Page 1 of All That She Needs

Part 1: Aiden

"Vanessa. That was her name," I said quietly, my words lost in the sounds of muffled clinking of glasses and murmurs that seemed to float in the air of the bar. I was talking to Jake, a bartender I'd only met less than an hour ago. I didn't know why, maybe because of the three glasses of whiskey that were burning my stomach, or perhaps because the agony had been eating me slowly inside, but I suddenly felt a desperate need to spill my gut. To anyone who would care to listen. Perhaps a stranger would be better. Someone who wouldn't judge me. And Jake was there. It was almost as though those deep-brown eyes of his knew more than the words that rolled off my tongue, and I uncharacteristically trusted him with all my secrets. "She was my assistant—the best I ever had. Sharp and efficient, she knew what I needed before I did, anticipating my moves like she could read my thoughts.

"And she was..." I drifted off, the memories with her, both precious and painful, flooded my mind. I sighed heavily as a familiar twinge squeezed my chest as I thought about her. "She was beautiful," I said softly, as though speaking aloud might bring her into the space. "And she was brilliant. The type of woman who enters a room and effortlessly captures everyone's attention. Not just because she was beautiful, but because she had this energy, this light, that drew people in. She loved the attention, soaking it up like it was her life force. But she never really let anyone get close. Not really."

I stopped for a moment, looking at the drink in front of me, the golden liquid catching the soft light from the ceiling. "And Vanessa was... complicated. She could make you feel you were the most important person in the world. She would give her all to you like you were the only man she ever saw. She gave me her body, but she never gave me her heart. It was all probably just a game to her. Even so, even knowing that, I couldn't stay away. I kept coming back to her."

I felt my throat tighten, the words catching there. "I noticed her like no one else did." I paused, forcing a confession that was almost too heavy to bear. My thumb traced the rim of my glass—my fourth of the night—as the memories flooded my mind. The liquid in the glass swirled slowly, reflecting the dim light, but all I could see was her.

"It was... inappropriate, the way I noticed her," I admitted painfully. "At first, it was just admiration. Who wouldn't admire someone like her? She was confident, radiant, fearless. But then it became more. Something I couldn't control."

I glanced up at Jake, expecting judgment, but his expression was unreadable, his hands busy with a glass he was polishing, though I could tell he was listening intently. "I started looking forward to seeing her every morning," I went on, my gaze drifting back to the glass in my hand. "Her smile, her laugh. The way she'd tucked her hair behind her ear when she was deep in thought. I noticed it all. Every little detail."

"Then I found myself arriving at the office early," I said, my eyes unfocused as they stared into the rows of bottles behind Jake, almost as if I were talking to myself. "Just to catch those first few moments when she walked in, before the day really started. Her presence alone was enough to light up the entire place. She had this way of moving, so effortlessly graceful, likeshe was floating through life while the rest of us were just trudging along."

I could still picture her clearly in my mind, the moments I had with her. What stuck with me most were the quieter ones—how she'd bite her lip when concentrating, the crease in her forehead when she was deep in thought. How her eyes lit up when they found me. The way she looked at me, like she was giving herself completely to me. Everything about her drew me in, and I wasn't strong enough to resist. It was more than just an attraction. It was a constant, gnawing need that took over my days and nights. It quickly became intense, turning into something so powerful that I lost control.

"I knew it was wrong." the words tumbled out as if a dam had burst inside me. "But I couldn't stop myself. She was like a fire—so intense it was almost blinding. It fucking hurt to get close, but I kept going back. Every time, it scorched me, but I couldn't stay away. No matter how many times I told myself not to, I still returned, knowing it would destroy me. And yet, the burn felt worth it just to be near her."

I could still feel the heat of that fire, even now. It was like a brand that had seared itself into my soul, leaving a mark that couldn't be removed.

I leaned back in my seat, the weight of my confession sinking in. The noise of the bar faded into the background, but my mind was still stuck in the past—caught up in something I couldn't change, something that stayed with me.

Jake didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. His silence was its own kind of response. A quiet acknowledgment. He slid another drink in front of me, a silent offer of solace.

"I fell in love with her," I admitted, my voice was unsteady under the weight of it. "My love for her was theobsessive kind. The worst kind. The kind that takes over every thought, every breath, until there's nothing left but her. It was crazy, I fucking knew that. But it didn't matter. I couldn't stop it. I was completely hopeless. She consumed me entirely. Every waking moment, she was there in my mind. I literally thought of nothing else but her, and I recklessly abandoned everything that used to matter to me."

Jake stopped what he was doing, his hands pausing mid-motion as he leaned forward, resting both elbows on the counter. His eyes locked onto mine, and for the first time since I'd started spilling my guts, he spoke. "Did she love you too?"

I shook my head slowly, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "I honestly don't know," I replied; the admission was more painful than I expected. "She never said it back." But there were moments—fleeting, delicate moments—when I thought, maybe, just maybe, she felt something too. A few subtle signs gave me false hope, making me believe there was something real between us, something deeper than just a passing affair. Like the lingering gaze when she looked at me, which seemed like longing. Or the persistent touches that seemed like she didn't want me to go. Or the way she whispered my name.

Yet, despite those moments, she never said it—not once. Not even in the quietest, most intimate times we shared. While me? I told her how I felt a million times, pouring my heart out to her, hoping she'd say it back, that she'd give me some assurance that what we had was more than just physical.

I couldn't help but wonder if that was what drove her away—my relentless need to express what I was feeling, to hear her say the words I longed for. Maybe I overwhelmed her, pushed too hard, or asked for more than she was willing to give — because I said it too much, and she couldn't bring herself to say it at all.

"Our relationship only lasted for about six months. Maybe more." I said, my voice trailing off as my mind remembered vividly the night when everything shifted—when I first kissed her behind the closed door of my office. The memory played like a movie scene in my mind: the look of surprise on her face when I leaned in, a shock that lasted only a few seconds. And then, as if she couldn't contain her feelings any longer, she responded with a fervor that took me by surprise. Her lips slammed into mine with passionate urgency, and her hands grasped at the front of my shirt, clutching it desperately as if she needed to anchor herself in that moment.

I remembered the times I was with her, privately, in her bedroom, where I worshipped every inch of her skin, savoring every mouthwatering taste of hers. How my hands would eagerly trace her body so I could memorize every dip and curve, to recall it in my mind before I went to sleep, hoping that it would color my dream. I remember how soft her lips were when I kissed her. The perfect size of her breasts blanketed under my hands. And how heavenly it felt when I was inside her. Oh, how exquisite it felt. Her warm channel would squeeze me tight, milking every single drop from me until there was nothing left.

"I didn't even know when exactly our relationship started. I couldn't remember. It was the best time of my life, and it's also the worst." Maybe it started when I first fucked her. Maybe when I first kissed her. Maybe even when I first laid eyes on her. Suddenly, there was not a day that went by when I wasn't craving her, constantly needing her. I used every spare time that I had to be with her. We were fucking everywhere like we had no care in the world. In my office. In her apartment. In my car. In a hotel room somewhere. Even in a restaurant bathroom stall. I would find excuse after excuse so that we could spend more time together. Longer times together. I planned business trips out oftown with her when there was no need to, just so that we could be together out there in the open. I wanted to kiss her, touch her, anytime I wanted, without worrying that anyone we knew would see. She became my addiction. A mad hunger that was insistent. A sickness that had no cure.

"Then she decided she was done with me," I said, and I couldn't conceal the defeat and sorrow in my tone. "She said she couldn't be with me. I guess she was right. I'd been living in a fucking denial, thinking I could somehow make it work, that maybe we could find a way. But she saw through it all. She knew she was the one who needed to end it, as I would never have the fucking guts to do it. And it's probably for the best. Because I could never be with her, anyway."

"Why can't you be with her?" Jake asked, as he pushed himself back and resumed his task, wiping down the counter with practiced ease. The bar gradually got quieter, the hum of conversations fading as patrons filtered out, leaving me as one of the last ones sitting there, nursing the remaining of my drink.

I stared at the glass in my hand, the amber liquid swirling like the thoughts in my head. The truth began to force its way out, desperate to be free. "Because I have a wife," I finally said, my voice barely a whisper, heavy and laden with guilt that had been building up inside me for so long. "And I have my kids."

Jake said nothing, even though his expression clearly showed that the revelation stunned him. He wasn't outright condemning me or giving me unwarranted advice, and I gave him credit for that. Even though he should loathe me, he should be disgusted with me. He gave me space to sit with my guilt and regret with his silence, to feel the full impact of what I had done, of all the mistakes I had made, and where it took me.

I was a liar and a cheater. And I was fucking good at it. I could lie through my teeth without flinching. I could come up with excuses so easily, it took me only a second to think of them. I did everything I could to have more time with Vanessa. Everything I could. I began neglecting the two mandatory dinners a week with my family. I used work as the reason for always coming home late, for not seeing my children before they went to bed, and for my wife already being asleep before I returned. I was often so tired when I came home, both from work and from hours of fucking Vanessa in her apartment, that I didn't have the energy to satisfy my wife anymore. And my mind wasn't in it, anyway. I could only think about her. Vanessa. My mind was so occupied with her that I unconsciously detached myself from my family. Then there was the guilt—heavy, all-consuming, which was impossible to shake. It continuously distracted me every time I touched my wife.

"Vanessa had already resigned from her job before she broke up with me. Right after her temporary contract ended. She told me it was because our relationship had become office gossip, and she felt it was better for her to leave and start fresh elsewhere. At that moment, I had no inkling that she was planning to end things. She convinced me it was better for our relationship, so I let her go."

The lights started to brighten, and the music suddenly stopped, giving me the signal that the bar was about to close. But Jake gave me a subtle nod and said, "We still have another hour until I have to lock up."

"You sure?" I asked. He gave me another nod.

So, shamelessly, I continued, desperately needing to get everything off my chest. "When she broke up with me, I was blindsided. I tried desperately to reach out to her, willing to do anything to make things right. I begged her, pleaded with her,hoping I could somehow fix this. I went to her apartment, sat outside her lobby for hours on end, hoping for a chance to talk, to make her understand how much she meant to me. I stalked her to her new office, waiting for her in the parking lot beside her car. I called her a million times a day. Texted her continuously like a mad man."

---