I fought it, but the pressure built, waves crashing. My curses turned to moans, resistance crumbling as he fucked me senseless, deep and unyielding. Orgasm hit like a freight train, ripping through me, making me scream his name despite everything.
He followed, thrusting erratically, spilling inside with a guttural moan.
After, he collapsed on me, breathing hard.
In the dark, his arm shifted, trying to pull me close.
I shifted away.
Two inches.
Just two, but his hand froze.
The room went silent. I felt those two inches like an invisible wall, like something finally spelled out clearly.
He sat up.
I heard him dressing, belt buckling, footsteps heading to the door. Not the sloppy drunk ones from before— heavier, something I couldn't name.
Door opened, closed.
Hallway light vanished from the crack.
I curled up alone on the bed.
Then I cried, sobbed till I couldn't breathe, till my body ached, pain surging from deep inside, like something shattering bit by bit, sinking, shattering more, sinking deeper.
Light at the curtain edge shifted from black to gray, gray to white.
Body exhausted, but no sleep.
Mind a mess.
I thought of him last night—drunk, pissed, eyes holding something I couldn't read.
Thought of him saying, "You're my wife."
Thought of me saying, "I hate you."
Then thought of the kid.
Juliet.
My daughter.
Three months since I'd seen her.
Three months.
What did she look like now? Taller? Smiling?
Or—
Had she forgotten me?
I sat up.
Got out of bed, changed, and left the room.
