine. They’re why I can’t live life on what ifs.

  How Tobias Hayes and I can talk for hours on end, which we do, and still have so much more to say is beyond me. It’s like we’re back in high school, hanging out and reminiscing. At first, I believed we were just best friends. We always clicked, but it doesn’t help that I met him first either.

  There was a solidified connection before I even started dating his older brother. Tobe’s the only person other than Ellie who listens to my every complaint. She is my other best friend. We’re still going strong. I wouldn’t be here today without their constant love but, most importantly, his.

  “You can’t give up, Sparkle.” Tobe clutches my cheeks, rubbing his calloused thumbs gently across them. “You have to live. If not for you or him, then do it for Ace and Jaz. They love you. I love you.” His voice breaks.

  The unshed tears he holds back wake me up. He’s right. I need to live for my children.

  “When he served me divorce papers last year, I was devastated. I might’ve signed them, might’ve given him what he wanted, but inside, I suffered alone. Inside, I felt my life had no reprieve. I wanted to die. This hurts so much worse though. I found condoms, Tobe! Fucking condoms.”

  Just because we stayed together for the kids—or whatever reason he didn’t file them—doesn’t mean I’ll ever recover from him having them drawn up in the first place.

  “And he deserves to have his dick fall off. Don’t hurt yourself, please, baby. You’re not alone. I’m here, Sparkle. I’ve always been right here.”

  I nod, not because I agree, but because my kids need me to suck it up and be the mom they need. I landed in the hospital many times in the last few years from suicide attempts. I’m a horrible mother.

  “Tha
nk you, Toby,” I whisper, holding back unshed tears.

  Why can’t Jase be holding me to this Earth, tethering me to the here and now? Why isn’t he loving me and wanting me like his brother?

  This is so backwards, so completely fucked up.

  I physically shook the moment Toby told me he loved me. It felt more, like when he admitted to that love in high school. For now, I ponder my future. Tobe spends more time with my kids than my own husband does, and I’m grateful to have him in my life, though it feels like I’m betraying my husband by even thinking that.

  Even if I get a job, what about the kids? Will Ellie take the workload? For years, I’ve nannied children, owning a home daycare and homeschooling program with her. Like me, she doesn’t have to work. She married Francis on a whim in college, and his family has paid for everything. Their daughter Gray, too.

  Being a stay-at-home daycare has its perks and disadvantages, like spending half days with Ellie and every day with my kids. It never seemed to bother me until my husband took on extra work at the office and Ellie would disappear more often than not, leaving me with Gray while she did whatever she did. I would take extra work too if my wife bailed on the emotional aspect of our marriage.

  So, as a somewhat decent person, I still accept my faults for everything that has happened. I own my misgivings, the loss of love, and the pain. I own the numbness.

  Everything changed between me and Jase, and I don’t know how to win his love back.

  I crave the one person I can’t have, and he’s already mine.

  My husband is the Chief Executive Officer at his own investment banking agency by day and doting father by night. Or whatever you could consider a father. He’s backed off being a parent, and it’s taking its toll on Jaz and Ace. They don’t deserve his distance. Maybe I do, but they sure as hell haven’t done anything wrong.

  Me, I’ve wasted my Master’s degree in Culinary Arts. My dream was—is—to have my very own restaurant. That hasn’t happened. Yet.