Epilogue #3
Sitting at the bar, I watched everyone around me.
I tried to pretend like I wasn’t overwhelmed, like it wasn’t a completely surreal experience after years of being locked up and forgotten.
Ordering a soda, I sipped it slowly. I didn’t want to get drunk, didn’t want to introduce too many things at once, and what I wanted more than anything else was a woman.
A reminder that I was out, that I wasn’t locked in a space with hundreds of men, their sounds and smells invading every corner of my mind.
I wanted to cleanse my soul in someone else, in the opposite of everything I had endured.
A woman across the bar eyed me, our gazes locking for a moment, and a tingle of excitement ran through me.
She was average-looking—late thirties, maybe, with mousy brown hair and fair skin. She was curvier than I typically liked, but I wasn’t in a spot to be picky. Busty, the woman adjusted her position so she was leaning both elbows on the bar, pushing her tits up, her eyes watching for a reaction.
“Another drink?” The bartender asked, and I forced myself to look at him.
“That girl down there? With the brown hair and leather jacket? Can you get her a refill on me?” I asked, and the man nodded, moving down to take other orders.
From my spot, I watched, waiting for the moment he gave it to her.
The woman’s cheeks flushed, her eyes widening before finding mine.
I lifted my glass in acknowledgment, and a few minutes later, she was making her way over to me.
The next hour, we grew closer until our knees were touching, her hand on my arm as she drank the last of her current drink.
“Do you want another one?” I asked as she placed the empty glass down. She bit her lip before leaning in.
“We could have a drink back at my place, if you want? I’m only a few blocks from here.
” Throwing some bills down, we were out of the bar in record time.
The trip to her apartment was a blur, my hands sweating and my heart racing in anticipation.
Her place was small, but it had a bedframe, at least so she was ahead of me.
As soon as the door closed behind us, I reached for her.
We kissed, my hands roaming her body. She was soft and smelled nice.
This is all I have wanted for so long. Stepping apart to strip, I watched her with interest. She looked nothing like Nat, thank god.
She also looked nothing like Sophie, which gave me a weird feeling in my stomach.
Pushing it down, I reached for the girl.
Ashley? Or is it Anna? It didn’t matter. I just needed to feel like the old me.
Pulling her in for a kiss, we wound up on the bed, our bodies tangled as she touched me tentatively. I was shaking, my hands trembling, and I couldn’t figure out what was going on. Sex was easy; it was the main thing that got me through the last few years.
In prison, I knew there were things I wasn’t coming back from. My reputation, my business acumen, my bank account—those were gone. They weren’t ever going to be the same as before I went in. The one thing I had hope for, the one thing that shouldn’t have changed, was sex.
So far, everything seemed to be in working order, my cock hardening. The woman reached down, her soft hand grasping me, and I froze. My vision tunneled, and my breathing sped up.
There I was, a warm woman, willing and excited, looking at me like I had three heads. I couldn’t do it. Memories of that night, the pain and humiliation, blurred with reality. My breathing sped up, and I crawled off of her.
“Are you okay? Do you have asthma or something?” she asked, pulling a sheet over her chest. I couldn’t reply, my vision going in and out as images washed over me. The needles. The bright light of the hospitals. The constant buzzing and beeping of machines ringing in my ears.
“Fuck!” I yelled, my hands fisting at my sides as I pushed off the bed pulling my clothes on.
“I have to go.”
The girl just nodded, looking grateful at that point. I was feeling dizzy, my breathing still erratic. Rushing out of the apartment building, the cool air did nothing to calm me.
Everything since then had been downhill. Alone or with a partner, I couldn’t seem to get past the fear of winding up back in the hospital. Or was it the fear of never being able to have sex like a normal person again? I didn’t even know any more.
Regardless, it seemed that no matter how much time passed, how far I was from where I used to be, I would never be free of that night.
It was the price I had to pay for following my mother, for chasing after Nat.
Sometimes, I thought it might be something more.
That it was also my punishment for my sins against Sophie and Eloise.
After two years in the free world, I had barely made any headway in life. With a steady job that had health insurance, I was able to leave Kentucky and move into a semi-decent apartment.
But the past isn’t so easy to escape. My life was boring; stagnant. All I did was endlessly scroll on my phone, occasionally giving in to temptation to stalk my estranged family.
It never hurt less, seeing Sophie and Linc so happy together.
More kids, Eloise in the center. They moved on with their lives so quickly, erasing me and our history with an ease that I still found infuriating.
Each glimpse into their world fueled my rage, but also reminded me of everything I had lost.
Then, a few months ago, I met Harmony at a coffee shop. I spotted her before I was even inside; she stood out in her eclectic outfit and long pitch-black hair. We had lunch together, where I learned she was a psychic, and she worked out of her house.
We began dating, taking things slow, since I was reluctant to share my past with her. Then, one night, it became unavoidable, a makeout session flipping to a panic attack quickly.
Suddenly, I was her new project. She was determined to heal my physical and spiritual form. Each day, it seemed that Harmony had a new technique to try. Reiki, hypnosis, even acupuncture. I did whatever she suggested.
It was how I found myself sitting naked in a circle of runes and candles while Harmony danced around me, swirling sage, casting the dark spirits out of me.
I was uncomfortable, the smells making my nose itch, the cold air harsh on my skin, but I trusted her and I was following her guidance to get to a new place in life.
What could go wrong?
Lincoln
Sophie and I were coming up on our ten-year anniversary.
Lou was officially a teenager, and it was my worst nightmare come to life.
My little girl, who used to follow me around and ask me to help her with anything from hair to homework, was growing up.
The drum kit got a lot of use in the house, Lou asking me to teach her shortly after the wedding.
Now, she was part of a band, and whatever was happening between her and the guitarist was not my tempo.
“He’s too old for her,” I told Sophie, who was busy checking the boys’ backpacks to make sure they weren’t trying to sneak anything suspicious into school. How they got that frog in was still a mystery.
“Honey, don’t you think you’re making a big deal out of nothing? They’re friends. They practice together in our house. You’re the one creating the idea that there's something going on between Lou and Kai.” Bless her heart, but my wife was naive.
“I know teenage boys. That’s enough,” I replied, and I didn’t miss Soph’s eye roll.
“Dad! Luca stole my hat.” Sloane came stomping into the room, his cheeks flushed and nearly in tears.
“No, I didn’t! This one’s mine!” Luca followed him, their identical faces looking up, waiting for me to declare a winner.
“If you two can’t sort this out, neither of you can wear it.
Now, go sit down for breakfast. We’ve got to get going soon.
” Although appearance-wise, the boys were inseparable, in personality, they couldn’t have been further apart.
Sophie let me pick the names, but I knew whose help I needed.
It was Lou who came up with the idea of giving them each an L and an S name. “So they match you, me, and Mommy!”
Lou doted on her brothers, and they looked up to her in ways only siblings could. She always made time for each of them, carving out her own special connection with each boy.
“Being a twin has to be hard. They do everything together. I think they should have their own special times too,” she said.
I shared that worry, not wanting Lou to feel overlooked once the twins arrived.
So we made sure each child had their own night with Dad—Rock concerts and baseball games with Lou, Lego stores and amusement parks with the boys.
And Sophie, always attuned with everyone's preferences, planned family vacations that worked for all of us. Looking back, those moments weren’t just outings; they were how we kept each other seen, known, and loved.
“Mom, can I go to Alani’s after school?” Lou asked, plopping down at the kitchen island.
With Sophie’s back turned to us, Lou raised an eyebrow at me before reaching over to steal a sip of her Mom’s coffee.
Sophie didn’t want her to drink it until she was eighteen, worried her caffeine addiction would be passed on to Lou.
I shook my head in mock disappointment before winking.