Page 45 of Still Beating

I spit out the bite of sandwich as soon as it touches my tongue, dropping the plate and wiping at my mouth with the back of my hand. “This is turkey?”

Mandy gapes at me, her glossy lips parted with alarm. “Y-Yes. You love turkey.”

“I don’t love turkey.”

“I thought…”

I close my eyes, shoving the painful flashbacks away as I shake my head. “I don’t love it anymore.” I trek backwards out of the small kitchen, trying to control my breathing. “I think I need a nap.”

“Dean…” Mandy follows me to the couch, sitting down beside me, closer than I’d prefer, and grazes her super-sized fingernails that resemble talons along my knee. “I’m here for you, babe. What can I do?”

I think over all the things she can do, but she won’t like any of them.

Go home.

Stay home.

Give me some fucking space.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, guilt soaring through me in waves. I hate that I’m pushing away my girlfriend of fifteen years—I know she’s only trying to help. I know she cares and wants me to get better. But I feel like an entirely different man, and I’m not even sure this man wants to marry this woman anymore.

I’m fucking broken.

The thought stabs me like the edge of a dagger as I lay my head back against the leather couch cushion. I feel Mandy slide up even closer, her hand trailing higher and higher until…

I grab her hand before it reaches its destination, trying not to crack under the weight of the rejection in her eyes.

“Dean… please. We haven’t been intimate in almost six weeks.” Mandy’s eyes begin to mist, her nails digging into my palm. “I miss you.”

Jesus, I feel like the biggest goddamn asshole. Mandy and I always had a pretty normal sex life—a little vanilla, but I had no complaints. She’s sexy and willing and mine, and yet… I can’t fucking do it.

I’m not ready.

“I just need a little more time,” I say, letting her down as gently as possible. I have no idea how much more time I’ll need. All I know is that it’s too soon.

I just can’t.

Mandy scoots backwards, dropping her chin to her chest as the rejection manifests into anger. “I figured after weeks of celibacy, you’d be all over me.”

A prickling heat crawls up the back of my neck and settles in my ears.Fuck.

“You were only down there for three weeks, Dean,” Mandy continues, still avoiding my eyes. “I thought you would… you know, bounce back by now.”

Only three weeks.

Mandy and I once took a vacation to Cancun for three weeks. It’s funny—I hardly remember any of it. That could have something to do with the unlimited drink packages and the spoiled pozole that knocked me on my ass for a few of those days, but… the memories are vague and fuzzy. Only bits and pieces stand out.

I remember every vivid detail about that basement.

The dripping pipe. The cracks and ridges in the stone wall on my right. The pink foam insulation overhead, peeking out of the wooden beams in the ceiling. The way the sunrise cast a radiant beam of light into our dungeon, magnifying all of the little dust particles in the air. I tried to count them one morning, but the light kept shifting and I’d lose track.

I remember the Daddy Long Leg spider in the cobwebbed corner that never seemed to move. I thought he was dead until I caught the tiniest twitch of one of his thin legs. I wondered how long he could go without food.

I bet he wondered the same thing about me.

I remember the gaudy, floral wallpaper in that moldy bathroom and the way it peeled from every corner, revealing decayed walls and water damage. I recall looking in the dusty mirror, not recognizing the man reflecting back at me.

Cora.

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