by M. Mabie
“So what? You want to quit talking again?” He huffed a sardonic laugh. “No fucking way, Blake. I shouldn’t have let you go.”
“It’s a means to an end. Don’t you see that?”
“So no talking again, until this is over?” his voice calmed, but not in a good way. “Damn you, Blake. God damn it!”
I begged, “Please, Casey. Please trust me.”
“Trust you?” he repeated, like hearing it back would make me grasp exactly how outrageous I sounded. Like I didn’t already know.
“Trust. Me.” I stood and nervously paced, my index finger taking a mauling.
“Promise. Honeybee, promise me you’re telling the truth.”
“I’m telling you the truth, but I will not promise. I’ve already made promises. And I’ve broken every single one of them. My promises aren’t worth much these days.”
We were both silent, like my fresh tears, for empty minutes.
“Then what?” He sounded so defeated. “What can you give me? How do I know? Fuck! How do I know this is real this time?”
“Because. Because it’s true. I want you. I need you. And I want to really be yours. It’s true.” The pitch of my voice, while trying to keep my volume down, only came out squeaky and shrill.
“Don’t take too long,” he said. “You said a year the other night? So here it is. Your year. I hope, God I pray, that it doesn’t take that long. And if not talking to you helps you move this shit along, so fucking be it. Don’t call me. Don’t text. Honeybee, my trust in you has an expiration date now. So do whatever the hell it is you think you have to do to make this right.” He let out a resigned breath. “God, I can’t believe this.”
“I’ll miss you so bad.”
“Sometimes it feels like I started missing you the moment we met. I hate this.”
He didn’t say anything for a little while. I listened as his breathing slowed and I think he made his peace with my plan, at least enough to agree to it. Then he said, “Hurry back to me,” and hung up.
I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Maybe that was his intention.
Days passed.
Weeks fell away.
I made good on my word. When Grant worked late, I told him what I thought about it. Or what I should have thought about it if I wasn’t hell bent on getting out of our marriage.
I’d confided in my father again on Thanksgiving while he was having a cigar, frying a turkey, and quite frankly ruining a beautiful bird.
He got me good and drunk, too. I thought that maybe he knew I needed to talk and it was no secret that a little hooch was good way to go about it.
Grant went to his parents, but I didn’t, choosing to spend our first Thanksgiving with my folks and apart from my husband. Yeah, that might have been a flag for my old man.
He was understanding, but surprisingly sided with both Casey and me. Telling me that I was dumb for putting him through all of that again, but he commended me for not running away simply because I wanted to.
He told me I was a smart girl and that he had my back.
I slept on their couch and flipped my mom off when she tried to wake me up at two in the morning to go shopping with her. Shane, who still lived there, wasn’t so lucky.
It had been almost a month without him. Something that, sadly, I’d been through before. Too many times.
I’d spoke to Micah a lot, I told her the truth, too. She was supportive, but pretty much warned me that if I didn’t get my shit together, and in so, that if I hurt Casey again, she would be the one whooping my ass.
I thought that was fair.
Micah and Cory decided to get married, which was kind of like an engagement, but in their own weird way, and they’d set the date for New Year’s Eve. Only about a month away.
I tried not to ask her about Casey, I didn’t want her to think that the only reason I called was to get the latest on my Godson and my year-plus-long one-night stand.
Even still, she always made a point to mention what he’d been doing. I was grateful to have a friend like her.
Reggie called me every day.
“You know you can come visit me anytime you want to get away, Blake. It would be nice to have you here. I could use a distraction myself,” he’d said during one of our evening chats. He sounded stressed and I hoped everything was okay. I hoped Nora was there for him.
“You’re busy, you don’t need your mess of a sister there cramping your style, but I love you for inviting me,” I told him. Honestly, being in Chicago would only remind me of Casey, not that I could escape him anyway.
I’d been spending more time in the office, not travelling because I felt like that was just avoiding my home situation and ultimately my goal. Micah had told me that Casey had been travelling almost nonstop, but that he called to check in every few days no matter where he was.
Time passed in black and white.
I spent more time with Shane than probably ever. His mood suited me. It probably wasn’t healthy feeding his depression with my shitty vibes, but I did it anyway.
We went to movies and barely talked. Sometimes we’d finish the night in a bar, while my husband worked.
Christmas came, but I wasn’t into it. Instead of buying presents for family and friends, I gave them all gift cards. I only bought actual presents for Foster, and sent them to California in a big brown box.
I probably would have tried to ship myself if UPS would have had one big enough.
I was miserable and certain Grant could feel it. He wasn’t a prick, or a bad husband. I often felt bad for him. Consequently, I wasn’t being cruel or mean, but showing him me and how I was really feeling was starting to register with him.
I was counting down the days.
Grant wasn’t really showing an ounce of concern for our demise, and only validated that I’d made the wrong decision by marrying him. It was like Reggie was right. Had I married a robot? Was he not upset that our marriage was a sham? He he ever have extreme emotions about anything?
My body was there same as always.
But I was finally able to admit that my heart and mind was with Casey.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
IT WAS LIKE MY mind was somewhere else.
I was traveling all the time, trying to make the days seem like minutes and the minutes go by as fast as possible. There was no end.
I didn't sleep well.
I didn't eat like I should. I was on a mission. Hold my breath until she came back. Tolerate life without her.
Everyday my fingers itched to send messages to her. Sometimes they typed them anyway.
Me: Stop this. Please just get here.
Delete.
Me: I hate not talking to you.
Delete.
Me: How was your day?
Delete.
Me: I'm sorry I left you in Atlanta. I should have taken you back to the hotel and showed you how badly I wanted you for my own.
Delete.
Me: I love you.
Delete.
It was Christmas Eve. Lou and Betty were 0 and 2 for the holidays.
I spent most of the afternoon with my family, promising to come back the next day. Everyone was in full wedding mode preparing for Cory and Micah's big day the next week. The idea of another wedding repulsed me.
Carmen really stepped up. Since Micah's family lived far away and our mother was gone, she took Micah under her wing and did everything to assure that this family would have something to look forward to and be proud of.
God, I missed my mom and I was sure Cory felt the same way. With the wedding approaching, probably more.
I spent the afternoon with Foster. He was my kind of man.
He didn't ask questions.
He didn't look at me like I was something to be pitied.
He didn't mind that I opened my second beer only twenty minutes after my first.
I found presents address to him from Auntie Blake under the tree, and without asking anyone, I helped him open them.
She’d sent him baby toys and clothes and a book. The thing that caught my eye was he title, The Invisible String. I stared to read it and put my wingman out cold. I didn’t get to finish because Micah took the baby and I’d look like a fool reading a children’s book about loving someone from far away all by myself. He gave him a rain check.
Instead, after his mother shut down our party, I continued to drink and pretend to be interested in what everyone was talking about. Only chiming in when absolutely necessary.
I was glad Troy was there. He drank with me and if my memory served me right, he put my consumption to shame that night and my sister Audrey had to drive him home.
By nine o'clock I was calling a car to come and pick me up. It was just as well. I probably wouldn't feel like driving in the morning and I'd need another to come pick me up from my house.
I would sleep alone and most likely dream about Grant’s wedding to the woman I loved for the millionth goddamned time. But least I’d get to see her. How pathetic.
When I got back to the house, my house, my mom's house, the last place I'd seen Blake, I started a fire and docked my iPhone, playing Christmas music as I watched the flames lick the pecan wood I'd brought inside for the mild winter.
I did what I did every night.
I brooded.
I thought about her.
With him.
Were they having a merry Christmas? Exchanging presents and playing board games with their families? Where they arguing and going to bed angry?
God, what I would have given to be going to bed angry next to her.
I was nine sheets past three sheets to the wind. I'd had my fill of drink, but I was still up. Sleep avoided me like two north magnets those days.
My head sagged onto my chest until I heard a familiar voice, and it lifted itself to confirm who I was hearing.
Aly.
She was here in my living room.
“Casey?” she said, inquiring to see if I was awake. I hadn't moved, only tuned my ears into her presence.
She came to me where I sat in the chair that faced the fire, which was nearly out by then, and crouched down in front of me.
My eyes didn't want to look. I'll admit. It wasn't my finest moment. I'd stared so long at the burning wood that my eyes were dry and they watered when I shut them to ignore that she was there.
I didn't ask her to come. In fact, I'd done everything in my power to avoid her.
I never wanted to be a person who made someone feel less than worthy. I knew how she felt about me, but that still didn’t make me feel anything for her.
Yet, she was the one who was there. I needed Blake, but instead I had Aly. I hated that I knew how it would play out. I hated predicting the next few hours, but I was so damn lonely.
I craved Blake's touch, but I could have Aly's.
I was in misery.
Aly was a pacifier. It was wrong, but I was weak.
When she moved her hands to the tops of my legs, I turned my head away from her again. I wanted to resist, but then I thought of Blake nestled warm in her bed next to her husband.
I had been faithful to a woman who didn't know the definition of it. A woman I loved all the more for her crimes, because she committed them with me.
Aly’s hands wandered without my protest to halting their curiosity. We'd been together in our past. In my life pre-Blake. She wasn't completely foreign.
I was tired of fighting. I was tired of being alone.
I stood and took her hand. My feet weren't steady and my steps showed her exactly how much I'd consumed. She went with me anyway.
I took her to my old room. The one opposite the house from the bed Blake and I'd shared. Even with the haze that the alcohol provided, I was lucid enough not to bring her there.
She was gentle with me as I stood there and let her take my clothes off. I still didn’t look at her, though. There was a nasty taste in my mouth as hers moved over my skin. It did nothing to excite me. I was limp. Numb to her.
“Casey, let me make you feel good,” she whispered in my ear as she took my length in her hand and massaged me, persuading my body to agree to her plight. “She's not here. She left you,” she said, and if she'd only known that it wasn't helping her cause, she probably wouldn't have mentioned it.
“She's comin' back,” I slurred. She walked me backward to the bed and I sat on the edge when my knees hit the mattress.
She straddled me. My hands stayed next to my body, they didn't embrace her. They were powerless, too.
It wasn't until she said, “I know you love her. She isn't here, though. I can be her tonight. Please, love me like you love her. Just for tonight. Let me be her.”
My vision cleared and I finally made eye contact with her. I saw an honesty there. No strings. The woman who was caring for me in this moment wanted to be here. I wanted to give my love to Blake, but she was gone.
“I've been drinking,” I told her in defeat. Even if I did want to participate, now that we were there, I couldn't see how I would be able.
“Shhh. It's okay.” She breathed into my hair, it had grown out a little and she ran her fingers through it in a way that reminded me of my honeybee. Two hands ran up the back of my head, scoring my scalp. I let my eyes close and gave in.
She reached between us and even to my surprise I was hard, not to my full potential, but enough to get the job done. That was good enough for her.
She took her shirt and bra off. I leaned back on my elbows and watched a girl that I didn't love mount and ride me like her life depended on it. My dick reacted like dicks do. It took what it was offered and I watched with lazy eyes as she fucked me.
She didn't hold back and she required very little from me. As she grew closer to her climax she leaned into my face and kissed me. I closed my eyes again and thought of Blake. Images of her riding me and saying my name flooded my intoxicated mind.
I remembered Blake saying, “Then kiss me. Distract me.”
The thought of her moved my lips into motion and I let myself feel the pleasure that Aly gave me. It felt wrong, but so did everything else.
“You can have me, Casey,” she panted. “I'm all yours. I can make you happy.”
Her words filled my ears and in a moment of spontaneous sobriety I flipped us over. This clarity brought home exactly what I was doing, but my body was already doing it and I couldn't stop. It only knew to take what it needed. It was hungry for intimacy.
For nearly two years it had been only Blake. I hadn't been with another woman. There, in my childhood bedroom, I was fucking a girl who wanted me and dreaming of a girl who I couldn't have yet—according to her.
My hips thrust and I looked away from Aly. I focused on the shelf on the wall.
My childhood trophies. I pounded into her roughly, finding my sea legs in the process.
She moaned my name and told me how good I made her feel. She came and writhed under me. I fucked her until I came so hard that I had to grind my teeth to keep from screaming another woman's name.
I pushed into her harder than I knew I should. She took it. She took all of it.
“Ahhh!” I yelled as my dick pumped, angrily.
When I was finished I fell back to the bed, to the side of where she laid. “You can stay if you want to, but you can't sleep with me. I can get up and move to another room or you can. It's up to you.”
“I'll stay here,” she said out of breath. “And that's a nice tattoo.”
“What's nice about it?” I said bitterly and left the room.
By the time I awoke, alone in my bed the next morning, she was gone.
The next week was go here. Do this. Be here at this time.
Cory and Micah decided to throw a huge New Year’s Eve party and say their vows in front of their guests instead of having a full-fledged wedding. For that, I was thankful.
Honestly, I knew that Blake was going to be there and even though I'd pledged not to talk to her or communicate with her, until she'd ended things properly
with her husband, I couldn't wait to see her.
I was aware that Grant was coming with her on this trip. I didn't like it, but I was curious to watch them together. I wanted to see first-hand. I wanted to see them with each other. Were they flirty? Or were they merely casual and friendly? I needed to know.
It was Friday and my stepmother had arranged a rehearsal dinner of sorts at the golf club my dad belonged to. I showed up a little late, but I showed up. At some point in the afternoon, I'd lost my balls and considered calling in sick to my brother's wedding.
That simply wasn't an option.
So I took a shower and cleaned up as best I could. If I couldn't have her, I'd do my best to make her see what she was missing. It was cruel, but I didn't give a shit.
I was past giving a shit.
I wanted my girl.
I wanted my honeybee.
The banquet hall was full when I walked in. Music played, although I didn’t know what fucking kind it was. It sounded like standards, but then as I waited on my first drink I thought I heard the singer croon, “How do you want it?” wasn't that a TuPac song? I'd have to ask Cory about the music later.
Then I heard her laughter from across the room. God help me, I missed that laugh.
I turned my back and leaned against the solid cherry bar.
She was wearing a fitted black dress and she had a tiny little colorful thing on her head. It was half mini-veil, half hat. It was kind of weird. I'd seen women where them in magazines, but never in person. It covered the left side of her head, the side that was closest to me. She looked so beautiful, smiling and talking.
A guy came to the bar and ordered a Rum and Coke and a Remy Martin on ice.
Remy Martin on ice. It had to be for her.
My attention turned to him. It was him. I recognized him. I was standing next to Grant.
I took inventory of the man. I'd seen him at their wedding, but only in profile, and definitely not this close. He was dressed sharply in a three-piece suit. He had all-American written all over. Freshly cut dark blond hair, a clean shave, and smelled like cologne.
I hated that fucking rat-bastard.
We shared a brief look as the bartender fixed his drinks.
