I pressed my forehead against the handle of the refrigerator. My head throbbed. My stomach ached. I couldn’t sleep from the pain. The anxiety. No amount of medication in the damn house could take the edge off the withdrawal.
“I told you, you need a hospital,” Vanessa said as she came up behind me, yawning as she leaned against the wall. I must have woken her up with the light.
“And I told you I can’t go to the hospital.”
“This is unethical.” She snatched something off the island, pushed me aside, and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at her. A bright light flashed in front of my eyes. “Your pupils look better than they did. Has your vision cleared up?”
“Yes,” I told her with a groan as I dropped my head back.
She prodded at my cheeks and forehead before grabbing my wrist and wrapping a hand around it to check my pulse. “You’re diaphoretic. Tachycardic.”
“I don’t know what any of that means, doc, but thanks.” I drew away from her touch and sat at the island. The same one I imagined bending her over. My dick was drowning in withdrawal too and had no interest in playing. “I need more than this over-the-counter shit,” I groaned as I dropped my head into my trembling hand.
“You’re an addict. That’s all you need to take.”
I glanced at her. “I’m not an addict like that.”
“Your body tells me that’s a big fat lie,” she quipped as she pulled a loaf of bread out of the cabinet.
“I got addicted to drugs because my life went to shit,” I whispered.
“And that helped your life be less shitty, huh?” She gestured toward my hand, reminding me of the murders.
So sassy.
I was in no mood for it.
I swallowed. I was locked in the memory of the day I found out my wife was having an affair. It was a Tuesday, and I had come home from work to surprise her for lunch. What I found was our fucking neighbor having her for a meal instead. I could only focus on his hand on her bare chest, which was stupid because he was balls deep inside her, but it was his big hand on her chest that got me. She hadn’t let me see her with her shirt off in two years, and there she was, laid out in front of him while he got to touch the tits I hadn’t gotten to see in so long.
So what’d I do? I turned around and went back to work. I did a double shift, avoiding the problem and burying myself in my work like he buried himself inside her.
I still remember her scrambling words as I left. “Cole, stop! Wait!” There was no point staying to hear her excuses, because my heart had already shattered.
I looked up at Vanessa. “The drugs made it feel less . . . real.”
“What?”
I looked down at my hands as she made a sandwich on the counter. “My life. It made it hurt less. My marriage fell apart, and my job soon after. Then my home, which wasn’t even one any longer.” I had no clue why I poured my life out between us for her to use against me. I would blame the withdrawal for my loose lips. It was the only thing that made sense.
“I thought drugs ruined your marriage,” she said as she plopped a plate down in front of me. “Eat.” She sat down with her own sandwich and stared at me as she ate.
“No. My job ruined my marriage, ironically. And then she was unfaithful.” I took a bite of the sandwich. It was flavorless, and its mere existence turned my stomach.
“Shit,” she exhaled. “How’d you find out?”
“I walked in.”
“Shit.” She shook her head. “That’s rough.”
“It’s not an excuse for becoming addicted to drugs and committing a double homicide.” I sneered at myself. I knew that. It was a really poor coping mechanism, but at the time, it numbed the hurt enough to talk me off the literal and figurative ledge.
“Or breaking into someone’s home. Assaulting them. Forcing them to take care of you,” she said as she finished the last bite of her sandwich. There was a twitch in the corners of her lips that contradicted her tone.
“Fair,” I responded. She was right. “I didn’t really assault you.” Not outside of my head, at least.
“You hit me. And this.” She lifted her sleeve to showcase the bruise on her arm.
I tightened my lips. I had apologized for both injuries. I just had to keep her from running away.
I stood and walked behind her. Goosebumps rose on her skin from my presence, and fear brushed along her flesh. I rubbed my hand over the bruise. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Don’t,” she said.
“Who’s the guy in the picture in your wallet?” Her scent wafted up to me, the sweet scent of strawberry.
“Wh-what?”
I grabbed her purse off the ottoman in the living room, drew out her wallet, and flipped it open to the picture tucked into the pocket. The one I noticed when I was ransacking her purse earlier. “Him.”
She swallowed. “My boyfriend.” A rosy hue painted her cheeks.
A pang of jealousy teased my stomach. I kept imagining how it’d feel inside her, and he got to feel what she felt like. She looked like she’d be tight. She sounded like her moans would be fucking mind bending. Fuck. My dick ignored the pain in every other inch of my body, springing to life and pressing against my jeans.
A single tear slid down her cheek.
“What’s wrong, little girl?” I brushed her hair back, and she flinched from my touch.
“He passed away last year in a car wreck.” Her gaze dropped along with her shoulders. “He was driving here to spend winter break with me.”
“I’m sorry . . .” I whispered, closing her wallet and pushing it aside.
“Don’t. I don’t need your sympathy. And stop calling me little girl.” Her voice rose at the end, anger masking her sadness.
I gripped her chin and lifted it. “Or what? What will you do if I keep calling you little girl?”
She exhaled a sharp breath. “Fuck you, dude. Honestly. I don’t even understand what the fuck this is! You break into my house. You hold me hostage. What’s your exit—”
I kissed her, shutting up the flurry of words racing from her lips. She put her hands up to my chest, pushing at me as her cheeks puffed out in frustration. I kept my mouth on hers until the anger coursed through her and she became too warm with heat and I had to pull away.
I smirked at her as she stared at me. “Fuck you,” she hissed. She started to walk away. When she reached the shadow of the doorway, she turned back to me. “Don’t do that again.”
No promises.