Inhale, Exhale

by Matthews, C. L.

  Before I can say another word, he silences me with his mouth, silencing the demons, silencing the bad thoughts that attempt to ruin me.

  The voice is temporarily gone.

  Ceaseless.

  Voiceless.

  Unsung.

  For now.

  He grinds into me, his hips smacking mine in a familiar melody, one I could play on repeat and know the exact tune, one I could recite word-for-word from memory, one I could never forget from the simple fact that it’s ours. He grips my face with both of his strong, large palms. Their warmth seeps into my skin, like they’re reuniting with a long-lost part.

  My gaze meets his again, wanting to see the love—needing to see the love.

  It’s like he sees the fire in my eyes, and instead of running from it, he wants to play with it. The heat in his gaze makes me want to whimper, to melt into him and never let go of this moment, but still, my heart isn’t there anymore. It left a long time ago.

  I can fuck him right now and walk away tomorrow.

  I’m that far gone.

  He’s lost me.

  And when I attempt to convey it with a look of pure malice, he sees it, too.

  He turns us around, taking me to the bed, lifting my peach dress, the one Toby was just beneath.

  “Peaches,” he growls like it’s the dirtiest word he’s ever spoken, like the word cunt and bitch don’t compare to the filthy word that’s my pet name.

  His eyes scan me, probably trying to see every part of me that his brother has touched, trying to erase the memories that won’t ever go away.

  Good.

  Feel what I feel.

  Bleed like I've bled.

  Hurt like I've hurt.

  His hands grip my dress, and when I look down, I see his pocket knife slicing the fabric, hear the whirr of it being torn. My heart pounds, my palms sweating along with my body from tension.

  My expression must’ve shown shock because he smirks. “You’ve ruined this dress for me, Peaches. It’s tainted.”

  I choke back a sob.

  “Now, it’ll never be worn again.”

  “That’s my favorite dress,” I whine, wishing my voice didn’t sound so small.

  “Was mine, too, until that fucker touched it. He took something from me, and I plan to get it back. No matter what it takes.”

  The barely abated anger hiding beneath that smirk has my breath hitching. After the fabric is completely gone, I’m practically naked.

  “I’d ask for you to shower, but I’d rather fuck you like the whore you pretend to be.”

  His words are like the slap I just gave him. My body rises up, and I push against him.

  “It’s your fault! You’re such a fucking hypocrite!” I rush out.

  My screams are loud. My heart hammers with the knowledge that the cops could show up at any time, yet it doesn’t stop me from pushing his chest, wanting his heart to hurt like mine. Just a fucking fraction of my pain would suffice.

  “What about you?” he counters, his voice dripping with acid. “What about you fucking leaving me?”

  “What are you talking about? I’ve been here. Through it all, I’ve fucking been here!” The heat that builds in my chest, flaring up my throat to my face, has me winded.

  “No.” He shakes his head, acting as if my answer is absurd. “You left when you let the grief consume you. What about then, when our kids needed you and I was all they had? What about when I’d cry myself to sleep, and you just stared at the wall? Or all the times I begged for you to come back to me, begged for you to find it in your heart to love me? What about all of that?”

  I attempt pushing him away at his stupid questions, unwilling to hear that it’s my fault. He chose to fuck her, to stick himself inside her, to get her fucking pregnant.

  “How about how I buried our child alone, mourned her loss alone, fucking felt a piece of me die along with her all alone?” he demanded.

  “What about you?” I challenge. “How I caught you holding her in college? Like she was your girlfriend and was the one carrying your child? Or how you’ve been fucking her for a year, and now, she is carrying your fucking child!”

  My lungs heave along with my chest, and my throat aches with the exertion of yelling. She’s pregnant. She has his child in her. She has him forever now.

  “Loren.” He attempts to pacify me. “Nothing happened in college,” he explains.

  “I don’t believe you,” I react, hating him so much in this moment especially since he can’t deny she’s carrying his child. Why does she get a child when I didn’t get Lilac? Tears run freely down my cheeks, tears of loss, unfairness, and asperity.

  He closes the gap between us, his shoes touching my toes. Why can’t I just run away from this fucked-up moment? Why do I still love him?

  His hands cup my face. Days ago, I wished he would touch me with this sincerity. I would have begged for some semblance of love from him. Hell, I prayed to have his love back, and I don’t believe in God. Who could lose a child and still believe in the being that took her?

  His thumb swipes away my tears, his warmness seeping into me. But I don’t want it. I need his anger, not his love. I need his resentment, not his softness. I need him to let me go, not force me to stay.

  “Why did you stop Toby?” I asked, hoping for detachment.

  Dropping his hands, he stares at me, confused. “Why wouldn’t I? He touched what’s mine.”

  “Fair is fair,” I rebuke, glaring at him. “I have an entire year of fucking to make up for.”

  His face morphs into several emotions but ends with indignation.

  “I have a dick to get me pregnant, too. It’s only fair, Jason.”

  His hands fists at his sides. Yes. Anger. Give me that instead. I’m done with wanting him to feel bad. I want him to realize what he’s lost.

  “If you want to catch up on fucking—” His one hand goes to his pants then unzips them in the next breath. “—get on my cock and fuck me, Peaches.”

  My face flames, and in the next moment, he’s pulling his large erection out. I lick my lips, and then my mind wanders. So has she. She’s had him, too.

  “I’d rather not share. No one likes sloppy seconds,” I respond dryly.

  With that, he steels his arms around my shoulders, throwing me on our bed. The drywall digs into my back while some of his clothes soften other areas. It’s a mixture of firm and lax and messy and clean. It’s us—fucked up, damaged and broken beyond recognition.

  He places his knee between my thighs. “If I remember correctly, you were just fucking with my brother. No need to have the copy when I’m the fucking original, baby.”

  I roll my eyes. “At least he’s loyal. His dick will be mine and only mine. I won’t have to worry about him whoring it out for last week’s leftovers,” I bite back, my face flaming with implications.

  “This cock,” he corrects, gripping his erection in his strong hand, “is already yours.” He growls at me, his face red.

  I love the color.

  It’s my new favorite.

  Hot like anger.

  Spicy like hate-fucking.

  Brutal and bright.

  Tinged with emotive brashness and envy.

  “Is it really, though?” I condescend.

  “Yes,” he bites, gyrating into the messy sheets. “Always.”

  “Seems like you rented it out. Not interested,” I reply, pushing his shoulders.

  “Fuck,” he says as he forces me to slacken.

  He places a kiss onto my throat, trailing down my body. His mouth touches my navel, licking my stomach, making me shiver. His tongue dips into my belly button and then swirls around my scars, my stripes, the ones that prove I’ve carried miracles into this world. His eyes are fierce with love and lust and fury. It’s a tantalizing mixture.

  “Jason,” I purr, wishing I hadn’t.

  His mouth makes its way to my groin, then the lips of my pussy. He kisses, trailing his tongue along the seam rather than dippin
g between. He’s teasing, and he knows it drives me insane. I wiggle below him, but he doesn’t allow his tongue to penetrate. He wants me to beg. He wants my compliance.

  “You always hated being teased, Peaches.” His voice is husky and deep. He’s enjoying this.

  “Fuck you,” I respond, throwing an arm over my face.

  “Plan to.” He flicks my clit once.

  My hips lift off the bed in response. Then, he’s thrusting his tongue inside of me, and I’m squirming. He knows my body like Toby doesn’t. He knows the rhythms I enjoy and the ones that aren’t as satisfying.

  “How does it feel, knowing he’s been between my legs?” I poke the bear, wanting his aggression. If not, I might cry. My mind can’t stay focused on his mouth. “Do you taste him on your tongue? Taste what’s no longer yours? Everything you’ve lost?”

  “Fuck!” he barks and bites my clit.

  His tongue glides over it in apology, and then, he’s eating me out like he has to wipe the memory of Toby from me.

  “Mine,” he claims, slicking his fingers then pumping them in me. I curl into him, my back bowing up as he hits my favorite place. “He’ll never be me!”

  No, he never will. But I don’t say that. I just moan as he works me up with his fingers and his mouth.

  “At least I can trust him, know he has my back. Know he’s never broken me,” I barely whisper.

  The sensation of coming twists into my lower belly, and he hasn’t stopped sliding inside me. I cry out as the tingles work their way from my stomach up and my hips down.

  I come swift and hard and unbearably so. Not even five seconds later, he’s moved my panties to the side, sinking his length in me. We moan together, me in completion, him in pleasure.

  It’s that feeling of being reunited that has me angry again. Why can’t I walk away?

  Bringing my hand up to him, I slap. Not as hard as earlier but just as miserably.

  “Fuck! You’ve got to stop doing that!” he complains, rubbing his hand over the red flesh.

  “Why her?”

  I smack again and again, seeing the red and loving it, loving that he’s finally getting pain, finally feeling it, finally painted in the color that’s driving my anger. His hips thrust, and I groan alongside him, loving how he sinks into me, filling me up, almost too much.

  With every slap, he growls and bites me then licks my wounds. He sucks hickeys on my chest, and I bite him back, but I don’t lick them better. I’m too upset. He makes my body hum as he curves and hits my g-spot.

  But as the rush of an orgasm starts building, he pulls out, flipping us over. I settle above him, and he lifts me, spearing me with his cock.

  “If it’s your cock, prove it,” he demands. “Fuck yourself on me. Own me.”

  I start rising and falling in response. My palms use his solid chest as an anchor. I use his body to get myself off. I lean forward, rotating my hips the way I know will make me come. His hands grip my hips forcefully, and I stare at the tattoos on his chest.

  The chest I’ve loved for as long as he let me.

  The chest that’s cradled me and our children.

  The chest that she’s touched, too.

  As I bounce, his face starts to relax, like he’s going to release. When I know he’s about to explode, I lift off of him, gripping him with my hand, making sure he won’t come inside me. I won’t allow him to have me the way he wants, won’t allow him to hurt me anymore. I haven’t been on birth control in years, and though he hasn’t been fucking me, I don’t want to risk it when our marriage is over.

  He grunts several more times before ribbons of his seed paint my hand and his stomach. As soon as the last spurt leaves him, he’s flipping me over, forcing himself between my legs.

  “Don’t think I don’t realize when you didn’t let me finish inside you, Peaches.”

  “I don’t care,” I say nonchalantly, as if I’m not affected by his words or his tongue between my folds, licking me, making my legs shake with anticipation. “I’m no longer yours to taint.”

  His growls of disagreement vibrate over my clit. The shockwaves of the sound having me thrusting into his face.

  “I'll always love you,” he promises, “and this pussy will always be mine, too, even if I have to fuck it back into remembering that fact.”

  With that last admission, I'm coming, and the sensation tickling my entire frame has me mad with tears.

  Not once in our relationship did I ever truly regret being with him. This time, though, that's all I feel as the high leaves me.

  Regret.

  Bitterness.

  Weakness.

  This was a mistake.

  A choice, really, but a really fucking bad one.

  chapter thirty-two

  Present

  Jase

  For hours, she sleeps. After making her come three times in a row, she passed out. I’m sure as soon as she wakes up, she’ll regret it. She taunted me beyond comprehension. The compulsion to fuck my love back into her won over the nagging at the back of my mind that tells me this was the last time. That she’s going to walk away.

  That I’ve already lost her.

  I can’t help but watch her chest rise and fall, her mouth parted on a sigh, one of contentedness. My hands find her stomach, tracing her stretch marks with pride. I circle the ones on her hips, on the undersides of her breasts, and smile. This is beauty. This is exquisite perfection, and I’ve lost it. The ones on her stomach, though, tell stories of a lifetime, ones of horrors, ones of beauty, ones of heartbreak and pure bliss. They’re my favorite. They’re the most special.

  She’s breathtaking, and as she softly snores, the pain comes. My heart aches as it beats in my chest. It throbs as it slows in realization, and when it momentarily stops as I remember her telling me how much she hates me, I cry.

  The tears are barely there at first, barely leaking from the corners of my eyes, wet, hot, and bitter as they roll down my cheeks that are sure to have marks from her palms. I’m tremulous, obscene, and sorrow-filled as the tears land on my chest after falling from my chin. They show my weakness, represent my anger, and prove my selfishness.

  As I weep quietly, she doesn’t wake, but that doesn’t stop my mind from traveling to all the good memories. The moment we heard Ace’s heartbeat on the monitor. The first time I held his little body in my arms. When his eyes first opened, seeing me the first time. When Lo told me she was carrying my baby girl, Jazzy. When we found out she was, in fact, a girl, and how after she was born, she was attached to me constantly. I promised to protect her, to protect Ace, too, and I failed them both.

  I remember the moment she told me about Lilac. There was not a conscious thought in me that imagined my heart could grow fonder, but it did. It made me fall in love with Lo all over again, made me realize how perfect and beautiful she is, like I didn’t actually see it until that moment.

  Then, everything went south, and nothing good came of our loss. Nothing good came after that day. Just pain, lots of pain.

  As my body shakes with emotion and heartbreak, Lo stirs. Her surprised and sad expression while she takes in my sobs has me feeling weak and small. She takes in my agony. Her eyes scan me, those eyes that always see deeper than anyone else ever could. They gloss over, the tears bubbling in her, begging to spill over. Seeing her react this way has a little hope kindling in me. It shows she cares. It proves there’s love left, that we can be fixed.

  But she shakes her head, as if reading my thoughts. She wipes her tears, heads to the closet, and comes back a few minutes later in a new dress. By then, my tears are at bay, in an elevator with the emergency stop pressed.

  “I’m leaving, Jase,” she says, her voice emotionless. She sighs, fixing her face from the tears she only momentarily showed.

  I wipe my face, the anger bubbling once again. Leaving? No. She’s fucking not. Not when we finally broke ground, not when I finally got her back in my arms, even if only momentarily.

  “No.”

&n
bsp; She takes in my face after my one word, and her indignation matches my own. “I am,” she reaffirms. “I’m not coming back this time. I’m-I’m done.”

  The cold and bitter slice of her verbal blade cuts me open. She’s serious. She’s actually done. It shouldn’t surprise me that I broke her, that I broke us. But hearing it from her lips after what we just shared makes me feel like less of a man, one who couldn’t even be there for his wife.

  “You want a divorce?” I ask, the question coming out like acid.

  “I do.”

  Lo

  “You want a divorce?”

  “I do.”

  “You w-what?” he stammers, his face still full of emotion, like he didn’t anticipate my answer.

  It was that moment. When I woke up to my crying husband, I realized it’s over. I saw him crying, and it hurt worse than my own pain. It thrashed at me worse than my own demons. I knew I would forgive him in a heartbeat just to see him smile again. Just to witness that stupid cocky smirk once more, I’d do anything.

  And that was my problem.

  I would sacrifice my own sanity for his solace.

  I would give him everything when he’d already left me parched.

  I would lose myself just to keep him whole.

  “I want a divorce,” I repeat, slower, hoping my words take effect in his mind. “Those same ones I signed over a year ago, the ones you refused to file. File them. Set me free.” I choke over the word, my lip wobbling with pure misery.

  “No,” he refuses, shaking his head over and over and over again. “You can’t just walk away like that.”

  “Like you did? Because that’s what you did, Jason. You walked away and straight into her arms.”

  “That’s-that’s—”

  “Save it.” I stop him, holding my hand up. “You chose her when you should’ve chosen me—should’ve chosen us.”

  “That’s not fair, Loren,” he begins, his face tortured, his chin wobbling with the same hurt as mine. “I stayed for as long as I could. You promised me. You promised you’d come back! How long was I supposed to wait? How alone was I supposed to be?” he yells as tears and heartache overtake him.