Judas

by Lacey-Payne, Chandler

  All she cared about in life was his happiness and the survival of their child. It worried her deeply that neither Leanna's nor Adessa's babies had survived. She prayed that whatever the cause of the miscarriages, the same wouldn't happen to her.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  He threw his head back against the padded leather chair, closing his eyes in abandon as she rode him, hard and unrelenting. The tip of his tongue circled the finger that was pressed between his clenched teeth. This was one of the few times since his wife left that he had given to the pressure and promises of bliss that she so eagerly offered. But it wasn't the same. It wasn't a coke fueled release that threw him into the bowels of oblivion, as every other time before then. It was empty and passionless and he didn't need it.

  He matched her movements as the muscles in his buttocks and thighs tightened and released, propelling his hips as she rose and fell against him. Her audible moans echoed through the small office as she milked his length, seeking, but not finding. He was willing himself to finish it, struggling to focus on each movement but the longer the charade continued, the more he was beginning to feel ill. He suddenly spit the fingertip from his mouth, shoving her to the floor with a thundering “NO!”

  Carrie's eyes were wide, and her chest heaving as she quickly recovered her composure. “What the hell?”

  Emerald orbs aligned with her heady gaze as he lifted his head to take in the view of her sprawled on the floor with her skirt still hiked up above her hips. Her panties dangled from her ankle and the sight of her would have been arousing had the circumstances been different. “Fix yourself,” he ordered, averting his eyes. He heard her stand and begin to smooth her clothing, doing as she was told as heavy breaths continued to fall.

  “Mr. Quinn, are you alright? Did I do something wrong?” she stammered, trying to assess the situation.

  “I'm sorry, Carrie. I just can't,” he said, lowering his head.

  “What do you mean? You don't enjoy me anymore?” she asked, with hurt and confusion in her voice.

  He groaned. It wasn't her fault. “It's not that. You're very good at what you do,” he said, tilting his head to the side as he looked at her. “I just can't feel you. It's.. empty,” he said, giving her the truth.

  “This is about that girl, isn't it. You're in love with her,” she accused.

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  She groaned. “Do you think next time you fall in love, you can refrain from dropping me on my ass?” There was deliberate playfulness in her voice but he was serious in his response.

  “There won't be a next time,” he told her.

  “A next time for us, or for falling in love?” she quizzed. Something told him she already knew the answer.

  “For either.”

  He sat there watching her, not even caring that his dick was out. He was lost in his thoughts, wondering how the hell he had even gotten to this point with her to begin with. He had never slept with anyone in his profession and that included all co-workers, clients, employees or other staff. He just wasn't that tacky. Yet here he was, trying to explain to Carrie that this wasn't her fault.

  It was easy to blame the drugs, but he knew damn well she had pushed. She began to come onto him daily in her attempts to seduce him and the absence of his conscience had allowed the affair to continue. He had no idea if it was about money or her own pleasure but it was ending, here and now.

  She was just another on his list of people to walk away from.

  “Sir?” Her voice was quiet when she finally spoke.

  “Yes, Carrie?”

  She hesitated a moment before asking, “You know she still loves you, right?”

  He knew she was talking about Adessa. “No. But does it matter?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe, not. I just thought you should know.” Her eyes had softened and he knew there was no venom in her tone. She hadn't held anything against him.

  “I appreciate that but in the future, I'd rather not know such things,” he said, removing any doubt of his opinion on the matter.

  He figured the two had remained friends but what he didn't understand was how Carrie could be so intent on sleeping with him, and then face her friend, knowing that Adessa wouldn't approve. It would have hurt her to know. Everything hurt her. It didn't matter if he was ever honest or not because both the truth and the lies had destroyed her. Destroyed them. He wasn't aware when Carrie slipped away sometime later. His thoughts had returned to the bewitching redhead that bore his last name.

  She weighed heavily on his mind as his week came to a close, signaling the end of a career he had spent his life building. He was leaving while he was at the top and for that, he knew he was lucky. He had gone over every line of every conversation in his head, separating the truth from the lies and he remembered his very first statement to her after she agreed to be his wife. The words “This is forever” were playing in his mind like a symphony, mocking his failure. Their marriage hadn't crumbled, it had exploded, shattering under the pressure of a million broken dreams.

  His boxes were packed and all of his personal items were strewn in boxes that littered the office he had leased for the last decade. As he looked around the room, he was conflicted between his eagerness to begin his future and wishing he could change the past. This must be what it feels like to be on the front lines when the war had ended and all that remained were the scattered ashes and broken, lifeless shapes of those who had died for their cause. He had no idea where the journey would lead, but he knew the starting point was leaving this town.

  Faint footsteps could be heard in the distance and he briefly wondered if Carrie had forgotten something. “Judas.” His head snapped instantly to the doorway where she stood. She was wearing denim shorts and a black cotton blouse but it wasn't her clothing that caught his attention. It was the tired blue eyes and the faded copper hair that made him instantly want to touch her. She was broken. It had only been a few months since the night in the hospital but she looked like she had aged twenty years. Had he not heard that familiar voice, he wouldn't have even recognized his wife. His heart went out to her when he realized it was effects of what he had done.

  “Yes, doll?” His voice was soft as he stood there, trying to determine her intent.

  She looked around the room at all the packed boxes and finally allowed her eyes to settle against his. “I guess I just wanted to see for myself. Carrie told me you were leaving town,” she said, without emotion.

  He nodded, “I am. I've closed the practice. Retirement, I suppose.” He was too young to retire but he didn't have a better answer at the moment. He was leaving without a plan.

  She shook her head, crossing the room to stand in front of him. He nearly took a step back as the force of her warmth fell against his frame.

  “So this is it? You're just heading out and leaving your wife and your home behind?” There was no bitterness in her words. She was calm and questioning.

  “I don't want the house, Adessa. It's yours if you want it,” he told her.

  “Why didn't you file?” she asked solemnly, scanning his features.

  He shrugged, “Why didn't you?”

  “Because I love you,” she said flatly.

  “Love isn't enough. You should know that,” he said dryly, allowing his mind to briefly wander back to his situation with Jaime.

  She couldn't argue his point but she could throw his words back at him. “I don't believe in divorce,” she said, trying to rouse a response.

  “Neither do I, but unlike you, I have never been the one to leave.” His words were cool, but he meant them. He still had a bit of lingering anger at her for leaving him, despite all of his attempts to prevent it.

  “I'm sorry, Judas, I was hurting and I didn't understand. I was selfish and I know now that it wasn't about me. It was about us, and I failed you just as much as you failed me.”

  He took several moments to process her words. She had accepted her part in what had gone so terribly wrong between them. He believed h
er sincerity.

  “Adessa, we can't change the past. We were both wrong, I know you understand that now, but nothing has changed in my life. I am what I am. Can you ever accept that?” He was ready to bear it to her.

  “I don't know. Maybe if I can understand it. I can't accept something if I don't know what it is, or why it is,” she reasoned.

  He nodded, “You experienced it, doll. You should understand it now.”

  She shook her head, avoiding his gaze. “I understand some. But I have questions and a lot of them. You owe me those answers. You hurt me.”

  He didn't try to deny it. “You left me no choice. I tried so hard to protect you from it. I was wrong, but I can't take it back, and I don't know for the life of me how to change.” His voice faltered as the tears threatened to erupt.

  “Don't you dare cry in my presence, Judas. I won't have it. Just tell me that you want to come home and that this nonsense can stop. Tell me you will get some help and allow me to continue loving you. I'm your wife, and that is what I'm here for.” Her words were fierce and he felt her fighting for him in that instant. She wanted him. Despite everything, she was standing here, beckoning him to go home with her. To their home.

  “Will you meet me at the house tonight?” he asked. He knew they had unfinished business between them and he wanted to be able to leave Monday with his future in sight. The fact that she had come here was a testament to her willingness to talk to him without bitterness or blame. He was nervous about going back there, but the talk they would have wasn't going to be one for a neutral location. He finished cleaning out his office and locked the door. Finally, he saw a glimmer of hope in the situation.

  “Bear with me because I'm not sure I have the right words to explain this,” he told her, wetting his lips. “It started when I was twelve. Or at least, that's when I first became aware of it,” he continued. He kept his fingers busy, pulling at loose strands of fiber from the blanket they shared. She was quiet and listening as he nervously explained. “At some point, I stopped having control over my emotions the way normal people do. I can't express my feelings in words. They don't come. Extreme feelings have to be transferred physically, through actions.” He stopped, taking a moment to think.

  She was listening, sitting beneath the soft throw, squeezing his hand as he struggled with the words as he continued. “ I don't enjoy it. Half of the time, I don't even remember it. It suppresses until the next time, when the images return, and I am forced to relive it.” He thought some more, choosing his words. “It's the anger and the frustration of the moment that fuels it, and I have no control.”

  He heaved a heavy breath and she smiled warmly, encouraging him to keep going. “I try to contain it but the struggle seems to feed the desires and the urge to do it anyway. Not having control of impulses or emotions is a deadly combination.” She nodded in response, knowing exactly how deadly the combination had been.

  He was silent for several moments, obviously reflecting upon the things in his past, which now included her. It was awkward and painful for both of them but she knew this had to happen. She had to know.

  “The things I do are the result of anger and frustration that little by little builds within me. When I can no longer contain it, a single wrong word can trigger me, turning me into a living, breathing monster. The man who hurt you was not me.”

  She stopped him. “Judas. I know that. There were many times you were not the husband I recognized. But I thought that even the man I knew would enjoy bringing me pain. I was selfish in that.”

  He shook his head, “I don't enjoy any of the things I do but when I'm triggered, there is no control. No stopping. No safe words. No escape. It consumes me until each emotion is ripped from my soul in a violent rage. When it's over, the sight and smell of the blood disgusts me, makes me ill. I hate myself for the things I do and the words that come out are shocking, even to me. I don't mean them.” Her breath caught as she remembered his words that night. He was so cruel and so demanding. He had abused and humiliated her.

  He paused to take a long, deep breath, as trembling hands fumbled to light a cigarette. He took a slow draw and began again, half rambling as he spoke more to himself than to her. “I don't want any of it. I'm not a violent man, and I'm not a sadist, as I have led women to believe. There were tears in his eyes as he looked at her brokenly, “I'm sorry for that, but I didn't know how else to explain without telling you all of this.”

  She understood. He was deeply troubled but she had no idea what to say or how to help him. “Do you know what caused you to become this way?” she asked, softly, stroking her fingers over his in an attempt to calm him.

  He shook his head. “Dad took me to a psychiatrist when I was a kid. When anger management failed, they blamed it on self- harm, and bi-polar disorder, and no matter what label they gave me, none of them ever fit.”

  She nodded, “So you gave up?”

  “I didn't give up. I accepted what I am. And we made a plan,” he said without regret. “My father was the only one who knew. He kept my secret all these years. From, everyone. He helped me to find women who would allow me to be rough with them and to do the things I needed to do to find peace,” he told her. “I was twelve, yet I knew I wanted to cause pain, and I enjoyed the release it brought.”

  She was shocked. “Your father sent you hookers when you were a kid?”

  He nodded. “By the time I was fourteen, yes. We had given up hope that anyone would help me. But those releases helped keep me from triggering. It became a way to keep the beast within under control.”

  “What happened when you were unable to find someone? Or, before then? How did you release it?

  He simply rolled up his sleeve and showed her the pattern of scars that lined his arm. They were so faint by now, that she hadn't thought much of them when she saw them there before. Some were thin lines, but two were larger, and circular. “Cigarettes, and knives. There are more,” he told her, removing his boots.

  He showed her the soles of his feet that were marred with the same marks, and she winced visibly, imagining the pain when he walked. Why had she never noticed those before? And, why there?

  “Why on your feet?”

  “Because it was the only place no one would look. Mother called me a freak and refused to be seen in public with me because of my scars. So I learned to hide them.”

  She leaned her head against his chest, sighing softly as she beside him as he told her about the women at work, and the reason behind his using the cocaine. It certainly explained a lot and she was sad for him. For the boy he was and for the man he had become.

  She was also proud. He had found a way to overcome something that most kids wouldn't have even understood. There was only one remaining piece missing from the puzzle. “The night you came back, and you made love to me.... “ she began, but he cut her off.

  “Yes, that was part of it,” he told her. “See, it's a cycle. The things that happen inside of me and the pain and hurt that it causes is vivid. Even when it's finished, it's not. There is only one way for me to move past it, and that is to complete the cycle through giving as much affection as the misery I have caused. It can't be given to the same person because I can't allow myself to have any emotion toward the one I will destroy. If I were to develop feelings, or begin to see her as a person, I can't use her in that way. She would be useless to me. So I needed you to accept everything good in me, to cleanse me of all that was dirty and to redeem me.”

  She was bawling now, sobbing openly as the tears poured down both of their faces. It only intensified her need to help him. “What about now? Do you think you would want to try again to get help?”

  “Yes. I know now that there is no other option. This has destroyed all that I have ever cared about in my life. It is time to try again.” He threw the cigarette that had burned up into the container and lit a new one.

  “I want to help you,” she said. “What can I do?”

  “Stay,” he said.

  She
smiled through her tears, “Done.”

  cHAPTER tWENTY

  He slept comfortably with her in his arms. It was different than he remembered and even though her warmth could be felt, her soul could not. He was content, but it wasn't the same. He knew he had a tough road ahead to rebuild the bridges that had been burned but at least for now, she was here and she had accepted the truth. All of it. He was sorry that he ever kept it from her now. He felt as if the heavy weight he had been dragging around was suddenly hoisted from his shoulders.

  He called Jaime to let her know he wouldn't be back that night and she was disappointed but she understood. Judas was already missing her but as always, it was his wife that would take priority and she needed him as much as he needed her tonight. They were on a path toward redemption and he had to see it through. He could no longer live with the demon inside of him, because even now, he still felt it stir in the still of the night, and he knew that it was only a matter of time.

  “I understand now why you had to go to Jaime, and I believe that you don't love her,” she told him as they sat in the dusty living room that had once been warm and inviting. It had changed somehow over the months, and he felt like a stranger in the room.

  He decided to go for the full truth. “I can't keep her anymore. Things changed after you left. We became friends. She's a good girl, but it's time for me to let her go.”

  She tilted her head to look at him, “Do you love her?”

  He nodded, and then shrugged. “I think so. I don't know. Maybe I was lonely. Love isn't an easy thing for me. You know that.” He knew he was in love with Jaime but in that second, he began to question it. Had it not been for the drugs, he would never have opened up to her, and then there had been Zachary's death. Drugs and mourning had a funny way of making feelings out of nothing. And he was lonely. Maybe everything he felt for her had been a lie. It was just another of his crutches that he had always used to get him through.