Page 48 of Tormenting Me

My gaze drifts back inside. Layne’s still asleep in bed. I stub out my cigarette in the little glass ashtray Layne bought in a Berkeley shop for me. The door closes quietly behind me. I quickly grab a sweatshirt and trainers from the closet to squeeze in a workout before getting ready for work.

Exercising in the refreshing chill bay breeze adds an invigorating element to the workout experience. As I lace up my trainers, I can feel the anticipation building. The energy drink courses through my veins, awakening my senses and sharpening my focus. Each breath of bay air reminds me of the world beyond my troubled mind.

I begin my workout routine, pushing myself to the limits. The rhythmic pounding of my feet on the pavement echoes in harmony with the crashing waves. Sweat drips down my brow, mingling with the salty mist that hangs in the air. With each rep, I feel the weight of the depravity I discovered earlier slowly dissipating.

As the sun continues its ascent into the sky, casting a faint glow over the gray clouds, I find solace in the water’s chaos. It mirrors the turmoil within me, a constant reminder of the battles fought and the demons confronted. The sound of seagulls overhead breaks the silence, their cries piercing through the early morning haze.

With my workout complete, I take a moment to catch my breath. The combination of caffeine, nicotine, and physical exertion has left me feeling alive, revitalized. I take one last look at the water, silently thanking it for not taking my Layne from me all those years ago.

Quietly slipping back into the apartment, I find Layne still lost in dreams and I can’t help but envy the peacefulness that envelops her. I head into the bathroom, starting up the shower, letting it heat I strip out of my workout clothes. Stepping inside, I stand under the spray of the hot water. It cascades over my tired body, washing away the remnants of the earlier morning’s revelations.

As I get ready for work, the weight of the day ahead settles upon my shoulders. But the invigorating effects of the morning workout linger, providing a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness. I dress, ready to face the world, armed with resilience gained from confronting depravity directly. Layne greets me in the kitchen, handing me a container with my breakfast and lunch inside.

Look at us. All domestic and shit. My wife packing me my lunch for work. Something I never saw happening until I saw her.

I kiss her goodbye, stepping out, determined to make a difference, even in my small world. The chilly breeze brushes against my face, a reminder of the challenges that lie ahead. In time, Corbin Banister will pay for his crimes, and I will be his judge, jury, and executioner.

Fuck this day. Fuck my job, I can’t deal with the idiocy that is the American justice system today. How the fuck does a judge throw out an entire case on a whim? Luckily, this has nothing poor to reflect on me or my job performance. Davis is shitting bricks because this all falls on him. It’s baffling how he failed so terribly on the first day of court, and all the other investigators are equally puzzled. Now we have to deal with this motherfucker throwing a whiny bitch kiddie tantrum around the office. I pull out my phone and text the one person I know who can keep my head on straight.

Wes: Baby, I need motivation to not kill people today.

Layne: I can’t fuck you if you’re in prison, Wes.

My phone pings again and it’s a picture of Layne in a cropped t-shirt with no bra and a black thong.

Wes: Fuck…that’s pretty good motivation.

Layne: Hurry home! I have a surprise for you.

It’s one-thirty now. How the fuck am I supposed to last until four o’clock with that image sitting on my phone? I pull out the bag that Layne packed my lunch in, taking out the contents and putting them on my desk. I’ll eat in my office, hoping to avoid Davis’s whiny ass. The food that sits in front of me has me smiling like a little kid, god I love my woman.

Layne made me a steak salad from last night’s leftovers. Plus, homemade oatmeal raisin cookies. Oatmeal raisin is my favorite cookie, and somehow she has hidden them, expertly, in my home without me finding them. I know when I get home I’m going to be tearing that kitchen apart to find the rest of them. I unwrap them and take a bite.

Good fucking Christ. I think I just came. I lean back in my chair, fist pumping in the air. Not even caring if I look like a dork. These are magical.

I pick my phone back up and send her a text.

Wes: Did you make these cookies?

She reads the message, and the three little dots appear. Then they disappear. A minute goes by, then two.

Wes: Don’t play with my emotions, Layne. Did you make the cookies?

As the screen changes, yet another picture comes into view, revealing Layne in the same outfit. However, this time she’s sitting on the counter right next to a delectable plate of cookies — my cookies. Another picture comes through, and this one she’s eating a cookie, with milk running down her chin.

Layne: Good, aren’t they?

Layne: I don’t know if there will be any left, so enjoy what you have.

Wes: I swear to whatever deity it is you believe in, if I don’t have some of those cookies waiting for me when I get home, I’m going to spank that ass so hard you won’t be able to sit comfortably for a week.

Layne: …

A picture of an empty plate and her bent over showing me her ass lights up my screen.

This woman is going to be the death of me. I have such a raging hard on right now, and even though I want to get up, get in my car and drive home to spank the shit out of her. I can’t because I’m sporting some serious wood right now. Talk about awkward walking through the halls of the building.

I pack up all the containers and sit and wait impatiently for my dick to calm down so I can leave. After a few minutes, it’s calmed down enough to where I can walk out. Bag in hand, I make my way to the front of the building. I’m almost there. I can see the doors leading to my freedom.

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