22. Enrique
Chapter 22
Enrique
I never been fucked so rudely and disrespectfully in my life. It was like a sexual blitz attack. In and out in such a quick fashion that I’m torn between wondering if I imagined it or checking to see if there is money on my bedside table.
My thoughts and feelings are all over the place because how can a man mourn the loss of the love of his life while sleeping in his ‘wife’s guest room. Worse, Yasmeena brought up Emily during sex. How in the hell was that supposed to be helpful. I need a vacation, a drink, and probably a priest.
I lie back down and pull the covers up to my chest wondering what in the hell I’ve gotten myself into. There is no turning back, the deal is done and I can only go through the process. Maybe if I focus on trying to imagine what my future child will look like it’ll help.
My mind quickly abandoned the idea because this is a shot in a rigged game. The information Yasmeena’s doctor gave didn’t make me feel at ease. It’s like we’re racing against an armed bomb.
There is an underlying nervous sensation in my belly that hasn’t left since Yasmeena told me she had cancer. No, it’s not like I woke up and realized that I’ve been in love with her this entire time, it’s different. I’ve gotten used to being annoyed by her daily, it will feel weird if she wasn’t around anymore. She’s been a fixture in my life for almost five years.
Still, I lie naked in a space she just vacated and I know that if she wasn’t sick, I would have followed her and demanded to be treated with more respect. For now, I’ll allow her to do things her way. There’s a hole in my heart that makes me feel like I’ve just cheated on Emily although she left me.
Pictures of us make up most of my gallery but I’m stuck on the most recent picture we took together. It was the Friday morning of the spa weekend after turning down Yasmeena, my smile was so hopeful then but I don’t even have a fake one to offer now.
Only thing I can give is my body in service to Yasmeena’s needs. Each picture I look at just pulls open the self-inflicted wound. The hurt doesn’t allow me to miss Emily as much as I’d like. It seems that it’s possible to like someone and be mad as hell. That’s where I’m at. For now, all I can do is shut down my emotions towards Emily, focus on work, and allow my body to be used.
While I know it wasn’t for the money or position, I still sold my body like a gigolo and this is the reality of my situation. The baby is her main goal but I’m just the vehicle to get her to that point. My role in Yasmeena’s personal life is disposable and that’s how I feel.
“I was doing this to be nice,” I murmur to myself as I climb out of bed. I find my discarded boxers and put them on so I can go make myself a drink. It’ll help me sleep. I don’t bother donning any extra clothing since Yasmeena seems to always walk around the house near naked.
For a moment, I even considered going into her room for another round. Not because I’m horny-I have another round but I’m not raring to go-but making Yasmeena agitated amuses me. I need to have fun where I can since amusement is the only feeling feasible.
I grab a glass and pour myself a double as I look around. Yasmeena really loves the minimalist look it seems. All of the colors are neutrals, just like her nails, and I cannot find one unnecessary or personal item. They all must be in her room.
Backtracking, I head in the direction of my room but beeline to her bedroom instead. If she can walk in my room whenever she feels like it, I’ll do the same. I push her cracked door all the way open and lean on the jamb.
As expected, she’s not wearing much of anything. Her hair is piled atop of her head as she lounges in bed and focuses on her phone. Yasmeena looks over whatever has her interest so intently that one would have never thought she’s pounced on me not a mere twenty minutes ago.
Coming out of a committed relationship, it’s weird not having some sort of intimacy before or after sex. In fact, I’ve received more intimacy from a one-night stand. My wife wants no such thing.
Timing her, I stay put and continue to sip on my drink.
Not long after, Yasmeena slowly looks up from her phone, “what?”
“Nothing,” I say, pushing off the door and heading further into her room. I look around, expecting to see a picture or something. Nothing. “You don’t like things, do you?”
“Things? Like what?” Her eyes watch my every move.
“Pictures, trophies, or something.”
“Why would I have them up? They’re all stacked in my storage area… downstairs, if you’d like to go and see them.”
“The pictures or the trophies?”
“Both. Why would I need to hang any pictures up?”
“To see them or display people you care about…never mind the second part.”
I walk over and make myself comfortable on the empty side of her bed. “So I guess there’s nothing you’d want to hang that will be pretty to you or a good memory?”
Yasmeena eyes me from head to toe with an arched brow. “I have memories, they’re neither bad nor good. Why are you on my bed? You have a room.”
“Okay, so tell me one of these not good nor bad memories,” I prompt as I tuck the arm not holding the drink behind my head. I take a sip and look at her, waiting for her to respond.
“Will you leave if I tell you?”
“No. I’m sure I’ll have another question.”
Yasmeena rolls her eyes. “Used to do gymnastics, broke my arm and ate hospital jello. Very weird texture, very sugary.”
“What flavor and would you eat it again?”
“The color was green and no.”
“I’ll get you all the flavors. See if it makes a difference.” I can feel her irritation but I don’t care. Yasmeena puts her phone down with a sigh and the way she crosses her arms just brings more attention to her breasts. I boop one of the nipples with the tip of my finger like it’s her nose. “I’m usually good for two rounds. Future notice by the way.”
“Good to know,” Yasmeena slaps my hand. “ But we don’t need more than one round. I don’t want jello, I want you to go to your room.” She grabs her remote and turns on her tv.
I’m laughing on the inside. This is what boredom gets you. “So you can come jump on me but I can’t have a conversation and touch a nipple or two?”
“I doubt we want to have a conversation when we’ve had all the time in the world to before. And what will touching my nipples do? Nothing.”
“We only talk about work because we’ve only had time to talk about work in the past. And can it be that I just like to touch nipples? Your nipples aren’t sensitive? You don’t like nipple play? If I were to suck one into my mouth right now, you wouldn’t feel anything?”
“As you can tell when I slid on top, I’m capable of very much feeling, Enrique.”
“So you’re saying you do like nipple play?”
“Enrique, shut up.”
The smile I’ve been fighting plays on my face. It took longer than I thought, honestly. The women on the television grab my attention.
“Yasmeena Yara Al-ameen Souza watches reality television?”
“Yes, she does and while she watches the Real Housewives of Atlanta, she needs you to shut up or get out.”
A series of bleeps pull my attention away from annoying my wife. Reality shows are loaded with a bunch of nonsense but I know what it’s like to be annoyed when someone keeps talking while you’re trying to watch something.
“Why are they fighting?”
“For the same reason I’m going to fight you. Mind your business.”
I chuckle. “Come fight me then.” She must have forgotten that we’re both underdressed.
“Noe… watch the episode.”
My smile is still in place when I move my attention back to the television. It may not be at the top of the list of things that I’d watch, but it is at least better than being alone in my room with my thoughts.
‘