Verity

by Colleen Hoover

  Jeremy leans back in his seat and grips his side, trying to hold back his laughter as the waitress approaches with the check. Jeremy takes it from her. “My treat,” he manages to say.

  When we return to the house, Crew makes it inside before we do. “Run upstairs and let April know we’re back,” Jeremy calls after him.

  Jeremy closes the door that leads into the garage, and we both pause before moving farther into the house. We’re tucked away into an unlit corner near the stairs, but a stream of light from the kitchen streaks across his face.

  “Thank you for dinner. That was fun.”

  Jeremy pulls off his jacket. “It was.” He’s smiling as he hangs his jacket on a coat rack next to the door. He looks different tonight, like he’s less weighed down by his life than he usually is. “I should get Crew out more often.”

  I nod in agreement, slipping my hands into my back pockets. The next few seconds fill with thick silence. It almost feels like that moment at the end of real dates when you can’t decide between a kiss or a hug.

  Of course, neither would be appropriate in this case because it wasn’t a date.

  Why did it feel like one?

  Our eye contact is broken when Crew begins to descend the stairs. Jeremy’s gaze diverts to his feet for a moment, but before he walks away, I see him release a quick breath, as if Crew interrupted something Jeremy was about to regret. Something I’m not sure I would have regretted.

  I sigh heavily and then go straight to Verity’s office and close the door. I need to distract myself. I feel an emptiness—an ache in my stomach that I don’t think is going to go away. Like I need more moments with him. Moments I can’t get. Moments I shouldn’t get.

  I flip through the pages of Verity’s manuscript, hoping to find an intimate scene with Jeremy.

  I’m not sure what kind of person that makes me in this moment, because reading this is wrong on so many levels, but it isn’t as wrong as crossing that line with him physically would be.

  I can’t have him in real life, but I can learn what he’s like in bed to aid in all my fantasies I’m probably going to have about him.

  So Be It

  I was about to have a breakdown. I could feel it. Or at least a meltdown. A temper tantrum. A hissy fit. Any of them would have been inappropriate, though.

  I just couldn’t take it anymore. If one of them wasn’t crying, the other one was. If one of them wasn’t hungry, the other one was. They rarely slept at the same time. Jeremy was a big help and did half the work with them, but if we’d only had one child, I’d at least have gotten a break. But there were two, so it was as if we each were full-time single parents of an infant.

  Jeremy was still selling real estate at the time the girls were born. He took two weeks off to help me with the girls, but his two weeks were up, and he needed to go back to work. We couldn’t afford a nanny because the advance I had recently received for the sell of my first manuscript was small. I was terrified of being left alone with the babies while he was away from the house for nine hours every day.

  However, once Jeremy returned to work, it ended up being the best thing that ever happened to me.

  He would leave at seven in the morning. I would wake up with him so he could see me caring for the girls. After he was gone, I would put them back in their cribs, unplug their monitors and go back to bed. From the day he started back to work, I began getting more sleep than I think I’d ever gotten. We were in a corner apartment, and their room didn’t butt up to any other apartment, so no one could hear them cry.

  I couldn’t even hear them when I put my earplugs in.

  After three days of Jeremy being back at work, I felt like my life was returning to normal. I was getting so much sleep during the day, but before Jeremy would come home, I’d feed them, bathe them, and start on dinner. Every night when he would walk in the door, the babies would be calm from finally being tended to, the smell of dinner would be coming from the kitchen, and he’d be blown away by how well I was tackling life.

  Nighttime feedings didn’t even bother me at that point, because my sleep schedule had shifted. I was doing most of my sleeping while Jeremy was at work. And the girls would sleep fairly well at night due to the exhaustion from crying all day. But the crying was probably good for them. I was able to write most nights while everyone slept, so I was even ahead career-wise.

  The only place I was lacking was in the bedroom. I hadn’t been cleared to have sex from my doctor yet, as it had only been four weeks since their births. But I knew if I didn’t keep that part of my marriage alive, it could quickly spread into other areas of our marriage. A terrible sex life is like a virus. Your marriage can be healthy in all other aspects, but once the sex dies out, it starts to infect all the other parts of your relationship.

  I was determined not to let that happen to us.

  I had tried the night before to have sex with him, but Jeremy was worried he would hurt me. Even though it had been a cesarean, he still worried about the incision. He had read online that he couldn’t even so much as finger me until we got the okay from my doctor, and that appointment was still two weeks away. He refused to have sex with me until a medical professional approved it.

  I didn’t want to wait that long, though. I couldn’t. I missed him. I missed that connection with him.

  Jeremy woke up that night at two in the morning because my tongue was sliding up his dick. I’m almost positive his dick was rock hard before he was even fully awake.

  The only reason I knew he was awake is because his hand moved to my head and his fingers snaked through my hair. That’s the only movement he made. He didn’t even lift his head off his pillow to look at me, and for some reason, I liked that. I’m not even sure he opened his eyes. He remained still and silent while I drove him mad with my tongue.

  I licked him, teased him, touched him for fifteen minutes without ever putting him inside my mouth. I knew how much he wanted me to, because he was growing restless and needed that relief, but I didn’t want him to get relief from my mouth. I wanted him to get it by fucking me for the first time in weeks.

  His hand was impatient, squeezing the back of my head, pressing me down on his dick as he silently begged me to take him in my mouth. I refused and continued to fight against the pressure of his hand as I kissed and licked him, when all he wanted to do was shove it into my mouth.

  When I was certain I had driven him so crazy that his desire outweighed his concern for me, I moved away from him. He followed. I fell onto my back, spread my legs, and he was inside me without a second thought about whether or not it was too soon for him to be there. He wasn’t even gentle. It was as if my tongue had driven him to a point of madness, because he was pounding into me so hard, it actually did hurt.

  It lasted almost an hour and a half because as soon as he finished, I sucked him off until he was hard again. Both times we fucked, we never said a word. And even after it was all over and I was crushed beneath the weight of his exhausted body, we still didn’t speak. He rolled off me and wrapped himself around me. Our sheets were covered in sweat and semen, but we were too consumed with sleep to care.

  I knew then that it was okay. We would be okay. Jeremy still worshipped my body as much as he always had.

  The girls might have taken a lot from us by then, but his desire was the one thing I knew would always be mine.

  This chapter has been the most difficult to continue reading by far. How a mother could sleep soundly down the hall from her crying infants baffles me. She’s callous.

  I’ve been under the impression that Verity might have been a sociopath, but now I’m leaning more toward psychopath.

  I put the manuscript away and use Verity’s computer to refresh my memory of the exact definition for psychopath. I scroll through every personality trait. Pathological liar, cunning and manipulative, lack of remorse or guilt, callousness and lack of empathy, shallow emotional response.

  She displays every characteristic. The only thing about her th
at makes me question if she was a psychopath is her obsession with Jeremy. Psychopaths find it more difficult to fall in love, and if they do, it’s difficult for them to retain that love. They tend to move on quickly from one person to the next. But Verity didn’t want to move on from Jeremy. He was Verity’s entire focus.

  The man is married to a psychopath, and he has no idea because she did everything she could to hide it from him.

  There’s a soft knock on the office door, so I minimize the screen on the computer. When I open the door, Jeremy is standing in the hallway. His hair is damp and he’s wearing a white T-shirt with a pair of black pajama bottoms.

  This is my favorite look on him. Barefoot, casual, easygoing. It’s sexy as hell, and I hate how attracted to him I am. Would I even be attracted to him if it weren’t for the intimate details I’ve read about him in that manuscript?

  “Sorry to bother you. I need a favor.”

  “What’s up?”

  He motions for me to follow him. “There’s an old aquarium somewhere in the basement. I just need you to hold the door open for me so I can bring it upstairs and clean it out for Crew.”

  I smile. “You’re gonna let him have a turtle?”

  “Yeah, he seemed excited today. He’s a little older now, so hopefully he’ll remember to feed this one.” Jeremy reaches the basement door and opens it. “The door was installed backward. It’s impossible to come up the stairs with your hands full or you can’t open the door to get out.”

  Jeremy flips on a light and begins to descend the stairs. The basement doesn’t feel like an extension of the house. It feels abandoned and uncared for, like a neglected child. Creaky steps and dust on the handrail attached to the wall. Normally, I would have zero desire to walk into a basement this unwelcoming. Especially in a house that already terrifies me. But their basement is the only place in this house I’ve yet to see, and I’m curious what’s down there. What kind of things could Verity have packed away?

  The stairwell leading into the basement is dark because the light switch at the top of the stairs only powered a light that was inside the actual basement. When I reach the bottom step, I’m relieved to see the room isn’t at all as eerie as I had expected. To the left is an office desk that looks to have gone unused for quite some time. There are stacks of files and papers all over the desk, but it looks more like a corner used for storage than a place where a person could actually sit and get work done.

  To the right are boxes of things accumulated over the years they’ve been together. Some with lids, some without. There’s a baby video monitor sticking out of one of the boxes and I cringe, thinking about the chapter I just read and how Verity admitted to unplugging it during the day so she couldn’t hear them crying.

  Jeremy is sorting through a collection of things behind and in between the boxes.

  “Did you used to work down here?” I ask him.

  “Yeah. I owned a realty firm and brought a lot of work home most days, so this was my office.” He lifts a sheet and tosses it aside, revealing an aquarium that’s covered in a layer of dust. “Bingo.” He begins to rummage through the contents inside the aquarium to ensure he has all the pieces.

  I’m still thinking about the career he casually mentioned giving up. “You owned your own firm?”

  He lifts the aquarium and walks it to the desk on the other side of the room. I make room by pushing papers and files out of the way so he can set it down.

  “Yep. Started it the same year Verity started writing books.”

  “Did you love it?”

  He nods. “I did. It was a lot of work, but I was good at it.” He plugs the lid to the aquarium into an outlet, checking to see if the attached light still works. “When Verity’s first book released, we both thought it was more of a hobby than an actual career. When she sold it, we still didn’t take it very seriously. But then word started to get out, and more copies of her books were selling. After a couple of years, her checks started to make mine look cute.” He laughs, as if it’s a fond memory and not one that bothers him at all. “By the time she got pregnant with Crew, we both knew I was only working for the sake of working. Not because my income had a real impact on our lifestyle. It was the only choice, really. For me to quit, since the job required so much of my time.” He unplugs the light to the aquarium, and when he does, there’s a popping sound behind us, followed by the escape of the only light we had in the basement.

  It’s pitch black now. I know he’s right in front of me, but I can no longer see him. My pulse quickens, and then I feel his hand on my arm. “Here,” he says, bringing my hand to his shoulder. “Must have flipped a breaker. Walk behind me, and when we make it to the top of the stairs, just slip around me and open the door.”

  I feel his shoulder muscles contract as he lifts the aquarium. I keep my hand on his shoulder, following closely behind him as he makes his way toward the stairs. He takes each step slowly, probably for my benefit. When he stops, he moves so that his back is against the wall. I slip around him and feel around for the doorknob. I pull the door open and a flood of light pours in.

  Jeremy walks out first, and as soon as he’s out of my way, I pull the door shut quickly, causing it to slam. He laughs when I release a shaky breath.

  “Not a fan of basements, huh?”

  I shake my head. “Not a fan of dark basements.”

  Jeremy walks the aquarium to the kitchen table and looks at it. “That’s a lot of dust.” He picks it up again. “Do you mind if I wash it in the master shower? It’d be easier than trying to do it in the sink.”

  I shake my head. “Not at all.”

  Jeremy carries the aquarium to the master shower. Part of me wants to follow him and help, but I don’t. I go back to the office and do my best to focus on the series I’m supposed to be working on. Thoughts of Verity continue to distract me like they do every time I finish a chapter in her autobiography. Yet, I can’t stop reading it. It’s like a train wreck and Jeremy doesn’t even realize he was mangled in the wreckage.

  I choose to work on the series rather than read more of the manuscript, but I’ve gotten very little done by the time Jeremy finishes up in the master bath. I decide to call it a night and head back to the bedroom.

  After I’ve washed my face and brushed my teeth, I stare at the handful of shirts I brought with me that are hanging in the closet. I have no desire to wear any of them, so I begin to rummage through Jeremy’s shirts. The shirt he lent me smelled like him the entire day I wore it. I thumb through them until I find a T-Shirt of his that’s soft enough to sleep in. In small print over the left breast, it reads, “Crawford Realty.”

  I pull the shirt on over my head and then walk over to the bed. Before climbing into it, I focus on the bite marks on the headboard. I walk closer to them, running my thumb over them.

  I look down the length of the headboard and notice there is more than one imprint of teeth. There are five or six areas where Verity bit the headboard, some not as noticeable as the others until you’re up close.

  I crawl onto the bed and lift up onto my knees as I face the headboard. I straddle a pillow and imagine being in this position—sprawled over Jeremy’s face as I grip the headboard. I close my eyes and slide a hand up into Jeremy’s T-shirt, imagining it’s his hand that drags up my stomach and caresses my breast.

  My lips part and I suck in air, but a noise above me breaks me out of the moment. I look up at the ceiling and listen to the sound of Verity’s hospital bed as it begins to hum and move.

  I pull the pillow out from under me and lie on my back as I stare up at the ceiling, wondering what—if anything—goes through Verity’s mind. Is it complete darkness in there? Does she hear what people say to her? Does she sense the sunshine when it’s on her skin? Does she know whose touch is whose?

  I put my arms at my sides and lie still, imagining what it would be like not to be able to control my movements. I remain in the same position on the bed, even though I’m growing more and more restless
with each passing minute. I need to scratch my nose, and it makes me wonder if that bothers Verity, not being able to lift a hand to scratch an itch. Or if her condition even allows her to feel an itch.

  I close my eyes and all I can think about is that Verity possibly deserves the darkness, the stillness, the quiet. Yet for a psychopath, she certainly has so many still wrapped around her immobile finger.

  The smell is different when I open my eyes. So are the noises.

  I’m not confused about where I am. I know I’m in Jeremy’s house. I just…I’m not in my room.

  I’m staring at a wall. The wall in the master bedroom is light grey. This wall is yellow. Yellow, like the walls in the upstairs bedrooms.

  The bed beneath me begins to move, but it isn’t because someone in the bed is moving. It’s different…like it’s…mechanical.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. Please, God. No. No, no, no, please don’t tell me I am in Verity’s bed.

  I’m trembling all over now. I open my eyes, slowly, and turn my head at the slowest pace possible. When I see the door and then the dresser and then the TV mounted to the wall, I roll out of the bed, falling to the floor. I scramble to the wall and slide up it with my back against it. I squeeze my eyes shut. I can hardly hold myself up I am so hysterical.

  My body is shaking so badly, I can hear it when I breathe. Whimpers at first, but as soon as I open my eyes and see Verity on her bed, I scream.

  Then I slap my hand over my mouth.

  It’s dark outside. Everyone is asleep. I have to be quiet.

  It’s been so long since this has happened. Years, probably. But it’s happening and I am terrified and I have no idea why I ended up here. Was it because I was thinking about her?

  “Sleepwalking is patternless, Lowen. It has no meaning. It is unrelated to intention.”

  I hear my therapist’s words, but I don’t want to process them. I need to get out of here. Move, Lowen.