Tiernan
My nights have become almost as unbearable as my days.
As inconceivable as it may seem, I used to be like those fortunate people who, no matter how many sins I had committed during the day, the minute my head hit the pillow, sleep would take me under, and the sweet darkness of slumber would welcome me with open arms.
That doesn’t happen anymore.
If I sleep a full two hours straight, it’s a miracle.
Most of my nights consist of me twisting and turning in bed, or staring at the ceiling above me, until daylight shines through my window curtains, its glowing rays taunting me that my torment is only going to get worse as the day unfolds.
For the past month, every day has been the same.
I get up and take a shower, always going to great pains not to look at my reflection in the mirror. I don’t need the visual aid to know there are dark circles under my eyes and that those same eyes hold little life to them anymore.
I then rush towards Donavan’s gym to get a workout in, praying that some cocky soldier of mine has mustered the nerve to bait me into a fight and is brave enough to face me in the ring. I relish in the pain of every jab and punch they punish my body with, needing the physical agony to overshadow the blistering ache living and breathing inside my tormented soul. A silent war is taking place in the confinements of my black heart, and every wound I suffer screams to be acknowledged. It demands that something or someone pull the misery out into existence and let the outside world bear witness to how mangled and bruised I truly am on the inside.
So, I stand in the center of the ring and let my men do their worst. If they’ve done a proper job of it, I even let them win the fight.
For them, it’s a morale boost.
For me, it’s a show of my gratitude.
Because it’s in this small window of my day that I’m no longer a lie.
My broken, abused body is now a perfect reflection of my blackened marred soul.
Unfortunately for me, that’s the highlight of my day.
After that moment of truth, everything goes to shit.
I go into the office, take my second shower of the day, and put on a suit that I despise. Once I’m wearing the lie the world expects of me, my autopilot kicks in, and I waste the morning growing the empire my father left me. But even as I’m on the phone with the Deputy Commissioner requesting a little extra every month so his boys in blue can turn a blind eye to my other business ventures, I zone him out. All because I can physically feel the seconds pass by through every limb, the infernal ring of a ticking clock in my ear telling me that soon it will be noon.
And once the clock strikes twelve, my hell begins.
My town car waits to take me back to The Avalon, only instead of going home when I arrive, I get out on the ninth floor and walk the small distance to the empty apartment where my brother, cousin, and wife are waiting for me.
What happens next is pure torture.
It always starts the same.
After I’ve taken off my suit jacket, I sit on my throne and order Rosa to come out of her hiding spot. Without delay, she emerges from the bathroom, always looking like a goddess, ready to seduce the soul of any mortal who dares even look at her.
Long dark hair that almost comes down to an ass that begs to be fucked.
Legs that stretch out for days on end and know how to trap a man in between them.
Small waist and wide hips perfect for grabbing and leaving fingermarks on.
And two natural fucking breasts that would put most porn stars’ bought ones to shame.
The woman is a vision.
Yet, for all her flawless glory, she’s always hesitant at first, walking into the room on featherlight feet as if she’s afraid something will pop out of the corner of the room and eat her alive. But despite her nerves, my fierce wife always makes sure to look me dead in the eye before she walks over to her two lovers.
It’s almost as if her gaze is telling me that I hold the power to stop what’s about to go down.
All I have to do is open my mouth and say no.
But I don’t.
I never do.
And since I don’t utter a word, she walks over to Shay first, offering him a smile that she’s never once gifted me with. I fist my hand every time I see her do it. Hating that my brother gets this sweet side of her when all I get is her animosity. But what’s even more troubling is how Shay’s eyes soften at the mere sight of her. Like she’s the most precious thing there is.
I hate him for it.
I hate her even more.
Once Shay lifts her arms to cradle over his shoulders, Colin springs into action. He stands behind her, gripping her waist and grinding her ass against his already hard cock. Like clockwork, Rosa always looks over her shoulder and bats her long eyelashes at him.
“Hi,” she says sweetly, her sultry voice better than any blue pill on the market to get a man hard.
Colin growls in response and kisses her like her mouth is his to own and conquer. After he’s made sure she’s left breathless from just one kiss, he turns her head to face Shay, who in turn, kisses my wife like she’s a fragile flower.
After that, the rest of the hour spent in the room becomes my own personal purgatory.
Colin fucks my wife with brutish force, while Shay makes love to her.
Rosa screams incoherently, both in English and in her native tongue, as they coax out of her body orgasm after orgasm. Shay whispers sweet little praises in her ear, telling her how beautiful she is, how good she feels around his cock. Colin grunts and brands her body with his hands, his nonverbal way of mimicking Shay’s words in the only way he knows how. Her body glistens with sweat, her lips part open to let out her sighs and moans of desire, all of which only serve to have me squirming in my seat.
Because it’s in this moment I witness my wife come alive in between them.
Her whole being bursts into a bright light, ensuring she blinds me completely when she cums.
And once Shay and Colin are done, they kiss her temple and lips, honored for the privilege of having her.
And they do have her.
Heart, body, and soul.
I see it in her eyes every time they walk out of the room and leave.
Her gaze filled with sadness that she can’t walk out the door with them.
That she has to stay in this room with me.
If I blinked, I probably would have missed it.
But I don’t blink.
Not once do I take my eyes off her. i
My heart only restarts with the sound of the door closing.
And that’s when I take vengeance on what she’s done to me.
I make her crawl on hands and knees, naked and still smelling of them, over to me. I pull her to my lap and remind her that her fate is in my hands, and that if I so wished, I could crush it into a pulp with my fists, just as she has obliterated my very sanity. I pull an orgasm out of her body that was always mine from the start, punishing her for thinking otherwise. I then push her brutishly to her knees, making her work for her second climax as she milks my cock dry of all the cum she wished she could fill her womb with.
After I’ve made sure to leave her a wanton mess, cursing to herself how she can loathe me and still want me, I get up and walk away as if nothing even transpired between us. It’s a performance worthy of an Oscar, but I play my part to perfection.
It’s only when I leave the apartment and am safely tucked in the backseat of my town car that I shatter. I punch the leather seat with all my might, cursing the fates for ever bringing Rosa into my life.
The woman has ruined me.
And to my bitter resentment, I gave her all the tools to do me in.
I underestimated her right from the start.
She called my bluff and raised me one. I thought I held all the cards in the deck, shuffled them in a way she could never win, and yet she beat me at my own game. She beat my full house with a four-of-a-kind of her own and fucking smiled at her victory over me.
When all of this started, I was sure that once I had her all alone in a room with my brother and cousin she would backpedal and wave the white flag of defeat. But I miscalculated her stubbornness as well as her deep wish to become a mother.
Fuck.
A baby.
She had to ask me for a damn child.
I could have given her the world, but she asked for the one thing I couldn’t give her.
All the saints must have laughed at my pain when she demanded the treaty be fulfilled to the letter. I never once considered she wanted anything from me except space. And I gave that to her in spades. Apparently it wasn’t enough, and now I’m left to play this game of chicken with her, wondering who will cave first.
Not me.
And it’s becoming evident, it won’t be her either.
For the next hour or two I tell my driver to drive through my city’s streets, for I have no desire to lock myself in my tower and pretend my world is as intact as it was before she came into my life. It’s only when we get to Beacon Hill that I tell him to stop.
I bought her a house.
Nix that.
I bought her a fucking mansion.
Eight bedrooms.
Two living rooms.
Library.
Office.
And more bathrooms than she will ever know what to do with.
But even though I was the one to foot the bill, I’ll never set one foot inside.
Why would I?
Why would she even want me to?
After all is said and done, I’m positive Shay and Colin will have an open invitation into her home, but never me. Once the deed is done, she’ll ice me out, turning me persona non grata. Forcing me to wonder what kind of life she is living without me every time I drive down her street to visit my parents.
Why do I care, though?
Why does the thought of her living her life, pursuing her happiness without me, make me feel like I’m slowly losing my mind? As if she owes me for every ounce of joy she’s about to have without me, and I want to punish her for not paying her dues to me.
It’s irrational.
Nonsensical.
And yet I want her to pay me every last cent with her body and soul until I’m fully satisfied the debt has been paid in full.
Once I can’t bear the sight of the home she will make without me, I order my driver to take me as far away as he can from this horrid place. But today, due to some work being done on the street ahead, he’s forced to take a new route, ironically enough passing by the church that bound me to Rosa forever.
“Stop,” I command, getting out of the car before I make sense of my actions.
I walk up the long flight of stairs, thankful that there are only a handful of parishioners praying to a God that is too busy causing natural disasters to pay them any mind.
“It comforts me,” she told me once when I asked her why she wanted to go to church.
A part of me was skeptical in taking Rosa at her word, but now that I’ve become familiar with the kind of woman I’m married to, I know she was telling me the truth. I haven’t gone to mass since that first time I took her, but every Sunday morning, I feel her absence in my apartment, knowing that’s where she is.
And the fact that I’m jealous of the time she devotes to her faith instead of me only shows how much she’s ruined me.
It comforts me.
Fuck.
Right now, comfort of any kind would be a blessing.
I walk through the large oak doors and pass the holy water, knowing that even if I bathed in it, it would never cleanse or absolve me of my sins. Two parishioners balk at the very sight of me, grabbing their crucifixes as if some beads could protect them from the devil walking in their midst. I pay them no heed and take a seat in a back pew, wondering if I have in fact lost my mind for being so desperate that I’ve decided to turn to God for aid. I stare at the figure hanging from the cross in front of me and wonder, if given the choice, would I willingly replace the shine of my gold crown for his thorned one?
It takes me a minute for me to realize that I already have.
I gave my life for the salvation of others by ending the Mafia Wars when I married Rosa.
And with that sacrifice, I’m now left to suffer a different kind of hell.
“Tiernan Kelly,” I hear someone call out my name. “The Lord must have heard my prayers to have you coming to church twice in as many months.”
“Do you make it a habit of praying for murderers, Father?” I ask, not sparing Father Doyle a glance, keeping my gaze fixed on the cross on the altar.
“I make it a point to pray for all lost souls, my son.”
“Hmm.”
“But I won’t pretend I’m not surprised to see you come into the house of God to worship of your own free will.”
“Who says I’m here to worship him? Maybe I’m just here to ask him to explain himself.”
“God can give you many things, justifications for his actions aren’t among them, though. Those should remain a mystery.”
“Why?” I snap my head his way. “Why should he hide behind his actions and not offer an explanation for them? Other men worth their salt do.”
“God’s decisions in our lives should never be questioned. He has a plan for all of us, Tiernan. Even for you.”
I scoff at that.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I believe only in what I can see and touch.”
“Ah, I see. But it doesn’t matter. He believes in you, even if you doubt him.” Father Doyle then goes silent and follows my gaze to the front of the altar.
“You’re conflicted. Burdened by the tribulations forced upon you. That’s why you came here today. To look for answers to questions you do not have the insight yet to ask.”
“I have all the answers I need.”
“Do you?” He arches a skeptical brow. “Remember that God gives no burden he thinks we cannot handle. Take comfort in that. Soon light will shine down the path that has been laid in front of you. Then it won’t seem so arduous as it does now.”
I get up from my seat and look down at the priest.
“You speak as if God gives a damn about me. Your God has forsaken me and my family long before today. Only fools look to an imaginary entity for help. And I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve never been a fool.”
“Women make fools of even the strongest level-headed men.”
I grind my teeth and offer him a sinister grin.
“If that’s true, then your God really can’t help me. Only the devil can.”