60. Let’s Make a Deal
60
Let’s Make a Deal
Matt
Three months later
It's been a rough few months.
While we found great relief in learning that Darius wasn’t actually dead dead, the gaping hole left by his continued absence is still felt every day. And then there’s Antoinette and her still unknown fate.
Then there’s the fact that this is the first downtime I’ve had since losing my job. A job I loved—a job I would still love to have if not for my habit of skirting the law basically all the time.
And then, there’s Jessica and me. It's safe to say that our fledgling marriage hasn't gone to plan, though that’s definitely not for lack of caring for each other. It's just our current circumstances have thrown curveballs that I'm constantly fouling, and she doesn’t always take it well—not that she should.
While I understand that no two people are going to get along all the time, the amount of unnecessary bickering we tend to do on a daily basis is bordering on unreasonable.
Don’t get me wrong, I know she wants to be there for me wherever she can, and it frustrates her because this isn't a situation where any amount of being there for me is going to help. I also recognize that my tendency to be a closed-off, emotionless bastard is becoming a bigger problem.
And the whole “It's not you, it's me” bullshit only makes it worse.
So, after months of all of us being on top of each other, everyone finally decided to go about their business. Tony and Carolina decided to go on an extended honeymoon. Declan and Issa dove head-first into their new business venture with Power PR Management. I'm relieved that things with Power PR are falling into place, so I’ll be able to take a bigger role in the near future, but in the meantime, I know I need to focus on salvaging my relationship.
Even Kaian pissed off into the wind, having to go back home to tend to the family business. Camilla decided to take some private contract in the middle of God knows where.
So, basically everyone has abandoned us. And I know they did it on purpose, considering every single one of them told me specifically to get my shit together or else.
Jessica went upstairs a while ago with the idea she would be taking a bath and relaxing before bed. And me, well, I've been sitting here the entire time, contemplating absolutely fucking nothing.
I call this my deadhead portion of depression. The moment when I have a lull in all the things I can hyper-focus on, and I come crashing down into what can only be described as the pits of despair.
Dramatic, I know, but here I sit.
Glancing at my watch, I shake my head, snorting at my own idiocy. A previous version of me would have immediately followed my wife upstairs to help her in the bath. Yet, here I sit like an asshole, trying to work up the energy to even walk up the stairs.
Don't get me wrong, managing to overcome a mental fog daily in order to go about your business is difficult on a good day. And I know that being sad and angry over the loss of a loved one or a job or whatever may ail me doesn't necessarily make me an asshole, but some days, such as this moment, I feel I could be making a better attempt at not ostracizing my wife.
I grit my teeth, cursing under my breath as I force myself to stand. I plod upstairs on heavy feet, using the banister to half-drag myself upward. I methodically put one foot in front of the other, only managing to trip over the top stair, where I fall face-first.
Immediately rolling onto my back, I lie there with my feet placed on the stairs, my torso across the landing. Then I laugh, having a good chuckle at my own expense.
“Get up, asshole,” comes a whisper off to my left. I turn my head toward the sound, frowning to find no one is standing there.
My breath catches in my throat, and for a moment, I choke and then cough. Then I curse some more, once again staring up at the ceiling as I work up the energy to keep moving.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Jessica asks from my right-hand side.
I turn my head toward her, shrugging as I reply, “I was coming to ravage you.”
She gives me a completely incredulous look and shakes her head. “Well, I see you're making as much progress as normal. Carry on.”
I open my mouth to reply, but she turns and walks back down the hallway, disappearing into the bedroom. I scowl, annoyed that she so frankly called me out, mostly because it's true.
My scowl deepens, as anger bubbles up inside me because true or not, it was kind of a dickish thing to say.
Suddenly rejuvenated, I roll onto my front, get on my hands and knees, and then rise to my feet. I stride down the hallway and into the bedroom like a man on a mission, walking up behind Jessica, who's sitting at her vanity, combing her hair.
She doesn't look at me or acknowledge that I've entered the room. So, finally, I clear my throat and ask, “Is that really how you're going to talk to me?”
Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, her hand holding the comb stopping mid-stroke through her long hair. Slowly, she pulls the comb free from her hair, dropping it on the vanity with a thwack. She visibly bristles, her jaw clenching a few times before she cocks her head at me and says, “You want to rephrase that?”
I glare at her. “No, I don't think I will.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I'm fucking sure. Just because I'm going through some stuff—"
“Don't you even fucking start,” she interrupts angrily, standing so abruptly the stool she was sitting on topples over. She steps right in front of me, her finger poking me in the chest as she adds, “I'm well aware that you're going through some stuff. I'm right here. I am always right here, ready to support you, to listen to you, to just be there for you.”
Her lips press together as she pauses, anger and sadness marring her features, but then she pokes me in the chest again. “You know what, if you want to fucking wallow, you go fucking wallow. But why don't you stay the fuck out of my way while you do it so I don't have to watch you.”
My glare intensifies, and this time, I swat her hand away before she can poke me again. “And where do you suggest I do my wallowing, then?”
“I don't fucking care. How about I just leave so then you can wallow at will wherever you want, whenever you want.”
“Leave and go where?”
“Who fucking cares?”
“You can't leave, Jess,” I retort. “We're stuck together, so just get used to it.”
Her eyes widen, and she laughs bitterly. “I can assure you, I'm not stuck anywhere, ever.”
“We're married. That means we’re entirely stuck with each other.”
She shakes her head, brushing by me and walking toward the bed as she replies, “I don't think so. I didn't work this long and hard to end up stuck anywhere I don't want to be.”
I turn toward her, taking a few steps in her direction before I stop, the deep ache in my chest intensifying at her words. “What do you mean?”
She turns to me, eyebrows raised as she says, “I'm not stuck anywhere, Mathias. I am not a fucking tree.”
“So, you'd leave me?”
She raises her hands in front of her and shakes her head. “Well, I don't see any point in being here. It's not like you're here.”
“But I love you,” I reply helplessly, having no idea what else to say.
She rolls her eyes and snorts. “And I love you, but I also love myself, and I'll be damned if I sacrifice everything I've worked for to spend the rest of my life feeling like I'm alone with someone else in the room.”
We fall silent, and she busies herself, continuing her typical bedtime routine. I stand there frozen to the spot, clearly unsure of how to proceed.
Finally, I whisper, “I don't know what to do.”
She says nothing in response. She just pulls the comforter and sheet back and slides into bed without comment.
I stand there for a few more moments, staring at the back of her head, and then I turn and walk into the bathroom. I go about my own sparse bathroom routine, methodically washing my hands and face, stripping out of my clothes. Then I stand there at the sink, staring at my own reflection in the mirror, hardly recognizing myself.
I place both palms on the counter, leaning closer and closer to the mirror until all I see is one giant eyeball staring back at me.
I inhale through my nose, expelling the breath out through my mouth, the one-eyed version of me fogging over until it's nothing but a shadow.
A shadow of my broken self.
Startled, I shove away from the counter, stepping back until I give myself a hard look in the mirror. “What have you done?” I whisper to my reflection, and a sudden twinge of unease zaps through me.
For me, the most difficult stage of grief is my tendency to bury myself in work, to push those painful, gritty emotions down and keep them walled up behind anger, ambivalence, and the deep need to separate myself from that which might hurt me again.
But here I am, hurting myself.
Whirling around, I hurry out of the bathroom into the bedroom, over to the side of the bed where Jessica is still lying with her back to the doorway.
I grab the comforter in my hand, yanking it back, and Jessica rolls toward me, staring up at me, wide-eyed as she exclaims, “Matt, what are you doing?”
I stoop over, gripping her by her arms as I half-drag-half-yank her out of the bed. She manages to get her feet under her, and I use the added leverage to boost her up, my arms snaking around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides as I squeeze.
She's now at eye level with me, and I'm sure I must look like a crazed lunatic as I say, “You can't leave me.”
She looks taken aback, and then she frowns and shakes her head. “What? What are you talking about?”
“You can't fucking leave me. I won't have it.”
She laughs almost hollowly. “Well, you're not the one who has the final say on that.”
My arms tighten further, right to the point where it becomes visibly uncomfortable for her, and her eyes widen further as she squirms in my grip. I lean in close, my nose touching hers as I grit out, “Over my dead fucking body.”
She goes to speak, but she can't draw in any air, and only a squeak comes out, so I add, “Let me be crystal fucking clear with you, sugar. If you leave me, I'll make my friends look like docile little lambs.”
She narrows her eyes, her squirming turning into an outright struggle. Her knee connects with my thigh once, twice, a little harder each time, so I step closer to the bed, tossing her down on it, and then quickly follow, using the weight of my body to pin her down so she can't escape.
She manages to punch me once in the chest before I snag both of her wrists and pin her arms over her head. She attempts to knee me again, so I straddle her thighs, effectively stretching my torso out over the top of her.
My eyes scan down her body from her angry fiery green eyes to her heaving tits, and my dick immediately hardens against her hip.
I lean over her, licking a path up her stomach, between her breasts to her neck, until I have my face pressed into her hair by her ear.
I settle some of my weight over her, my chest pressing against her tits, so with every inhalation, her hard nipples rub against my skin.
I groan, adjusting my grip so I'm holding both her wrists with one hand. I slide my free hand over her shoulder, along her collarbone to her sternum, and down to her waist, quickly circling back around. Cupping her breast, I pinch her nipple with my thumb and forefinger until she gasps, pushing herself more firmly into my hand.
I groan, intent on moving between her legs, when she suddenly jerks her wrist from my grip, and her hands come up and cup my face. I blink, shaking my head so I can meet her gaze head-on, as she whispers, “Everything will be okay.”
I frown, a hot jolt of pained rage zipping through me at her words. I shake my head again, intent on ignoring her, but her grip on my face tightens, and she gives me a little shake as she lifts her upper body off the bed, bringing her face mere inches from mine. “I’ve got you. It's okay.”
At first, her words confuse me because my coming to her in this moment wasn't supposed to have anything to do with me or my bullshit stuff.
I try to pull back, pushing my hands into the mattress in an attempt to extricate myself from her grip, but she doesn't relent. If anything, her grip tightens further, and she uses the distance I put between us to move so she can wrap her legs around my waist, effectively attaching herself to me. I stop moving for a moment, and she hangs off of me, and I laugh then shake my head unsure of what to do at this point.
She uses my moment of confusion to her favor, dropping one of her legs and using the leverage of her foot on the mattress to flip us so I'm on my back.
I lose my breath for a moment, and then I'm staring up at her, the smile on her face nothing less than smug. Her hands go back to gripping my face, a small smile on her lips that sends a rush of warmth through me.
She straddles me, placing a knee on each side of my torso so her pussy is pressing into my stomach instead of my cock. I wiggle around, intent on fixing this, and she tsks at me with her hands on my face, squeezing to get my attention.
My eyes meet hers, and she sighs as she says, “I've given you all the space I'm going to give you.”
I frown and shake my head, but when I go to speak, she moves one of her hands from my cheek to my lips. “I don't want to hear any more of your bullshit. I'm going to help you, or I'm going to kick your ass.”
I smile against her hand, my tongue flicking out and wetting her palm, but she doesn't flinch or even attempt to remove her hand. So, I nod, hoping I'm relaying what I feel with my eyes since she won't let me have my words.
After a moment, she removes her hand, and then she removes her body from on top of mine, moving to the side so she's lying there facing me with her head cradled on my arm. She grips my far arm with her hand, yanking until I take the hint and roll toward her, and then we lie there facing each other, staring silently.
“How are we going to fix this?” I finally ask, having no other option but to dig in.
“I don't fucking know,” she replies a bit breathlessly. “But we will. Slowly and with great care. But we will.”
We fall into silence once again, and it's there in that moment while I'm staring into her eyes that I remember.
My answer.
"I had forgotten,” I whisper.
She frowns and shakes her head. "Forgotten what?"
I laugh, suddenly feeling weightless, and she raises her brows at me, likely because I sound like a crazy person once again. “You're my answer.”
She sighs and laughs, continuing to shake her head, but she doesn't argue or try to move away. I inch in closer so our faces are directly in front of each other, and I say, “Use me.”
“Use you for what?”
“Anything you want. Whenever you want.”
She gives me an assessing look and then asks, “You mean anything? Like anything, anything?”
“Obviously, I meant sexually. But whatever works.”
“So, you're saying you're giving me 100% free use of your body? No rules, no regs, no questions asked?”
I nod, entirely committed. “I’ll do anything you want.”
She smiles at me wickedly. "So, you're saying pegging is on the table?"
I wince, and she laughs loudly, but I nod. “If that's what you want.”
“Why?”
I shrug and then sigh. “Because I need you to take from me what I'm having difficulty giving to you. Everything I have, everything I am is yours, so it's only fair.”
She lies there beside me, searching my eyes for a few long moments. And then, after a beat, she nods. “Okay.”
I smile, allowing more of that warmth to sneak in as I pull her close, wrapping my arms around her.
I press my face into the crook of her neck and whisper, “Thank you.”