Page 44 of Shattered Echoes

I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. Anything to not see him so overcome by guilt. He has done nothing wrong. His hands pulling my dress tight, almost as if he’s afraid to let go.

He breaks the kiss and cups my face. “You’re so strong,” he murmurs, his eyes shining with fierce admiration. “To have survived that...to still be standing after everything he put you through…” He trails off, shaking his head, at a loss for words. I manage a watery smile, covering his hand with mine and giving it a grateful squeeze.

“Thank you for giving me the strength to share. I feel…better. Better than I’ve felt in a long time. I don’t know if the pain would ever go away. But it doesn’t feel so bad now.”

He brushes a stray lock of hair from my face, his touch feather-light yet electrifying. "You're the strongest woman I know."

His words wrap around me like a warm embrace, soothing the ache of old wounds. I lean in, capturing his lips in a slow, smoldering kiss. He unbuttons his shirt and then pulls my dress over my head. Antonio sets me on the couch, kissing me again as he unbuckles his belt, each touch taking my mind further and further from my ex. I bask in the warmth of Antonio’s affection. It makes me feel whole. Alive!

With his lips still pressed against mine, he pushes himself inside me, and my mind leaps in a thrill. All my worries about Henry finding out, about loyalty and doing the right thing, none of them matter anymore. Nothing else matters to me but this moment of intimacy and honesty with Antonio.

There’s nothing rushed or forceful about the way he fucks me. It’s slow, passionate, intimate, and it’s complete. I weeping again. Not out of pain, but pure pleasure. His deep grunts and my loud moans sound discordant, until somehow they snap into harmony, the perfect song.

His cock feels like heaven inside me, and I focus on the sensation it leaves in my pussy, concentrating on each slow, rhythmic thrust. We’ve fucked dozens of times, but none of them ever felt this good. This is more than just sex. This is vulnerability that extends deep into the soul. I bared myself to him, showed him my scars, and he wanted me all the same.

I feel a sense of satisfaction when he comes inside me, emptying his clip with sweet, jerking motions as his cock pulsates inside me, stretching my pussy walls. I grip him, taking all he can give, my fingers digging deep into his back as euphoria envelops my mind.

And then he continues, choosing not to stop. I grin in satisfaction, clinging on tighter to him as he pounds me. I want this;I realize. I want this so fucking bad. Tonight, there are no shadows, no demons from the past–only this connection that makes me feel valued, desired, worthy. I hold on to that for dear life.

***

14

Antonio

Ah, shit. Never again.

I wake up with the worst headache I’ve had in months. I can’t believe I let Colette convince me to drink after so many months of sobriety. She moves under the sheets, snuggling closer to me, and her warmth radiates through me. I brush some hair from her face and kiss her cheek.

Best hangover ever.

I get out of bed, plodding down to the kitchen. I chug a bottle of cold water and resist the nausea that assaults me. Shit, how did I ever enjoy this? I take a second bottle and settle on the stool, pressing the bottle against my head, hoping it dulls the throbbing.

Last night was amazing, and though Colette and I have had sex a million times, it felt special. Would have been perfect, save for the overwhelming guilt that clawed at me the whole night.

I still can’t process the fact that Henry sold out his sister. Memories of mine, lying on the floor with slit wrists in a pool of her own blood, flood my already battered brain. It was a sight that no child had to see.

While therapy has been helping with that, the knowledge of what Colette suffered at the hand of her monster of an ex-husband rips the scars open, making the pain of that loss fresh in my mind.

Two women suffered for the crimes of greedy, distant men. While I love Henry, that’s all I can see him as now. A greedy money grabber with a fucked-up sense of loyalty. What in the world was more important than family?

By not reacting and processing the information, I have allowed it to fester inside me, until all I feel is nothing but disgust for my friend. I’m torn between telling Colette all I know, and confronting Henry.

I realize it’s not my place to tell her about it. Plus, knowing how rattled she is about her divorce, all I’m going to do is cause her more pain. I’d love to expose Henry for the sleazy bastard that he is, but there’s no way to do it without harming Colette.

So, I sit there, stewing, angry, and with my hands tied. My anger and frustration compound the intense headache from my hangover. I should have stopped at one glass, although it’s pretty pointless to think about that now.

Fuck you, Henry.

I can’t just let this go, though. It would be a betrayal to Colette if I do. I go back upstairs and look at Colette sprawled on the bed, the covers in a heap beside her. I wonder what she’d tell Henry when he discovers she didn’t sleep at home last night. Especially with her not wanting him to find out about us. Honestly, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass if he finds out now. He’s lost every right to judge about her.

Resisting the urge to join her in bed, I head to the bathroom for a cold shower. Feeling much better, but still hungover, I get dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants and step out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind me.

The sun’s pretty high in the sky when I step onto the porch. It’s much later than I would have liked. I head straight over to Henry's place. There’s no point calling ahead—this conversation needs to happen face-to-face.

My strides are heavy as I make my way across the grounds separating our neighboring houses. When I get to Henry's front door, I don't bother ringing the bell. I just bang my fist against the heavy oak in a series of dull, reverberating thuds. A few tense moments pass before the door swings inward, revealing a startled-looking Henry in a rumpled robe and slippers.

"Antonio?" He blinks, raking a hand through his disheveled hair. "What's going on, man? You look like hell."

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