Page 59 of Rectify

I run my thumb across her bottom lip, and draw circles on her cheek, hoping to rid her of that worried stare.

“It's never been like that with Jagger,” she explains out. “I just needed comfort.”

It was always what she needed, and I gave it to her in spades, until I couldn't anymore.

I try to ignore the way old wounds begin to reopen. Unfounded jealousy and anger flare up in my chest that she turned to him at all.

Her voice cracks, and her whiskey coloured eyes are full with tears. “You bailed, and Hendrix couldn't even look at me after he found out about us.” She tightens the blanket around her, almost like she's trying to hide herself. “I got messy drunk and he was just there.”

“And what's his excuse?”

She looks at me as if I've spoken a different language. “What do you mean?”

“I mean while you've beaten yourself up for the last million years, what was Jagger’s excuse? Because he sure as fuck could've gotten “comfort” from anyone who wasn't his brother's girl.”

The last part comes out like acid, but it's the truth nonetheless. She was never mine.

“No,” she shakes her head vehemently. “He was drunk too. And I pushed him.”

My body vibrates with rage, the revelation that she has single handedly shouldered this burden for all these years, and that he's probably let her, breaks my fucking heart.

But what did I expect? That she would just change. It's always been her MO to see the worst in herself before others.

“What happened to Hendrix?” I ask through clenched teeth. “Why aren't you together?”

He was a love sick puppy over her, and the thought of him holding a grudge seems almost impossible.

“That was all on me,” she says in defeat. “I couldn't forgive myself, and I punished him repeatedly because of it.”

“And he gave up on you?”

Tears fall, running over her sad smile. “No. But after so many years of going back and forth, he just found someone who could love him better.”

I want to shake her and ask, who’s going to love you? And when is she ever going to realise her life is just as important. That someone will, one day, love her better. Love her just the way she deserves.

But I don't.

I don't utter a single word, because then I'll give life to my deepest desires; the reasons culpability swims through my veins every time I think of her. And I can’t, because they have no place here.

Instead, I do the only thing I'm really good at when it comes to Sasha. I distract her.

I rise off the couch, while she hugs me like a tree, and walk with her in my arms, to her bedroom. The blanket stays behind and we're nothing but skin.

Lowering her onto the bed, I climb on top of her and just stare.

“What is it?” she whispers

Everything

“Nothing,” I lie. “I’m just ready to be inside you again.”

She doesn't push, even if she can feel the difference. Her legs go lax around my hips, and I nestle my dick at her entrance.

“Fuck,” I hiss, “I need to go back and get a—”

Lips eat up my worry, as a hand circles my shaft and guides me right where I'm desperate to be.

“Are you sure?”

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