by Cassia Leo
The room was quiet for a while, then I woke to the sound of Isaac placing a glass of water on my nightstand. I reached for the glass and knocked it over.
“I’m sorry!” I cried as the room began to spin around me. “Oh, God. I’m gonna be sick.”
I leaped out of bed and raced into the hallway, momentarily forgetting where the bathroom was. Once I remembered, I ran in and buried my head in the toilet. Some time later, I had no idea how long, I emerged feeling only slightly better. But if I didn’t go to sleep right away, I was certain I’d be spending the night on the bathroom floor.
When I entered my bedroom, I was happy to find Isaac had turned down my covers and sheets so I could climb in bed. And he’d placed a wastebasket, that was usually in the downstairs bathroom, on the floor at my bedside, ready for me to hurl, if necessary.
“Thank you,” I murmured as he pulled the covers over me and tucked me in. “You’re so kind. I love you.”
Then, I fell asleep.
Chapter 21
Isaac
I knew that she said those three words because she was drunk. I knew, rationally, that even if she did mean them, she meant them in the friendly way. But even knowing all that, I couldn’t help but feel like I was playing a dangerous game by being here.
There was no way I could leave her in this state. She was obviously drunk enough that she might actually choke on her own vomit if I left her alone. I could not, in good conscience, leave her like this. But I had to get back in the next few hours or Boomer would start worrying about me.
I let out a frustrated sigh. I’d stay and keep an eye on her for a couple of hours. If she seemed to be breathing okay and not vomiting anymore, I would leave.
I looked around the room for a comfortable place to sit, where I could put my injured leg up to avoid swelling, the way I did every night for the last few weeks. But the only place to sit was a small, almost child-sized wooden chair next to a small desk.
I would just sit on the bed and prop my leg up with a couple of pillows from the other bedrooms. When I gathered three more pillows, one for my back and two for my leg, I scooted in next to Laurel and took out my phone to google some parts I needed for my Mustang. But that only took a few minutes, and I soon found myself deciding between putting my phone away or finding something on Netflix I could watch with subtitles and no sound.
Of course, I spent nearly thirty minutes browsing the Netflix recommendations and found nothing remotely interesting that I hadn’t already watched. As I tucked my phone back into my pocket, I watched Laurel for a bit, wondering if she’d had a good birthday. By the looks of it, it was a regular barn burner.
“I did get you a gift,” I whispered, barely loud enough for even myself to hear, so I was a bit shocked when she responded with a groan as she rolled over to face me.
“I got a dildo,” she murmured as she snuggled up closer to me. “Merry birthday.”
I covered my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. “I’ll bring your present tomorrow.”
As the minutes wore on, I still didn’t know if she was asleep. She was definitely breathing, but she was quiet as a mouse. I decided to perform a test.
“What’s your favorite flower?” I whispered, even softer than before.
“When I got married, I put my mom in charge of the flowers,” she replied, her eyes still closed as she continued. “My only request was that there had to be lots of peonies. They’re my second favorite, after the middlemist red camellia, but those don’t grow in America. They’re the rarest flower in the world.”
“Rarest flower in the world? Why am I not surprised?”
But she wasn’t finished. “I had too much to drink at the reception, so I asked my mom to come with me to the bathroom… to hold my dress up while I peed.” She laughed the way a child would laugh after saying the word pee, then she continued. “In the ladies’ room, there were vases with pink peonies on the counter. It warmed my heart, you know? It warmed my heart to know my mom had put so much effort into her only task. So in the bathroom stall, I got real sappy and thanked her for being the best mother in the world. Then, I tried to pull down my panties, while my mom held up the train of my dress. But as I tried to sit down, I missed the toilet seat completely. My mom… My mom said, ‘Laurel, honey, that’s not the toilet seat. If you relieve yourself there, you’re going to peony.’”
I laughed with her, though I felt a slight pang of jealousy at the mention of her wedding. As soon as this thought occurred to me, Laurel grabbed my arm, wrapping her arms around it as if it were a teddy bear. Then she rested her head on my bicep and fell asleep.
I shook my head as I realized I would have to wait for her to change positions before I could leave. Shit. I’d have to wait for her to change positions before I could even move. That ruled out using my phone to keep me occupied, since it was pretty tightly wedged underneath Laurel’s breast.
I could do this. I could keep myself entertained without a phone or a television or a dog or a project. I just had to think of something. Memories of my time in Afghanistan popped up immediately. Shaking my head, I realized I couldn’t allow my mind to wander back there, not without my therapist’s guidance. I’d have to keep my mind occupied some other way.
Fucking hell. All I could think of was how fucking good it felt to be lying next to Laurel. How fucking much I wished I could do this every night, minus the alcohol.
But part of me wondered if I really wanted to fall asleep next to Laurel every night. Maybe I just wanted to fall asleep next to someone. Anyone. I never slept alone in the military. I always had a bunkmate, whether it was boot camp or a foxhole in the desert. And I’d spent plenty of nights in the company of beautiful women over the last few years.
But I never allowed myself to get close to any of those girls, until Laurel came along. I’d basically spent the last three years alone, and I was so fucking over it.
I took a few deep breaths to relax, practicing the exercises I’d learned from the PTSD Coach app. Soon, my muscles weren’t coiled so tightly and I began to think more clearly.
This little encounter with Laurel didn’t mean anything. She obviously still loved her husband, or she wouldn’t need to get this drunk on their first birthday apart.
I took another deep breath.
Tomorrow, I would give her the present I’d made for her, but I wouldn’t bring up anything that happened tonight. Because none of this meant anything. It was a drunken conversation. In the morning, I would respect Laurel’s boundaries and go back to being her friend.
But a few more deep breaths later, I made the dire mistake of falling asleep. And when I woke, I thought perhaps I was lucid dreaming. Because I was fairly certain that Laurel was unfastening the button on my jeans.
I shook my head to wake myself, but she was still there, naked from the waist down and straddling my thighs as she unzipped my pants. “Laurel, what are you doing?”
She didn’t respond as she pulled my boxer briefs down a few inches, enough for my rock hard erection to spring up near her face. She giggled as she licked the tip and I almost fucking exploded from that one lick.
“Laurel, are you awake? Oh, fuck!” I whispered through clenched teeth as she took my dick into her mouth. “Laurel…”
She responded with a moan as she bobbed her head up and down a few times. As she teased the tip of my cock with her tongue, I tried to move her hair out of the way so I could see her face. Was she awake or in a trance or… Was this really happening?
But as I began to move her hair, she quickly slid up to mount me. I let out a guttural groan as I slid into her.
She licked her finger and moaned as she rubbed her clit while she rode me. I grabbed her hips to hold her steady as I thrust into her from underneath, but her pussy felt so fucking good, I was afraid I was going to explode after just a couple of minutes.
I quickly sat up, wrapping one arm around her waist as I turned her onto her back without breaking contact. She let out a throaty laugh as I
licked the salt from her neck and slowed my pace so I could last longer. But she seemed hellbent on coming fast, sliding her hand between us so she could touch herself some more.
I moved her hand out of the way and slid out of her. As I slid down and put my mouth on her pussy, my dick got painfully hard. She tasted so fucking good. Better than I imagined.
She writhed on the mattress as I licked her clit. When her legs began to tremble, and I was certain she was about to come, I slid back inside her. Grinding my pelvis into her clit with each slow thrust, I managed to last another four or five minutes before she screamed, “I’m gonna come!”
“So am I. Come with me, baby.”
Her pussy clenched around my cock as I let go inside her. “Oh, God. I’m coming, Jack! I’m coming!”
My stomach bottomed out. I quickly slid my still-twitching dick out of her, covering the head to catch the rest of the cum in my hand. Not that catching the rest in my hand really mattered at this point.
My other hand grabbed her face as I forced her to look me in the eye, but it was still too dark to see clearly. “Laurel, it’s me. It’s Isaac.”
She was silent for a long moment, then she gasped. “Oh, my God... Oh, my God. What have I done?”
Chapter 22
Laurel
Isaac did me a huge favor and left while I was still hugging the porcelain throne in the bathroom, though it did take some cajoling on my behalf. He didn’t want to leave me alone when I was obviously still so drunk and distraught. But he didn’t understand, he couldn’t possibly understand, just how distraught I actually was.
Yes, Jack and I were separated.
Yes, I was drunk.
Yes, I thought I was dreaming about Jack.
Yes, I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted him before.
No, none of those facts superseded the cold, hard fact that I had cheated on my husband. I was a whore.
I woke with my head resting on the toilet seat. I didn’t feel like I’d been asleep long because the numbing effects of the alcohol hadn’t completely worn off. Grabbing the edge of the pedestal sink, I pulled myself upright. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and almost vomited again. Blonde bird’s nest around my head, mascara bruises around my eyes, pink scrape across my cheek. I shook my head as I vaguely recalled doing a face-plant on the porch.
They needed to invent a new word for whatever was worse than a hot mess.
Looking away from the mirror, I turned on the water in the shower. As I began to undress, I let out a pitiful wail when realized I was only wearing the silky mustard-yellow cashmere sweater I’d worn for my birthday celebration. I was naked from the waist down.
I gripped the sides of the sink as I vomited into the basin. My stomach was empty. I had nothing left to give but the bitter bile at the base of my pathetic existence.
I gracelessly tore the sweater off and climbed over the bathtub ledge into the shower. The water scalded me, burning away my tears, disinfecting me. I scrubbed myself raw, my bright-pink skin doing nothing to quell my guilt. I sunk to the floor of the tub, hugging my knees as the shower’s stream battered the back of my head.
Even as the bathroom filled with thick steam, I could still feel the cold sweat that preceded another mouthful of bile rising in my throat. I spit out the bitter yellow fluid onto the floor of the tub and tilted my head back, letting my mouth fill with hot water. I swished it around, then I opened my mouth, letting the tainted mouthwash dribble out the sides of my mouth.
When the palms of my hands began to prune, I knew I needed to get out of the shower, before I disintegrated and went swirling down the drain. I made a half-hearted effort to towel-dry my hair, but I couldn’t be bothered to turn the light on in my old bedroom to search for a nightgown. I didn’t want to face the rumpled sheets.
Instead, I grabbed the wastebasket in the bathroom and dragged my naked body to the guest bedroom. Slipping under the cold sheets, I hugged the covers to my bare bosom and cried. Shivering with cold and trembling with guilt, I managed to fall asleep again without vomiting.
The next time I woke, the sun had risen, casting a buttery glow over the gray comforter and the pine nightstand. Glancing at the alarm clock, the red numbers told me it was 9:21 a.m.
I had no idea what time it was when I took my shower and went to bed. But the mild soreness in my chest muscles and inner thighs told me it couldn’t have been too long after Drea and Dylan left. It took a while for delayed onset muscle soreness to manifest in overworked muscles.
Jack taught me that.
He also taught me that the soreness wasn’t caused by lactic acid buildup in the muscles, as most people assumed. The pain was caused by microscopic tears in the muscle, caused by overworking them or using them in ways they hadn’t been used in a long time.
I couldn’t remember what happened with Isaac very well. All my brain could call forth was flashes of the encounter. My uncoordinated fingers fumbling in the darkness as I tried to find his zipper… The way his erection filled my mouth… Tilting my head back as I rode him… Being rolled onto my back… The pleasant shock as he slid into me… The sheer happiness of finding Jack in my dreams… The unpleasant shock of being awoken by Isaac’s voice… Isaac’s cum dripping out of me as I kneeled in front of the toilet.
Oh, my God. Oh, my fucking God. He came inside me? Was I remembering that correctly?
I leaped out of bed and raced to my old bedroom and snatched up the wastebasket next to the bed. I upended it, but nothing came out. I looked inside and saw only the white plastic bin liner. Maybe he flushed the condom? He didn’t have unprotected sex with me, did he?
No. That didn’t sound like something Isaac would do.
My stomach muscles contracted and the bed swayed beneath me as I realized I didn’t really know Isaac. Not well enough to know if that was something he would do.
“Oh, God.” The pictures on the walls were a dizzying blur as I raced to the bathroom and dry heaved over the toilet for a few minutes.
I needed emergency contraceptives.
Shaky and covered in perspiration, I tried to ignore the splitting hangover headache and intense nausea as I turned on the water to take another shower. I needed to wash away the sweat. Then, I would put on some clothes and drag myself to the drugstore.
It was an excellent plan.
But by the time the hot steam filled the bathroom, I began to feel as if I were suffocating. I tried taking deep breaths despite the tightness in my achy chest muscles, but I soon realized I was swaying. I was going to pass out.
I turned off the shower and splashed water all over the floor as I rushed out into the hallway. I gulped the fresh air as if I were taking my first breath. As if I were being reborn.
I sobbed as I used the wall to steady myself. Making my way back to the guest bedroom. I collapsed onto the bed and pulled the covers over my damp body.
I would take a nap. I just needed to rest. When I woke, I would go to Walgreen’s. Just a nap.
Then, a sudden thought occurred to me. I didn’t need to go to the drugstore. This was Portland. I could order my morning after pills to be delivered to me.
Pulling on my bathrobe, I stumbled my way downstairs. I found my phone on the dining table, next to four empty bottles of prosecco and six empty bottles of beer. The sickly sweet smell of alcohol permeated the entire bottom floor of the house.
I snatched my phone off the table and breathed through my mouth as I got myself a box of crackers and a glass of water. Heading back upstairs, I took one careful sip of the life-giving liquid and waited a moment to make sure it wouldn’t come right back up.
When I was satisfied the gurgling in my stomach was mostly benign, I slipped beneath the covers in my bathrobe and opened the Postmates app on my phone. I placed my Walgreen’s order and put the delivery instructions in all caps: LEAVE THE ORDER IN MY MAILBOX. DO NOT KNOCK OR RING DOORBELL.
The last thing I needed right now was to see the face of the Postmates delivery person as t
hey arrived with my pills.
Once I was certain the order had been accepted, I turned off my phone and hugged the extra pillow to my chest. I wanted to call Drea. No, I wanted to call Jack.
I hugged the pillow tighter, wishing madly that it still smelled like him. But it didn’t. Jack was gone. And so was I.
“Laurel, baby, wake up.”
My eyelids fluttered open at the sound of Jack’s voice, and my heartbeat came to a screeching halt when I saw him kneeling at my bedside. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, clutching at the sharp twinge in my chest as I realized I was either dreaming or so dehydrated I was hallucinating. I pulled the covers over my head to avoid any further torturous visions.
“Baby, look at me. Are you hungover? Do you need me to get you something?”
“Stop it. Please,” I begged my traitorous mind to stop playing tricks on me.
“I know I fucked up by missing your birthday, but I explained everything in the email. Did you read my email?”
My eyelids flew open as I slowly pushed the covers off my head. Jack was kneeling next to my bed, wearing a black long-sleeve T-shirt with the words Professional Asshole written in white block letters across his chest.
My entire body began to tremble. “Is it really you? I’m not dreaming?”
He chuckled and the sound stopped me cold. It was that gruff familiar tone that made my skin ache. I screamed as if I were being murdered, then I tossed away the covers and launched myself at him. Throwing my arms around his neck, I almost knocked him over.
He laughed harder now. “I guess that means you’re happy to see me?”
“Yes,” I whispered through my tears. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”
The warmth of his solid arms buoyed me so I felt weightless. I was actually floating. Jack had stood up, lifting me off the floor.
“I’ve missed you so fucking much,” he said, burying his face in my neck. “I’ve been a total fucking idiot, but I swear that’s over. We got him, baby. It’s over.”