It was nearing the end of day three, and somehow my mind still fought sleep. I found myself going manic again. Pacing. Talking to myself. Having conversations with my ex-wife. And Vanessa just stared at me, taking it all in. I didn't cuff her wrists behind her back again, but I taped them in front of her to make her more comfortable, at least.
The sound of the ticking clock on the wall assaulted my ear drums and rattled around in my brain. I was getting short and snappy, anger brewing beneath the surface as my body begged for drugs.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” she whispered.
Sweat beaded on my forehead, leaving a thick sheen along my skin. I tapped my heel on the ground and bounced my knee up and down as anxiety ripped through me. “Come on,” I snapped at her, harsher than I intended.
“I'm not going with—”
“Then piss yourself. I don't care.”
She stared at me, blinking heavily. When she finally got off the couch, I followed her to the bathroom, leaned against the door, and glanced away from her.
“Do you have to stand there? I can't go with you here.”
“Yes, I do.” I folded my arms over my chest and kept my gaze averted. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her huff and struggle to tug down her shorts. She caught the pockets and wiggled them past her thighs, and gravity did the rest.
While I waited for her to finish, I stepped into the hall, grabbed my baggy, poured a little powder onto the back of my hand, and snorted. When I walked back into the bathroom, she was struggling to get her shorts up from her ankles.
I cast my eyes on her as I stepped closer. “Do you need help?”
She had such sadness on her face as she nodded. She stood upright, her cheeks red from embarrassment, and I kneeled to grab her shorts and panties from the ground. I half expected her to knee me in the face, but she just stood there, eyes welling with tears as I was a breath away from her pussy. Even with the drugs leaving my system—and the devil clawing for air inside me—I thought about her. How she'd feel. The horrible imaginings pried into my mind once more.
I lifted her, putting her ass on the sink. She pushed at me with bound fists, and her pleas fell on deaf ears. In fact, it pulled more blood to my dick. I was so fucking hard as I spread her incredible, thick thighs, exposing the sweet flesh between her legs. Her face reddened as she cried. Her fists balled and pressed into my sternum when I pushed inside her. So goddamn wet. Heating my cock within her, I wanted to come inside her. Claim her like I claimed her home.
I blinked heavily. I was still on one knee in front of her. She was nowhere near the sink, and I was not balls deep inside her. At what point was it not the drugs encouraging such horrible thoughts?
I let out a deflated breath and pulled up her shorts and panties. I helped her wash her hands in the sink, but she wouldn't look at me. As if I had seen too much of her. Which I had.
When I caught my reflection in the mirror, white powder coated my nostril. I wiped it away and licked it off my finger. I couldn’t let a single bit go to waste. My skull throbbed. I couldn’t possibly do enough to head off the crash much longer. I had just enough to keep me a step ahead of it, but it was almost gone.
I guided her back to the couch, and she sat down with a huff. I lay back in the recliner and rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying to comfort the headache eating away at me between my eyes. Sweat dripped down my temples and landed on the fabric of the chair beneath my head.
My body was heavy. I was so damn tired. I hid her phone and keys earlier—somewhere she'd never find them—because I knew my crash was imminent. I also had to hide the gun and knives and anything else she could use as a weapon. But I had no idea what to do with her.
Once I fell asleep, I couldn't control what she did.
* * *
I cleared my sinuses with a deep inhale. The empty baggy burned through my pocket. I raced around the house, barring the doors with chairs and loose furniture. I kept looking out the window, seeing imaginary lights. Hearing sirens that didn't exist.
“You were such a bad husband, Cole. I've been fucking the neighbor.”
“Shut your whore mouth!” I screamed, stopping in the middle of the room. My heart raced, thumping against the wall of my chest. I was delirious. It was my fourth day without sleep. I was riding the line of just high enough to stay alive but not enough to feel good. Amphetamines coupled with insomnia. Not good. Not good at all. It didn’t help that the meth was garbage. Some batches made you feel the itch beneath your skin, while stuff like this made you feel like you couldn’t live within your skin at all. Like hot ash beneath the fibers of your flesh.
The anxiety was surreal. I had paced the length of the house for the last several hours. I started taking cups out of the cabinets and stacking them on the counters. Plates were next. Those belonged on the floor, so I stacked them in neat towers at my feet.
I was losing my damn mind.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I recoiled from the touch with a panicked jerk.
“You okay?”
I heard the angelic voice, but I couldn't respond. I just kept stacking things in neat piles. A hand grabbed my arm, and I jerked my elbow back and made contact with flesh. A scream came from behind me. I dropped a glass and it shattered, bringing me back into the moment.
I turned around, wide-eyed and crazed, and saw that I had elbowed Vanessa in the face. A thick line of blood dripped from one nostril, and tears welled in her eyes. I searched for my knife, but I’d hidden that too, in case I fell asleep. I grabbed her wrists and lifted them toward my mouth. I bit into the tape, sawing at it until I could rip it apart, piece by piece.
“I'm so sorry,” I told her as I wrapped her in my arms and pinched her nose.
She pushed at my chest, trying to get out of my grasp. Curse words flew out of her mouth as she swatted away my hands and clutched her own nose. She rubbed along the bridge, trying to assess if I’d broken it. “Fuck you,” she snarled, blood staining her mouth. “You've rearranged my entire house. You're paranoid. You’re out of control. And I'm going to take a fucking shower.” She gestured to her face and hand—now covered in blood—and to her red-stained shirt.
She stormed off, leaving me too shocked to chase after her. I had sobered up enough to feel guilty as fuck about striking her. But I was unsober enough to realize I couldn't control what just happened, even if I wanted to.
The shower began to run. Pipes rattled within the wall. I turned to go after her, but the moment I pivoted my body, I had to turn back to vomit into the sink. Pure bile. Acid that burned my throat. I needed to force myself to eat something, anything. A sleeve of crackers on the counter sufficed, though I nibbled at them because eating was such a goddamn chore. I forced down what I could, but the salt on the crackers did nothing to cover the acrid taste in my mouth. I needed mouthwash.
When I cracked the bathroom door, steam billowed toward me. I snuck inside and closed the door behind me, slow and quiet. The moment I wrapped my hand around the neck of the bottle, my eyes darted to the shower. I saw her form through the frosted glass. Wide hips. Soft curves. Thick thighs that touched, leaving everything between them to the imagination.
I stripped off my clothes and climbed in behind her. She threw curses at me as she backed into the wall. I dropped to my knees in front of her, the water raining down on me as I spread her pussy and put my tongue against her. She flailed and squirmed, striking at my head with closed fists, but I gripped her hips in a rough grasp and kept my mouth on her. With my face buried between her thighs, I ate her like she was the only meal that would satisfy me. Her fists striking my head and shoulders became taps as it started to feel too good for her to fight me. She could hate me again afterward, but I just wanted her to come against my mouth.
A crackling sound brought me back into the moment. I was squeezing the neck of the bottle so hard I had bent the plastic. I’d liked to have lived in that fantasy for a little longer. I wanted to feel the upward curl of her pelvis so I could devour her better. I wanted to feel her spasm as she came. My cock ached. I knew she’d never allow it. She looked at me with too much hatred.
I grabbed the mouthwash and left, carefully closing the door behind me. I rinsed my mouth and spit in the kitchen sink, and the water washed it down the drain.
She came out in a clean t-shirt and leggings, her dark red hair in a bun on top of her head. Water dripped down her cheeks, and she wiped it away with a brash rub of the back of her hand. She still looked angry. Maybe more so.
“Why were you in the bathroom when I was showering?” she asked. Her words were laced with accusations I deserved.
I shook the bottle beside the sink. “I threw up again. I needed mouthwash.”
“You couldn't wait?”
I could have. Most definitely. But tell that to my impulsive self when I was wedged between feeling amped up and sick as fuck. I could only focus on ridding my mouth of the vile taste on my tongue. “I'm sorry.”
“The way you look at me . . .” she said. “It's fucking creepy.”
“I haven't touched you,” I snapped back, ignoring the fact that I'd had my dick inside her, her mouth on me, and my mouth on her in my head so many goddamn times. I’d gotten hard around her while my eyes roved over her curves. Sue me. She was beautiful. I wouldn't apologize for finding her attractive.
“Yet,” she said with a scoff.
“Excuse me?” I stepped toward her.
“You're going to find yourself with little control very soon. Even less than you have now.”
Fuck me. She was right about that. Pretty soon I'd suck the devil's dick for a hit of ice. The frustration and anger would become unbearable as my body fought my mind. But also, fuck her for thinking I'd force her now.
I stepped into her and tugged her up by the back of her neck. Her mouth was so close to mine, her jaw set in anger. “If I was going to force you, I would have by now. I would have when I had you squirming against my body or while I could smell your scent in front of my face. When I was on my knees in front of you, you were bare and vulnerable,” I growled.
Red crept across her chest and rose to her cheeks. I didn’t know if she’d smack me for what I said, but I was irritable and didn't need her shit when I felt the way I did. I didn't need her insinuation when I'd fought every urge to rip through her.