“Sophia,” she started, lifting her head from my arm like she was going to look around for her.
“I already put her in bed. She’s fine.”
She let out a sigh of relief and let her head fall back to my shoulder.
“Not that I’m complaining, but why are you carrying me? Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I wanted you to get a good night’s sleep. Taking care of a kid is hard work, plus you have me, the house, and your own life to take care of.” I entered her room and placed her on the bed. I turned to leave, but her question had me turning back to her.
“Why’d you leave?”
“What?”
“This morning. Why’d you leave?” Her voice shook.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she looked upset that I’d left her in bed alone. Her brows were knitted together, causing two small lines to form between them. Her green eyes were slightly bloodshot and glassy from sleep, but they held a depth I was afraid to explore. It felt like the air in the room had grown warmer, but then I realized that the temperature difference wasn’t in the room; it was in my body. My heart was beating faster, and the blood that was rushing around had grown warm due to the way she made me feel. It was something I didn’t understand myself. The way she was looking at me… it was like she looked up to me, like she trusted me, like she… wanted me.
Was that why she wanted me to get into bed with her the night before, or was I misreading every signal she threw my way?
I told myself it was the alcohol. It had to be. There was no way she wanted me. It just didn’t make sense. She was young, beautiful, and had her whole life ahead of her. She could have any guy she wanted. There was no way she wanted me, some bitter, grumpy man who used to be married to her late sister. She wanted a younger guy, a guy her own age with whom she had stuff in common. She and I had nothing in common. At least, not that I knew of. I guess I didn’t really know her on a personal level. But that was a good thing. I already wanted her. Getting to know her would only make that feeling take hold that much stronger.
“I had no reason to stay,” I said, finally answering her question.
“Yes, you did.”
I breathed out. “What reason did I have?”
“I asked you to.”
“You asked me to, so I could take care of you when you were drunk. By the time I got up, the chances of you needing me were gone.”
“I didn’t ask you to stay because I was drunk. I asked you because I needed you.”
“You don’t need me. No one does.” And with that, I turned for the door. “Sweet dreams, Sasha.”
I slipped out of her room and closed the door behind me before she even had time to stop me. I froze outside of her room, slightly breathless. I clenched my jaw and shut my eyes.
You didn’t see what you thought you saw,I told myself.She doesn’t want you. Not like that. Not in the fucked up way you’ve been wanting her. She’s not sick like that. That’s all on me.
It felt like anger ripped through my chest, and my eyes opened as I pushed myself toward my own room. I needed to get away from her before I could turn around and do something stupid. It was all just my mind playing tricks on me. I saw the things I was looking for. I saw the things I wanted to see, even if I did know better.
Inside my room, I closed the door behind me and moved toward the bed to have a seat on the edge. I opened the drawer on the bedside table and took out the half-empty bottle of bourbon. I kept it stashed there for emergencies. I couldn’t even remember the last time I needed to take a drink from bed, but I knew the bottle would be wiped out that night. I’d have to remember to pick up another for future purposes.
Uncapping it, I brought the bottle to my lips and poured the warm liquid into my mouth. It only reminded me of the days after Chloe’s passing, when I was so crippled by her loss that I couldn’t get out of bed. I did nothing but cry. I couldn’t eat or sleep. I couldn’t get out of bed. That’s when I stopped going to the alcohol and started keeping the alcohol hidden all around me so I could reach for it easily.
I’d always heard that time healed all wounds. I wasn’t sure if it was true, but I did know that a wound deep enough could look healed up on the outside, only to be rotting away with infection just beneath the surface.
And that’s how I felt.
To anyone who didn’t know me, I looked like any other guy. I was healthy and wealthy, and I had a day job I went to every day. You’d never guess that I needed to keep alcohol tucked away in every drawer just to make it through the day. You’d never look at me and think that I was slowly killing myself because I couldn’t get over the loss of my wife.
But for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t drinking over losing her. I wasn’t even drinking to forget the pain I still feltwith her being gone. I was drinking to kill the sick urges the monster, instead of me, was demanding I act on.
Memories of Sasha against me flashed in my mind: holding her against me and pretending not to notice when she inhaled my scent and shivered in my arms, when I lifted her foot to take off her shoe and caught a glimpse of her panties beneath her dress, how her hand felt resting on my bare stomach. I wanted to pin her down and bury my aching cock deep inside her sweet pussy that instant. My cock came to life from thinking about how good she’d feel quivering around me, hot, tight, and writhing in pain from me popping her cherry.
I brought the bottle back to my lips and sucked down some more bourbon, praying that the faster I got it in, the sooner the beast would quiet. He was strong and wasn’t relenting. Instead of giving up, he fought harder, sending me mental images that seared themselves into my brain.
I saw myself with my hands wrapped around her throat as I fucked her from behind. In the next second, I saw her watery eyes roll back as she choked on my cock that I had buried in her throat.
