Page 31 of Say You Love Me

His head is buried into the crook of my neck, his arms wrapped around my torso. His hips piston so brutally the headboard rocks against the wall, emphasizing each thrust with a thud.

He stops moving just enough for him to rock back onto his knees, grabbing my thighs and jerking me down the bed. My hips are slightly lifted as he holds me in place and rams into me furiously. His gaze scans my body, taking in the repetitive shudder of my breasts. His tongue darts out to slide over his bottom lip. He reaches up and tweaks one of my nipples, pinching it painfully. His gaze works its way up my body until it reaches my face. His thrusts slow down, and he sticks two fingers into my mouth, attempting to push them down my throat.

I gag.

We’ve only ever fucked like this once before. It was after a fight. The only fight we’ve ever had. Becausein our relationship, we don’t fight, we fuck. It is our form of communication. It is the very fabric of who we are.

And that is why this feels like home. That is why, for the first time in a long time, I feel like I can breathe again. With my husband inside me, I become myself.

He’s still staring at me as he pushes his fingers down my throat again. Each time my body convulses from choking, he pushes into me harder and deeper.

But then his movements slow and his hardness fades. He pulls out and tugs on his cock violently, as though angry with it.

“Roll over,” he demands.

I’m quick to obey, lifting my ass into the air, backing onto him, holding my breath in suspense of the feeling of him filling me again. He wanks himself, his hand hitting the cheeks of my ass. He tries to push into me, but it’s pointless.

He’s soft.

It’s something that’s never happened before. Maybe it’s because he’s never been this drunk. Maybe it’s because in the middle of our fucking he started to sober up and realized what he was doing. Maybe he just needs a little encouragement.

I turn around, still on all fours and lower my mouth to his cock. I suck it inside my mouth. It feels strange. I’ve never sucked him while he’s been soft before. Soft and Hudson are two things that have never mixed. I wrap my hand around his base and moan deeply, hoping the vibrations, the sounds of my arousal will help him with his own.

He takes a fistful of my hair and pushes me onto him, forcing me to take all of him into my mouth. But instead of reeling back like I usually would because he was pushing down the back of my throat, he’s soft and unaroused.

Hudson uses the grip on my hair to pull me off him. We’re both kneeling on the bed. Both naked. Both staring at each other. He tilts his head to the side, eyes sliding over my body, and then he flops to the mattress.

“Fuck,” is all he says before rolling over.

I stay kneeling, feeling numb and used. My body still pulses with desire for him, I’m still wet with arousal but it’s like it’s happening to someone else. It’s like a thick wall of water exists between me and my own body.

Dazed, I lift myself from the bed and walk toward the bathroom. Hudson doesn’t say a word. His eyes are closed, but I know he isn’t asleep. Shutting the door, I turn on the light and stare at myself in the mirror.

My ribs protrude slightly from my skin. They didn’t use to. My stomach is wrinkled and saggy, the remnants of carrying a child within me. There are dark freckles that dot my stomach. Hudson used to kiss each one, follow their trail and say it matched the pattern of the stars in the sky. One breast hangs slightly lower than the other, making them appear ever so slightly lopsided.

With my back to the wall, I sink to the floor feeling rejected and worthless. It’s like I’m so used to looking at myself through Hudson’s eyes it’s hard to find value when he doesn’t. The thought scares me. I never considered that Hudson’s physical response to my body would affect the way I viewed myself and yet here I am, sobbing on the bathroom floor because my husband doesn’t want to fuck me. I’m worse than the women I made fun of at the wellness center. I have become everything I despise.

I don’t want to go back into the bedroom. I don’t want to face him. So I wait until I’m certain he would have fallen asleep and I creep across the floor, careful to avoid any of the boards that groan.

We lie with our backs to each other. There’s a small gap between us but it may as well be a canyon. Tears slide down my cheeks. We just lie there for a long time before he speaks.

“Why do you never talk about it? Why do you never even say her name?” He doesn’t roll over or turn to face me. He speaks into the darkness and his voice echoes through the room.

I let his questions go unanswered.

I don’t tell him I can’t talk about it, I can’t say her name because it hurts too much. I can’t remember her smile without remembering her tears. I can’t remember her laughter without remembering her cries. And I don’t want to remember. It hurts too much.

So I don’t.

I push every memory of her from my mind because if I didn’t I wouldn’t survive. I’d still be locked inside the wellness center, unable to move, unable to function. Because to remember her is to remember what happened. To remember her would require me to hate myself with more than the dull indifference I do now.

“Don’t you feel anything?” Hudson’s voice is choked with tears.

I want to wrap my arms around him and tell him thatI can’t allow myself to feel.

Because if I feel, it would all be too much.

If I feel, I will remember.

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