Page 51 of Ends of Being

Matt nods, staring at his bottled beverage quizzically before raising his eyes to mine and asking, “Toni okay?”

I give him a short nod. “She will be.”

Tony gives me an incredulous look that does not get past Matt, so he continues, “Are you sure? She went running through here a little while ago and did not seem okay at all.”

I can’t think of a response for a few moments. I want nothing more than to abandon these assholes and go in search of her, to take care of her and support her as she struggles with her demons. I want to go to her and explain everything, to word vomit every tiny bit of information from the last few months in the hopes she’ll understand the deep level of my commitment to her. But I know I can’t, and so I sit here, feeling like an asshole, even though I know my hands are tied and my lips sealed.

Matt interrupts my thoughts, “I get that you have to wait for the right time to come clean. But don’t you worry that it may already be too late?”

I swallow the lump that is suddenly blocking my words and just give a small nod, my eyes focused on a spot on the wall over Matt’s shoulder. Finally, I manage to clear my throat, but my words are gruff and quiet as I respond, “That’s a distinct possibility.” I gulp down air again, then clear my throat once more before I continue, “I have to accept there’s no definitive right path here. Regardless of my choices and when the right time may present itself, the idea that I can force information on her in the hopes of salvaging a future we might have is futile. She has to know first, or at the very least, she has to ask the right questions in the correct order. Otherwise, I can’t. I can’t be the one to destroy her.”

They’re both staring at me, a resigned look of sadness on their faces. We all know that there’s a distinct possibility that when we reach the end, there may be no happily ever after for us. There may be no us.

And with that thought on all our minds, we sit back and wait to find out what’s next.

Toni

I run from the basement as if the hounds of hell themselves are nipping at my heels.

I’m truly panicked, tripping over myself several times and scrambling on my hands and knees on the cold floor as I attempt to flee blindly. I know I’m acting like a mad woman, but my intensely visceral response to Dare’s claiming is nonsensical and irrational—unexplainable. And for someone whose first instinct is always to fight back, my deep desire to run is unavoidable.

Eventually, I make it back to my bedroom. Dare’s bedroom. I stand in the middle of the room, panting and sobbing, and I feel the tears on my cheeks, snot running down my face as I continue to break down, to crumble in on myself.

I shake my head, attempting to wrench free from the darkness buried there, but its grip doesn’t loosen. I scurry to the bathroom, tossing the ruined robe on the floor as I flip on the shower and get in, letting the cold water run over me. I press my hands against the shower wall, resting my forehead against the cool tiles as the warming water runs down my back.

I can’t even pinpoint exactly what I’m sobbing over, but it feels like agony, as if the horrific pain that has settled in my bones is attempting to eradicate itself out my esophagus. And then I’m gagging, retching, and dry heaving, watching as the blood from my skin swirls once and then disappears down the drain.

I choke on my own saliva, and then I laugh and cry, my complete madness echoing off the shower walls as I feel the rush of Dare’s seed slide out of my pussy onto my inner thigh. I laugh again, grabbing the removable shower head and raising it to my face, washing away the tears and snot. I move it down my body, along my neck and over my breasts and stomach, and then between my legs, like I’m trying to wash Dare from my body.

I put the shower head back in the bracket, then grab a washcloth and soap and proceed to lather my entire body, scrubbing every inch once, twice, three times until I’m satisfied I’m clean. At least, on the outside.

I sit down on the floor of the shower, curling in around myself, leaning against the wall. I’m no longer crying or sobbing, no longer cursing or laughing. I just sit there and silently watch the water circling and circling the drain.

The water has just started to turn cold when there’s movement in the room, and at first, I can’t move my head to acknowledge that someone is there. A tiny part of me wonders if it’s Darius coming to collect me, but I scoff at the thought.

He wouldn’t. I rejected him. He’ll let me go.

At that thought, a tiny whimper escapes, but I manage to keep the agony down and then I start when I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I look up. I’m surprised to see Lilith looking down at me, her blue eyes soft with understanding as she shuts the water off then reaches for the towel and wraps it around my shoulders.

She takes both my hands in hers and helps me to my feet, then leads me out of the shower, placing me in the chair that I sat in previously when Darius was taking care of me. I have to suppress another whimper at the thought, and I shake my head a bit to center myself back to the present. Lilith is speaking to me, but it takes me a moment to focus on her words before I understand what she’s saying. “It’ll be okay, Toni.”

I shake my head, pulling the towel more firmly around me, as I reply, “But will it?”

She gives me a small smile, nodding her head in response. “Things will be as they should be.”

I snort, feeling a tiny bit better at the sentiment, even if I feel she’s entirely full of shit. She comes over with a smaller towel and starts to dry my hair with it. Surprisingly, I let her. I don’t know that I’ve ever allowed another woman to care for me. But for some reason, with her, it doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable, my normal urge to escape alluding me.

She finishes drying my hair and then takes the length of it and twists it up, clipping it out of the way. She pulls one side of the towel away, unwinding it from my body and placing it in front of me, where I clutch it against me. I hear her putting lotion in her hands, and I shiver again as she applies it to my back, and I can’t stop the small laugh that escapes at how strange this entire scenario is.

She laughs behind me. “I bet when you met me you never thought anything like this would be going on.”

I giggle again, the tension inside me easing a bit more as I respond, “That’s for fucking sure. I’m still not convinced you’re not here to slit my throat, but let’s just put some lotion on me first.”

Lilith laughs outright, and there’s something strangely familiar about the sound of her laughter, how melodic it is. I don’t think too much of it, though, and lean forward a bit, allowing myself to relax as we sit in comfortable silence for a few moments. When she’s done applying lotion to the parts she can reach, she hands the bottle to me, then turns away to clean up the trail I left when I first came into the bathroom.

I massage lotion into the skin on my torso and arms, taking comfort from the familiar smell as I watch her pick up my destroyed robe and stuff it into the trash can. She pulls the bag out, tying a knot in it, and then leaves the room. I can only assume she’s throwing it out into the hallway because the door opens and shuts, and then she’s back, washing her hands in the sink.

She walks back out into the bedroom, and the sound of drawers opening and closing echoes to where I’m sat, and then she’s in front of me, handing me a clean pajama set. Once I’m dressed, I follow her back out into the bedroom, and she motions for me to sit in the chair in front of the vanity, and so I do. I can tell she has something to say, so finally, I blurt out, “Just spit it out, Lilith.”

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