Love Me More

by R. S. Medina

  I position myself over him, and I just don't think. I just feel. I don't think about Finn. I don't think about what I'm doing. I just feel.

  I feel when Tristan places the head of his dick at my entrance panties bunched up and pushed to the side, and I feel the pressure when he slightly pushes into me. I gasp when he pushes all the way into me, my body conforming to his, and I feel him sigh into my neck when he's inside of me.

  "Fuck," Tristan grunts, his hands all over me. "You feel so fucking good, Blair." I press my lips against his swallowing his words as I begin to ride him. I don't want to talk. I don't want to think. I just want to feel.

  I press Tristan into the seat, pressing my palms into his chest. He grips my hips so tightly I'm scared there will be tiny fingerprint bruises on my hips, but part of me is excited by the idea that he will have left a visible mark on me.

  "Harder," I demand, and Tristan thrusts into me, grabbing my hips harder, making me yelp and grit my teeth.

  I can't believe Tristan Woods is inside of me, fucking me in his truck like we are a couple of horny high school teenagers again.

  I can feel Tristan tense, getting ready to finish, which is fine because I feel my release building. I dig my fingertips into Tristan and fall to pieces around him. I feel him shudder as he finds his release. I rest, panting on his chest, him still inside of me. I don't want to think about what I just did. He presses one, sweet kiss to my forehead.

  I pull myself off him and adjust my skirt and panties. What have I done? I sit back in the passenger seat and try not to watch as Tristan rolls the condom off and throws it out the window. It's littering, and I hate that, but I don't know what else I expect him to do with it. I think it would be even more disgusting for him to keep it in the car.

  I gather up my bag off the floorboard and start throwing all the spilled contents back in. Tristan buckles himself in and puts the truck in drive.

  "Guess I should get you back to work, huh?" he asks. I just nod. I see my work come into view.

  Part of me wants to beg him to keep driving.

  He pulls up at my car and puts his car in park. We both stare at the building.

  "Thank you," I tell him.

  "No problem," he says. He grabs my hand in his, our hands connected.

  I lean over and give him a peck on the cheek. And then I let go of his hand and hop out and slam the door behind me before I can change my mind and beg him to drive as fast and far away as we can. I walk with my head down back to my desk.

  Why do I want to cry?

  What did I do?

  My phone pings.

  Tristan: I think I'm falling in love with you.

  Present

  When I get back from lunch, Amber intercepts me on the way to the bathroom after dropping my stuff off at my desk. I chose not to respond to Tristan. If he meant something like that, it probably is best not sent over text messaging. That's something I want to hear and physically see when he says it.

  "Who was that?" she asks curiously. She must have seen the truck drop me off. I wonder if she saw who was driving.

  "Just an old high school friend who is in town," I say as nonchalantly as possible, but my heart is pounding, and my stomach is churning with guilt. I hope she can't see right through me. I'm a shitty liar. She nods and lets it go, so she must not have seen anyone driving – just the truck. I let out a mental sigh of relief. I don't want to have to explain myself to anyone.

  "Did you have fun?" she asks, making small talk.

  I nod. "Yeah, I did. It was good to see them," I say, although I'm not sure "fun" is the word I would use to describe what Tristan and I did at lunch.

  We enter the bathroom together, and I walk to the sink while she goes into a stall. I wash my hands and focus on the water running over my hands to calm down. I look at myself in the mirror, and it's weird to see that my face and eyes aren't as wild and frantic as I feel on the inside. I don't even know who I am anymore. I'm surprised that I look the same because I feel like I should be branded, and everyone can see me for who I really am. I feel raw.

  Tristan and I were like horny high school teenagers who couldn't control themselves. I'm married to another man. I think I'm going to be sick. I go into a stall prepared to throw up, but I won't be that lucky. No, my body is going to punish me for being a deceitful bitch. My saliva feels thick, and I try to swallow. I wish I could just throw up and feel better.

  "Are you ok?" Amber asks when she comes out of the stall. "You look a little pale," she observes looking concerned.

  I put my hand on the stall wall to steady myself. "Yeah, I think so," I say.

  "Oh, my God," she whispers loudly, "are you pregnant?" Her eyes are wide.

  "Oh, God, no!" I say, shocked, my eyes wide. "I think maybe my stomach just isn't agreeing with me," I say, not telling her the real reason I'm nauseated is that I make myself sick.

  "Where did you go for lunch?" she asks, looking a tiny bit relieved for me. She walks to the sink to wash her hands but keeps her eyes on me in the mirror as I answer.

  "The burger place down the road," I tell her, with my hand on my stomach. She scrunches her nose at me in the mirror with a disgusted look on her face.

  "Ewe," she says. "Remind me not to go there, then."

  "No," I say, shaking my head, and backtracking. "They are really good! I don't know what my problem is," I tell her, not wanting her to think that it was the restaurant's fault.

  "I bet you're pregnant," she says, laughing. I roll my eyes at her. She finishes drying her hands, and we walk back to our desks together. I follow her to her desk and sit across from her.

  "Do you think that you can be in love with two people?" I ask her. She looks at me curiously. After a moment of thought, she responds.

  "No," she says, slowly, twisting a piece of her hair around her finger. "I don't," she says more firmly. "If you truly loved the first person, you wouldn't have fallen for the second person. I think you can love two people but not be in love with two people at the same time."

  I think about it for a moment. I'm not sure who was first. I mean I could argue that Tristan was first because I dated him first and he was my first love. So I didn't love him because I have feelings for Finn. I refuse to say I'm in love with him. Because I'm not. I do have feelings for him, but I'm not in love with him.

  Or you could argue that since I was in love with Finn and married Finn, I'm not truly in love with him anymore because Tristan came around and I do have feelings for him, too.

  "Ok, well in that scenario," I ask, "who would you pick?"

  She thinks about it again and chews on her lip. She looks at me inquisitively. "Is there a reason you're asking?" she questions me, tilting her head to the side.

  I shake my head no. "I'm just curious. Hypothetically," I tell her.

  "Ok," she says, thinking again. "Do you have anyone in mind?"

  Again, I shake my head no. I'm not telling her about Finn and Tristan. Not until I figure out if Finn and I are separated or if things are truly done.

  "Well, hypothetically, then, I guess I would choose the second person. Because if I was truly in love with the first person, the second person wouldn't have had a chance," she says thoughtfully. "But that's without knowing details or information. I mean, if there is more to the story, I don't know."

  I stand up, frustrated, but cover it with a smile. I do love Finn. Maybe I'm not in love with him anymore, but I do love him, and I'll always love Finn because he's the father of my child. And I want him to love me. But I can't keep struggling like we have been. But I do have feelings for Tristan. I wouldn't say I love him, but there is something there. I'm just not sure what.

  Past

  I come home slamming doors and stomping around, ready to fucking kill something, anything.

  How could they fucking do this to me? This is my life. My career. My everything? Who am I if not a Marine?

  Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder my ass! Shit happened. I'm dealing wi
th it. That's life. They have no fucking right to kick me out. I've done more, given more, sacrificed so much to make this my career, and they just toss me out like it's nothing.

  I have no backup plan, no plan B. This is my plan.

  I rear back and punch a hole right through the wall, but it doesn't make me feel any better.

  Blair isn't home yet, so I go to the liquor cabinet and pull out a bottle of whiskey. I tear the cap off and throw it somewhere and take a gulp. I'm dousing fire with fire. It burns down my throat and into my stomach. I wipe my mouth on the back of my sleeve and take a deep breath trying to calm the storm raging inside of me. I take another long pull of whiskey straight from the bottle.

  Fuck those assholes.

  I throw my uniform on the laundry room floor, not bothering to hang it up or throw it in the dirty clothes. It can stay in a heap on the floor where it belongs, just like they left me.

  I sit on the couch in my underwear, but I'm too pissed off to do anything except drink and stare at the wall.

  When Blair comes home, I'm still in the same spot, drunk off my ass, but no longer angry. Just depressed. She sees the open whiskey bottle next to me.

  "Baby, are you ok?" she asks, picking the whiskey bottle up and taking it into the kitchen, away from me.

  "No," I say, simply. I sit slumped over on the couch. Blair comes and sits in front of me, looking cute in her black slacks and maroon button up shirt. I love red on her. She takes my hands in her hands.

  "What's wrong?" she asks, rubbing soothing circles on my hands with her thumbs. And it breaks me. She's too nice. In my drunken state, tears start falling, and I see panic register in Blair's eyes.

  My throat is thick with tears. "They say I have PTSD. I'm being medically discharged," I say simply. I guess my PTSD evaluation after the third deployment got me discharged. The Marines can't have someone who is mentally unstable in their ranks.

  Blair's eyes widen, sympathy registering in her eyes. And it pisses me off. I don't want her sympathy. But I'm too drunk to do anything about it, so I don't fight her off when she wraps her arms around me. I just sit there, slumped over. She strokes my back and doesn't say anything for a long time. And then she sits down in front of me again and looks at me long and hard.

  "I'm sure this isn't the time to tell you," she says hesitantly, "and I'm not sure you'll even remember it," she says eyeing the whiskey bottle again, "... but I'm pregnant."

  It takes a moment for my dull liquored up mind to register the words.

  "I didn't want to say anything. You've been so stressed and angry ever since you got back, that I didn't want to worry you anymore, especially if this one isn't going to stick, but I just passed the twelve-week mark. We've never made it this far. It looks like this one is sticking around."

  Present

  I shouldn't have texted her that. That should have been something I told her to her face, looking into her beautiful blue eyes. And the sad part is, I lied. I don't think I'm falling in love with her. I am in love with her. It's just so easy to fall back into things with Blair. She's perfect. I should have never left her. But I don't know if she feels the same.

  I'm dying inside, not getting a response to that text. I'm panicking. Because what if she's freaking out that I said it? What if she doesn't feel the same? I wish I had told her in person so I could gauge her response.

  My phone pings and I jump, hoping it's Blair. My heart is in my throat. But it's instant disappointment when I see Stephanie's name on my phone screen. I ignore her call. A text immediately comes through.

  Stephanie: When I call, you answer, fucker. I got the paternity test done. Just waiting on the results.

  Fuck. She finally did it. I'll finally have an answer, and she won't be able to keep hanging paternity over my head.

  But what if her daughter is mine? I'll have a child. How will I tell Blair? I'll have to be responsible for a tiny human being and pay child support. I'll be tied to Stephanie forever. I don't know how to feel about that. I dread the results. Because either way, I lose. I lost my best friend, my girlfriend, and I might have to share my daughter with them for the rest of my life if she is mine. And I hate the idea of that.

  Me: Let me know when you get the results.

  Stephanie: You should come over. Please?

  Present

  Even though I make up my mind to come home after my talk with my dad, I'm not ready to give up my pride. I stay another night, and then pack my stuff up to head back home.

  Dad is right. I need to get it together. I need to man up. I need to get help. I hurt Blair. I'm making her life so much harder than it has to be. I'm hurting myself. I'm hurting Olivia. I need help.

  When I get home, I let myself in. Olivia is at daycare, and Blair is at work. The house feels so empty without my girls.

  I drive over to the daycare after cleaning out my overnight bag and putting things away. When I sign my name next to Olivia's on the sign-out sheet at the daycare, one of the daycare employees spots me. I can't remember her name, but she's overly friendly, always smiling at me, and touching my arm. Blair hates her.

  "It's so good to see you, Finn" big toothed, blonde says. Why can't I remember her name? "Are you here to pick up Olivia?" she asks. I wish they would fucking wear name tags.

  I nod, trying not to get caught not remembering her name.

  She touches my arm lightly, leaning in. "I'll go grab her for you," she says, smiling at me. Maybe Blair was right—this bitch is flirting with me. I take a step back. She's not my type anyway. I can't stand her teeth. They remind me of a horse's mouth. Can you imagine her giving a blowjob? She's all teeth, and the last thing you want is teeth like that grazing your dick. I shudder at the thought.

  She turns on her heel and goes to grab Olivia. She comes back a minute later with a wiggly Olivia in her arms. When Livy sees me, she smiles, showing all the little baby teeth she has, kicking her chubby little arms and legs. I scoop her out of the daycare worker's arms, and shower her with kisses. This is what I'd be missing out on if I give up on Blair. I'd miss out on every day of Olivia growing up.

  Present

  When I go to the daycare to pick up Olivia, I notice there is already a name on the sign out sheet next to Olivia's name. It's Finn's horrible chicken scratch signature.

  What. The. Fuck.

  I walk out before any of the day care employees can spot me or say anything to me. I don't want them knowing that I don't know where my child is and that my husband who left me might have her when I didn't know he was going to pick her up.

  Is this a kidnapping? Surely he wouldn't take her and run? He's not that stupid. Should I call the police? Should I call Finn? I have the phone dialed before I can think twice, and I'm shaking.

  Finn doesn't answer the first time which pisses me off. I get in the car and start speeding home. He's not supposed to have her. I'm supposed to pick her up from daycare. He didn't even tell me he was picking her up. She better be home when I get there. I dial Finn again.

  My heart is pounding in my ears, and I see red. I'm clenching my teeth so hard my jaw hurts.

  He answers on the third ring.

  "What the fuck?" I yell at him. If I was home, I would be doing so much more than yelling at him. He can't just take my kid. My hands are shaking on the steering wheel. I want to hit him.

  "What?" Finn asks, getting defensive and angry.

  "Where is Olivia? I went to pick her up from daycare, and she's not there. Apparently, you already have her." I tell him, venom in my voice.

  I hear Olivia in the background. He does have her. She's laughing and saying "dada, dada, dada." She must be happy to see him.

  "We are at the house," he informs me. "I should have called. I forgot to tell you."

  "Yeah, you're damn right you forgot to tell me," I tell him angrily, but relieved that they're at the house.

  "I'm her father," Finn reminds me. "You can't keep me from her," it almost sounds threatenin
g.

  "Finn," I say, sighing loudly like he's a child. "I'm not trying to keep you from her. It's just terrifying to pick her up and see that she's not there and someone else has picked her up and I don't know where she is," I tell him. You think that would be obvious.

  "Well, we are at the house," he reiterates.

  "Fine," I snap. "I'll be there soon." And I hang up before he can say anything else. I spend the rest of the drive home trying to breathe and tell myself that Olivia is okay with her father. My adrenaline is subsiding, but I still feel tense. I'm so relieved that she's okay.

  I pull into the driveway and park next to Finn's car. He's here. I rush inside and don't even take my shoes off or drop my purse. I go right to Olivia and scoop her up into my arms. I drop to my knees with her, and just kiss her and hold her. She laughs and thinks it's a game. I touch every blonde curl and kiss the tip of her nose. She squirms to get down.

  "Don't ever scare me like that again," I spit at Finn. He just stares at me like I'm overreacting. Am I overreacting? I don't care. It scared the shit out of me.