Page 78 of Wicked Oath

It’s been five anda half goddamn months, and we still cannot find her. We have no goddamn idea who bought her, but I sense we are getting closer. I miss her so much that it hurts. I don’t even know if she is alive at this point, or if she has been sold again. Grim has essentially disappeared. We have no idea who else is connected. It’s just been dead end after dead end. I am completely consumed by trying to find her, to the point that Jude, Chris, Adam, and Tony run everything for me so I can focus on finding her. I can’t focus if I’m not doing something forher, so we have agreed that all of my time will be spent following leads.

Ashley has been a great help, but I have caught myself on many occasions wanting to find comfort in her. By comfort, I mean I want to fuck the shit out of her and get out of my own head, though. I won’t do that to Delaney. I would then have to explain that I was fucking another woman while she was going through God knows what. I just want my wife back. I want to see her beautiful smile. I want to hear her silly laugh and to fall asleep with her snuggled against my chest.

Living life without Delaney feels like someone sucked the oxygen out of a room and locked me inside. I am in a constant state of panic because I know I will never heal from this if I can’t save her. I feel so fucking helpless, and I hate it. I hate everything but her. Sometimes I can’t remember what she sounds like anymore. It’s like my brain knows… but it’s getting lost in a cloud of misery that has settled in my soul.

I am sitting on the side of the bed with a glass of whiskey in my hand. I try not to drink so much, but it’s the only time I don’t think about her. Missing her isn’t quite so painful when I am so drunk I can’t see straight. Blacking out from drinking myself half to death is the most peace I get these days.

“Hey,” Ashley says from the doorway. I grunt to acknowledge her, and she walks over to sit beside me. “What can I do?”

“Find my wife,” I say as I throw the last of the drink down my throat. I pick up the bottle and pour a healthy amount into the other glass before filling mine again.

“We will find her,” she says, patting my thigh.

“Don’t do that,” I sigh.

“Do what?” she asks, confused.

“Nothing,” I mutter. I fucking hate myself right now. What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I that goddamn heartless?

“No, tell me,” she urges.

“Don’t touch me. I have zero willpower, and I will fuck the shit out of you,” I snap but soften. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she says as she drinks her whiskey all in one go.

“Damn, woman,” I say. “What are you trying to drown?”

“The urge to let you fuck the shit out of me,” she remarks, pointing to the bottle for more. I throw mine back and refill both of us, leaving the lid off this time for easier access.

“Can I be honest?” I ask.

“Always,” she says as she slips her shoes off and turns to me on the bed to sit cross-legged.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get answers,” I say. “I think she is gone and I’m only hurting myself by holding on.”

“Can I be honest?” she asks, and I nod. “I think you need to find a way to relax that isn’t at the bottom of a bottle. I think finding her is possible, but you are letting yourself get consumed by grief. You need to reset and start from the beginning. Ned is still working the case in between his other cases. No one is giving up on her but you. Do you even jerk off?”

“To what?” I ask. “The thought of my wife being trafficked because of her connection to me?”

“To a woman at the grocery store. Who gives a fuck? You just need to relax,” she says. “I will gladly flash you my titties so you can jerk off and clear your head for a moment.”

“You are a horny little thing when you drink,” I say, and she laughs. “Yeah, I had a half of a bottle of wine at dinner and I haven’t had sex in a year.”

“When was the last time you got yourself off then?” I ask, instantly regretting it.

“When was the last time you looked at me like you were going to rip my clothes off?” she asks.

“I know I need to relax and just accept that she’s gone,” I say, but the words taste bitter in my mouth. I’ll never accept that she’s gone. “I need to move on with my life. But I don’t know how. I can’t keep feeling this helpless.”

“If you want to move on, I don’t think she would blame you for that,” Ashley says softly. “You aren’t required to be a prisoner in your own mind.”

“How do I move on when she is everywhere I look?” I ask. “How do I move on, not knowing if I gave up too soon?”

“I don’t know,” she says quietly. I sigh and lay back on the bed to stare at the ceiling. Ashley moves off the bed and just when I think she is going to leave, she steps between my legs and gently rests her hands on my thighs. “Ashley…”

“Say no,” she says.

“I can’t,” I admit. “I told you; I have no willpower when I feel this helpless.”

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