Embrace

by S. Layne

  We’re getting closer again.

  Sort of.

  But I don’t know if we’re trusting one another more. Every day he still returns to his office. He still speaks to Becky.

  And I’m at home. Looking for jobs, keeping the house clean. Being the housewife my mom always thought I should be.

  I’ve spoken to her and she’s doing well—driving my father crazy with her incessant demands and complaints that the food that’s being delivered isn’t cooked properly and the house isn’t clean enough.

  She’s aching to get on her feet, back to her normal life.

  I am, too. Only I have no idea what that’s supposed to look like anymore.

  I squeeze my arms around Talia’s waist and hold her tight.

  “Thank you for being the best friend in the entire world,” I murmur, laughter still ringing in my voice. I’m avoiding everything, but Talia has spent the night giving me perspective.

  It will take time.

  Everything will take time to feel normal again.

  I’m tired of waiting.

  “Thanks for listening to me groan about my own job,” she replies, her hug just as tight and loving as always.

  I pull back from her hug. “You’ll find the funding,” I say. “I know you will. You’re always successful, and this clinic will be no different. And I’ll keep your dad in my thoughts. Hopefully he’ll recover soon.”

  She nods, but I see the uncertainty in her eyes. Unless she finds substantial donations, her clinic for runaway and troubled teens is at risk of shutting its doors due to a few benefactors pulling out in the last few months for reasons unknown to her.

  She’s struggling to make ends meet and pay her other counselor as well as the receptionist the meager funds they already receive.

  I’ve been a selfish friend, needing her so much for me, and I haven’t been there for her lately like I’ve wanted to.

  But Talia is tough and she’s smart. She’s also extremely forgiving, and I’m thankful.

  It will all work out.

  It’s the same mantra I’ve been repeating to myself all week long.

  “Let me know how your next session goes,” Talia says when we separate in the parking lot, heading to our cars.

  We meet with Elissa on Tuesday. Four days. I’m nervous and excited.

  I’m hoping it forces us to truly begin working on our issues. At least it can’t go worse than our last appointment did, when I ran out.

  “Of course. Call me!” I call out as we walk further apart.

  The air is warm. The water coming off the great lake is brisk, making it chilly when the breeze hits my face, but warming my skin at other times. I can look out at the marina where Talia and I have spent the last few hours laughing and talking and sometimes crying—mostly me—and see the sun beginning to set in the distance along the water.

  It’s bright and orange, a fiery ball of color that bursts across the sky, and I love summer nights like this. The waters, which rage during the day, are now calm. The water near the coast is smooth like spun glass, creating swirls of shades of blue and reflecting the orange in the sky.

  It’s so beautiful and serene—with not only shipping barges in the distance but sailboats closer to shore, their gently billowing sails peppering the vast space.

  I love this area. I love that this is my hometown. From the locals to the tourist resorts that I have no doubt are brimming to capacity, everything about Denton is beautiful.

  I feel the peace of the moment fill me as I get in my car and head home. I want this feeling all the time. Knowing I’m doing the right thing. Knowing I’m doing something.

  Even with James home, there’s so much uncertainty—but like I told Talia, I’m hoping that now that we’ve agreed on both of us wanting to work on our marriage, wanting to see it be what it once was—or better, really—that Elissa can finally begin to help us.

  My head is still on my dinner with Talia and my upcoming meeting with Elissa. There are topics that need to be discussed. How things changed, where James and I go from here. Expectations. Rules.

  Ways to rebuild trust.

  He’s doing some of it already. When he comes home from work, his phone is set on the kitchen counter in plain sight where I can see it. I try not to peek as texts come in, or alerts that he’s received an email or phone call. He’s begun refusing to look at it once he’s left the office, and I know the fact that he’s leaving it in the open is a way of him saying he has nothing to hide.

  Without discussing it, I have begun doing the same. Our small way of showing the other we’re trying. Not hiding. Open.

  But it still hurts every time I see the phone on the counter—because I don’t want to have to live like this, either.

  I want my memory erased.

  I pull my car into the garage and shut off the engine.

  The awkward, unsettling tension that is in our house has somehow permeated our garage as well, and the calm from the sunset and dinner is slowly evaporating.

  I inhale a breath, removing my keys from the ignition, and try to hold onto that moment just minutes ago where I was filled with peace.

  Calm.

  Serene.

  I picture the lake and enter the house to complete silence. It’s not unusual. I’m the television watcher between James and I. He prefers reading law journals and nonfiction novels about past wars or infamous criminals, always desperate to know how the minds of the evil work so he can better convict them.

  Tossing my keys on the counter, I slide my phone next to his.

  There’s no sound in the living room and I quietly wander through the house. My presence is not a secret, but I’m curious to where he can be.

  A light shining from under his office door tells me he’s there. Probably working.

  On a Friday night. It almost makes me smile. He didn’t seem to mind that I went out with Talia, and I figured he’d go out for drinks with co-workers or something as well.

  But he’s home in his office, probably slaving away.

  It might be the wine, the hope, or the sunset, but mischief plants itself inside my stomach and I smile, wanting to surprise him. To seduce him.

  To have him take me where he spends so much time, because besides our bed, we haven’t been spontaneous since he’s returned—reserving our lovemaking for the bedroom.

  Tonight I feel a pull to be different. To be crazy.

  To be us.

  My lower stomach begins warming, and that tingling sensation in my core grows heavier at the thought.

  Quietly, so he doesn’t hear the door click open and learn I’m coming before I enter the room, I slowly turn the doorknob to his office and begin opening the door.

  The vaguely familiar sounds catch my ears first, and something inside me recognizes that they’re not what I should be hearing, but I can’t place it.

  But then there’s a moan.

  A gasp.

  Feminine sounds of pleasure whispered into the air, and dinner suddenly feels heavy in my gut.

  I open the door further with dread filling my senses.

  He doesn’t see me, his back to the door, but I take in everything I see instantly.

  And still I don’t understand it—the visions on the computer screen.

  The woman. The men.

  Naked. Moving. Gasping.

  James pushed away from the desk. His head tipped up, his lips slightly parted.

  His hips shifting, his hand in his lap, and his arm moving.

  Pumping.

  I gasp.

  Loudly. I must, because James’s head instantly snaps to the direction of where I’m standing and I know what I’m seeing.

  Logically, I know men masturbate. I know he’s done it before.

  But this…it’s different.

  It’s somehow darker and deceitful, and I can’t wrap my brain around why it hurts—why when James’s jaw drops and he whispers “Laurie,” it feels like a thousand lashes slice directly into my chest, searing my heart. />
  “What?” I gasp. My eyes burn. I shake my head, unable to back up and leave, unable to move forward.

  James stands and God…he’s tucking himself into his pants.

  “Yes, like that, baby…just like that.”

  The voices from the computer hit my ears. Screams of pleasure, even though I know the volume is low.

  It’s all I can hear as James moves toward me. I shake my head, not registering his voice.

  I see his lips. I can’t hear his words. My eyes can’t be taken off the man in front of me or the screen behind him that’s still on.

  They’re still fucking. Wildly. One man behind a woman on her knees and the other is under her.

  Taking her savagely.

  Grunts fill the air and I finally take a step back.

  My blood melts to the floor—along with my heart, possibly.

  This isn’t an affair. It’s not the same thing as walking into my kitchen to overhear my husband discussing a night of sex with my best friend.

  But as I finally gain the courage to look James directly in the eye…his cheeks flushed like he’s just come, his own eyes glistening, it feels the same.

  Like death. Betrayal.

  “Oh my God.” I turn to flee.

  “Laurie! Wait!” James’s panicked voice reverberates through our house. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard him yell so loud, but my feet are fast.

  I’m halfway up the stairs, with tears spilling down my cheeks and sobs racking my throat, when his hand grips my wrist.

  “Stop, please. God, just stop, Laurie.”

  “No!” I shout.

  My heart beats so fast it’s pummeling my chest. But that’s not possible, because I’m pretty sure he just stomped on it.

  That vision.

  I can’t erase it.

  The sounds. The noises.

  “Why?” I cry out, collapsing on the stairs. My back hits the wall, my knees crumble, and I feel James falling next to me, but I can’t look at him. “Why would you do this? I’ve given you everything!”

  I don’t know that he can make out my words over my sobs, but I feel his hand on the back of my head, running through my hair, and I jerk away.

  My head smacks the wall. A pain stings in the area, but it’s so minor compared to the pain everywhere else.

  “You weren’t supposed to be home,” he says.

  My eyes snap to his and I let him see my pain. Despair. I might be overreacting—it occurs to me quickly—but it doesn’t feel like I am.

  “And that makes it okay?” I gasp. “Every night, every morning you want me, I’m there for you. I’m doing everything I can to make this work, and the first night I’m out…the first night I’m not here…you can’t wait?”

  I shake my head, seeing the fear in his eyes, the tightness in his cheeks.

  More tears fall. I can’t stop them and I can’t wipe them away quick enough. I give up, my hands collapsing to the floor. “Why am I not enough for you?”

  “You are,” he says, and he grabs my hips, turning me so I’m sitting on the stairs, him on his knees below me. His fingers dig into my skin, pressing into me harshly. Too harshly.

  Angrily.

  “You are,” he assures me, but I shake my head. I can’t be. Not if he can do that. “I’m just so fucking angry. I fucking hate that a man knows you. I hate that there’s been a man in this house. You think I don’t know you brought him here? That he had you…in our bed? I hate it, Laurie—fucking hate it, and it crawls at me. Climbs along my skin until I want to hurt you—ruin you for it, even though it’s my own fucking fault.”

  “Becky knows you!” I shout. I’m in his face, leaning forward. My face is red, it has to be. My skin feels hot and sweaty. Wet. “You think I don’t know what that feels like? That I don’t know what it feels like to know someone else knows how you feel? Fuck you, James! Fuck you!”

  I’m breathless and panting and then I’m not, because James’s lips are on mine. His hand is at the back of my neck and he’s stealing from me—my kisses and my love—and I hate that I give it to all him even while I’m so angry and I’m so hurt.

  It’s killing me. And he has no right.

  I wrench back, my mouth open, and I can’t catch my breath. “You don’t have the right to be pissed when you started this!”

  “I know that!” he shouts back. “But when I see you, I see him, and the way he looks at you, the way he touched you when he danced with you, and I want to hate you for it, too. I want to take it all out on you!”

  “Then do it.”

  I huff in a breath. My chest is heaving. So is James’s. I see his pulse pounding wildly in his throat.

  “Do it,” I whisper. “Take it out on me. But not that.” I shake my head. A woman. Two men. One in her ass. And God…the vision. I must be sick.

  But I want it.

  Something savage and animalistic. I want to claw at James and have him take me—ruin me if he has to so no other man is ever in my memory again.

  “You can’t do that,” I say, and watch his eyes fill with uncertainty. “Not now. You have to give it to me.”

  “I’ll hurt you,” he says, and his voice is rough. His hands move down to my knees and he spreads my legs. “I’ve hurt you enough. I can’t.”

  “I want it.”

  I want to feel the pain. I want him to bleed it from me until I can’t hurt anymore. My own guilt with Liam has been heavy, but I haven’t wanted to admit it.

  His hands slide up my legs, under my skirt, and then he’s taking it off along with my underwear.

  “James,” I gasp. His fingers are firm and quick. Demanding.

  The fibers of the carpet are rough against my ass. My pussy is clenching. And I feel sick—but needy. This shouldn’t be turning me on, but I can feel the dampness growing against my skin, seeping from me.

  I lift my eyes to see James staring at me, at my shaved pussy, and his tongue swipes across his lip.

  “I want to erase the memory of them from us,” he states.

  I want it, too. Desperately.

  I stand on shaking feet, unashamed that as I rise, my pussy is almost in his face. “Then do it.”

  He stands from the stairs, something darkening his eyes until I can’t tell where his pupils begin and end. His thick lashes frame his eyes, casting shadows on his skin and making him seem dark.

  Not my James, but an angry imitation.

  I take a step backward, up the stairs. My pulse thrums louder in my ears as he stalks me.

  “Upstairs,” he commands. “Now.”

  I nod, lick my lips. His eyes drop and follow the movement.

  “I’m going to fuck that mouth.” He takes another step toward me, closer to me. He reaches out and covers my throat firmly with the palm of his hand. My breath catches and I tilt my head up, eyes wide with uncertainty, fear, and lust.

  Mostly lust.

  This is so fucking hot. It’s sick and twisted. I don’t care.

  “I’m going to fuck you everywhere he’s been. Cover you with me until you forget about Liam.”

  “I’ll do the same until you can do the same about Becky.”

  He flinches at the reminder. “She’s forgotten.”

  “Not to me,” I hiss.

  “They will be.”

  His hand drops from my throat and we’re at the top of the stairs. His hands cling to my hips and then I’m lifted, my legs wrapping around his waist.

  He sets me down at the end of the bed, wasting no time removing my clothes. I do the same for him, unzipping his pants, trying to not think about why they’re already unbuttoned.

  “Why’d you do it?” I ask, tugging his shirt from his pants. “One night I’m gone, and you turn to your own hand. What am I not giving you?”

  I’m unleashing my anger in tightly clipped phrases. Pain is evident in my words and my forceful actions as I push his pants and his underwear down his hips. Everything falls to the floor and his arms move, tugging his shirt over his head until he’s
naked in front of me, just like I am for him.

  “I hate that my mistakes drove you to him. That you went to someone else because you didn’t feel beautiful.”

  I reach out and my fingers wrap around his thick erection. It beats in my hand, heavy and hot. I run my hand from the base to the tip, rubbing my thumb over the crown. James’s groan encourages me to continue.

  “So porn helps?”

  I hate that I’m asking these questions.

  But the honesty is making my core clench. Everything feels tightly wound, exposed.

  The weight of him, the feel of him, it’s all so familiar…so perfect.

  “I thought if I took the edge off being angry I couldn’t hurt you.”

  I keep jerking him off but lift my eyes to his. He looks down at me through half-lidded eyes, his hands in fists at his sides.

  “Do you? Want to hurt me?”

  “Never again.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “I want you,” he says, and removes my hand from him.

  I sink to my knees. I want to be in control. I want to erase his need to ever desire anyone or anything except my mouth and my pussy.

  “You wanted to fuck my mouth,” I say, and my hands wrap around his thighs. I don’t give him time to agree or argue before my lips wrap around him. I instantly breathe in his scent. He already smells like sex, but I push away the reason why as my tongue drags along the underside of his cock. My fingers massage his balls and I pull him toward me until my nose is against his shaved hair. I open my throat and swallow, loving the groan that falls from above me with the movement.

  “Fuck, Laurie.”

  And then his hands are on the back of my head as I pull out. His fingers twitch in my hair and he tugs me forward until we’re in a back and forth motion, both of us wanting control, neither willing to surrender.

  Wetness drips from my pussy down my thighs. I quiver, knowing he’s close as he grows thicker in my mouth. Hotter. Wetter.

  I love it and moan around his cock.

  The vibrations set him off until he’s pushing his hips toward me faster.

  “Shit,” he whispers harshly, and then pulls me off. He bends down, lifts me under my arms, and pulls me to my feet.

  “What?” I ask, breathless and dizzy from the sudden movement.