Page 11 of Dirty Husband
I don't really have a choice.
Shep: My driver will be there in ten minutes.
Fuck, I need a drink. Something aged and strong. A bourbon so sweet it tastes of honey.
I hold on to the memory as I message my driver. Then he replies that he's on his way. She'll be here, in my office, in less than twenty minutes.
She lives too far into Queens. It's not a nice neighborhood. It's not good enough for her.
She should be here.
She should be naked on my couch.
She should be groaning my name.
My eyes close. They go to her. A memory from long ago. The two of us in my bedroom. Her hands on my neck. Her voice in my ear.Are you sure it won't hurt?
Footsteps. That loud voice. My blood going cold.
I can't think about her anymore. I can't think about that time in my life. She's a spot of light, but the darkness is pure black.
This is a bad idea. She's too close to those memories. It's too hard to stay in control.
Only I don't have a choice.
If I don't convince her to marry me, I lose everything.
No, it's worse. I need more than her hand. I need her to fall in love with me.
If I fail, that bastard wins again.
That's out of the question.
Of course, he made it her. Of course, he made that a term.
This would be easier with someone else. With someone who mistakes security or money or orgasmic bliss for love.
Some woman who's interesting enough for a little conversation, a few fucks, a sweet goodbye, and nothing more.
I haven't exactly been a monk. Yes, I drank a lot. According to everyone in my life, I had a problem. Maybe I wasn't happy. Maybe I wasn't healthy. But I was functioning.
When my brother forced me into rehab, he took that away. I needed a replacement. Cigarettes reminded me of ugly things. Coffee didn't do enough.
That left one thing.
A woman under my command, bending to my every wish, begging me for release.
It was the only way I felt in control.
It's still the only way I feel in control.
I fucked a lot of women after I got out of rehab. Too many to count. It never meant anything to either of us. We got in, got off, got out.
Then I went to New York and I saw Jasmine again and—
I couldn't. My body refused. It only wanted her.
It only wants her.
