8. Evan
EVAN
I try to shut the front door softly, as quietly as I can so I don’t wake up Kat if she’s passed out.
I know she told me not to come back. She says a lot of things and then apologizes and changes her mind.
Silence isn’t better, though. It still hurts, just in a different way.
Our loft is small and the walls are thin so you can hear everything in here.
I stop in the foyer, setting down my duffle bag and luggage then toss the bunched-up chenille blanket that’s in a puddle on the floor onto the sofa in the living room.
The room is mostly gray, just like the city.
There’s a paned glass mirror above the long sofa and black and white accents everywhere.
I hated that mirror from the moment we got it, but Kat loved it so I never said a word.
It belongs in some farmhouse up north, not in the heart of New York, the devil’s playground.
But it made her smile. I’ll be damned if that isn’t reason enough to keep that cheap-ass mirror.
My eyes scan the room in the faint light from the city that’s shining through the gap in the curtains.
Five years of marriage, six of creating this place together.
Each piece of furniture is a memory. The wine rack that we purchased was the first thing we bought together. The gray sofa with removable pillows was a fight I lost. I didn’t want the cushions to be removable, because they always end up sagging, but Kat insisted the brand was quality.
The plush cushions still look like they did in the store, and I wonder if she was right or if it’s just because we don’t even sit on the damn thing. Maybe both but I lean toward the latter.
I’m never here and she’s always working. What’s the point of it?
The bitter thought makes me kick the duffle bag out of my way and head past the living room and dining room, straight to the stairs so I can get to bed and lie down with Kat.
It’s been almost a week since I’ve slept in the same room as her and I refuse to let that go on for another night.
I pause to look at the photos on the wall, the light streaming in leaving a sunbeam down the glass.
Almost all are in black and white, the way Kat likes her décor. All but one, the largest in the very center. It’s also the only one that’s not staged.
She’s leaning toward me, and her lips look so red as she’s mid-laugh, holding a crystal champagne flute and wrapping her fingers around my forearm.
Her eyes are on whoever was giving a speech.
I don’t remember who it was or what they said, but I can still hear her laugh. It’s the most beautiful sound.
She was so happy on our wedding day. I thought she’d be stressed and worried, but it was like a weight was lifted and the sweetest version of her was given to me that day.
There’s nothing but love in the photo. No work, no bullshit, just the two of us telling the world we loved each other enough to stay together forever.
My eyes are on her in that picture, with a smile on my face and pride in my reflection.
I tear my gaze away and keep walking, feeling the weight of everything press down on my shoulders. I’m exhausted and like the childish fool I am, I wish I could just go to sleep and this would all be a dream. A huff of sarcasm accompanies my gentle footsteps up the stairs.
I want to go back to when we first got married. Before we both got caught up in work and started to live separate lives. Before I fucked up.
If only we could start over and go back to that day.
As I pass the open office door, I hear the clacking of the computer keyboard.
So many nights I’ve come home to this, so many mornings I’ve woken up to it.
She’s always in her office, which is a shame.
There’s hardly any light, or anything at all in the room.
File cabinets, papers, a shredder and a desk.
There’s not a hint of the woman Kat is in this room.
I guess it’s the same as the living room, but at least a classic elegance is present there. It’s nothing but cold in here. If a to-do list could be made into décor, that’s what this cramped room resembles.
“Hey, babe,” I say softly and Kat ignores me. I clear my throat and speak louder. “I’m home,” I tell her and again, I get nothing from Kat, just the steady clicks. There’s an empty wineglass and two bottles on the floor by her feet.
Maybe she’s a little drunk, maybe she has her earplugs in too, but still, she’d hear me. Was it a long shot that she’d kindly accept me coming home? Yes. It’s not too much to ask for an acknowledgment, though. Even if she tells me to fuck off. I’d take it.
My teeth grind together as I grip the handle of the door harder. She deserves better. I know she does. This is exactly I deserve, but I don’t want it. I won’t go down without fighting for what I want.
The standing floor lamp in the corner of her office is on, but it’s not enough to brighten the room. Even the glow of the computer screen is visible.
“Do you want to talk?” I ask her and her only response is that her fingers stop moving across the keys.
She doesn’t turn to face me or give any sign that I’ve spoken to her. She heard it, though, and her gaze drops to the keyboard for a second too long not to give that away.
“I don’t want to fight, Kat,” I tell her and force every bit of emotion I’m feeling into my words. “I don’t want this between us.”
She turns slowly in her seat, a baggy T-shirt covering her slim body and ending at her upper thighs. Her exposed skin is pale and the dark room makes her look that much paler. Her viridian eyes give her away the most, though. Nothing but sadness stares back at me.
My body is pulled to her, and I can’t help it. I can’t stand that look in her eyes. Before I can tell her I love her and I’m sorry, before I can come up with some lame excuse, she cuts me off.
“I wanted to last night,” she says and then crosses her arms. She looks uncomfortable and unnatural. Like she’s doing what she thinks she should be doing, not what she wants. “When you texted me and then I texted you back. I was ready to talk then.”
“I’m here now,” I offer and walk closer to her, the floorboards creaking gently.
There’s a set of chairs in the corner of the room from our first apartment and I almost drag one over, but I’m too afraid to break eye contact with her.
It’s progress. I’ll be damned if I stop progress for a place to sit.
At least she’s looking at me, talking to me, receptive to what I have to say.
“Ask me whatever you want.” My voice is calm but deep down I’m screaming. Because I know I’ll answer her. I’ll tell her everything just to take that pain away, even if it’s only temporary, even if it fucks her too.
Her doe eyes widen slightly and she cowers back, swallowing before answering me. “Aren’t you tired?” she says softly and her eyes flicker to the door and then to the floor.
She doesn’t want to know the truth.
“Yeah, I’m exhausted. But I’m not going to bed until you do.
” I lick my lips and clear my throat, hoping she’ll give in to me.
For nearly the past year when I’m home, I’ve tried to stay up with her or brush off the fact that I’d pass out while she was still working and vice versa.
Not tonight, not from this point forward.
The advice my father gave me on our wedding night was to go to bed together.
I should have listened. I’ll make it better, I can at least fix that.
“I can stay up for you,” I say, offering her the suggestion. It’s not what she wants, but it’s something.
“Well, this has to get done, and it’s going to take hours.”
“I can wait,” I tell her but the second the words slip out she turns back to the computer and says, “Don’t.”
With her back to me and her fingers already flying across the keys again, I’ve never felt more alone and crestfallen.
“I’ll go unpack and relax on the bed then,” I say as I grip the doorframe to stay upright and keep myself from ripping her out of that chair and bringing her to bed.
“Here?” Shock coats the single word.
It takes me a moment to realize why the hell she’s asking me that and when I do, it’s like a bullet to the chest.
A mix of emotions swell in my gut and heat my blood. Anger is there, but the dejectedness is what cuts me the most.
“Is that all right?” I ask sarcastically.
She nods, conceding to let me stay in my own damn house, but the look in her eyes doesn’t fade. She really wants me out. She wants me to just leave? Did she think I wouldn’t fight for her? That I’d let this destroy us? It may ruin me, but I’d rather chew on broken glass than let it ruin us .
“I said I don’t want a divorce.” My words come out hard. I’m sick of this. “I want you,” I tell her with conviction and walk closer to her, not leaving any space between us.
“I don’t know what I want,” Kat responds in a murmur, gripping the armrests of the desk chair as her lips form a painful frown and her eyes gloss over.
Like she’s on the verge of breaking. The last thread that was holding her together has snapped, leaving her falling.
I’m not there to catch her, because I’m the one that pushed her over the edge. I hate myself for it.
It’s my fault, and this is all on me, but I’ll make it right.
“You don’t have to, Kat,” I say, softening my voice and move just a little closer. I need a chance. She’s vulnerable; I can feel it coming off of her in waves. Give in to me, baby.
I cup her cheek in my hand to lean down and kiss her, but she pushes back, quickly standing and making the chair slam against the desk.
My pride, my ego, whatever it is that makes me a man, is destroyed in this moment. My limbs freeze and the tension makes me feel like I’m breaking. Literally cracking in my very center.
I lick my lips, finally letting out a breath as Kat whispers, “I’m sorry, I’m just ...” She doesn’t finish, and I have to look up at her before I can stand upright again.
“You just what?”
“I don’t know, Evan,” she answers with desperation in her voice.
“Don’t think,” I tell her, grasping for anything to keep her from running. “Just let me make it better,” I offer and she stands there, in nothing but that T-shirt, and looks at me as if I’m both her savior and her enemy.
I walk slowly, each step making the floor groan in quiet protest. I don’t quicken my pace until I’m close enough to her to feel her heat. And she lets me, standing still and giving me the chance I need.
My lips crash against hers, my body molding to her small frame and forcing her back. For each step she takes, I take one with her.
“Stop,” she tells me and pushes me away. My breathing is ragged as my hands clench to keep from holding on to her as she leaves me. I can still taste her, my body ringing with desire to make it up to her.
To ease her pain and remind her how good I make her feel. It’s what she needs. It’s been weeks and I can’t deny I need her even more. I need to bury myself inside her warmth.
My grasp her hips and I push her back against the wall. Her arms wrap around my neck as she comes in for the kiss this time. Taking the passion from me, letting me give her what she needs. Comfort and an escape from reality. A welcome distraction to the fact that our marriage is at risk.
Right now there’s nothing but what we feel for each other. Nothing else. No logic or reason. Just the devotion and intense desire.
I’m grateful it still exists. I only wish this moment would last forever. Where we’re both weak for each other, desperate and drunk with lust.
“You’re mine, Kat,” I whisper against the shell of her ear. My breath is hot and it’s making the air between us that much hotter.
Her back arches against the wall and she pushes her soft curves into mine. A quiet moan spills from her sweet lips. I stare at her face, the expression of utter rapture with her eyes closed and her lips parted just slightly.
I rock my palm over her again and again, putting pressure on her swollen nub and feeling her cunt get hotter and wetter.
“This is mine,” I whisper louder, not holding back the possession in my voice.
A strangled moan fills the air. At first I don’t know if it’s from me or her, but the sweet cadence of her voice prolongs the sound of pleasure as her body writhes against mine. She’s so close.
I tear the thin lace fabric of her panties off in one tug after ripping it with my thumb and watch her face as her eyes pop open. The gorgeous greens stare back at me with a mix of emotions, the overwhelming two being desire and vulnerability.
I don’t give her the chance to second-guess this. This is how we’re meant to be. Together, raw and bared.
I only release my grip on her to unzip my pants. The sound mixes with Kat’s heavy breathing.
“Evan,” she says, whispering my name as if it’s a question.
She wants me, although she knows we shouldn’t do this. Fuck, I know she’s going to question this. Maybe even regret it. But she just needs to feel me again; she needs this as much as I do.
I press the head of my dick against her opening and slide myself through her slick folds, teasing her and watching as her eyes close tight. She squirms when I just barely touch her clit.
So close.
“Evan,” she whispers again and this time it’s a plea. One I can satisfy.
In one swift stroke I slam into her all the way to the hilt, making her scream out.
Her blunt nails dig into my shoulders as her body is forced against the wall and her head falls back.
I kiss her throat ravenously, desperate to taste her, but not willing to mute the sounds of pleasure she’s making.
My thrusts are primal, ruthless. I take from her over and over. Each time her back hits the wall, her whimpers get louder and louder.
Her grip tightens as my balls draw up. My spine tingles with the need to release, but I need her to find hers with me. I’m desperate to feel her walls tighten around my cock. Desperate to feel her pulsing and lost in pleasure.
The moment I think I can’t take any more, she gives me what I need. Screaming out my name as her orgasm rips through her body.
“Fuck,” I groan into the crook of her neck.
My dick pulses and I come hard, buried deep inside of her.
My heart hammers hard and fast and refuses to stop as she clings to me for dear life.
A cold sweat lines my skin. Her eyes are closed and her teeth are digging into her bottom lip when I finally look at her.
“I love you, Kat,” I whisper as I pull away from her, finally breathing and starting to come down from the highest high.
“I love …” Kat starts to reply, but she doesn’t finish. She doesn’t look me in the eyes.
She’s so ashamed to love me, she can’t even say it back.