14
Chapter Thirteen
My father flies into town two days later and meets me after work at the Pub.
“What exactly did he say?” he asks me seriously. His hands twist together, because if anyone hates Leroy Ellison more than I do, it’s my father.
“He said it should be me in prison, and that he wanted to tell me something mom said.”
“He doesn’t know shit,” my father swears, and picks up his whiskey glass. “Don’t pay him any mind.”
“I know,” I tell him, and I gulp my drink too. “I just wonder… I mean, did she say anything?”
“If she did, it wasn’t anything we didn’t already know. Your mother always communicated her feelings. She even left those letters for you in case anything ever happened to her. She was always prepared, always spoke her mind. Trust me.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I admit, and I drain my glass. My father narrows his eyes.
“I haven’t seen you drink like this in a long time. You ok?”
I signal the bartender for another. “Just a lot of stress right now. I’m fine. No reason to worry.”
“Ok,” he says hesitantly, and for a minute, I see the old concern in his eyes, the concern he used to have back when I was using drugs and disappearing into a bottle of Jack.
“I’m fine,” I reassure him. “I’ve got a handle on things. There’s just a lot right now.”
“I know,” he sympathizes. “I know. If you need me again, I’m just a phone call away.”
“That and a thousand miles.”
“More like eight hundred. No distance is too great though, son.”
My father has truly embraced showing his feelings nowadays. Sometimes, I like it. Sometimes, it makes me uncomfortable.
“Do you have time to come over to the house?”
He shakes his head. “Unfortunately, I don’t tonight. I’ll come back next week or so.”
“Ok.”
We finish our drinks, and he shakes my hand, then hugs me. He leaves, and I head to the restroom. While I’m standing at the urinal, I’m hit with an overwhelming desire to use.
It comes from nowhere, like a great black wave, and I can taste heroin in my mouth, I can feel it pulsing in my blood. I can feel the sting of the needle, and I can smell the it in my nostrils. It’s sharp, it’s overwhelming.
I fight to breathe around the feeling, but the breath doesn’t want to come.
“Dude, you alright?” the guy next to me asks, his dick in his hand. He’s breaking bro-code to ask.
“Yeah.”
I put one hand on the wall, finish my piss, and finally manage to breathe.
What the actual fuck?
The craving doesn’t go away, and it is still there on the ride home.
I open the muscle relaxers and swallow four of them, lying my head back against the seat, gritting my teeth.
This can’t be happening.
I won’t use.
This isn’t a part of my life anymore.
But holy shit. The need… for heroin, for cocaine… it’s overtaking me right now. It’s coursing through me, tangible and real. I almost feel shaky with it.
And I don’t know why.
Son of a bitch.
My skin is clammy and cold, and when we pull up to the front doors of my home, and Roger opens my door, I’m not ready to get out.
I’m still too shaky.
But I put on a brave front, and step into my home, because I’m not a god-damned pussy and I am stronger than this.
Whatever this is.
I’m surprised to see Mila up and about, with a cup of hot cocoa in her hand. I stand still, prepared to lecture, and she grins.
“My doctor said I could get up. He gave me the all clear!”
She’s radiant, absolutely glowing.
“You’re sure?” I ask. “It’s not dangerous?”
“No,” she says firmly. “He says I’m fine. The baby is fine. I can resume life as normal. If any other bleeding happens, I’m supposed to let him know, of course, but I’m fine, babe. Please stop worrying now.”
We’ve only got a couple of weeks until she passes the first trimester mark.
My knee throbs as a reminder.
I’ll take care of it as soon as possible. In a couple of weeks.
“This calls for a celebration,” I tell her. “Let’s go out to eat.”
“Natasha is already making us a fancy dinner,” she tells me. “And Zu is spending the night with Maddy. She was watching her while I was at the doctor’s, and she asked if she could keep her.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you had an appointment?” I ask.
“Because I didn’t want you to worry.”
Her answer is simple, and she is so like me in that way. She’d rather bear bad news alone, and shield me from it the best she can.
It’s the same thing I’m doing for her.
“Tell Natasha to serve it in the living room,” I tell her. “And you’ll be eating in my lap.”
I scoop her up and she giggles the entire way to the living room. When we get there, I’ve changed my mind.
“Fuck it,” I mutter. “Tell her to keep it warm.”
Mila giggles the message into her cellphone, and I deposit her in the middle of the bed. I strip off my shirt and pants, and then kneel over her, peeling off her clothing items one by one. I pull her panties off with my teeth.
Her smell, musky and fresh, floods my nose and I’m instantly hard.
Her hands are everywhere on my skin, pulling me to her, and her heat… Jesus, her heat engulfs me, and I cover her with my body.
My lips blaze a trail from her belly to her mouth, and mouth is needy.
“I want you,” she tells me urgently. “Please, Pax.”
Her legs are looped around my hips already and I have to mentally slow down. I want it to last. I don’t want to hurt her.
I feel her, every inch of her, palming her in my hands and playing her like an instrument. She arches and whimpers, and I smile, her lips against my teeth.
“Tell me what you want, Red,” I urge her.
“You,” she whispers daintily. “You.”
“What part of me?” I ask, knowing damned well what she wants. “Tell me, Red. Say it.”
“I want your hard cock,” her sweet mouth says, and the dirty words sound so good coming from her delicate lips.
I give it to her. I slide into her, from tip to base, and I shudder with the ecstasy of it. She whimpers and clutches at my back, and I slow myself down again.
Dead puppies, nuns, cold fish. I calm myself, and rhythmically, gently, I fuck my wife.
She grasps the sheets, she clutches at my hips, her legs are tight, her pussy is tighter.
“Dear Lord,” she says into my chest.
“Don’t bring him into this,” I tell her, and I groan as I thrust deeper. I pull myself back. I can’t hurt her. I can’t.
“I’m not made of glass,” she tells me weakly, and she pulls me further into her, and it’s my undoing.
I shudder, and convulse, and my hot fluid fills her up.
I hold myself above her, making sure I don’t crush her. Her face is buried in my shoulder, and I think she’s crying.
I look at her quickly, and she is, but she’s shaking her head not to worry.
“It’s my hormones,” she finally says. “I’m happy, babe.”
Relieved, I roll off and hold her, and she sniffles. “I never thought I’d be so happy,” says.
“Me, too,” I agree. “Never.”
But even still, as we bask in the afterglow of making love, the rumblings of my cravings come back. They wind their way out of my gut, out of the blackness and the void, and into my thoughts, my chest.
I suck in air because it hits me so hard yet again, out of the blue.
It’s like wind taking the sails of a ship. It grabs hold and flies.
I take a deep breath, and will the awfulness away, and how can I even be fee
ling like this with my wife in my arms? I’ve not needed to use even once since I’ve been with her. She’s been everything I needed.
Why is this rearing its head now?
I ponder what to do while we make our way to the dining room to eat, and we sit side by side. Mila grips my thigh between bites, and her hand is warm and mine.
But she can’t make the craving go away.
It’s planted in my head, and it won’t leave me alone.
I feed my wife dessert while hiding my struggle. I laugh at her jokes, but I don’t feel the amusement. I’m empty inside for this moment, because all I can do is crave.
It’s eating at me.
Overwhelming me.
It makes no sense.
It makes no sense.
Long after Mila is sleeping, tucked safely into our bed, I find my way to my study.
It’s the middle of the night, and I can’t think around my need to use.
It comes in waves, big waves.
I dump the rest of the pill bottle into my hand, and chew them up, swallowing the bitterness without flinching.
I feel instant relief, as the ground up powder enters my bloodstream through my stomach, and I close my eyes, letting it dull the need.
The need is a monster, and I just made a blood offering.
It will be quiet now, for a little while.
I fall asleep on the sofa in my study.
15
Chapter Fourteen
Mila
I wake with a stretch, the sun on my face, and Pax is gone.
I know this because my fingers brush against cool sheets, instead of his warm body.
I glance at the clock. Eight o’clock. He’s at work. He didn’t wake me, that rascal.
I leisurely shower and blow-dry my hair, and then text Maddy.
What time should I come get Zu?
She answers immediately. Can I bring her home after lunch?
Ok, I answer.
She’s probably taking her shoe shopping again.
My stomach growls and I decide the baby needs to eat. I make my way down the hall to the kitchen, but on my way, I pass Pax’s study, and there is movement inside.
Pausing in the doorway, I see Natasha hovering above Pax, giving him a glass of water and pills.
“What the hell?”
I didn’t mean to sound so sharp, but seriously.
They both look up at me and Pax’s eyes are bloodshot.
“I’m sorry, babe. I couldn’t sleep last night and I fell asleep in here. Natasha just brought me some aspirin.”
“Why couldn’t you sleep?” I ask curiously, practically nudging past Natasha to examine him. I put my hand on his forehead. “You don’t have a fever, but you look rough.”
“I don’t know,’ he tells me, but he’s troubled. I can see it in his hazel eyes and they are so green right now. That’s what happens when he’s troubled. They’re green as moss, like a murky pond, hiding things in their depths.
“Natasha, can you excuse us for a minute? I ask.
“Of course,” she exits immediately.
“What’s happening?” I ask my husband, sitting next to him. “You’re sleeping in your study, you’re late for work.” I glance at the bar, and there is a scotch bottle out, and a used tumbler. “And you seem to be drinking a lot.”
“I’m just stressed, babe,” he tells me and he is so earnest, so genuine, but even still… there’s something. I feel it.
“No lies,” I tell him. “You promised me that once. You promised never to lie to me again. Remember?”
“Of course,” he answers sharply. “Of course I do.”
“Then why are you lying?” I ask simply.
His face contorts and his hand clenches in his lap. A vein pulses in his temple, the one that pops out when he’s furious.
“I’m not lying,” he snaps, and he’s suddenly so angry. “Why would you accuse me of something like that?”
His sudden anger seems out of proportion for the current situation. I stare at him, hesitant. I don’t know what to say.
“You feel different,” I say finally. “I don’t know how to explain it. You’re edgy right now. Like a caged lion.”
I wait, and he sighs.
“My knee hurts,” he tells me finally. Reluctantly. “It needs surgery.”
I gasp, and stare at him, and he nods.
“It’s ok. I just didn’t want to worry you until you were out of the woods with the baby. I don’t want you to worry. It’ll just be quick surgery and they’ll fix me up.”
“And in the meantime, you’re in excruciating pain?” I guess. He looks away.
“A bit.”
“Pax! Oh my God. This was so unnecessary. You didn’t have to keep this from me. I swear to God, sometimes you’re protective to a fault. You need to make an appointment today for surgery. No more delays. I’m fine. Do it.”
He stares at me, searching my face, and then he finally nods.
“If you’re sure.”
“Oh my God,” I swear. “Do it.”
“Ok.” He’s sheepish now, and I’m glad.
“Seriously. I can’t believe you did this.”
“Calm down,” he tells me, standing. He’s wobbly, and his knee gives out. He tries again, this time successful.
“Are you even supposed to be walking on it?” I eye it doubtfully.
My Peace Page 11