Chapter Thirty-Six
ALLEY
THEN
The car ride home is confusing. Jensen’s all over me—touching, kissing—I swear he’d do it right here in the back seat if I gave the okay.
Seven months ago I was begging for this—for him to touch me, flirt with me, want me. If this had happened on New Year’s Eve, I would’ve stepped out of this cab blushing, satisfied, and with mussed-up hair.
That was before.
Before the Oxy.
Before the detoxing.
Before he became someone I hardly recognize.
This used to be in character for him, but now? It’s not. In fact, it’s so far off that I can’t stop thinking about it long enough to just let go and enjoy this. And God, I want to enjoy this.
His hand cups my breast, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re so fucking hot, baby. I can’t wait to get you home so I can eat your pussy.”
Holy hell. I shift in my seat, that tingly sensation spreading low in my core, a steady pulse building between my thighs.
I want this. I want to feel good. I want—him.
His hand glides down my stomach, sliding between my legs as he strokes me. I’m pounding with need, aching for him.
“You like when I do that?” he whispers in my ear. “Just wait until I get you naked.”
He takes my hand in his and presses it against his bulging cock. “You feel that? Feel how hard I am for you? I want you so bad.”
He trails kisses down my jaw, my neck, his hand moving with precision. I’m so turned on I can’t even think straight. I know the driver can see us. He knows what’s happening. Part of me doesn’t care because I’ve been dying for this. I’ve been so lonely. Living with Jensen—without him.
I shove away the thoughts that tell me he’s high—shut out the images of him locked in the bathroom, doing God knows what. I close my eyes and give in to the sensations storming through every nerve in my body.
I’m knowingly choosing ignorance.
Just for this moment.
Just tonight.
I can wake up tomorrow still married to my drug addict husband. But right now? It’s just us in the back seat of the cab. And he’s so hot for me he can’t wait.
I tell myself everything is okay. He loves me. He wants me.
I love him. I want him. I need him.
But the way he touches me doesn’t feel like Jensen. And I don’t know what’s worse—that I know it, or that I don’t care.
His hand moves back to my breast, palm massaging, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak. His other hand cups my cheek, and his lips crash into mine in the most possessive, all-consuming, fierce as hell way.
A fire burns, deep and low, and I cry out—his mouth and the music in the car drowning out the sound.
“God, you feel so good,” I breathe, panting.
He’s on cocaine. I slam the thought away. I don’t care. Not right now.
His mouth works its way down my neck, across my chest. He sucks at my nipple through the fabric of my bodysuit, the heat and wetness seeping through. He pulls it between his teeth, and a gasp escapes me, sparks tearing through every inch of me.
I don’t know what it is—the cab, the soaked-through fabric, his primal hunger for me, or my own pathetic need to be wanted—but I’ve never been this turned on in my life.
The cab pulls up to our building, and the driver clears his throat, loudly.
Jensen doesn’t seem to hear him.
“Jensen…” He keeps kissing, keeps sucking. “Jensen,” I say louder, pushing him away.
He finally pulls back, chuckling, and grabs my hand, sliding out of the car and tugging me behind him.
He moves fast through the lobby, practically dragging me while I scramble to keep up—one hand clutched in his, the other trying to cover the wet fabric of my top.
We make out the entire elevator ride up. His hands are everywhere. There’s no shame in his game. He doesn’t care if we get caught, doesn’t care if anyone sees.
By the time we get into our bedroom, my pants are undone and his shirt is off. He pushes me back onto the bed and yanks off my jeans, leaving me in just my bodysuit.
He flips on the lamp beside the bed.
“Jesus Christ. I love that thing,” he says, grinning, his eyes raking over what’s left of my outfit.
He lowers down and kisses his way up my legs, stopping at the snaps of my bodysuit. A low chuckle escapes him, his breath hot against me. I arch my back, hips lifting to meet him.
He bites the seam, popping the snaps open with the help of his hands. A finger plunges into me, and I moan loudly. “Oh my God.”
Then, his mouth’s on me—tongue licking, flicking—finger thrusting.
It feels incredible. My head spins, and I almost feel drunk. I get lost in the warmth spreading through my limbs, the pulsing against his mouth, the pounding of my heart.
I get lost in him.
He’s not himself.
God. Shut. Up.
I push the thoughts away.
A delicious ache builds, hot and burning, teasing me. My orgasm’s right there—so close I can taste it.
He curls his fingers inside me, hitting just the right spot.
A hurricane of pleasure rips through me. I cry out, my eyes squeezing shut, tears leaking from the corners.
He’s on something. This isn’t him.
I take deep breaths as I come down from the high, and quiet the thought again.
Jensen presses a kiss to my thigh, and then the weight on the bed shifts. I hear the zipper of his jeans and open my eyes. He’s pulling off his pants and underwear. I bend my knees, opening for him.
My heart pounds wildly in my chest as he settles between my legs, his body hovering over mine. He pushes into me, slow and steady.
I study him, his face, his jaw. It’s clenched again. His eyes are closed, and he looks lost in the feeling. He’s tense.
He thrusts again, eyes opening.
The light hits his face and there’s something in his eyes. A shadow. A darkness. Like an aura wrapped around him, embedded in his soul.
I blink. Am I imagining it? Am I crazy? Stuck in some euphoric haze? I blink again. No—I’m not crazy. It’s there.
Jensen’s gaze meets mine, and it’s so unfamiliar, so far from him, it steals the breath from my lungs.
I don’t recognize this person. I know logically that it’s Jensen. My husband. But it’s not him. He’s not here.
Panic rises, sharp and fast. My pulse races, my chest tightens, and I’m suddenly locked in full-blown fight-or-flight. A crushing weight presses down as I realize—I’m having sex with a complete stranger.
Fear grips me, ripping through my chest and burrowing deep into the pit of my stomach.
I push against him.
“Get off,” I say, barely above a whisper. I push harder. “Get off.” My breath turns ragged. “Stop! Get off!”
Jensen slows, confused, his brows pinching together.
“Get the fuck off me!” I scream, shoving with everything I have.
He pulls out, stumbling back as I scramble away, tears already falling down my cheeks as I gasp for air.
My hands fly to my face, covering my eyes as I collapse, my sobs shaking through me.
I force myself up, swing my legs off the bed, and rush to the dresser. I grab the first pajama shirt and shorts I see and throw them on.
“Why are you freaking out?” Jensen asks, his voice baffled, completely unaware.
The sobs come harder, gutting and uncontrollable, spilling from somewhere deep I haven’t let myself feel in months. I don’t even know what just happened or why it broke me like this.
I don’t respond. I can’t. Shame claws at me. Grief swells in my chest.
I’m devastated. Heartbroken.
“Alley, what the hell just happened?”
I wipe at my eyes with both palms, still unable to look at him. I cross the room and grab a pillow from my side of the bed. I glance at him, just briefly. He’s still hard. His expression twisted with confusion, hurt, and something that looks like irritation.
I take a shaky breath and hold it for a moment, just long enough to regain my composure. “I can’t do this right now,” I say quietly, my voice flat with defeat.
He rakes a hand through his hair. “Fuck. Come on. Talk to me, babe. What’d I do?”
A sound forces its way out, something between a laugh and a sob. “What’d you do? That’s a great question, Jensen.” My eyes fix on the wall. “I’m sleeping on the couch.”
I walk toward the door, past Jensen. He follows me.
“Jesus. You’re acting like I fucking hurt you.”
I shake my head. The tears still fall, but more silently now. This is a different kind of pain. A new kind of pain. The kind where you no longer recognize the person you love the most, but they no longer see you either.
I throw my pillow onto the couch and turn to him. “Please don’t talk to me right now. I’m sleeping here tonight. You can go do whatever the hell you need to do.”
He takes a beat, his eyes flicking to me before he huffs out a breath. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll be in my office.”
He turns and walks away.
“Of course you will,” I mutter.
I watch him storm down the hallway and disappear into his dungeon, the door slamming shut behind him.
I sink into the couch, my mind racing—questions I never thought I’d ask surfacing more frequently with each passing moment. What am I going to do? What the hell was that?
I let myself cry for a long time, staring at nothing, trying to make sense of my life and the decisions I know I have to start making.
Jensen has to stop using. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t live with him like this.
My heart explodes inside my chest, and not in the way love does.
This is a bomb.
Pure chaos.
Shrapnel.
A heartbreak so sharp I feel it everywhere. Like the heart that once beat for us just stopped. And now, there’s nothing. No rhythm. No pulse. Nothing.
My shoulders tremble, and my head throbs with pressure so intense I swear it might burst. The salt of my tears burns my skin, and my chest aches so badly I can’t breathe. I gasp for air, each breath followed by a groan.
Life has been so damn hard the past few months. I feel parts of myself slipping away, right along with Jensen. I’m not happy. I rarely laugh. I hardly even smile. I’ve shut everyone out. I’m quiet at work. I don’t engage in conversations. I’ve completely withdrawn from my friends.
I keep it all inside because I’m scared to say it aloud. I’m embarrassed. I’m ashamed this is what my marriage has become. I’m afraid. I’m sad. And I’m so damn lonely.
But most of all—I’m angry.
Angry at Jensen for leaving me.
At myself for staying.
At God for destroying us.
Losing myself has been hard, but that’s not the hardest part. I can deal with that. I can handle that.
The hardest part is watching Jensen lose. Watching him destroy his body. Seeing the parts of him that are so incredibly good slip farther and farther away.
Watching the light leave his eyes.
The smile leave his face.
Sitting by as the things he used to love no longer seem to matter. One of them being me.
I know that’s not true. I know he loves me. I know I matter to him. That’s what makes this such torture, for both of us.
I’m not ready to give up on him. Every part of me aches to be held in his arms. To have the old Jensen look into my eyes. To make me smile. To watch football together. To laugh at his stupid jokes.
God, I want him back.
I cry for what feels like hours. Breaking for everything we once had. For me. For Jensen. Even for my mom—for what she went through with my dad. For him drowning in a bottle when she left this earth. She didn’t get to see the real him one last time.
I can’t do that.
I won’t accept this.
I need to see Jensen again. I know he’s still in there somewhere.
Through blurred vision, I swipe up on my phone. Tears and snot mix together in a salty mess that hits my lips. I wipe it away and type.
AA meetings near me.
A list appears. Some are close, some farther out. Churches. Off-campus buildings. Offices. They’re everywhere.
I find one for tomorrow night just a few blocks away. We have to go. He has to go.
The office door creaks open in the distance, and Jensen’s footsteps move down the hall. He appears moments later, his eyes red and bloodshot, his whole body subdued.
As soon as our eyes meet, he squeezes his shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. His lips tremble, like he’s trying not to fall apart.
“I need help.” His voice cracks—and he shatters.
I’m on my feet before I can think, arms sliding around his waist. He wraps himself around me and buries his face into my hair, sobbing uncontrollably. We both tighten our grip, pulling each other closer, until there’s no space left between us. We cling to each other, holding on for dear life.
We stay there, wrapped around one another.
Broken.
Shattered.
But somewhere in this dark mess, in the middle of all this pain, it feels like someone just lit a match. A spark glimmers in the distance. His spoken truth, a flicker of hope.
His chest shudders beneath me with every breath. My tears soak his shirt. His soak into my hair.
“God, I love you so much,” he chokes out. “I don’t want to lose you.”
I can’t answer. I’m crying too hard, strangled by the weight of everything I feel.
So I squeeze him tighter. I don’t want that either. I don’t want to lose him.
I’ll fight.
With him.
For him.
For me.
For us.
I need more time. We’re not finished. This can’t be the end of us. Not today. Not tomorrow.
Not ever.