Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
Jess
When we get back to the house. It’s not even 8:00 P.M. but all the lights are off, casting the glow from the lights on the back deck into the house. Alex and Caleb are sitting around some sort of tubular fire pit thing.
The kitchen has been cleaned at least. Food processor has been disassembled and laid out to dry, and my stomach sinks. It was my first time cooking for him and it was shit. (Not my food, the night. The night was shit.) It’s stupid stuff like that that sends me into a tailspin because it means a lot to me. And nothing to him. The only other man I’ve ever cooked for was Tommy.
I drop the diaper bag in the mudroom and head upstairs, grateful Alex is outside. This way I can grab pjs and wash my face without him here. As soon as I’m changed, I pull my hair up into a high pony and head to Eden’s room for her nightly routine .
As we walk, Eden pulls on my hair and for the first time, I have this insane desire to chop it off. Like that’s what’s weighing me down. (Not the fact that I’m lying to people.) Maybe I’ll do both, though. I’ll tell the truth, cut off all my hair, and just live that villainous lifestyle. I’m hardly the princess in the tower. I need to stop acting like it.
We do bath, pjs, lather on lotion, read two books, and I sing. Eden goes down relatively easily, allowing me to plug my phone into the charger, hit the lights, and crawl into the daybed in her room to (hopefully) fall asleep.
The sleep will not come. I refuse to look at my phone, lest the time will taunt me, but I’m awake when I hear footsteps. Footsteps that stop outside the bedroom where I was supposed to sleep last night, but didn’t. Then they resume and stop outside Eden’s room.
My pulse quickens and my palms sweat, worried he’ll poke his head in or something, but he doesn’t. Then the footsteps fade when he enters his bedroom before coming back out into the hall again. The sound of footsteps grows nearer, but then they stop, and retreat again. And I let loose the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“Hey,” his deep, raspy whisper rouses me.
“Hmm,” I stretch my legs and yawn, but don’t open my eyes.
“Come to bed?” I think it’s a question, but then he’s lifting me out of the daybed and my half-awake body betrays me by slipping my arms around his neck. My head falling a bit slack against his hard chest .
I open my eyes briefly, then take one slow blink, and he’s lowering me onto my side of his bed. I immediately pull the pillow tighter and roll to face away from him, praying to just fall back asleep, but he doesn’t let me. He pushes his large, warm (mostly naked) body against my back, and my fucking traitor body sighs out and relaxes. I try not to focus on it, otherwise I’ll get pissed and that’ll wake me up. And I’m pretty sure if I’m awake in a bed with Alex, it will eventually lead to fucking. And my heart can’t take much more of that.
“Jess…” It’s whispered, feather-soft across my temple as I feel his engorged cock slide against my ass while his fingers hold a biting grip on my hip. I instinctively grind my hips back before I can even tell my body not to. It just feels so fucking good. His cock, but also this feeling that he wants me.
His hand leaves my hip and slides into my pajama bottoms, finding me hot and ready for him and he growls in my hair. I go to turn towards him, but he stops me, flipping me onto my stomach.
It’s so fast, I feel like the winds have been sucked out of my sails. I gasp slightly at the roughness, but then he’s at my back pulling me up on all fours, and the asshole asks, “Do you want this?” His dick is there, pushing against the fabric of my pajamas.
I moan when he slides his dick forward, pushing it up so it strokes my clit through the thin fabric.
“Yes,” I whisper back. And he slides my pajama pants down to my knees, letting them stay there. Then he lines himself up and pushes in. Fuck . Fucking hell. His cock has this curve to it that ma kes the most delicious sensation when he rubs against my inner walls. With him behind me and my ass up, the sensation is doubled.
My hands clench at the sheets, my toes curl, my walls tighten, and when he slams into me, I let out a quiet huff. And then his hands are at my scalp. I don’t know if he’s aware he does this, but each time we’ve had sex, his hand always finds its way into my hair. He tangles it. He tugs it. He lets his fingers glide through it. It feels amazing. I love this feeling that he has something about me that he loves.
“Louder.” The command takes me by surprise. I’m not a moaner, a screamer, never have been, but the fact that he wants to hear me makes me swell with pride a little.
He slams into me from behind harder, and this time I let the pant leave my mouth with a little more gusto.
“More.” The hand in my hair tightens. The hand gripping my hip grows stronger. “Tell me who’s fucking you.” He slams against me again, rocking the upholstered headboard against the wall. Knock .
“Alex,” I reply.
“Louder.” His voice is commanding and brash as he slams into me harder. Knock goes the bed.
“Alex!” I say louder. Slam. Knock. Grip tightens.
“One more time,” he says gruffly. Slam. Knock . Hair gets pulled.
“Alex!” I practically scream. Slam. Knock . He lets go of my hair and pounds into me relentlessly. It still feels amazing, but there’s another feeling that starts to come over me, and all of a sudden I want to vomit. Is-Is this for show? My walls are no longer clenching him tight. My toes slowly unfurl.
When I turn my head to look back at him, his eyes are closed. Spear, right through the abdomen. Wind knocked straight from me. Searing pain slices at my insides and after I inhale deeply, I bury my face in the pillow with a cry.
He’s just using me right now. That’s this feeling. He’s somewhere else and I could be anyone.
Slam. Knock . I feel like dying. My body is only being held up by the hands that are holding my hips.
Slam. Knock . My chest heaves at the pain. He hates me. Still. I’ll always be less-than in his eyes.
Why am I here? I turn to look back once more, hoping he’ll have eyes wide open that see me. That see how much he’s hurting me, but when I look back, his eyes are still clenched.
“Alex,” I say softly, same as my body. There’s nothing taut about this. My body isn’t straining, clenching, racing to the other side like his is. He eases up at my voice. His pace slows, his grip loosens, and he eventually comes to a complete stop.
I stare back down at the pillowcase, tears streaming down my face. “If you’re gonna use me, at least be a man about it and look me in the eyes.” Goosebumps break out all over my body and then he’s pulling out of me.
He practically stumbles out of bed, pushing away from me. Like he was fucking sleepwalking and ended up fucking me instead. (Maybe he was.)
My hips slowly slide down to the bed and my chest heaves with a sob. I pull my pants back on and sit up. But Alex is just standing a few feet back from the bed looking stricken.
“I know you think I’m a shitty person, but what you’re doing is worse,” I say. I slip out of bed, and when my feet hit the soft rug, I have to fight to stay standing after the unrelenting way he was using my body.
I don’t look him in the eyes as I get up and walk to the guest room down the hall. I use the bathroom, then crawl into the bed and cry because I let him use me. I want him more than the pain bothers me. (I know I’m a masochist.) But I can’t do it. I can’t be Amy. I’m not loud when I’m having sex. I don’t need some bro to hear it in the middle of the night. I’m not some show pony you can just buy, which is exactly what he thinks of me, isn’t it?
Well, fuck him.
Fuck this house.
Fuck this town.
Fuck all of it.
I pull out the card that’s for emergencies only and press the purchase button. I wait till six, and then text my old contact, James, to ask if he’ll drive me to the airport after I meet with Britain. I know it’s Thanksgiving and all, but hopefully it’s early enough it doesn’t deter his day.
I don’t want to make a big thing out of this. I want to just slink away as quickly and as tacitly as possible. (Does that make me a coward? Yeah, so what?)
I was in Eden’s room at four, quietly packing her suitcase. I carried it down the steps as silently as possible and put it by the door in the mudroom for when we leave later to go talk to Brit. It sounds shady. It probably is. But I don’t want to see him look at me in the light of day…maybe ever. Every time I start to think about his e yes clenched shut (picturing Amy probably), I want to vomit.
The soreness between my legs physically and emotionally hurts every time I take a step. And I want to take so many steps. Away from this place, away from these people, away from my life…
When Eden wakes up at 7:00, I try my best to get her to go back to sleep. We have a long day ahead of us and the more time I spend in her room, the less time I have to spend out there, potentially running into people I have no desire to see.
By 7:30, there’s no holding her back. She’s hungry, so I take her downstairs to feed her, trying to act as casually as possible, but my body locks up when I find him in the kitchen. Making pancakes. Fucking psychopath .
He looks over and stares at me, almost vacantly. He still doesn’t see me. He never will, Jess.
I strap Eden into the highchair, pour her a bottle of milk, and drop Cheerios on her tray. Still not looking at him, I ask, “I need to change really quick. Would you watch her for just a moment?”
His voice is barely audible, but eventually he says, “Yeah.” I run upstairs quickly and try to think about the best way to do this. But unless I haul down a suitcase which will inevitably draw questions, there’s no way I’m getting any of my clothes or belongings. And honestly, you know what? That's fine.
I throw on my best bra, I double up on underwear (because apparently I’m a psychopath, too), and then layer thoughtfully. (Tank top, long-sleeved shirt, sweatshirt, and a jacket over top. And leggings under jeans.) I’m no mathematician, but I jus t made at least six outfits out of one. (Feel free to do the actual math and then shame me with it.)
I grab my toothbrush before heading back downstairs. I’ll have to buy toiletries and a bag at the airport.
When I get to the kitchen, Alex is sitting beside Eden absentmindedly feeding her pancakes. I want to say or do something that’ll make him go away, but again, that would lead to attention which would lead to talking which would lead to me crying. Because I’m coming to see that every time I think Alex and I could be something, it’ll end. With me crying. And I’m not even a crier.
“I can do that,” I say to his back and when he doesn’t put up a fight, just stands and moves over, I don’t know if I feel relief or misery. Relief he got up, miserable because he caved so easily.
I feed Eden until I’m certain she can’t take any more, change her one last time, and then make my way to the mudroom for our bags and keys.
“Do you need help?” Alex asks me from the kitchen.
“No, just going to meet your sister for coffee at The Grounds.”
“Okay.”
I don’t say anything back. I don’t say goodbye. I just open the side door and wheel the little suitcase out to a car that doesn’t belong to me so I can go play family in someone else’s life. Again.
I’m early. I knew I would be. But still, a part of me is surprised to see this place is actually open .
When I walk into The Grounds, a bell rings over the door and Sandy greets me. “Happy Thanksgiving!” she says merrily, wearing a brown turtleneck that’s the same color as her boots under a floral apron. She’s the picture of matronly charm.
“Hey, Sandy.” She looks me over, reading me like a large-print book.
“Honey, it’s not that cold out.” Yeah, I know.
“Just can’t shake a chill, might be coming down with something,” I lie, then say a small prayer willing Brit to get here already. She's a punctual person. She’ll be here soon.
“You want a medicine ball? A coffee?” The only thing I think I could actually stomach would be ginger tea so I decline.
“No, thanks. I’ll just wait for Brit over here.” I point to a table off to the side, away from the other customers enjoying their normal lives.
I take a seat and my leg bounces. My phone vibrates, but I don’t take it out of my pocket to check. Too nervous.
At 8:55, Brit walks in looking like a goddess compared to me. Fresh blowout, fresh-faced, like she woke up naturally rosy cheeked and happy. I bet she did, actually.
“Hi,” I say first, getting her attention, but I don’t stand up to hug her and she doesn’t stand there expectantly waiting for more either.
“Hey,” she says with a sad smile.
“Heard you got married. Congrats.”
Her cheeks go pink. “Thanks. It was just parents and kids,” she says as an explanation.
I shake my head like it’s no big deal because it isn’t. The biggest deal now is that I unload and confess my sins, then blow this town.
“That’s okay. Sounds perfect.” I try to reassure her with a smile, but she frowns. That’s not the answer normal Jess would give. She knows it. Well, guess what? Normal Jess doesn’t exist anymore. Desperate Jess? Oh yeah, she’s present and accounted for. Soul-crushed Jess? Also here.
“Listen, I want to tell you the truth…about everything. I just need you to listen, okay?” She nods. And I unleash.
Much like it was with Sandy last night, I tell her how I first met Alex. I even tell her when I fell in love with him. I tell her that we hurt each other and that I’d circle back to that in the end. I tell her about my potential custody issues, and my inability to be a functioning responsible adult who can care for my own child independently. And she listens to all of it, wholeheartedly.
I tell her about Alex’s offer and how I jumped and how I thought maybe things between us could be real, but they’re not because we still have too many issues and he still hates me.
“So, I guess the first thing to tell you is I’ve been keeping something from you, and I don’t want any of this to hurt you. I really don’t. You always came first to me.” Brit takes a deep inhale, bracing herself. “Damian and I are friends.” I let out a little exhale, feeling the weight of some of the lies lifted. Though certainly not all of them…
“Oh…really?” she asks confusedly, but sincerely. “I thought maybe you guys were…you know…”
I look at her crazy. “Were you know…what?!”
“Knocking boots.” She shrugs.
“No! That is not at all how I see him.” My stomach sinks because I have to unload this final bomb. I feel like I could throw up again, and not because Alex anger-banged me, but because I can see the end of our friendship right here, right now.
With Eden still perched on my leg, I lean forward and hug Brit. (Snapshot title: “Heartwarming Embrace Between Best Friends.” ) (That would be a lie.) It’s like the opposite of the kiss of death. It’s Judas giving Jesus a kiss goodbye. You know it’s the last time.
“Brit, you’ve been my best friend for so many years, and you’ve been so good to me, really. Way better than I ever deserved.” I sniffle because I’m crying now, and she extends her arm, taking my hand in hers.
“It was a lot of years ago…”
“What was?” Brit asks.
The sound of the door swinging open forcefully draws our attention. (Well, everyone’s attention.)
Alex takes a step in and scans the place frantically, eyes landing on me. Hate it immediately. Don’t like it. I wish he’d look away.
“You’re leaving?” he asks brusquely. Only having taken three steps, he comes to stand in front of me.
I straighten my spine and fidget under his gaze. With me sitting down and him towering over me like this, I’ve never felt so uncomfortable. My pits start sweating, either from the heat of his temper or the fact that I’m dressed for the frozen tundra. I don’t know.
“Yes.” It doesn’t come out as strong as I would have hoped.
“And you weren't going to tell me?” He sounds genuinely pissed. Maybe even a bit hurt. But you know what? Fuck him. I’m the one he hurt. Me! Don’t I matter?
“No!” I shout back. “So you could pretend to feel some sort of way about it? Guess what, Alex? You’re the only one pretending! It’s real for me, all of it, and it’s fucking killing me.” I look at where I’m bouncing my child on my leg. Fucking terrible mother, I know. Add it to the list. “I’m not her . I’ll never be her . And trust me, I’ll walk away and it won’t be like her leaving because I’m. Not. Her. The end.”
He scoffs at me. “No, you certainly aren’t her. She would never leave without saying goodbye. You know what? I’m sorry I tried to help.” He looks at me, then looks at Brit. “It’s not real for her either. She wouldn’t know the truth if it smacked her in the face.” I look at him like he actually did just slap me. He might as well have. “She tell you yet?” he asks Brit.
“Yes, now shut the fuck up before you ruin everything,” Brit says to Alex in my defense, surprising me.
“Well, just in case, let me fast forward the process for you. That best friend of yours,” he nods towards me.
“Alex, stop—” I try, but he talks over me.
“Yeah, her. Well, she fucked your husband.” Brit and I both gasp in shock.