Page 27 of At My Worst

“Me either,” I whisper as more tears build in my eyes.

I get up from the couch and go into my office, closing the door. My office is the one place I can cry, where it can’t be heard. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess.

I never want to go to bed angry or sad; that is why I try to talk to him, but sometimes, like tonight, we just go around in circles. I can tell talking to me is starting to get on his nerves, even though he won’t admit it.

He says everything is fine between us, that we are good, but I don’t see or feel it.

We are fine or good or whatever because we just say let’s start over, and then before I know it, we are fighting about something else.

I feel like I never do anything right. I feel like I am not the wife he wants me to be.

I feel like a failure.

I open my eyes, and tears roll down my face. I look down at my phone and see the unread messages from Alexander and my friends. This is the second phone I have had to get. I threw the first one into the ocean and shattered the second one against my wall. I have had bad luck with phones lately or bad luck in general, I guess.

Things with Alexander are confusing as fuck. We fuck more than anything else, but that is because I want it, and so does he.

I went so long without any kind of sexual touch that now that I have had it again, I am becoming addicted to the way he makes me feel. The way my skin feels against his, the way he groans and growls, his dirty talk, and the way he is willing to fuck me whenever I want. Fuck, he is intoxicating.

Relationships shouldn’t be based on sex, is what people say, or my favorite, at least our relationship is not based on sex.

I fucking hate hearing those words. I want a relationship that is fucking based on sex. I want sex to be the foundation and everything else to grow around it.

I know what it feels like not to be touched, and it fucking sucks. It makes you question yourself in ways a woman never should.

I don’t see fucking the same way other people do, I guess. I see it as a way to show you love someone. Feeling desired is a big deal, and for so long, I didn’t feel desired. Now that I am, I want to fucking drown in it with Alexander.

I don’t know what that means, but I can say that I am addicted to a stranger—a stranger who is slowly breaking down the wallsI have had up for so long. In two weeks, he has changed me. It is fucking nuts to say, but it is the truth.

Everyone wants to dictate what love should be. Love doesn’t fucking care about rules. Love doesn’t care what the world wants it to be. It just doesn’t care.

That is why I love reading dark romances. There is something sexy and breathtaking about a man willing to do anything for his woman. A man who is not ashamed of kinks or sex, who is so possessive and dominant, the woman never has to question if she is loved or desired.

I want a love like that, and I am scared now because I think I have found it. I think I have what I have always dreamed about, and now that it is staring me in the face, my head is telling me to run. My heart is aching for the connection, and my body is fucking going through withdrawal from not being touched by him today.

Talk about being fucking confused.

I turn off the water and grab the towel, wrapping it tightly around my body as I step out of the shower. I step out of the bathroom and hear a knock on the door. Turning, I walk down the hallway into the living room and look out the window to see Alexander standing at the door. My heart races as I open the door slightly and lock eyes with him.

“Everything okay?” He asks, looking over my face.

“Yeah, just got out of the shower.”

“Oh,” he says.

“You okay?” I ask. He seems nervous or something.

“Yeah, you didn’t answer my text messages,” he explains.

Shit, I forgot. Time just got away from me, the memories flooding in, and the scene I wrote in the book. I had every fucking intention of texting him back.

“Sorry, I got stuck in my head,” I say as I open the door and let him inside.

He walks with his hands in his front pockets.

Fuck, it should be illegal to be this fucking sexy without even trying.

He turns as I shut the door, looking at the table covered with my work and book stuff. He turns and looks at me.

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