by L. D. Davis
I knew I was being irrational. I looked at Lucas and pushed myself to smile for his benefit and carried him upstairs to bed.
I read a book to Lucas even though he was exhausted. He had a long day on the lam. My usual fight to get him to sleep wasn’t necessary, but I stayed there with him, reading even after he closed his eyes, until the book was finished. I had taken too many bedtimes for granted. I might not have this tomorrow or the day after that.
Anxious to hold my daughter, I went to her room after Lucas was sound asleep. Emmy must have just finished feeding her, because she was still sitting in in the rocking chair with Kaitlyn and adjusting her shirt. Her face looked so dead and it killed a part of me.
I reached for my daughter. “Can I put her to bed?”
Emmy handed her over and stood up. Kaitlyn was smiling up at me. At least one of my girls was happy to see me.
“Make sure she burps,” Emmy said in a tone as dead as her expression. She walked out of the room without another word.
“Em, I’ll be out in a little while and we’ll talk, okay?” I called after her, sounding pitiful, but she didn’t answer.
I sat in the vacated rocking chair and started to rock Kaitlyn while singing Stevie Wonder. I was just getting to know my daughter. What if her mother took her away from me? As an attorney, I was well aware of my rights as a father, but with my busy schedule, I’d be stuck only able to see my kids on weekends and some holidays, and that wasn’t what I signed up for. I wanted to be a full time father, a full time husband—I wanted my family as it was before Iris walked her muffin ass into our lives.
I didn’t know what I was going to say to Emmy, or if she would even listen. She was really good at not listening all damn day. I could be a dick and trap her in the bedroom and make her listen, make her understand what really happened. I would do whatever I needed to do to make her hear the whole story and pray that she believed me.
I put a sleeping Kaitlyn in her crib and went to find Emmy. The bedroom was empty, but I heard the shower in our master bathroom. I stood outside the door for a moment of indecision. I felt like almost any decision I made would be the wrong one. There would be no right choice. So I stripped out of my clothes and pushed open the bathroom door.
When I stepped into the steamy shower behind her, she didn’t try to move away. She just stood there, with her head down, letting the water pour over her. I needed to see that she was okay after getting hit by a car. I gently touched her side and almost choked on the sob that pushed its way through my throat.
“Shit,” I said and lightly traced my fingers over the discolored skin. “Shit.” I said trying to hold back my anguish. I grabbed her other hip and gently made her turn so I could get a better look at her injuries. Her entire right side was bruised and scraped. “Shit!”
I couldn’t blame the driver for hitting her. I could only blame myself. I couldn’t even blame Iris. The fault was all my own. Emmy could have been killed on that road. Hell, she could be dying while I stood there crying about it, bleeding inside. My actions could very well take a mother away from her children, a daughter from her mother, and a wife away from her undeserving husband.
I didn’t feel like a man, standing there in the shower, crying harder than I had ever cried in my life. It would serve me right if, disgusted, she got out of the shower and walked away from me. But she didn’t. Emmy wrapped her arms around me and held me. She caressed my hair and rubbed my back as I cried into her neck. I didn’t even deserve to cry. If anyone should be crying, it should have been Emmy. She was betrayed and hurt, yet she was the one comforting me.
Even if Emmy forgave me, I wasn’t sure if I would ever be able to forgive myself.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Patron stopped burning on the way down several shots later. Eventually, I couldn’t even taste it. I understood how people got alcohol poisoning. After a certain point you don’t even taste the shit anymore, and it’s easy to keep drinking something you can’t taste.
I sat in the dark kitchen in the still of the night, drinking alone. Emmy had gone to bed right after our shower. She didn’t want to talk, and when I moved to put my arms around her she stiffened under my touch before silently moving as close to the edge of the bed as she could get. I tried to lay there and just take my punishment—god, if this was even my punishment—but I couldn’t stand to be lying in the same bed with her and unable to touch her. I got out of bed after what seemed like ages of waiting to fall asleep and went into the kitchen to dig out the alcohol.
I wasn’t a drinker by any means. I had a few beers after work sometimes, and I will sometimes have some harder drinks when I’m out, but I don’t think I have ever consumed as much alcohol in one night as I did after the long day I had. I was drunk, beyond drunk, and a small part of my brain told me to stop drinking before I killed myself. I wasn’t suicidal, but I simply didn’t care.
Emmy had come home and slept in our bed after allowing me to blubber on her shoulder, but she didn’t want me to touch her. I wasn’t sure what that really meant for us. I didn’t know what I would wake up to. Only twenty-four hours earlier my future with Emmy and the kids was mostly clear. I had no doubts that we would all be together, regardless of what attacks we may face as a family, but I had no idea that I would be the attacker. I had no idea what was going to happen when I woke up.
The overhead lights in the kitchen flickered on. I blinked against the harsh light and tried to focus on the person who had just invaded my darkness. Emmy glided across the room and stopped inches away from me. At least she looked like she glided. It could have been the alcohol misinterpreting her movements, or the woman really was some kind of goddess and goddesses had no reason to walk when they could glide.
She picked up the bottle of Patron and studied it for a moment. She gave me a look I didn’t understand and started to turn away—with my bottle. I put my hand on her arm in what I hoped was a firm hold.
“That’s mine,” I slurred. I felt myself swaying in the chair as I tried to focus on her face.
“Actually, it’s mine,” she said stiffly. She tried to pull away again, but I yanked her arm hard, making her stumble once towards me.
“Put the bottle down,” I said.
“No,” she said firmly and tried to pry my fingers off of her arm. “It’s two in the morning, Luke.”
“I don’t care what time it is,” I said. My eyes closed on their own accord for a brief moment.
“You’ve had enough to drink,” she said sourly and snatched her arm away.
I opened my eyes and wished I hadn’t. The room spun fiercely. I closed them again and rested my head in my hands.
“You don’t get to sit in the kitchen, in the dark, drinking and feeling sorry for yourself,” Emmy said a moment later.
“Where should I feel sorry for myself, Em? Huh? In our bed where you won’t even let me touch you?” I opened my eyes slowly and took a moment to let my vision adjust before looking over at where she leaned against the counter. “Should I go back in the shower and cry there? I cried on the couch today. In my car. In the driveway. In the fucking street after you got ran down by a car.”
“I didn’t get ran down,” she said quietly, biting her bottom lip and looking down at the floor.
“I thought you were dead somewhere!” I shouted, surprised to hear how angry I sounded. “I thought you were lying somewhere dead or dying with our kids looking on. I know you want to punish me, Emmy, but…fuck! Not like that!”
I picked up the salt and peppershakers and napkin holders situated in the center of the table and hurled all of them one by one. Glass shattered and napkins floated through the air. Emmy looked at the mess for only a moment before her eyes flickered back to me. She said nothing as she stood there, nibbling on the tip of her thumb.
I pushed myself to my feet, knocking my chair back. I staggered as I just tried to find my footing, but my balance was fucked up.
“So, tell me, Em,” I said, glaring at her. “Where can
I go feel sorry for myself and it not fucking offend you?”
She closed her eyes for a long beat before looking at me with resolution in her eyes.
“Do what you want,” she said and started to walk away. I lunged for her, tripped over my own two feet and just barely missed slamming my face into the marble kitchen sink. Emmy stood a few feet away staring at me with a shocked expression. Shocked and, fuck me, scared.
“I wasn’t going to hurt you!” I shouted it, because she had been ignoring me all day. I wanted to make sure she heard me. “I would never fucking do to you what he did to you!”
“No, you find other ways to hurt me,” she snapped.
“You wouldn’t even let me explain!” I yelled and took a drunken step towards her. “You ran away and wouldn’t let me tell you what happened!”
“I don’t want to know what happened!” she yelled back. “I heard what I heard and I don’t want to know anything more beyond that. I don’t think I can bare it!”
I stared at her for a long time. She didn’t want to hear it. It wasn’t fair. I was wrong on so many levels, but it wasn’t anything like she was probably thinking. And it wasn’t fair because she didn’t want to hear it.
“What the fuck do you want me to do then, Emmy?” I asked her. “I can’t let you take my kids and leave me. I’ll fucking die without you and without them.”
“I’m not leaving,” she said quickly.
I hung my head. I was relieved to hear her say that, but…but I couldn’t…I couldn’t formulate anymore real thoughts. The room was spinning again and I had to hold on to the counter to keep from falling over. My stomach heaved and I found myself over the sink violently puking up all of the vodka I had drunk. Even after my stomach had given up everything it had, which was only the alcohol, I continued to dry heave. I felt Emmy’s hands on my back and I remembered feeling angry that she was allowed to touch me but I wasn’t allowed to touch her.
When my stomach stopped trying to escape my body, I felt so damn weak. I started to slide to the floor, but Emmy’s arms were around me, supporting me. I draped an arm across her shoulders and allowed her to lead me to the stairs. Somehow she got me upstairs and into our bathroom. She made me sit down on the toilet and I immediately slumped to against the wall, with my eyes heavy and barely open. Emmy opened my mouth and brushed my teeth as if I was a little kid. She got me to sit up long enough to rinse and spit the water back into the cup. Then she took a damp cloth and wiped my face. She then helped me into our bed. With a long sigh, she sat down on the edge of the bed beside me, looking down at the floor and breathing hard as if she was about to cry. With the little bit of energy I had left, I touched her fingers with my own. After a moment of reluctance, she slipped her hand into mine. It was the only comfort I had before falling asleep.
***
I woke up in bed alone and I thought I was dying. My head had never hurt so badly in my entire life. Every muscle in my body ached and my stomach was in knots—literally and figuratively. I sat up slowly, remembering my drunken behavior from the night before and groaned. On top of fucking up in general, I then pretty much forced Emmy into caring for my drunken ass after I yelled and cursed at her, as if I had any right.
I pushed myself out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom. I brushed my teeth and swallowed a handful of ibuprofen before making my way downstairs. I knew it was late. Obviously I wasn’t going to work, but at the moment I didn’t even care enough to call in to the firm and let them know. There were bigger things to focus on.
I stepped into the kitchen just in time to see Lucas patting Emmy’s injured side to get her attention. She cringed and gasped and quickly grabbed his hand to stop him.
“What is it, Lucas?” she said wearily.
“Mommy I yant wunch.”
I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was a little after noon. The kid must have an internal clock.
“I’ll get your lunch, Lucas,” I said, even though the idea of food made my stomach churn.
Emmy looked over her shoulder at me. I walked over and took Lucas’s hand, but kept my eyes trained on Emmy’s until I walked past her.
Kaitlyn was in her pack and play kicking and gurgling at the mobile spinning slowly over her. While I fed Lucas and attempted to eat some toast myself, Emmy took Kaitlyn into the family room to feed her. I could see them from where I was sitting in the kitchen. I talked to Lucas, but I frequently looked at Emmy, trying to get a feel for what she was thinking or feeling, but got nothing.
After lunch, I took Lucas upstairs to lay him down for a nap. When I returned to the first floor, Kaitlyn was asleep in her pack and play. Emmy was at the counter, cutting vegetables.
“I called you out of work this morning,” she said, not looking at me.
“Thanks,” I said and stopped close to her.
“You should drink some Gatorade.”
“I will.”
We were silent for a long time as she prepped for dinner and I stood there watching her. I still had no idea how she was feeling or what she was thinking.
“Em,” I started, but she held up a hand to stop me.
“We’re moving on,” she said firmly, but she still had not looked at me.
“But…” I started but didn’t know exactly what to say. “Emmy, you won’t even look at me,” I said softly.
“I’m slicing vegetables with a big, sharp knife,” she said, forcing a smile. “Do you want me to cut off my finger?”
“No,” I said with a sigh. “I’m scared to death that you’re going to leave, Emmy,” I admitted.
“I’m not leaving,” she said and bit her bottom lip. “I’m not leaving, so don’t worry about that. You’re still my husband. I still love you more than you probably deserve right now.”
I sighed again and watched her attentively. When she finished cutting the carrot, she put down the knife and looked at me. She smiled, but it was like a shadow of what her smiles used to be.
“Can you pass me the olive oil?” she gestured to the bottle near me. I passed it to her and touched her fingers as she took it from me, but she quickly pulled away and turned back to her dinner prep.
I tried to tell myself that I had to just give it time. If she really just wanted to move on, I could just be patient and wait for everything to fall back into place, but I had an awful feeling that nothing would fall into the places they belonged. I imagined one of those learning toys with the different shapes outlined in a box, and the object was to match up the shaped blocks with the holes in the box. No matter how hard one tries, you cannot push the triangle shape into the circle shape and vice versa. I worried that we would try too hard and just, well, break.
“How is your side?” I asked her. It was still a punch in a gut to picture her bruised side and how she got it.
“I’m sore, but it will be fine,” she said quickly, like she didn’t really want to discuss it at all.
“Yeah, but how do you know you aren’t seriously hurt?”
She shrugged. “I guess if I was, I’d know it by now. As soon as I get this in the oven, I need to run to the grocery store.”
“Okay,” I said and watched as she put dinner in the oven. “I can go for you,” I offered.
“No, I can go,” she said too brightly as she pulled off her apron. She gave me another one of those shadowy smiles and left me alone in the kitchen.
I didn’t think we should just go on as if nothing had happened, but Emmy seemed determined to do just that. I played along for her sake, but I was on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
***
Emmy’s hot mouth slid down my semi-hard cock. It responded by rapidly growing, lengthening, and widening in her mouth. When her tongue swirled around the head of my cock, I moaned and pushed myself deeper into her mouth.
This was the best dream I have had in a very long time. It was definitely the most realistic. I could distinctly feel the tip of my shaft hitting and passing her tonsils, the light grazing of her teeth, and her del
icate fingers stroking me. When I reached down to put my fingers in her hair, the weight and silkiness of it felt real. My thumb slid over the small indented scar in her hairline. That detail, yet small in a physical sense, was a large detail for my brain to create and process and put in the exact spot that is on her head in reality.
I woke up, blinking down at Emmy sucking my cock, totally uninhibited. She had avoided touching me as much as possible for days. Smiling and laughing hollowly and pretending that she was fine when it was clear that she was not. When I left for work in the mornings, there was always tension at the corners of her mouth and eyes, and I couldn’t blame her, because one day I went to work and when I came home our lives were shattered by my actions—or inactions.
“Em,” I gasped, putting both hands on either side of her head to stop her ministrations. “Stop. You don’t have to—” I was cut off when she knocked my hands away and continued to suck me, wilder than before.
I dropped my head back on the pillow, lacking the power to make her stop. At least she was touching me. I thought I’d have to eventually beg her for sex, but here she was offering it up.
Emmy suctioned her lips, making her mouth tight around my erection as she bobbed her head, sliding my cock in and out of her mouth with hot friction. I groaned and again thrust my hips up to meet her. She gave me one last good suck and then pulled me out of her mouth. She gripped me with both hands and started to lick the bulbous head like it was a lollypop in her favorite flavor.
“Emmm,” I groaned as my dick twitched in her hands.
I looked down at her, but the room was dark. Unlike our apartment in the city, the moonlight was lacking. I could vaguely see her face, but I wanted to look her in the eyes. It wasn’t something I had to have every time she gave me head, but I needed to see her eyes now. Though I was physically enjoying what she was doing to me, something felt off.
She released me and straddled me. She rubbed her moist slit along my shaft, priming me with her arousal. I reached up to put my hands on her hips, but she knocked my hands away again. She reached between our bodies and put the head of my cock at her entrance. There was no teasing and no hesitation before she dropped herself sharply, impaling herself on me and then crying out. It didn’t sound like a pleasurable cry. It sounded like a painful cry.