Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
She’s lost and confused. She doesn’t even know what she wants.
But I do.
I fidget with the yellow sticky note, passing it from my middle finger to my pointer and back again mindlessly.
Thank you.
If last night was more than just last night …
I trace the delicate, feminine script of the letters. She was made to tempt men. I’m convinced of it. Everything from her soft sighs to the way she carries herself.
It’s as if she was designed to lure me in unknowingly.
Even the way she’s written her phone number calls to me. Each graceful curve makes my fingers itch to punch in the numbers on my phone.
Weakness. Stupidity.
Last night was a one-time thing. I don’t have to call her. I don’t owe her anything and I’m sure she doesn’t expect a damn thing either.
Why does that bother me even more?
The sticky note moves from finger to finger more rapidly now. I know I shouldn’t call her. Nothing good can come from this.
My eyes look back to her message and focus on her phone number.
Selfish. So fucking selfish.
That’s the problem, though. I just don’t give a damn about anyone else. The thought is what strengthens my resolve. It’s all going to come crumbling down around me soon. I deserve to enjoy what little time I have left.
Julia
Water drips from the spout of the iron faucet. I grip the side of the claw-foot porcelain tub, the water splashing slightly in the silent room as I get comfortable. Then I rest my cheek against the cool hard porcelain and watch the water as it continues to drip.
The water’s nearly lukewarm by now, but I don’t want to get out. My wet hair clings to my skin as I sink in deeper, letting the water climb to my neck. My legs sway from side to side and I listen to the steady rhythm of the dripping water.
Part of me wants to pretend like last night didn’t happen. And this morning—I close my eyes and bring my hands up to my face, embarrassed by the memory. There’s nothing in etiquette class about how to leave your one-night stand.
My throat feels raw as I take in a breath, remembering how last night felt. His hands on my body, his chest against mine as he rocked in and out of me, mercilessly, ruthlessly.
I’ve never ... I swallow thickly, hating that I’m even comparing last night to what I had with my husband. I feel like I’ve betrayed Jace but I just let myself fall into the water, as if I can wash it all away.
No amount of time spent in this tub will cleanse the sins of last night.
One good thing’s come of it, though. The words are flowing through me so easily now. All I’ve done since I’ve been home is write. I shouldn’t be happy about that; I shouldn’t feel like a weight has been lifted, but I do. Every single thing I’ve written since my husband’s passing has been dark and stunted. It’s nothing that I would willingly choose to write. My poetry has always been a happy place and now I have a piece of that back.
The pain in my chest though, the way my heart feels tight and my lungs too crushed to breathe, that’s because I don’t regret it.
I feel guilty that I don’t feel guilty. How does that even make sense?
Ping. I groan at the sound, squeezing my eyes tight. I must’ve been more than a bit tipsy last night to let Sue act as my conscience. She won’t leave me alone. There were way too many texts waiting for me this morning for her to have gone home with anyone last night.
I woke up to a myriad of messages.
Please tell me he didn’t kill you.
I’m so sorry if he did, though!
Seriously, are you okay? Text me later!
She thinks she’s funny. I thought I was doing a good thing by letting her know I was still alive and unharmed, but all that did was open a floodgate of questions.
She’s finding more joy in this than I am, which makes me laugh.
I can’t help the way my lips beg me to smile and the way my heart flutters. Sue’s having a good time teasing me. Ping. I turn my head to the right, to where my towel and phone are sitting on the marble bench.
I can only imagine what she wants to know this time.
“I can’t hide in here forever,” I say under my breath, finally lifting myself out of the comfort of the tub. I lean down and pull the plug, letting the cool air hit my heated skin.
It was nice while it lasted and after last night, it did my body good to relax in here. As I lean over to grab the towel, the sensitive bits between my thighs ache again with slight pain. It’s a good kind of hurt though, the kind that lets you know you’ve been properly laid. I laugh slightly into the towel and dry off my body, then work on patting my hair dry. My feet pad softly against the black-and-white penny tile floor.