40. Chapter 40
Iknow coming here was not one of my better ideas, but I had to know. What’s the saying? “Curiosity killed the cat?” Yeah, just call me Garfield.
I see Knox swallow hard. He takes a step closer and puts his hand on the back of the chair I’m sitting in, which has my jacket draped over it. “Look, Lizzie, I’ll tell you everything. Let’s just get out of here before I have to carry you out, OK?”
“Oh, I dunno, Knox. I’m not sure you’re strong enough to carry a woman like Lizzie out of the house,” Marcus says. I would be offended and humiliated by those words if I weren’t a little bit nervous right now, and a little bit shitfaced. But also, I’m pretty sure that was meant as an insult to Knox, so I’ll let it slide.
“You gotta start lifting weights like me, Knox, then you can do this!” In one swoop Marcus bends down lower than me in my seat and grabs me under the ass, hoisting me over his shoulder. I yelp while he spins me in a circle, but we stop abruptly when Knox grabs my hips and pulls me down.
I try not to sway, but the alcohol is definitely taking its toll. I’m actually a little thankful for my nerves, since they are keeping me the tiniest bit sober. “Alright, enough,” Knox says through gritted teeth. “What the hell do you want, Marcus? Huh? What’s your play here?”
Marcus wipes a bead of sweat from his brow. “Aww, we’re just having a little fun here, is all.” He looks between the two of us, then back to Knox’s untouched shot. Then he snaps his fingers, “Oh, wait! Duh! You’re into something a little heavier. How could I be so stupid? Wait right here!” He jogs down the short hallway to the living room that is just inside the front door.
Knox grabs me by the elbow and spins me so I’m in his face. “What the actual fuck?” he seethes through gritted teeth.
“Don’t you dare start on me!” I snarl back. “I know this was stupid, but you can’t blame me for wanting answers.”
He sighs, and his look softens. “Are you OK?”
I nod. “Yes. I mean, I’ve drank enough alcohol to sedate a small horse, but I’m OK.”
“Did you take anything?”
“No.”
“You sure? He didn’t slip you anything?”
“No, I’ve been watching. I don’t think he has. And I don’t feel, you know, like I’m anything other than drunk, if that makes sense. But if I drink any more, I’m not going to have any more wits about me to be able to even focus.”
“You’re not drinking anymore,” Knox cuts me off. “We’re leaving.”
Marcus replies to that statement as he comes bounding back up the hallway toward the kitchen. “Nah, man, you can’t leave now. The party’s just getting started.” He opens a little baggie and shakes three pills into his hand and holds it up between us. “Whatdaya say we all loosen up a bit?”
I swear I hear Knox swallow next to me before he says, firmly, “No.”
I hold my hands up, and add, “I don’t even know what that is, but I’m pretty sure my body will reject it, so I’m gonna pass.”
Marcus chuckles and pops one of the pills in his mouth, then stuffs another back into the baggie. He swallows the pill without even taking a drink. “You’re funny,” he says to me, then looks at Knox. “She’s funny.”
“Yeah, she’s a real fucking treat,” Knox says, exasperated, as he tries to pull me a step toward the door, but Marcus grabs my other arm.
“Thing is, Knox …” Knox looks at where Marcus’ hand is circled around my arm, and I see his nostrils flare. “Thing is, I don’t like to get high alone. So, someone has to join me.” He holds the little blue pill up on the pad of his pointer finger between the three of us, at eye level.
“You’re not alone,” Knox says. “Sounds like you’ve got company in the basement.”
“You know what I mean,” Marcus responds.
I assess the pill. I honestly have no idea what it is. So it’ll fuck me up, big deal, right? I’m not an addict, I don’t have an addictive personality, so I will be fine if I swallow it, right?
I see Knox also sizing it up, and I know he would take 100 of them before he would let me swallow it, but that’s just the problem. If I take it, it’ll just be a bad night for me. If Knox takes it, it’s a much harsher sentence.
“If I recall, this didn’t work out so well for me last time,” Knox says to Marcus. “Not for my bank account. Not for … Jenny.” Hearing her name on his lips is a strike to the gut. “So why don’t we just call this a night.”
Ever so slowly, Marcus just turns his head from side to side in a slow shake. “Not gonna happen,” he says.
And before I can overthink it, I pluck the pill off his fingertip and pop it in my mouth, then grab the untouched shot off the table and knock it back.
“The fuck!” I hear Knox yell at the same time Marcus cheers. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
“Why the hell would you do that?” Knox grabs both my upper arms in his hands.
Still cringing from the burn of the liquor, I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth, then look up at him. “Because you can’t.”
We stare at one another. It’s interesting that earlier today we spit venom at each other, burned each other to the ground, and now we’re trying to get each other out of this ridiculous situation.
The music from the basement gets louder, and we hear someone coming up the stairs. “Hey, no one told me it was a party up here,” I turn toward the familiar voice and freeze as I see Deputy Clark walking toward me. As we lock eyes, I swear I see him slow for a fraction of a second before he looks up to Knox.
He saunters right up to Knox, arm extended. “Robbie,” he says in greeting. Knox takes it without so much as flinching, and gives his name as they do a quick shake. Then Clark—Robbie—turns to me, hand outstretched. For a second, I wonder if it really is Deputy Clark. He’s wearing a zip-up blue athletic hoodie and a baseball cap that’s angled off to the side. He looks youthful, playful even.
Knox clears his throat. “You’re going to have to excuse Lizzie, she’s a little … We’ll she’s on her way to being totally fucked up,” he says with a little laugh.
Clark steps forward and takes my hand and shakes it like a dead fish, since my limbs are useless to work on their own. “It’s very nice to meet you, Lizzie, was it? Is that short for something?” He’s staring right down into my eyes, like he’s trying to convey something to me.
And suddenly my brain starts to work again. Oh! He must be undercover!
Clark is still staring at me, and I realize I never answered his question. “Lyzbeth,” I practically shout, then clear my throat and try it again. “My name is Lyzbeth, but people call me Lizzie.”
“Lizzie.” He nods, then scratches the side of his nose, and I think he can see that blood and oxygen are once again circulating to the part of my brain responsible for any kind of thinking at all. “Anyone up for pizza? I was just gonna call the place on the corner.” He’s pulling a phone out of his back pocket. “Rammy’s? Remy’s?”
“Ricco’s,” Marcus answers.
“Ricco’s! Yes. They have a buffalo chicken pizza that’s out of this world.”
“Nah, thanks, man. We were just headed out,” Knox says as he puts a hand on my elbow.
“Nonsense,” I hear another voice from someone else who just came up the stairs, and turn to see a dark-skinned guy wearing a plain white shirt and a pair of faded jeans. He has work boots, like Knox, and a skull cap. “We’ve finally got enough people for a good game of Blackjack.”
He heads around the rectangular table, pulls out a chair and plops down before looking up at us. “Name’s John, with an ‘H,’” he says, finally looking up and giving us a smile, showing off bright, white teeth. “But the ladies call me Johnny.” He winks before pointing to the chairs on the other side of the table. “Sit! I’ll deal you in.”
I didn’t realize Clark stepped into the hallway to order the pizza until he returns, announcing, “OK, delivery guy should be here in twenty,” and he gives me a pointed look. Rubbing his hands together in front of his chest, he takes the seat at the head of the table, to the left of “John with an H,” with Marcus sitting at the other head of the table.
“We can sit for a hand or two, but then we really have to get going,” Knox says to the guys, his eyes never leaving mine.
I go to take the seat to Marcus’ right, but Knox cuts in front of me and pulls that chair out for himself, forcing me to sit next to him, in the seat to Clark’s left. As I pull the chair out and go to sit, I stumble a little, feeling like I just fell right through the chair, even though my ass is planted firmly in it.
Marcus chuckles. “I see Molly is making her appearance?”
Huh?“Lizzie,” I reply, with my hand to my chest as I look over Knox at Marcus, thinking he forgot my name. Marcus chuckles again and gives me a look that makes my insides cringe.
Knox shakes his head and my eyes dart to him. “He’s talking about the drugs, Lizzie. What you took. They call it Molly, sometimes.”
“Oh!” I say a little too loud. Then, quieter, “Oh.” And I put my hand over my mouth to hide a grin. I know this isn’t funny, but my brain and body just want to giggle.
Knox’s eyes soften as he looks over my face, like he feels bad. Or maybe he’s jealous. Maybe he misses this warm feeling starting to spread throughout my body. Either way, he gives me a knowing look.
My attention is drawn back to the table when “John with an H” knocks the deck of cards on the table, and I hear the thrumming of the individual cards cascading in his hands as he shuffles them back and forth. It sounds like a cat purring. Shit, that’s weird.
I glance back up at Knox and see him still staring down at me. I shake my head, my way of telling him not to worry about me, but the look in his eyes doesn’t change.
“Place your bets,” comes from “John with an H.” John? Johnny? Let’s call him Johnny. He said all the ladies do. Why do I have this internal dialogue?
“Um,” I say as I start to rifle through my purse for my wallet. “I don’t … I think …” I pull out a few bills and make an attempt to count them. “I have like seventeen dollars. How far will that get me?” I look around the table and see Deputy Clark and Johnny chuckling. Marcus is still giving me the inside-cringing stare, and Knox is giving me the once-over.
“How about Lizzie and I play a hand together, then we have to bounce,” Knox says, and it’s more of a statement than a question.
“Sure, sure,” Johnny says.
“Looks like seventeen bucks is the ante!” adds Clark, not looking at me.
Johnny deals a card to everyone, face up, and then another. I see that only one of his is face up. Knox and I have a six and an eight. I don’t know much about cards, but I know we want to get to 21. I look over and see that Clark has a King and a three. “Hit me,” he says, and Johnny deals him a Queen. “Shit,” he groans and playfully tosses his cards onto the center of the table.
“I’ll stay,” I hear Marcus say, and I look over to see he has two nines.
Knox leans toward me as he says, “We have to try to get more than eighteen—”
“I know!” I cut him off with a hand wave. “Hit us! Me? Hit me?” The words sound strange, and slurred.
Johnny reveals another card for us, and it’s a nine. I hear Knox hiss through his teeth and Marcus nods toward Johnny, who has a seven face up, and then overturns the other card to reveal an Ace.
“Seems we have a tie,” Johnny says to Marcus, face lighting up. “What’ll it be?”
“I’ll stay,” he answers.
Johnny overturns another card for himself, and reveals a three. “Boom!” he yells and leans back in his chair.
Knox tosses my crumpled bills onto the table. “Well, gents, we’re tapping out.” He reaches across the table to Clark, then Johnny, shaking their hands and giving a head nod to each. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” says Clark, who reaches out a hand to steady me as I attempt to stand on wobbly legs. “You good, sweetheart?” he asks.
“You know, this whole getting shitfaced thing was a lot easier in my twenties,” I reply. That gets a laugh out of everyone. Well, everyone except Marcus, who is still sitting back in his chair, arms behind his head, legs sprawled out in front of him.
Knox turns to him, and without extending a hand to shake, says, “Marcus, it’s always a pleasure.” Then he turns and places a hand on the small of my back as he attempts to push me in the direction of the hallway.
“Just one second,” I hear Marcus say, and it causes me to stop, but Knox’s hand gives me a push, encouraging me to keep going.
“Knox.” I hear Marcus again. This time I feel Knox stop behind me, and I turn and look up at his face, which is stone cold and focused on Marcus. Then I turn even further and find Marcus hasn’t moved from his sprawling position, but Johnny has gotten up and come around the table and is standing right beside Knox.
Clark is still sitting at the table, just looking between all of us.
“Knox, I know you know the drill. I’ve extended a lot of hospitality here tonight. Your lady drank my alcohol and even consumed some of my drugs, and I feel I should be compensated for that.”
“Huh?” I didn’t mean to vocalize that thought, but it seems to have come out of my mouth, because all eyes are on me. Except Knox. His eyes are on Marcus. “Uh, Marcus—”
Knox cuts me off. “This isn’t going to end the same way, Marcus. I’m telling you right now. Not gonna happen.”
“Hey, now,” Marcus says as he finally stands, sticking his hands in his pockets and feigning nonchalance. “All I’m saying is, I think you owe me something for all Lizzie has consumed here tonight.”
Knox shifts his weight so he’s standing directly in front of me as Marcus meanders his way closer to us, with Johnny still standing by.
“Look,” I say as I dig through my purse for my wallet, my fingers landing on something that just might come in handy. I put that thought aside and pull out my wallet, unzip it and open it to show Marcus. “I got nothin. Actually! Tell you what …”
“Lizzie,” Knox says my name in warning.
“No, no, I got this,” I reply and pat his chest. Then pat it again and run my hand down his flannel because the soft fabric feels like pure silk under my skin. I see Knox’s eyes on me and realize this is not the time or place to be feeling up my estranged husband, then turn back to Marcus.
“You,” I say, pointing a finger at him. “How about I mail you a check? Lemme just get your address, and I’ll pop it in the mail tomorrow.” I make like I’m looking for a pen and paper in my purse when Marcus laughs. It’s a great, big, howling laugh.
“Damn, Knox. You really should have brought her around more often. I like her! Especially when she’s high. Hot damn, girl! You are feisty. I like it.”
I smile, even though every alarm in my body is firing off.
“You should have brought her around instead of Jenny.” At the mention of her name, I stiffen. “Yeah, I never really liked that whiny bimbo. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she is a nice piece of ass, amirite, Knox?”
Knox just swallows, without taking his eyes away from Marcus and without giving me an inch of space.
“Actually, I thought you two were pretty close that night you two were here. What was that, several months ago? Yeah, it was. Huh, kinda strange you were here with Jenny, and not with your wife? Ain’t that right?” Marcus is addressing me, but I can’t pull my eyes away from Knox, who is now looking at me.
A moment passes between us before Knox speaks. “God, Lizzie. I’m so sorry for all the horrible shit I’ve ever put you through.”
I’m finally getting the sincere apology from Knox I’ve wanted all along. He’s said he’s sorry before, but it never felt as real as it does now.
I nod, then pull my lips between my teeth and push them back out before I speak. “You know what? Something just killed my buzz.” Looking back at all the guys and grabbing my jacket off the back of the chair, I add, “It was nice meeting you all.”
I turn to head down the hallway, but a few things happen at once. Marcus reaches for my upper arm, but Knox slaps it away and shoves him in the chest, causing Johnny to grab Knox from behind.
“Get the fuck off me!” he barks as I look between all the guys frantically.
Clark, who I almost forgot was even in the room, stands up so fast that his chair falls back behind him. “Whoa, let’s all just chill,” he says, palms in the air.
Without turning around to look at him, Marcus addresses him. “Robbie, go out front and wait for your fucking pizza.”
Robbie—Clark’s—eyes dart to mine, then Knox’s, then back to mine. “Marc—”
“GO!” Marcus bellows, and much to my disappointment, Clark does as he’s told. As he slowly walks by me, his eyes lock with mine and he gives me a slow blink and the slightest dip of his head.
When I hear the click of the front door closing, Marcus takes a step toward me, which has me taking a step back. He advances on me some more, until I’m backed up against the wall next to the table, having dropped my jacket along the way. “Back the fuck off, Marcus,” Knox seethes from across the small room, still in Johnny’s grip.
“I’m just teaching her the ways of the world, Knox,” Marcus says, still facing me. “You see, Lyzbeth, nothing in this world is free. Your husband learned that the hard way.” He reaches up and runs a finger across my forehead, swiping a strand of hair behind my ear, then trailing that finger down my neck, over my collarbone, and then down to the V of my T-shirt, tugging it slightly as his hand falls away.
I can hear shuffling across the room, and I’m certain I hear Knox’s voice … but that touch. As much as I don’t want him to touch me, as much as it disgusts me and as much as I am terrified by it, it feels like magic.
Then I feel Marcus’ breath on my face as he says, “That’s the Molly, baby. It feels good, doesn’t it?” His fingertips brush down my arm from my shoulder, over the short sleeve of my T-shirt and onto the bare skin of my upper arm, the inside of my elbow, then my forearm and my palm. His fingertips dance with mine until he gingerly takes my hand and places it on his groin, which, I swear, I can feel pulsing beneath his jeans.
“We can make each other feel so good right now.” He leans in and starts suckling on my neck and palming my breast, and over his shoulder I see Knox bent over the table with Johnny sprawled on his back, fighting to keep him down. I see a little blood coming from Knox’s mouth, then I hear Johnny sniff and see a some blood dripping down his nose.
Did I miss a scuffle?
My eyes almost cross as Marcus brings a hand into my hair and massages my scalp as he breathes into my neck. “See how good that feels, sweetheart? Imagine how good other things will feel.”
“Lizzie.” Knox pulls me out of this little trance. “Lizzie, look at me. It’s just the drugs. It doesn’t really feel good.” I lock eyes with Knox. His are pleading.
With a loud exhale I say Marcus’ name, and he grunts. Then I push his shoulder back slightly as I begin to speak. “You’re right, Marcus. I’m a lot different than Jenny.”
“Oh, yeah?” he says as he cups one side of my face with one hand, the other braced on the wall beside me. “Tell me.”
“Well,” I begin, as I start shuffling through my purse yet again. “First of all, I’m not a bimbo. And I’m not easy.” I’m still searching for the thing I felt in here that I knew would come in handy. “You have to really work to get me, you know?”
“Yeah, baby, I know,” he says, licking his lips.
“And also,” aha! Finally, I find what I want.
“Yeah,” Marcus encourages me to continue.
I make eye contact with my husband over Marcus’ shoulder. “I would never ask Knox to come to my rescue.” I pull my hand out of my purse, squeeze my eyes shut and put the can of pepper spray right in Marcus’ face and squeeze the top, making sure not to breathe until I hear him scream, and then I duck and practically crawl under him.
When I open my eyes, I see Knox take advantage of the surprise, grab the bottle of liquor off the table, swing and hit Johnny over the head with it. Johnny stumbles with a grunt, but comes back at Knox who gives him another hit over the head, and the glass shatters.
Marcus is rubbing at his eyes and attempting to stand, but Knox gives him a kick to the side as he pushes past him, grabs my hand and drags me down the hallway. The front door swings open before we reach it, and in a blur, I see Clark, now wearing a police vest, and a couple of other guys also in vests come at us, guns drawn and shouting, “Everybody down!”
Knox pushes me onto the floor and covers me. I hear footsteps, shuffling, and many different voices.
“Where are they?”
“Back there!”
“Freeze! Put your hands up!”
The sounds are muffled, and I assume it’s because of the drugs and alcohol and my brain is mush, but then I realize it’s also partly because Knox has my head buried in his torso, with his body curled around mine. We are both on our knees. I can hear his heart beating in his chest and against the side of my head, and it reminds me of galloping horses.
Actually, I shouldn’t say it reminds me, because I’m not sure I’ve ever really heard galloping horses in real life, but this is what I imagine they would sound like. A quick one-two. “Bump-bump, bump-bump, bump-bump …” Like the sounds of front hooves, then back ones hitting the earth only milliseconds apart.
I match my breathing to his “bump-bumps,” and I’m not sure if that makes my breathing faster or slower, but it makes me feel calmer.
Then we are swaying, and I find it comforting Knox is “dancing” with me here, like we always do. Except … No, this isn’t Knox swaying me like he does, it’s just me, rocking, and Knox’s voice is calling for me, but he’s so far away …
And then he is right here. “Lizzie,” I hear him close and know he’s right in front of my face before I even open my eyes. When I do, I am looking right into his eyes as his irises dart back and forth between mine. He has his hands on either side of my head. “Baby, come back to me.”
He starts to come back into focus. Everything does. I open and close my mouth a few times, trying to get saliva to all the parts that feel like they need it. “Why does my mouth feel like cotton?” I ask, and Knox chuckles, I think out of relief.
“That’s the Molly. It’s gonna take you on a ride.” He’s now stroking his thumb over my left cheekbone, and it feels like a kitten’s paw.
“How’s she doing?” I hear that familiar voice again, and I open my eyes, not realizing I had closed them and leaned into Knox’s touch, just as Clark crouches down next to Knox and his eyes scan my face. He picks my wrist up and holds two fingers against it, while cradling my palm with his other hand.
And that … that feels like I stuck my hand in a jar full of feathers. I hear a little chuckle and, realizing I closed my eyes again, open them and see Clark and Knox looking down at my hands, which are cupping Clark’s—my fingers running between his and smoothing them back and forth.
I’m embarrassed, but I can’t pull my hands away. “Imsosorry,” I murmur as I just keep molesting his hands. “Why can’t I stop?” I look up to Knox who is just shaking his head.
“Everything just feels good for you, right now,” he says. “It’s OK. You’ll be OK.”
Clark gently pulls his hands away. “You think she needs a medic?” he asks Knox.
“Nah, I’m gonna stay with her. Can I take her home?”
“I think so. Let me just talk to Henderson real quick. Need help getting her outside?”
“I’ve got her,” Knox says as he helps me to my feet, then wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Let’s go outside and get some fresh air,” he says, and I just love the way his breath tickles my face and blows the strands of my hair to just ever so slightly brush my skin. That feels like bubbles—no, suds. Suds popping against my skin. Like someone scooped up a handful of suds from a bubble bath and blew them into my face.
“Do it again,” I say as we exit the front of the apartment building.
“Huh?” Knox says, and I realize what I’ve asked for, and what the reality is, so I just wave him off. “Never mind.”
Knox stops, and that causes me to look up and take in the scene. Marcus is on his knees in the front yard, hands cuffed behind his back. “John with an H” is in the same position next to him. Sanders is in the back of a police car. I see three other squad cars that look like they pulled up in a hurry and parked like assholes on the street.
Nosy neighbors have started congregating on the sidewalk. And I hear a faint noise … It makes me think of a hummingbird’s wings rapidly fluttering, making a little pitter-patter sound. Except, it’s more of a shuttering, than a fluttering. A rapid shuttering … And I don’t even have to open my eyes to know where to find him.
I turn my head toward the sound, raise my hands and give the double bird, then open my eyes and stare across the lawn several dozen feet and right into the zoom lens of a camera. Suddenly, the sound stops, and I see Monty slowly pull his head away from the camera, disbelief across his face at the realization that the subject he was photographing turned out to be me.
Oh, have I got a story for you.
As we descend the stairs, Clark approaches and tells us we are clear to leave, but we need to stop by the station tomorrow to give statements. Apparently, Sanders called the police but, obviously, they were already casing the joint. Sanders then told them everything he knew and about his involvement.
“Thanks,” Knox says to Clark, before steering me toward his truck.
On the short ride back to the apartment, Lizzie is chewing her fingernails and bobbing her knee up and down while looking out the window. At one point, she starts running her pointer finger down the window and when I ask her what she’s doing, she says she’s following the raindrops. She continues to do this the rest of the way home.
It’s not fucking raining.
When I park the truck at the apartment building, I get out and quickly jog around to open her door. There is a light shining in the driveway, and with the cab light on, I finally get a good look at her face and my heart sinks. She’s royally fucked up.
Her normally bright, round eyes are droopy and turned down at the edges, and the little bit of her actual eyeballs I can see are bloodshot, cloudy and watery. And they are unfocused as she tries to say my name.
Her skin is pale, although her cheeks are flushed, and she has the slightest sway to her body. I help her stumble out of the car and put one of her arms around my shoulder as I help her up the stairs. Once inside the apartment, I shut and lock the door, keeping a hand on her back to keep her steady.
Of course, Kennedy comes bounding up to us, circling us and yipping. “It’s OK, buddy, it’s just us,” I say to him, releasing Lizzie to lean against the wall as I give the dog attention, hoping that will calm him down.
Lizzie tries to toe out of her shoes but stumbles. I catch her around the waist, then put one of her arms around my neck as I put one of mine under her knees and hoist her up into my arms and quickly march her to the bedroom and drop her on the bed.
And she giggles. She fucking giggles.
“Stay,” I say to her, pointing a finger at her to drive my point home. Then I go back out and put fresh Kibble in Kennedy’s bowl to keep him occupied, which does the trick.
I go back into the bedroom and find Lizzie hasn’t moved. I reach down and pull off my shoes, one by one, as she gives herself a bounce on the bed and giggles some more. “What’s so funny?” I ask as I straighten up.
“OK,” she says, suddenly sitting up ramrod straight, hands out in front of her, fingers wide. “OK. I know the answer to this, and it sounds crazy, but I also know what I’m feeling, and I have to ask.”
I tilt my head to the side as I slide my jeans off, so I’m left in my T-shirt and boxers. “Yes …” I prod.
Keeping her same position, Lizzie looks up at me and asks, “Do we have a waterbed?”
I throw my head back and laugh, then I run my hands down my face and groan. “No, Lizzie, we don’t have a waterbed.”
“Right?!” she replies, then flips herself back onto the bed. “But why is it so bouncy?”
“It’s not,” I say as I make my way to her side of the bed. “Everything just feels exaggerated to you right now.” She mumbles something as she sits back up and almost falls off the side of the bed, and I have to catch her and help her right herself. “What?” I ask her.
“Like Jell-O,” she says. “The bed. It feels like Jell-O.” Then she pulls one elbow inside her shirt sleeve and does a little maneuvering, then pulls the other in, and in a flash, she pulls her bra out through one of her sleeves and tosses it across the room before flopping back on the bed.
“And THAT,” she practically yells, then puts her hand over her mouth and looks like she’s startled at her own volume. She starts again, whispering this time. “That feels like being uncuffed.”
Hands on my hips, I stare down at my wife—she’s still my fucking wife—and see her hair is a wild mess all splayed around her face and the pillow, her breasts are flopping loose beneath her T-shirt, and now she’s unbuttoning her pants and trying to shimmy them down over her hips as she lays on the bed.
“Would you like me to help?” I ask, trying to stifle another laugh.
“Please!” she huffs.
I grab one foot and pull the pant leg just past her heel, then do the same with the other foot. I grip the hem of each leg and tug her pants until they slide free, and those get thrown to the side. When I look back at her, she has her hands on her belly, and her eyes are locked on the ceiling.
“Knox,” she says quietly.
“Yeah?” I answer.
She runs her hands under her T-shirt, over the lumpy skin of her stomach.
I take a step closer. “What is it, Lizzie?”
“Is this …” She brings her hands out from under her shirt and crosses them over herself as she runs them up her arms before curling her knees up and rolling to her side. “Is this what it always feels like?”
I know exactly what she’s talking about. I know exactly what she’s feeling. This is the warmth of the high. The caress. The part that makes you feel euphoric. Every touch feels so damn good, your body aches.
I know Lizzie’s body is aching right now, and I know what can ease it.
Leaning down and crawling over her to the other side of the bed, I say, “I know you don’t want me to sleep in here, and I won’t. I just want to lay next to you for a little bit, until you come down, OK?”
Rolling over so she’s on her side facing me, she nods. Tentatively, I reach out my hand to smooth hair off her face, and I see her eyes flutter shut. I run my fingertips along the side of her face, and I watch her mouth fall open just a bit.
I scoot closer to her so I can prop myself up on an elbow and look down at her as she rolls onto her back. I bring my hand up and, ever so slightly, touch her lips with my fingertips and trace them. I can feel her breath on my fingers as her breathing picks up.
“Knox,” she says, eyes still closed, and it sounds sad.
“It’s OK,” I say. “I’m not … I’m just going to hold you, OK?”
She nods and lets out a sound like a whimper. I run my hand down her shoulder then her arm, then around to her back and pull her closer to me. I slide my hand up the back of her shirt and rub circles on her bare back with my fingers. Her face is pressed into my chest, and she puts her hands between us. As I continue to rub her back, she runs her hands up my chest, over my shirt, until they hit the scruff on my neck and chin.
And it’s like she’s made a new discovery. Without hesitating she runs her hands, fingers spread wide, over either side of my jaw, then pulls my face down to hers and rubs her cheek against mine, like a cat.
My cock aches. And my heart.
I hear a little moan escape her before she giggles again. And then she suddenly stops.
I still my body, just like hers, before asking, “What is it, Lizzie?”
She doesn’t answer, she just stays still. Then I feel a little shake. “Lizzie?” I pull back to look at her face, cupping it in my hand. “Talk to me.”
Her eyes are still unfocused and cloudy as she stares at my chest. “It feels so good, but …”
“But what?”
She takes a shallow breath, then another, and another, and they are getting quicker. And here comes the downturn.
“But … but … it hurts,” she says with a shudder, as tears start to fall across her face.
“What hurts?” I ask as I stroke her arm again to try and comfort her.
“No, no. Stop!” she says as she pushes my hand away. “Just … just stop.” And then she is sobbing. “It hurts,” she cries. “It all hurts.”
I push myself up on my hand and look down at her, having to stop myself from touching her. “Where, baby? Where does it hurt? What hurts?”
She draws in a shaky breath. “Everything. Everywhere you are. It hurts.” And she continues sobbing. “It hurts Knox. Doesn’t it hurt? I don’t want it to hurt anymore.” Then she buries her face in her hands and begins bawling.
My chest cracks in two, because I know. I know the only way to make it stop hurting. What we’ve been going through the past few months has been a slow, torturous death, and the only way to make it stop is to finally put an end to it.
I stand up and pull the sheets out from under her, then pull them back up over Lizzie and lay down next to her, on top of the blankets, and tuck her in under my arm, but not touching her directly, as she cries. She cries until her breathing evens out and eventually I know she is asleep.
I stay with her for a few hours, until she starts to stir. Then, heartbroken, I kiss her one last time. I taste the salt from the tears on her lips. I cup her face and look at her one last time.
Then I get up, get dressed, and leave.
And I leave all the pieces of my shattered heart there with her.