The Diary

by Julia Derek

  “Sure, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable with you being the main breadwinner in the family, Lexi. You know that.” His jaw tightens. “Especially not now, after all that has happened.”

  I look away, pain twisting my chest and warm tears filling my eyes as I think of Matt. I just can’t help myself. I do my best to blink them away. This is not the time for me to fall apart. I need to keep myself together until I have found out the truth about the diary. Soon I will know it and then I can relax.

  Jason reaches for my hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

  I take the napkin with my free hand and dab at my eyes, at the tears that are still there. Then I look at Jason and smile. “No, that’s okay. It is what it is and I have mourned enough. As hard as it is, I need to move on if I’m ever expecting to have some kind of a life. We both know that. So, really, I’d be okay with you taking some time off now that I’m going back to the office. It’ll be good for me to bury myself in work for a while. That’s what Dr. Meyer thinks too, remember? I need to distract my mind as much as possible.”

  Not only does Dr. Meyer prescribe me medication, she is also my therapist.

  “Yes, that you do,” Jason says, nodding slowly. “But I’ll still be working even though you’re working too.” The tiniest of grins curls the corners of his lips then, and his eyes glint with mischief. “Besides, I’ve already begun writing on a novel…”

  I can feel my jaw drop and my eyes widen. I’m not sure why I’m so surprised. Didn’t I know all along that he would have a perfectly reasonable explanation, and that it most likely had to do with him having begun writing a novel? Plus, with his penchant for dark, deviant themes, it was almost a given that he should write about something like the stuff I read in the diary.

  “Wow, I didn’t think it was that much of a surprise,” he says, chuckling. “I was meaning to confess this to you at some point, but it was never a good time. I’ve been writing on it for a while, actually.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Now it’s my turn to grin big. I’m so relieved. Thank God.

  “Yup.” He’s practically beaming at me now. “I’m only a few chapters into it, but I feel what I have so far is pretty solid. It’s important that the beginning works and now it finally does. It took me longer than I thought to get stuff down on paper that was coherent. I spent some time just writing down ideas here and there whenever something popped into my head, then I free-wrote to see where it would go.”

  A shadow comes over his face and he looks guilty. “I didn’t always work late when I told you I did. Sometimes I just stayed at the office to work on a piece of writing. I’m sorry I lied to you.”

  I shake my head and squeeze his hand. “That’s totally okay. Trust me, I understand.” I gaze at him intently to drive home my point. “I’m sure you could use a break from me. I know I haven’t been easy to be around lately.”

  Jason frowns at me. “Don’t talk like that, babe. You had all the reason in the world not to be at your best. I always understood. I didn’t stay at the office to get away from you. Sometimes I just got carried away with my writing and then when I realized how late it was, I was too embarrassed to admit the real reason to you. I know you needed me.”

  I’m not entirely sure that is the truth—he is only human after all and probably did stay away on purpose to get some time to breathe before coming home to the weeping, miserable woman I had turned into. “Well, that’s behind us now.” I grin at him to show him just how much I mean those words. “I can’t wait to read what you’ve written!”

  Jason looks down into his plate on which there is steak, sautéed broccoli rabe, and mushrooms. “I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

  I put my hands on his cheeks and make him face me. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Jason. I’m sure I’ll love it. Besides, it’s your first novel, so it’s okay if it’s not perfect. I’ve read that Stephen King’s first attempts at writing sucked and look how successful he became.”

  He nods slowly. “Yeah, that’s true. Okay, I’ll show you when I’ve written some more. Not yet. I need to work on it some more.”

  “Whenever you’re ready, baby. Whenever you’re ready. Just know that I’d love to read it and that I don’t care if isn’t brilliant yet. I’m sure it’ll be great once you finish it and put it through some rewrites.”

  ***

  When dinner is over that night and we cross Central Park to our apartment building on Central Park West, I feel like a new person. I was right all along. I can’t stop smiling the entire way as we’re walking. For the first time in four months, the pain in my heart that I have gotten so used to carrying with me is not noticeable.

  Jason smiles at me as I almost skip over the asphalted ground in my stiletto heels and loops a protective arm around me.

  “Careful,” he warns. “If you keep that up, you might twist an ankle and or even break it. How are you gonna work if you’re on crutches?”

  I slow down. He makes a good point—it will be hard for me to work if I’m on crutches. After all that my boss has done for me, I don’t want to burden her with more just for me to keep my employment at the firm. It’s amazing that I still have a job there.

  As soon as the front door is closed when we’re back home, Jason grabs me. Flipping me around so that I’m facing him, he presses me up against the solid wooden door. He kisses me hard, tearing off my dress that I have just spent almost three hundred bucks on. But I don’t care, this is what I want right now, and I can feel that this is what Jason wants too. There’s so much pent-up passion inside both of us that needs to be released. We haven’t made love for several months and now we’re both finally ready again. More than ready.

  “Oh, God, Lexi,” Jason murmurs as he pulls away from my mouth, his breath hot. “I’m so glad you’re back. I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I’m glad too,” I whisper, fisting my hand into his hair and pulling his head back down to my mouth. I need to taste him again, feel his tongue search my mouth, probe it deeply. I get what I want and I can’t imagine a more exhilarating sensation than my husband’s lips on mine, his hard body pressing me up against the front door to our apartment. He grabs my hands and, straightening my arms, he pins them over my head with one of his hands. Then his hungry lips leave mine and he continues down my throat toward my breasts that are still on the large side despite my weight loss and encased in a black lace bra at the moment. He bites my nipples lightly through the sheer material.

  He comes back up and covers my mouth with his while his free hand finds one of my breasts. He kneads it so firmly it hurts but in a good way and he kisses me hotly at the same time. The way he handles my body makes me moan with approval into his mouth. Soon I can feel him removing my breasts from the bra’s cups. His lips leave mine once more and his head disappears down to my bared chest. Gripping one of my large breasts from the underside, he sticks as much as he can of it into his mouth, sucking and biting it hard while fondling it. He knows this is just what I want right then, what I need.

  I let out a loud groan it feels so good. He comes back up and grabs my long hair, pulling my head back so that I’m facing him, while his other hand keeps my arms pinned above me still. His mouth crashes to mine. He kisses me with such fervor it borders on violence, his teeth clashing against mine, cutting into the thin skin on my lips. I think I might be tasting blood, but I like it. No, I love it, I love the roughness he’s using. I know I’m safe with him now, so he can do no wrong in that department.

  He pulls my hair so hard it hurts and my neck bends back and sideways so far I’m sure it would snap if he gave it one hard yank. But I’m loving that too, so much so that I feel myself get hot and wet, dying for him to move his hand between my legs, stick a couple of fingers deep inside me.

  Slowly he lets go off my hair again. Keeping my arms in place above my head and his lips against mine still, his free hand moves down over my body toward my hot center, exactly the way I want it to do. He rips off my small panties wit
h one forceful yank. Then he spreads my legs wide with his own, kissing me all the while. His hand finds my wetness and massages my most sensitive spot for a brief moment. I moan into his mouth when two of his fingers bury themselves inside me suddenly. He fucks me with them, deep and hard, his thumb massaging me until I come screaming into his mouth. He doesn’t let me get a breather, just lets me keep moaning into his mouth until the orgasm has peaked.

  When I’m all the way back down, he removes his mouth from mine. His clear blue eyes have turned black with desire. Staring at me for one long second, his face dark, he suddenly flips me around and pushes me into our home office that’s right next to the hallway and bends me over the desk there. His brutal ways make me hot again, ready for him to take me and fuck me hard until I come even harder. I know I can, we’ve done this before. Not often, but a few times, he taking me rougher than normal. He knows how to do it just right without hurting me, at least not more than I want him to hurt me.

  He kicks my legs apart wide and keeps my neck pinned to the desk, my cheek against the cool surface. I can hear him open his pants and the thought of what’s about to come, of his big cock that I know is rock hard by now pushing itself inside me, makes me whimper.

  “You want me to fuck you, huh?” he asks, his voice as rough as his touches and I’m loving it.

  “Yes,” I mumble.

  “How do you want me to fuck you?” he demands roughly.

  “Like it’s the last time I’m getting fucked.” We both know what that’s code for and within seconds, he is against my slick opening, pushing inside me. His hand leaves my neck and then both of them are on my buttocks, spreading me apart so wide it’s borderline painful. The delicious roughness combined with the way he fills me repeatedly as he slams into me brings me another earth-shattering orgasm that makes me shudder all the way to the core.

  Shortly thereafter, he comes himself, and then he lies on top of me, breathing heavily to catch his breath. I close my eyes and enjoy the moment. Everything is as it should be at last.

  Chapter 6

  Jason and I spend another hour making love and then we fall asleep in each other’s arms, both of us exhausted.

  When morning rolls around, I wake him up by giving him a blowjob. It’s Saturday, so Jason can sleep in with me. I feel he deserves special treatment after pleasing me in every imaginable way last night. But I don’t get very far before he wakes up and takes over the show. I swear this man has more energy than when we were in college. Not that I’m complaining. Instead of being rough, though, Jason is gentle and romantic now, taking his time. It’s not unlike the time he made love to me during our last night in Paris.

  He collapses on top of me after he has come yet again. I run my fingers through his short, dark hair as he rests on my stomach and gazes out the window. We didn’t close the blinds when we stumbled into bed yesterday, so the bright sun is now pouring through the many thin horizontal strips like liquid gold. We remain like this in silence for some time, just enjoying the stillness of the morning. Then Jason speaks.

  “We should go and have breakfast somewhere. It’s gorgeous outside and I’m sure it’s pretty warm, too.”

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’m starving.”

  “Me too. As much as I’ve worked, I could eat a horse.” He’s not exaggerating; last night and this morning he did all the work while I mainly lay there, and it must have been pretty tiring for him. He is not whining, though. The tone of his voice together with the pleased smile on his face tells me he is happy about having done so. Yes, he is definitely the kind of man who prefers to be in charge in bed.

  Each time the whip struck my back I winced, but it made me even harder. I loved how she ordered me to be still, threatened to burn me if I moved again…

  A shudder goes through me as words from Jason’s diary return to me all of a sudden. I know that they are made up, feelings belonging to the character he is describing. Yet, I can’t help but wonder if it’s possible that Jason secretly dreams of being dominated, beaten, tied up, and burned after all. I should ask him about it, despite not being able to even imagine that he actually would want to experience any of that. It just doesn’t fit his personality and what I know of him. I’ll ask him later, when the right moment presents itself.

  We soon roll out of bed and take a shower together, but have no more sex. We’ve both had enough for now and all we want is hot coffee and food in our stomachs, so we hurry to get ready.

  It’s warm outside, just like the plentiful sunshine had suggested, close to seventy degrees, which is unusually warm for a day in early November in New York City. I turn my face to the sun to soak up the warm rays. I need sunshine on my skin. I haven’t been out much lately and I can’t remember the last time it has been this beautiful when I did go outside. It might have been, but I was probably too depressed to have paid much attention to it. But now I’m back. I’m done being depressed. Sadly, no matter how many tears I shed or how much I think about Matt, he won’t magically reappear in my life, alive this time.

  As we have breakfast at one of our favorite places in the neighborhood, I look at Jason and smile. I know what I must do.

  He smiles back, but with an arched brow. “What’s with the smile?”

  “I want to go to the cemetery.”

  His smile instantly dies. “Do you think that’s a good idea so soon?”

  I nod with determination. “Yes. It will bring me closure and make it easier for me to move on.”

  Jason stares into his coffee cup and I can tell by the way he frowns that he is not comfortable with my wish.

  I grab his hand with both of mine. “I’ll be fine, Jason. Really. I promise.”

  He raises his gaze to meet mine finally. “I think we should talk to Dr. Meyer before we do that.”

  It’s my turn to frown. “Why do we need to do that? Can’t you tell that I’m fine now? How could I ever be allowed to go back to work if I wouldn’t be fine?”

  Jason sighs and looks away. Then his eyes find mine again. There is a look of sorrow and defeat in his face. He must realize that there is no way he’ll be able to reject my wish. The fact that he wants to annoys me. Okay, so I know that I’ve been a pain in the ass to deal with lately, fragile as hell and that Jason has been the one who’s been forced to deal with the brunt of it. What happened really threw me for a loop, damn near killed me emotionally, but I have processed it now. I can accept the fact that our son is dead and still function. After fucking me like an animal last night, how can Jason doubt that?

  Before I can ask him just this, he asks, “Are you sure?”

  I look him straight in the eye and hold his gaze as I nod slowly. “Positive.”

  “Okay then.” Jason calls the waitress over and asks for the check. When he has paid, we leave the diner and he takes my hand as we walk down the street.

  “You want to go right now?” he wonders in a light but tense voice. It’s obvious that he is dreading the visit. Well, he doesn’t have to dread it, I think but don’t say. It’s going to be fine. I just want to make sure there are flowers on the grave. Fresh flowers.

  “Yes,” I reply. I point to a deli that’s a little farther ahead. “Let’s stop there and get some flowers.”

  “Okay.”

  I want white roses for Matt. According to the book of flowers I once bought, white stands for innocence and purity, both characteristics describing our dead son. I would also like some forget-me-nots, but I doubt I’ll be lucky enough to find them in the deli; those flowers are hard to come by I’ve come to learn.

  We arrive at the deli and I immediately spot white roses. I grab a bunch of those and then I search for small, blue flowers in clusters, the way the forget-me-nots look. But of course I’m not that lucky. I look for daisies then, which I consider to be second best, but I can’t see any. Daisies stand for innocence too. Jason finds some lilacs, though, so we settle for those. Lilacs stand for first love.

  With the two bouquets in my hand, I walk up to t
he dark-skinned man behind the counter and pay for them. Shortly after that, Jason and I sit in our BMW and are driving toward Queens where the St. Michaels Cemetery is located and our son is buried.

  From the moment we stepped into the car, Jason has been looking terribly uncomfortable, gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles have gone white. He keeps clenching and unclenching his jaw, avoiding making eye contact with me. He doesn’t speak. I keep throwing glances at him and ponder whether to ask him about his book, ask him what it is about even though I already have a pretty good idea. Maybe that would make him relax finally. But right as I’m getting ready to do so, I change my mind. It doesn’t feel right to discuss such dark, sexual stuff now that we’re about to go visit our baby’s grave. And I really don’t feel like talking anyway. I prefer just listening to the sound of our car zooming along the freeway, the peaceful whirring of the engine.

  I can’t help but wonder why Jason looks so incredibly uncomfortable, if it’s only because of him worrying that I’ll have some kind of a breakdown when we’re at the cemetery. It’s as if he is expecting something really, really bad to happen—something much worse than me starting to cry and he having to console me. I can understand that this is not something he’s looking forward to doing; still, it’s not like it’s the first time that has happened. By now he has had plenty of practice consoling me. So why does he seem so… agitated?

  I steal another look at him and decide that that is how he seems. Definitely agitated. Restless and disturbed by something.

  Well, I think. Maybe it’s just a new side to him that I haven’t seen before, his way of mourning our son. After all, it’s not like what has happened to us has ever happened before, and who am I to say how Jason should look and act when he mourns? I know he mourns our son as much as I do, but not in an outward, apparent manner the way I have done. It’s never been like him to wear his emotions on his sleeve. Maybe that has changed.