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A Rush of Blood to the Head

By: GirlintheMoon



"Lucy!"

I sighed and ripped off my sunglasses. "Yeah?"

Mark was still in his suit when he marched out. He'd loosened his tie on his way home from work. An obvious sign of stress from him.

"Why the fuck aren't you getting ready?"

My fingers skimmed down my slick collarbone. Mark traced the movement with his eyes, but he wouldn't be distracted. He glared, waiting for my response.

"Ready for what?"

He groaned. "The dinner, Lucy. The dinner I've talked about all fucking week."

I slid my sunglasses back on. "I told you to come up with some excuse for me. Tell them I have a migraine or whatever."

"So help me God, if you aren't up and in the shower in one minute I will lose my shit."

"Ooo," I mocked. "These dinners are horrible. The men are dull as fuck and I hate their wives."

Mark grinned and walked over to stroke my hair. "Yeah, yeah. They hate you, too. How can they not, when you look like you do?"

I brought his hand down and nibbled on his fingers. "Careful. You're about to pay me a compliment."

His other hand went to his fly. 

My eyebrows lifted. "What about dinner?"

"We can be late."

A few seconds later his cock popped out--shiny and amber-colored, thanks to my sunglasses. I palmed it. How odd I still found cocks, even after all these years, even after all the sticky fumbling in the back of used Toyotas. They were just hard cylinders with bulging veins. Ugly, really. But I loved them all the same. I loved running my hands over them, jacking them off until they emitted my prize. It was the ultimate pat on the shoulder. If they came on my chest, I'd think with a smirk that it was my badge of honor.

Mark grew impatient and pulled my hair. "Give me head."

"We're going to be late."

He laughed. "A blow job is reason enough to miss appetizers."

"The way I blow you, you'll be lucky enough to make it to coffee."

He pressed his cock to my lips. "All this talk. Swallow my cock, Lucy."

I licked the sides of his cock first. It made me laugh to see how his face changed, how in this minuscule way I held such startling power. His eyebrows scrunched down, his mouth dropped open, his hands fisted. How miraculous my mouth could be to a man, just by using my tongue.

I flattened my tongue against his head. My hands lifted, grasping his heavy balls.

"Fuuuuck," he moaned. 

I sucked him in, contracting the inside of my cheeks around him. His hands tightened in my hair when he felt the velvet of my cheeks rubbing against his hardness.

"Been thinking about this all day."

"Really?" I asked, pulling away. "I thought you'd been thinking of dinner all day."

He became impatient and fisted my hair. "Open up that smart mouth." 

I did as he asked. The blow job was sloppy. Saliva ran down my cheek, finding its home down inside my cleavage. He eventually became wild and impatient, fucking my mouth. His hands squeezed my tits, caressed my head, pet my cheek.

"I'm gonna come," he eventually grunted.

I swallowed all of him down and wiped my mouth. He loved it when I drank his cum with one swallow.

Mark zipped up his pants, tucked in his shirt. He even straightened his tie. "You have fifteen minutes to fix yourself up."

____

I emerged closer to a half hour later. My dress was salmon-colored, and honestly was too scant for a business diner. Mark barely reacted when I rushed downstairs, however, so I assumed it wasn't a big issue.

The drive over was silent. A valet stood outside Nick's house. Mark flicked a twenty at the valet and ushered me inside, an insistent hand at my lower back.

The first time I met Nick and his wife, she made a forever impression on me. He was about 5'6; Denise neared 6 feet. Her hair was bleach blonde and she was far too skinny to be considered healthy. She only ever wore blue, and she did not disappoint this night. Her dress was a clinging silk, sparkling near the bust. She was at least a decade older than me, but when she spoke she sounded as though she were three decades younger.

Her hands were even fucking gloved when they accepted mine. "Lucy," she smiled. "So glad you could make it.'

"How are you, Denise?"

We chitchatted about nothing for a few minutes. The other women waved hello as enthusiastically as their acting skills would permit. The truth of the matter was that the other ladies, as plastic and boring they might have been, outclassed me. They came from wealthy families, bosses or business partners. My father was a plumber and my mother was a teacher. I didn't see them much anymore. 

I caught a few of the men giving me blatant appraisals. I smiled at a few of them, basking in the attention. Plus, if it pissed off a few of the Barbies it was worth it.

"Have you met Luke yet?" Denise asked with a naughty grin.

I grabbed a flute of champagne off a server's tray. "Luke?"

One of the other wives--Patricia--moved closer to us. "You haven't met Luke yet? Oh, you're going to die."

I rolled my eyes. They were acting the same way they did when David joined the firm. The ladies went crazy over him until they found out he was gay. He was handsome, intelligent, sarcastic and belligerent. And my best friend. 

He came to these functions less and less, however, and more often than not I was left to fend for myself. I looked around hopefully, hoping to spot him. Patricia laughed and assumed I was trying to find Luke.

"He's not here yet." When I gave her a look, she mouthed, "Luke."

"Well, is David coming tonight?"

Denise finished off her glass of champagne. "He's inside, somewhere. And Luke will be here in time for dinner. Patricia has a bit of a crush--"

"We all have a bit of a crush," Patricia interjected, her cheeks red. "Don't pretend he hasn't entered your fantasies, too."

Ew. I repressed a shudder and shot Mark a glare. He tipped his glass at me. It didn't seem fair that I be subjected to these women when he got to stand with his legs spread, a nice cigar in hand, and talk about whatever he pleased. 

"Wait until you see him, Lucy. Seriously--he's a killer," Denise giggled.

Patricia looked me over. "Mark didn't say anything about him?"

I was tired of hearing about some guy who was going to end up being a carbon copy of most of the men here, even if he was hot.

I opened my mouth, intent on saying so, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. David was behind me, looking as dapper as ever. I gave him a big hug-- a rarity for me.

"Thank God you're here," I whispered in his ear.

"Well, we're going inside to check on the food. See you in a bit," Denise said, dragging Patricia behind her.

David watched them run inside with a smile. "They're off to talk about us."

The girls never entirely bought that David was gay when they saw what good friends we became, and how David rarely spared them a "hello". They became convinced we were having an affair. 

"Ugh, I'm so sick of them already tonight. They keep going on and on about Luke. Speaking of which, how come you haven't mentioned this new guy to me? You've never spared me the details when a sexy guy enters your orbit."

David's smile faded and he rolled his eyes. "That's because I don't find him sexy. He's a prude, really."

"How so?"

"You'll see what I mean." Then David smiled and pinched my stomach. "What's new with you, baby? Has Mark persuaded you to let him knock you up yet?"

I shuddered. "No. I haven't stopped taking the pill, either."

For the past year, Mark dropped hints he wanted to start a family. Most of the other lawyers in the firm had children already, and Mark refused to be outdone. I managed to talk him into waiting, but with every day he became increasingly impatient. And Mark always got his way.

David glanced at Mark with raised eyebrows. "Does he know that?"

"Hell, no. He'd flip a shit."

"You gotta have kids sometime. It's in the rulebook of domesticity."

I took his arm and walked with him inside. "Is taking another guy's cock up your ass in the rulebook, too?"

David threw his head back laughing. "Not quite, you little bitch."

Of course Denise had a seating arrangement. I looked around for my name on one of her exquisite plates. She sat me next to Laura, the resident druggie. She was always beyond stoned. The other women sometimes bummed Xanax off of her. I stayed away, never finding people who I couldn't have an intelligent conversation with of use to me. 

"Looks like we're as far away from one another as possible," David sighed. 

"You'll come over and talk to me later, right?"

He kissed my hand. "You know it."

I sat down, threw my napkin over my lap and rubbed my temples. It was going to be a long night. I flicked my gaze over to the name card on the plate next to me and shook my head. I was seated next to the famous Luke, who was late. That meant everyone would be watching him--and by extension, me. 

Then the girls' giggles grew in volume and I knew he'd arrived. He wandered into the room and a great silence fell.

Truth be told, I'd expected a blonde and blue-eyed guy with ruddy cheeks and a boy-next-door, innocent kind of aura. 

But he was a tall man with a sharp nose, a grim mouth and eyes as black as night. The light shone against them, making their glow appear cruel and alien. They were fathomless as they swept across the room, touching on each face with the barest amount of reaction. 

Nick stepped forward and shook his hand. "Luke, thanks for coming, buddy!"

I felt like I was in some lame movie set in the '50's with terrible acting and models desperately trying to become actresses.

The girls sat down, buzzing with anticipation as Nick brought Luke around, introducing or reintroducing him to his guests. Everyone made a spectacle of themselves, even the men. I heard someone whisper that his father was an incredibly powerful judge. That was probably a big reason why Luke seemed like Jesus to everyone, and helped me understand why they were all awed by him. His demeanor, however, was enough to intimidate me.

I was last on the introduction round. Nick gestured towards me with a smile. "And here is Mark's wife, Lucy. She's a good friend."

Luke looked me over and seated himself without a word. Nick clapped his hands together, hiding his discomfort with enthusiasm. That out-of-body movie set vibe came back to me.

"Awesome, introductions made. Let's get to dinner. Everybody, get your glasses filled up!"

After a few minutes when it became clear Luke wasn't going to strike up a conversation, I turned to him and plastered on my best smile. I was curious; sue me. "How do you like the firm?"

His eyes didn't waver from the steak in front of him. "Fine."

"You're getting along with everyone? Because I know Mark can be--"

"Everyone is fine."

My smile grew. "You really are a lawyer. You reek of evasiveness and artificial politeness."

He finally shifted in his seat and paid me attention. "You don't sound particularly fond of lawyers. Interesting considering your husband is one of the best."

I was about to say something else but I was interrupted by Patricia, whose eyes were shooting daggers at me even though her lips were tipped up in a botoxed smile. 

"So, Lucy. Mark tells me you guys are trying to have a baby. It's about time. You can join the Mommy Club." She grinned over at Denise, who was attempting to hide her snicker behind her napkin. "I think you're the only couple left who hasn't had a kid by now."

Mark laughed. "Don't worry. Lucy can never stand not fitting in for long."

Some of the men chuckled. Patricia's husband Bruce gave me an appreciative once-over. "Like it would be some hardship for you, Mark."

Yuck.

"As much as I love flattering Lucy," David cut in, "I'd much rather gossip about the McDermott case." I gave him a grateful smile.

This effectively changed the subject, though I still felt Luke watching me. He leant closer to my ear. "Do they always talk like this?"

"Pretty much." When he looked disappointed, I put down my knife and fork. "I hope you weren't expecting an intelligent discourse on politics or something. Because that doesn't happen here. They talk shop, or they pit each other's wives against each other."

"Lucky for me I don't have a wife, then." He noticed my wine glass was nearly empty and poured me some more. "Your husband talks about you a lot."

"Really?" I was legitimately astonished. Mark wasn't a gushy kind of guy. I couldn't imagine what he'd have to say about me. "What does he say?"

His lips curved in a smile. I finally understood why the other ladies were attracted to him. Charismatic, quiet, tall, dark... and he had a wonderful smile. I sensed an undercurrent to him, though, something thirsty and scheming.

"Mostly he complains about you, but it seems like it's in an affectionate way."

"How kind of you. You're actually trying to make him sound good." I sipped my wine. "No need to sell me on him. We're already stuck with each other for life."

He laughed. "God, you guys really are like fodder for those real housewives TV shows. I thought Nick was kidding."

"Nick glamorizes us. If you want the truth, go to Mark. He'll just say we're miserable bitches that no one would want to watch, which is mostly true. We're boring."

Luke cut into his steak, smiling. "If you say so."

"Are you guys badmouthing me?" Mark called out.

Everyone laughed. This was an old joke; Mark said it often at parties, dinners, etc. Usually it meant I was embarrassing him in some way. I supposed I was paying too much attention to Luke. 

I gave him a smile. "Of course."

"Don't believe her, Luke. She's on medication."

Everyone tittered, sharing knowing glances. We were all on medication of some sort. That was the joke, really.

Luke didn't get it. I could tell he thought it was odd, this baiting, aggressive way we had amongst ourselves. I understood what David meant, though I wouldn't sum it up as Luke being prudish. More like he was just a nice guy. Whatever that was.

Nick took over the table's conversation. The topic did turn political, but the men screamed over each other, calling this guy a commie or that guy a bleeding heart. It turned tedious. 

Denise eventually gave Nick a kiss on the cheek, stood with a great flourish and announced she was headed to the kitchen. Patricia and the other ladies stood. I knew I had to get up and it sucked. Denise would probably talk about how her youngest baby was killing her nipples, or Patricia would complain about how Bruce looked at the babysitter.

Before I stood, Luke touched my arm. "Is it really always like this?"

I gave him a rueful smile. "Unfortunately."

"At least you're here," he said. It sounded more like a relieved confession than a come-on.

I sensed David's eyes on me. He seemed amused, the prick.

"I'm not great company. I'm probably the worst here."

He didn't have a chance to answer. Patricia took one of my arms, Denise held on to the other. 

"Girl talk, Luke. You wouldn't be interested," Denise giggled. 

The girls brought me to the kitchen and, as expected, let go of me as soon as they possibly could. They formed a little circle with a few of the other wives-- vapid, trophy brides that thrived on gossip and prescription meds. They loved to remind me I wasn't like them. It didn't bother me.

I drifted off and went to Nick's study. I knew he wouldn't mind; I typically went through his study and read his books, left him nasty notes in his drawers. Denise hated that I was allowed in there.

I was admiring his new desk when I heard someone clear their throat. Luke stood in the doorway, watching me. 

"Are you supposed to be in here?"

"Are you?" I parried back. "I thought it was sacrilege to leave Mark when he rants about work."

He smiled and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms against his chest. "It got a little too Harvard for me in there."

I was genuinely surprised. "Are you a Columbia guy, then?"

He laughed. "Nope. SUNY Albany."

My mouth dropped open. He gave me a teasing smirk. "Wow, you're as snobby as the rest of them."

"No! Not at all... I'm just surprised."

He walked a few steps and thumbed through one of Nick's law books. "I have an influential father. It makes up for my alma mater in their eyes."

I sat in the desk chair and twirled around. 

"What about you? Wesley?"

I stuck my tongue out.

"Villanova?"

"Nope. Hunter College in the city. I come from humble beginnings, you could say. My dad's a plumber." I didn't typically talk about that, though everyone knew it. I wanted to provoke Luke. Set him off his axis for some bizarre reason.

He stuck his hands in his pockets. Something changed in his expression. "Now it's my turn to be surprised. At the risk of sounding like a snob, how'd you end up with Mark? I thought it was a wife prerequisite to be a debutante."

I got up and circled around him. "It is, but we met at a college party. My charm won him over. His money won my heart."

He didn't look like he believed me but he was too polite to press it. He smiled because he had to, since I was "obviously" kidding. I didn't like that he could read me so well.

The real story was that Mark and I married because we had to. It was the oldest story in the world. I got pregnant and he came from a long line of men who "did the right thing". We had a June wedding. In August I lost the baby. So clichéd, really, but it was the truth. He wouldn't dare divorce me after; people would suspect the truth and there would be talk. And by then we were used to one another, for better or for worse. 

"You are kind of weird, you know."

Luke's words jolted me out of my bad memories. "What?"

"In the brief time I've known you, you've admitted to kind of hating your life, you've told me your dad is a plumber and you've suggested you're some social climber. I'm fascinated."

We joked for a while. I started noticing things--the way his hair fell against his forehead, his unnaturally long eyelashes, the strength in his forearms. A peculiar sense of attraction overwhelmed me. I hadn't felt such a longing in quite a while. It knocked me off kilter.

Luke suffered from the same discomfort. I realized he was ogling my cleavage. He took a few opportunities to lean down and whisper things close to my ear. 

"You must be kidding. You don't know how to ride a bike?!"

I shook my head and smiled helplessly. "Nope."

"That's... unpatriotic."

A laugh bubbled from my chest. "Unpatriotic? Are you kidding?"

He bit his lip to keep from smiling. "It was the first word that came to mind. What I guess I meant was unnatural."

"I had a weird childhood."

He smelled delicious--a mixture of cologne and man. I unconsciously bent towards him. He was a bizarre dichotomy. Half boy scout, half scrutinizing, clever man, he was as different from his partners as I was from the women. Obviously he was superior to the guys, whereas I was just...different. I couldn't recall ever having a conversation with them that wasn't superficial and not laced with innuendo. 

"Knock, knock." Mark stood by the door. I'd forgotten myself and was too close to Luke. I took a giant step back. "Are you two hiding out?"

"Caught us," I breathed. 

"I expected it of you, Lucy, but Luke? I'm shocked." He came to me and put his arm around my waist. "What's my wife chewing your ear off about?"

"The weather," Luke joked.

Mark offered him a slightly amused smile and then turned to look at me. "Lucy, mind giving us a minute? I need to talk to him about something we have to do Monday." I nodded and he slapped my ass. "Run along now, dear. Man talk."

It was something he'd done a million times. James Bond would have been proud. I'd laughed every time, barely registering it. Tonight I was embarrassed. My cheeks turned red and I couldn't look at Luke's face. It was humiliating to be reminded of my place in front of someone who I'd... respected. Who might have respected me.


A Rush of Blood to the Head Ch. 02



I called Mark on my way home but he didn't answer. It was only after I went through a traffic light that I realized it was red. Slowing down was difficult; I watched the speedometer tick down until I was only doing 10 above the speed-limit.

He waited for me on the couch. A baseball game was on, volume low, and he held a glass of whiskey in one hand.

Mark's eyes met my own when I locked the front door. We studied each another. His eyes traveled down my body, and swept back up to my face.

"Was yoga fun?" he asked, breaking the silence. He didn't ask what I expected—like, "where the hell have you been?!"— and it shook me.

I pasted on a smile and sat down next to him. "Not really, but I made a new friend. We went out to the bar a few blocks away and I lost track of time." I leant over and kissed him. "Sorry," I whispered against his lips. "I should have called."

"It was dickish of you."

He was letting me off the hook. He knew I was lying; he knew me probably better than anyone. 

Something tugged at my heart. I swallowed and touched his jaw. His dark eyes stared down at me, fathomless and omniscient. When they stared too hard at me, I pulled away and got up, him following me at the heels.

We went upstairs and I rushed into the bathroom, desperate for privacy and a long, scalding shower. I stood under the water, letting the spray fall over my body. I intentionally blocked out all thought, focusing instead on the tiles in front of me. Darkness would creep back into my consciousness, however. My flesh intwined with Luke's came back in flashes. I swore I could smell his cologne on me.

Then I saw the hickey on my breast. I didn't know what to do, so I scrubbed it with soap until the entire expanse of skin was raw and red. The bruise was already blue, and there was a hint of teeth pressed into it. I rushed out of the shower and lathered lotion on the skin. It was an angry, stubborn mark, an emblem of my betrayal. I'd joked about cum on my breasts representing a symbol of my carnal success, a proud badge I wore showing my slutty accomplishment; now my hickey burned as red as Hester's letter.

I pulled out concealer and did my best to cover it. I rehearsed what I'd say to Mark if he probed into my story further. I tried not to imagine what would happen if he found out, if he somehow knew. I'd never been a good liar.

Eventually I came out into the bedroom with my robe tightly wrapped around me. Mark was there in his boxers, turning down the covers. He looked at me closely, searching for something.

I reached over and turned off the lights.

***********************

The next morning Mark left without waking me up. I rose at noon, disoriented and sore from the night before. A peek at my breast left me anxious; the mark was still there.

Like a robot, I went downstairs and made coffee. I looked around the house, wondering if there was anything to clean up. The maid typically came on Saturdays, yet everything was spotless, per usual. But I was desperate to distract myself, and fought every selfish instinct to run back to Luke.

Would we fuck right away? Would I receive a new hickey on my other breast, one that would also arouse mixed emotions of pleasure and shame? I chose not to go down that road. We had our moment, and we got each other out of our systems. 

It was better not to wonder why I still fantasized about the expanse of his back, the dips of skin between his bones, the one side of his smile that curved higher than the other.

So I went shopping. I bought a new Chanel bag and an obscene amount of pricey makeup. A gorgeous ruby ring called to me and I purchased it without even looking at the price. Store and store blended together, and the only thing I was conscious of was the process of swiping my credit card.

But cleaning my bank account wouldn't absolve me of my filthy past. 

I sat and tried to think who I could call, who could distract me or dissuade me from ruining my life. It was heartbreaking to realize I didn't have a genuine friend left in the world. I'd abandoned my past when I married. I only socialized with the Stepford Wives, and our relationships couldn't possibly have been more superficial. And how could I confess to them, of all people?

There was David, but he was at work and I didn't know how he'd take my discretion. Affairs were an accepted part of our world; affairs with husbands' coworkers or wives' friends were inconceivable.

It was nearly two in the afternoon when I couldn't find any other excuse to be a good person. 

I knocked on the door and he opened it, not looking at all surprised. He didn't look annoyed I was late, either. He wore black silk boxers, which I found tacky and pretentious, but he didn't give me a chance to make fun of him.

He kissed me right there, right in the hall where anyone could see. The sound of a door slamming in the distance registered somewhere in the back of my lust-fogged mind but I didn't care. His hands immediately came to my breasts, hidden beneath the loose dress I wore. He groaned into my mouth when he found me braless.

Wordlessly he pulled away and took me by the hand, dragging me into the darkness of the room.

********

I wish I could say I remembered anything more than us merging together in silence, Luke filling me as expertly and roughly as if he'd done it a million times. I wish even more that I could say we shared love-drenched declarations, or waxed on about great literature, or even said anything that meant a damn.

The truth is we fucked. Purely and simply, primally and needfully. Over and over again, I took him in my mouth or he fucked me from behind. He loved me on top, grinding and using his cock to come. When I screamed I was too tired and went to take a shower, he stalked after me not five minutes later and entered me before I could protest. And I didn't want to protest, anyway.

We dozed for a while. I asked him about another tattoo on his back, a swirling dark wing; belonging to what being, I couldn't determine. Something he got with a bunch of his friends, he said, but he didn't explain any further. His fingers trailed the length of a scar on my leg.

"How'd you get this?" he asked, kissing it.

I fanned my hair out on the pillow and pulled the covers up over our heads, so that we were inside our own cloth cocoon. 

"I fell off my bike."

He smiled against my thigh. "Really? I thought you said you didn't know how to ride a bike."

"I don't. My dad tried to teach me but I kept falling, and he got impatient... and I tried to do it by myself and fell. My mom screamed at my dad the whole time we waited in the ER."

His hands slid up my legs and he pushed his body up so I could just feel the faint whisper of his breathing against my pussy. "Your parents were abusive?"

"No," I moaned. I cleared my throat. "No. They were just normal parents. They fucked me up as much as any parents do."

"Have you heard of my father?"

I remembered the gossip when he first came to dinner. An influential man, supposedly, though I didn't recognize the name. I didn't know much about the names of people who hadn't always been in my circle. "Yes. You've barely mentioned him, though."

"He's not worth mentioning. He fucked me up much more than the average father does. I'm like him in a lot of ways, though."

My fingers ran through his hair and his scruffy cheek nuzzled my hip.

"I don't think I've called my parents in at least two months. Maybe more. I'm a bad daughter."

And a bad wife, I thought to myself. 

He kissed me right on my clit and my legs flexed, grabbing hold to one of his. He exhaled in a slow, hot puff. I could literally feel the wetness seep from me. The need for him was desperate and inexplicable, and all I thought was more. More, more, more. I'd die with that word on my lips if it meant his were on me, touching me anywhere. 

The desire was embarrassing. I'd never wanted a man like this, and if I had, he certainly was never made aware of it. I'd had my boyfriends in high school, and they pursued me. If I really liked them, I ignored them. I made them work for it, because men never want what's easy. Not for long, anyway. What they say is true: it worked. They sent me flowers (this went on as early as when we were thirteen). They called the house, or they waited for me at the end of the hallways at school. They groveled on their knees, and I loved every minute of it. I was Woman, and I fucking roared.

To know now that this was what it felt like for them was... humbling. Luke was a blurry shape to me; the lines of his personality were barely defined. I didn't know if he could play chess, or if he liked any of the books I did, or if he even tipped waiters well. To find him during this part of my life was torment because my life was already written. 

He was someone I was actually myself with, and that was horrific and shattering for me because then he could truly hurt me. All my life I was a stereotype, and how I loved it! Blonde, busty and bitchy. It wasn't who it was, but I let it be what I was. Men idealized me and that was all swell. I played coy with the men that liked that; I was domineering with the men who liked a challenge.

Now I was in bed with a man I didn't know at all, who was this strange dichotomy of rich and poor, of kind and cruel to the point he was fucking his partner's wife, of surprisingly soft and devastatingly hard. Everyone had to be human, I supposed. Everyone possessed shadows that held all of the things they were, they could be, they wished to be, that they failed being. Everybody was really a shapeless drawing on a blank white page. Weren't we told time and time again in life that no one was really as you thought them to be? That the human mind was far more creative, far kinder or sicker, than reality? Christ, even what we see every day is inverted in some complicated process in our eyes. We see the world upside down. And who fucking cares? We seek meaning, anyway.

I couldn't add up the pieces of Luke I held. Who was this man? And why did I want him so badly? Maybe because he was in control, I decided. For the first time someone owned me, and not the other way around, and it was maddening and addicting. He controlled me.

He moved up my body and pressed his cock against me. "You look upset."

"I'm not upset."

Luke smiled and kissed my chin. "You're a terrible liar. What's wrong?"

My hands touched his ass and pulled him closer to me. The proximity of his cock was torture, but it was the kind of torture a person loves. Like when you poke a bruise, or run your finger over a cut, just to make sure it still hurts. I wanted him, but I wanted More. I knew I wanted more even before we were finished. The wanting was unbearable.

Maybe he saw that naked desire in my eyes, because he stopped asking and just pushed inside.

His mouth found my throat. "You like this."

It wasn't a question, so I didn't answer. There would be no point in denying, or attempting to be shy about it. The terror in my heart whispered I wanted this and liked this more than he did. He maintained in control. His black eyes still spoke no secrets. His mouth opened only when he felt it should. 

I caressed the tattoo on his back and wondered just who was fucking me, just who I was throwing my life away for. And if it mattered.

He sped up and I stopped thinking. He pushed back so he could watch himself enter me in one dive, and pull out in a regretful slide.

"It's so hot to see you sucking on me even as I pull out," he sighed. It pleased me that he sounded as if some of the cautious control he held slipped.

He pulled all the way out and roughly twisted me onto my stomach. My legs were unceremoniously spread, my ass lifted, and he was inside me before I could moan. Now he ceased playing and drove us to come. 

He released inside me without announcement or flourish. I looked over my shoulder and saw him, his expression stained red and frozen with painful ecstasy. It was enough to make me grasp him tighter inside me as I came. My head fell back to the pillow, which I screamed into even as he moved off of me.

His hand ran over my sweaty back. "That was fucking amazing."

I made a lazy and tired murmur of agreement. 

"It's time for you to leave," he said, his breath still uneven.

My eyes squinted open. "What?"

"You have to be home soon, right?"

Already sharpened reality was coming back into focus and I hated it. I wanted to lay spent on the dirty sheets and have him suck my nipples. I wanted to lap at his cock and taste the both of us on him. I didn't want to go home, to return to the crafted Lucy. 

He laughed at my reluctance and got up, his half-hard cock dangling between his legs. I thought for maybe the millionth time in my life how strange dicks were. Hadn't I gone on about this before? How they all looked so different, but in the end they worked the same. How they could one minute fill with need, and the next release any urgency with one long flood. And then it was over. The man could zip up his pants, though still feel foggy, and whistle and go back to life. So much like their cocks. What they desperately needed one minute, the next they entirely forgot.

His cum was still warm inside me and he was ready to leave. Hadn't he been the one to ask me to come back? Who kept the hotel room so I could come and fuck him more? 

"Get up, Lucy." He slapped my ass. "Up!"

I somehow managed to sit up, feeling drowsy and unsatisfied even though my orgasm had been intense. 

"When will I see you again?" I asked. The neediest question ever invented. I never thought I'd say the words.

The power shifted between us. Yesterday I was the unsure one, the uncommitted one. 

Today he wore the business suit, and with it came the brutality that was often paired with it.

He stepped into his pants and buttoned up his dress shirt before he looked at me. "We'll figure it out."

Something cold trickled down my spine. "But when do you think?"

His tie wasn't even done as he reached for the hotel door's knob. "We'll see."

****************

I didn't have his number. That stupid, ridiculous fact didn't come to mind until I was pulling up my driveway. 

On one hand this was good. I couldn't text him late at night, and I couldn't call and plead for him to meet me somewhere.

On the other hand I couldn't do any of these things and was left wretched and unsure.

It was getting dark outside and my house was eerily quiet when I went inside. My shopping bags were at the bottom of the stairs, just as I left them. I'd left the kitchen light on, and the milk on the counter. It would be spoiled now.

My legs suddenly felt weak so I sat on the couch, feeling like my life forever changed and yet everything was depressingly the same.

********************

I waited around the office building for a few days. When Mark began to find it peculiar, I stopped. I listened eagerly for his name whenever Mark talked about work, or conferred about a case on the phone. I was always disappointed.

Mark watched me closely, too. He knew something was off with me, something different from me being distraught over not catching the latest sale or being unable to get my roots done. He left it alone, thank God, but I sensed his attention and it set me on edge.

Two weeks passed. The craving got worse. I could barely sit still, let alone talk normally.

I didn't even know where he lived! I googled him hundreds of times, read dozens of articles about his stone-cold father and found a few newspaper mentioning him playing college football. That was it.

It occurred to me David might know. I hadn't seen or heard from him since the last dinner party. It was unlike the both of us to be so out of touch. We were the realest members of our little clique, and yet the most deceitful. We played our roles, and we played them well, but we whispered the truth to each other always.

I found myself missing him. Saturday I decided I'd just go see him and catch up, and then somehow branch out to the topic of Luke. Everyone loved talking about him, anyways. 

I didn't bother calling ahead. David's car was parked neatly in the driveway. I knocked at the door and it was a good five minutes before it creaked open.

"Lucy?"

"Is this a bad time?"

David turned his head and murmured something I couldn't hear to someone behind him, someone I also couldn't quite make out. He turned back to me and I noticed David was growing in a beard. He looked like an entirely different person to me and I became even more unsettled than I was before.

Then he stepped out, wearing only a Speedo. Some things never changed, and I smiled faintly, never thinking I'd thank God David was wearing a Speedo.

"What's up?" He looked as pleasant as ever, but there was an edge to him. A polite patience he used with the others. I didn't like it.

"Are you busy? Sorry I didn't call but-"

"It's fine," he said, cutting me off. He wanted to get back inside, I realized. Was it a lover? I could relate, obviously. 

"Do you have a guy in there?" I asked, smile widening. "I didn't know you were seeing anyone!"

His cheeks turned red. "It's new."

"How new?"

He pulled at his hair and sighed. "Like six months new."

Silence stretched between us.

I was hurt David hadn't told me. And he knew it; I saw it in the vague sense of guilt lingering on his face. We'd gotten drunk on his patio one day and we went on and on about sex and he hadn't said a peep. I asked him all the time about his dates. Sometimes he alluded to seriously dating one or two of them, but it wouldn't be long before he confided this one's dick was too small, another was too thin.

"Wow." It became awkward. I stared at his bare feet. "Congratulations."

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything about it, I just want to keep a low-profile with this one. The guys at the firm love to harass me, you know, and this is serious. It's getting serious, anyway. Really serious."

I nodded and looked up at him. "Sure. I won't say anything."

He smiled. "Thanks." What relief burst from him. "So what's up today? I'd invite you in but it's not exactly the best time."

My mouth opened but I couldn't say anything. I couldn't beg him to be my friend, to hear me out. It seemed like too big a thing to casually confess on someone's doorstep, and I felt out of place with David for the first time since we bonded at one of our miserable events. 

So I grinned and shrugged my shoulders. "Was bored. Wanted to know if you wanted to go shopping, but I see you're spending your time much more wisely. And happily. It's no biggie."

David laughed and hugged me. "Thanks, Luce. Call me soon, okay?"

I waved before I got in my car, and cried all the way home.

********

Another week. No word. Mark brought me out to dinner one night and told me to dress exceptionally. We were going to someplace new, he told me, with a boyish smile on his face. We valued novelty of any kind. 

I thought perhaps a few of the others might be there and my spirits were lifted for the first time since I left that musty hotel room.

A silver dress that dipped in a scandalous V down my back seemed appropriate. Sapphire earrings dripped from my ears, but I left my wedding ring off. Mark gave me an appreciative once-over, and then we were on our way to the newest restaurant. It was a grand opening; all kinds of impressive people were there.

But there was no Luke. 

If Mark noticed my excitement deflated at some point during the evening, he didn't show it. He ran into people he knew, talked shop, flirted with women and spent an obscene amount of money at the bar. I drove us home because he was drunk, singing Led Zeppelin and reminiscing about all the pot he smoked in college. I loved these moments, the glimpses into the real Mark, the old Mark untainted by reality. 




A Rush of Blood to the Head Ch. 02



He followed me up the stairs and nearly ripped off my dress to fuck me.

The silver material was bunched at my waist; he'd pulled down the top so he could bite my nipples, and yanked up the bottom so he could thrust himself inside me. My body responded immediately; no one could deny there wasn't passion in my marriage. I loved sex, that was no surprise, but fucking my husband felt like some bizarre betrayal. 

Mark definitely felt my reluctance, and as if it challenged him, he fucked me harder than he had in a long time. 

"This pussy? Is mine," he swore, flicking my clit almost angrily. 

It wasn't unusual for him to express possessiveness over my body, but it was the first time I resented those words.

We both were sweating and panting by the time we collapsed in each other's arms, spent and splintered.

I could go back to this, I told myself. I could go back to being a normal, bored, suburban housewife with a workaholic husband who made me come just fine. I didn't have many complaints before, and any problems I had were of the first-world variety. Loneliness came with the territory. 

But there was no excitement. Nothing forbidden. One of the wives I knew was a klepto. Another lost herself in drugs. The others spent and gossiped and drank.

Perhaps my high, my flare of rebelliousness, was Luke and that's why I was so obsessed, so eager to lie and connive. 

Mark snored next to me, but even in his sleep he held me close while my mind couldn't have been farther away.

***************

The next afternoon I snapped. 

I put on a red dress Mark bought me months before, one he told me I was only allowed to wear on a very special occasion. I decided to forgo too much eye makeup, and focused instead on blending just the right shades of red to paint my lips. My hair was pinned up in a messy sort of bun, and I wore no jewelry. 

I went to the office around lunchtime. Mark would be out with a client, he mentioned that morning. He whistled as he made his coffee.

So I waited in the staircase. I really had no reason to suspect Luke might come down it, or up it, or really anywhere near it. But something whispered to me—something evil and wicked—to wait there.

I called the office. The general secretary answered. I asked to be transferred to Luke.

She paused for a moment, and I wondered if she recognized my voice. How many times had I phoned when Mark left his cell home?

Regardless, she said nothing and put me through.

"Hello?"

My eyes shut with relief. What I would have done if he hadn't answered, I didn't know. "I'm in the staircase. Come now."

"Lucy? Lucy, what the hell are you doing?"

"Come now or I'll come to get you."

The phone clicked. I knew he was coming.

I felt like a lunatic. A reckless woman desperate for a man. 

For those crazy minutes while I waited for him, I finally understood Marilyn Monroe's wounded desperation over the men who never could quite love her enough. The ache Cleopatra felt when she discovered Caesar was dead—or worse, that Marc Antony had married someone else—became clear to me. The dazzling grief Queen Victoria felt for Albert, so intense she swore to wear black forever, was a cold tremor in my chest. 

All these women I'd probably viewed with scorn at some point in my life, even if the last two were supposedly strong creatures in their time, and I was no better than them. No better at all.

Then I realized how pretentious I was being and I laughed out loud. I was a woman of luxury, fucking someone other than her husband, and I was glorifying it. Romanticizing it. It repulsed me nearly as much as it amused me.

My laughter echoed in the staircase. I was unraveling and I could see it happening, like a speeding car heading straight for a brick wall, and it didn't matter.

Luke ran down the stairs and appeared before me. He was furious; his cheeks were red and his alien eyes burned blacker than I'd ever seen them.

"What the hell are you doing?"

I hiked up the red dress and leant against the tiled wall. "I want you to fuck me."

Luke stared at me as if he couldn't process the words. His dark eyes scanned my body and then my face.

"Are you kidding?" I shook my head. "Drunk?" Again, I shook my head. He peered closer at my eyes.

"I need you. I've needed you. Where have you been?"

"Busy," he said. He looked around uncomfortably. "I would have called you. This really wasn't a great way to get my attention, Lucy."

"But it got your attention, no?"

His eyes glittered. With lust or anger, I couldn't tell. "Go home."

"Not until you fuck me. My pussy is begging for it. I'm so wet and I need you. Fuck me with that cock until I'm screaming."

Something changed in his expression. "Stop."

I slipped my fingers into my panties and dropped the pink lace to my ankles. He watched the movement with unique fascination.

Then I deliberately licked two fingers, enjoying the warmth in my belly when his eyes glowed, and showed him how I could make them disappear inside me.

He must've decided the risk was worth it. Maybe he even enjoyed it as much as I did. 

He silently pushed my hand away and replaced it with his own. My head smacked back against the wall painfully but I didn't care. He was touching me and it was amazing. 

And so twisted. Illicit. How that got me off! It was still so astonishing.

I was close to coming when he stepped back and unzipped his pants. His cock pushed into my pelvis.

"Put me inside," he hissed.

I decided to fuck with him, as he'd been fucking with me. I dropped to my knees in my pretty little red dress and swallowed him into my throat. He rested his hands against the wall and bent his head to watch me. Sometimes I moved my mouth fast and my pussy would clench when I watched his eyes crinkle in that pleasurable pain. When I felt like being a bitch, I removed the wet heat of my mouth and flicked just the tip of my tongue against the head of his cock. 

He grew tired of my torment, and since he was the more dominant of the two when it came right down to it, he hauled me back up, pushed the top of my dress down so hard I heard the back tore, and sucked my nipple into his mouth. His wet cock pushed against my thigh, blindly searching for my pussy. 

That high went to my head. Here I was again, a woman who held something a man wanted. He was going to fuck me here, at his workplace. He was so dizzy with lust he didn't care, at least in this moment, and the power ignited inside my core.

I did as he asked before and placed the head just near my clit. A spasm of indescribable desire coursed through my body as the sponginess moved against the unbearable wetness. 

Then he was inside me, and all rational thought evaporated. He fucked me so hard my hair fell out of its bun. His hands tugged and slapped and squeezed at my breasts, my clit, my ass. It was all his for the taking. 

"I'm gonna come," he grunted and he wrapped his hands around locks of my hear to yank my head back. Tears came to my eyes.

"Me too."

I felt him swell and pulse, and then all of his cum was inside me and he was kissing me to keep my screams from echoing. He still shoved his cock in and out, riding us both through the best orgasm of my life. I felt him seep out, the warm cum coating the bottom of my dress, and I didn't even care.

He pulled away and there was red lipstick all over his mouth. His hand grasped my throat and he pushed his thumb down on the front. He tilted my head up more and panted into my face.

"Don't ever fucking do this again."

He peeked around, zipped up his pants and left me wanting More all over again. 

Eventually it dawned on me I was half-naked in a considerably busy staircase, freshly fucked. I tried to put myself together, to tame my hair and the wild grin stretching across my face.

That's when I saw her. Patricia. 

The wife who hated me most.

She was about two flights down, her head cocked around the corner.

She didn't look shocked, or horrified. She didn't even look gleeful that she caught me—and I knew by her eyes that she saw it all, or enough to indict me. She held a plastic bag with a local restaurant's name on it. She must have come see Bruce, though I knew both would rather be doing other things. It was a familiar ruse all the wives had, the meeting for lunch bit, and the husbands played along with it; and of course, it took up time in the yawning expanse of domesticity. 

She stared at me. Her eyes catalogued my hair, my exposed and raw nipples. She even looked at the one heel that had fallen off me in the encounter. I stared back. She was emotionless and in that moment, so was I; she stared at me as if I were a semi-interesting book cover. 

A door slammed somewhere upstairs. We unfroze. She turned her back on me and I pulled my dress up. By the time I made it out in the lobby, she was gone.

**************

The drive home was surreal. I passed the same streets I always did. The same schools released the same students, the same parking lots had the same cars honking, the same trees led me into the same neighborhood. 

My body was thrumming but my mind was numb.

My cellphone beeped when I was inside. It was a voicemail, from who else but Patricia. I had anticipated it, really.

Normally I'd procrastinate listening and retreat into a fantasy world, but I pressed play. It was her voice, one I'd grown to loathe, and her message was succinct.

"Pool tomorrow at my house. Come at 10am. See you then."

I knew I would go. What I didn't know was whether or not she told her husband, or the other wives. Mark.

I ran into the bathroom and saw my lipstick smeared face, my crazy hair and my ruined dress. I looked like I'd been attacked in a dark alley, as if I'd suffered some immense trauma. 

I puked into the sink until there was nothing left in my body but self-loathing and a familiar desire to destruct. 

And still, I wanted More.



A Rush of Blood to the Head Ch. 03



Thank you to everyone who left their views on the last chapter, both positive and negative. 

And thanks, Zana, for looking this over! You da best, girl.

One more chapter left after this. Hold on to your skivvies. 

*****

I was in the bathtub when Mark came home.

He found me there, his tie undone and his shoes off. Men looked so vulnerable to me in their socks. Naked, or still in a suit, the sight of their socked feet made me ache. 

Mark leant against the door and smiled. Bubbles covered my body, making the tips of my nipples and knees seem extra pink, and his eyes devoured the sight of me. I searched his face to see if he'd received a joyous message from Patricia, or a smug voicemail from Bruce. 

There was nothing in his expression besides the simple satisfaction of seeing his wife naked in a steamy bathroom. 

Slowly he took his clothes off, his eyes fixed on my breasts. Then he sank into the tub with me with a long sigh.

"This has been a shit week."

Mark looked tired. Blue-colored shadows hung beneath his eyes. For the first time since my life went off course, I let myself sit there and stew in guilt. He seemed so exhausted, so innocent... so vulnerable. So undeserving. He was alive to me there beneath the light, slick with water and red with heat. 

"I'm sorry," I whispered. 

He ran a hand through his hair and then rested his head against the wall. "We haven't seen much of each other lately."

"No, we haven't." I took a breath. "I've been wondering something. This is probably going to be a weird question."

His eyebrows lifted. "I'm intrigued."

"I think we have the most sex out of all your friends' relationships."

He laughed and rubbed my leg. "There's no question we do. Are you complaining?"

"When did we last talk?"

I was desperate for something. Always desperate, lately. I wanted more than I gave.

Mark's face sobered. "We're talking now."

"We're talking about sex. Do you think, sometimes, that maybe we are more physical than...sentimental?"

He ran a hand up my leg. "What are you getting at?"

"I'm just trying to talk."

"So talk."

I groaned and pulled my body up into a sitting position, moving my leg from his grasp.

He rolled his eyes and rubbed his face. "You do this all the time. You sit and think of a problem to fix, and you invent the problem more often than not, by the way. So what is it today? That our flow of communication sucks?" 

I didn't respond. 

He blew out a deep breath. "I work hard. You sit here. What can we talk about right now? I'm tired. I worked all fucking day, while you apparently sat and thought about something to fight with me about." He stood and wrapped a towel around his dripping body. "I wanted to just sit with you and I can't even fucking do that. I'm exhausted and I don't want to fight, so I'll just go to bed."

I waited until the water got cold before I stepped out and wrapped my robe around me as tightly as I could manage. Mark was sprawled out on the bed, watching ESPN. I climbed up next to him and nuzzled my cheek against his arm. He didn't move.

"Did you eat?" I asked softly.

He made a noise in his throat and looked at me. "I grabbed something on my way home."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop being sorry and just say what you want to say. You've been acting weird for a few weeks now.."

I pulled my body up so we were face to face, nose to nose. "I'm afraid."

Mark's eyes were alert as they scanned my face. "What is it, Lucy?"

"We started physical. We are always physical. Is that it? Sometimes I think we're not even friends."

His hand skimmed down my arm and took a hold of my hand. "You're not usually so mushy."

I lowered my eyes to his neck. "I just want a real conversation. A real answer."

"No. You want a fight. An excuse to be angry at me for something. And I don't want any part of it." He let go of my hand and rolled away. "I'm not perfect, Lucy, and I'm not a fucking mind reader. Are you going to tell me what's bothering you?"

"Do you love me?"

He sat up slowly and he looked even more innocent than before because he looked beyond confused. "What are you talking about?"

"You wanted me to get to the point. I can't remember the last time you said you loved me."

He studied me for a minute. "I don't talk about shit like that. You knew that when you married me, just like I knew you were a neurotic over-thinker when I married you."

"You had to marry me," I reminded him, for the first time perhaps ever.

He froze and his gaze moved from me to the wall.

"We're polite. We fuck. Maybe you respect me, maybe you don't. We get one another. But we don't love each other, do we?"

"What the fuck are you talking about, Lucy? What is this?"

I got off the bed. "Answer the question."

He stood on the other side of the bed, looking at me as if it were the first time he ever saw me. "What difference does my answer make? You've already said you don't love me."

"Don't you dare do that. Don't deflect. Just tell me what you're feeling, for once in our marriage, without it going back on me or ending up with your cock in my throat!"

He watched me, waiting, I supposed, for my next outburst. But I'd said all I wanted to. 

"I am going to watch the game downstairs," Mark said slowly. "Tomorrow morning we'll wake up, and you'll remember you and I are exactly the fucking same—no matter how much you want to make me the villain." 

__________________________________

The next morning I climbed down downstairs, bleary-eyed and desperately in need of coffee. Throughout the night I'd played a horrible game in my head. It consisted of me fantasizing about different ways to get myself out of this mess. I could break it off with Luke, grovel to Patricia and go along with Mark as I was always meant to.

Or I could say "fuck you" to Patricia, break it off with Mark and pick Luke. The problem with this scenario was I had a strong belief Luke wouldn't pick me. He seemed detached, as if fucking me really had removed the desire for me from beneath his skin.

I wondered what Luke was doing. Was he sleeping? Fucking someone else? Thinking of me? Had Patricia told Bruce, who had gone after Luke?

I hated not even having his fucking cell number.

And in spite of everything I'd done and said and thought, it would be difficult leaving Mark. Beyond difficult—nearly impossible. He'd been in my life through so much. We were practically the same person, he'd said the night before. We weren't gooey and we didn't own pairs of rose-colored glasses. He typically understood me better than I understood myself. We had it better than most marriages. He accepted me at my worst.

Maybe we didn't have a storybook romance, and I suppose that's what always bothered me. Now I was sleeping with his coworker, cultivating drama. Was it on purpose, my attraction to Luke? That was an unsettling thought.

I found Mark standing in the kitchen, sipping coffee and reading the paper. 

He put the paper down and watched me grab a mug and pour the coffee he made—always strong like I liked it.

"I fell asleep in the living room," he said.

"I noticed."

He came over and put his hands on either side of me, so that I could only retreat into the counter.

"I married you because I had to, you know that. It was the same for you. We never loved each other, no. We didn't have to, and we still don't have to. But we are friends, in spite of what you say. We have an amazing sex life. You could have anything you want—and you get whatever you want. My bank account always assures me of that." He wrapped his fingers around a lock of my hair and pulled. "What the fuck were you looking for last night? Want me to woo you? Do you want me to be sappy and artificial? Because you know I can be. I can be whatever you want. But I've never been anything but myself with you, and I think that's pretty fucking decent."

He put his hand between my thighs. "I love this. I love fucking you. But no, that's not all, and if you think that then you're more out of touch with reality than I think you are."

Mark backed away from me and straightened his tie. He picked up his briefcase and gave me a piercing gaze, one that made me shudder.

"Whatever is going on with you, whatever has you so itchy and weird... fix it. Get rid of it. Burn it. Forget it. It ends here. I don't care what it is. I don't even want to know what it is." He shook his head when I didn't answer. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes," I whispered, and then he was gone.

___________________________

It poured for a bit after Mark left. I drank coffee and watched the sky spasm with lightning and bursts of rain and wind. It didn't matter how much it stormed; I would go to Patricia's regardless. The sun came out as I packed up and grabbed my keys. I felt like it mocked me, burning down on me so intensely that beads of sweat collected at the tip of my hairline. 

I drove my car slowly, as if by catching every red light I could somehow avoid the confrontation surely coming. And I thought about Mark, about what he said. Was our life really so bad?

At yet another red light, stretching almost long enough to make me impatient, I wondered idly if he'd ever been unfaithful. We'd been married nearly seven years. I remember somewhere around the four year mark being suspicious, but I'd accepted the ring on my finger along with the life my husband belonged to. Everyone cheated and lied. 

It didn't alleviate my guilt, or excuse what I'd done, but it comforted me to know—or hope—that perhaps Mark experienced torment for a few days, months, years. Did he ever feel guilty? If he had, he'd buried it down with any other emotion that could tear him open and make him bleed like the rest of us.

And this guilt I felt, that ached heavily in my chest and made me want to cry merely because I was reminded of it every time I inhaled, wasn't because I fucked another man other than my husband. Or only that, at least. It was that I'd sunk down to their level. I'd let lust run my life for a man who I really knew nothing about. And it wasn't any fault of Mark's, and it wouldn't be any fault of Luke's. Why was everyone always so concerned with fault? Who gives a shit about fault? 

But yes, it was my fault and I owned it. It was mine, this fault, this horrific decision to spread my legs for someone who didn't own me in any way. How terrible I was to sniff at my bank account with disdain, to begrudge my husband his inability to make me feel like a real companion even though he had sex with me regularly. It was downright unforgivable of me to hyperventilate when faced with a future I thought I knew so well, to have a life crisis, to crave human affection and conversation, to wonder if I'd really made all the right choices, to look to another person in hopes they'd be my salvation. Remember, I wasn't a person or a man or even a woman—I was a wife. 

I thought about the two men in my life. Mark treated me like a shiny trophy and he made no bones about owning to it. Luke fucked me and he had every capacity to say no. I had glared down at the dazzling diamond on my left finger when I met him and had decided to take the path most dangerous, and also most traveled. 

The pain that life wasn't what it promised to be, what I'd wanted, and that I'd gone along with it with eyes wide open was far more terrifying. And interesting. I could turn around and fuck another man and feel only a faint burn of regret that Mark would finally have proof I could be a villain, too. What did that say about any of us?

When I parked my car in front of Patricia's perfect house, I realized I was doing just what Mark accused me of—I was forcing him into the role of the villain, blaming him for fucking some faceless woman he'd never love, either. Someone I didn't envy, if she did exist, because I'm sure she loved him, the gilded illusion he was. She probably figured he was displeased with me, that he turned to her because of carnal need rather than boredom, and maybe she even let herself hope he'd leave me for her. How happy she'd be in this life, she probably dreamt. 

The sprinklers on Patricia's lawn turned on, jerking me from my fanciful imagination. 

The door was unlocked. I let myself in when no one answered. I walked out towards the back and saw her sprawled out, two martinis on the patio table next to her. 

I joined her. She had to have heard me open the sliding door, my heels on her stoned path, the loud pull of the seat against the ground, but she ignored me. We lounged under the sun for at least an hour before she spoke.

"I won't tell, you know."

I touched the martini glass to my lips. "Why not?"

"Because I want something from you, and you need something from me."

She smeared some tanning oil over her arms.

"If he found out, he probably wouldn't divorce you, you know."

I looked over at her but she hadn't bothered to turn towards me, or to take her sunglasses off. "I know."

"He'll probably just make the rest of your life as miserable as possible. He'll fuck all of us, probably in front of you if he can manage it. He'll encourage all the men to come on to you. He'll make you feel like you're no more than just a pussy after a while." Then a corner of her lip lifted. "I know from experience. Bruce caught me with someone, a guy you never met."

"Why stay with him?" I asked, mildly curious. I had a disgusting idea where this was headed.

"I like money. I like this life. What does it matter? But I know how much better you think you are than all of us. How you like to sit around at parties and smirk to yourself when you hear us talking, how you look at us when you think we're not paying attention. God, you have no idea how finding you in that staircase made my fucking day."

I talked myself out of punching her in the nose. "How do you know I don't want Mark to find out? How do you know I don't want a divorce?"

She snorted and finally turned her head towards me, whipping her sunglasses off. "You're an idiot. What the fuck else would you be if you weren't Mark's wife? Think about it. Divorced, and penniless because I'm sure Mark had you sign a prenup as soon as that little pregnancy test showed its plus sign. What the fuck would you do, go 'find yourself'?"

"What do you want?"

"I want you to know that when it comes right the fuck down to it, you're no better than I am. Than Denise is. Than any of us are. You're actually worse because you walk around all fucking snarky and you think you're something special because everyone wants to fuck you. They want to fuck us all, you snotty bitch, but you're the most tempting because you are the best actress I've ever seen. I'll give you that." She laughed. "They think you're special. Mark probably even thinks you're special. And deep down inside in that little superior piece of shit heart of yours, you think you are, too."

I put the martini glass down. "Is that it? You want to rant and rave and put me in my place? And me listening is guaranteeing your silence? Fabulous."

Her lip-glossed lips sucked in a deep breath. "Bruce wants to jerk off onto your tits. Maybe get a blow job, I don't know. He couldn't make up his mind. Definitely wants to cum on you, though. He's gonna get such a kick out of marking Mark's wife." She snorted again and I wanted to shove my glass into her nose. "Doesn't want to fuck you, though. The novelty's worn off, and between you and me? I think he's a little disappointed in you for stalking after the unavailable, and the inevitable."

I fought off my nausea at the thought of Bruce—corpulent, sweaty, leery Bruce—over my body. "What do you mean 'unavailable'? It's not like Luke's married, too."

Patricia almost looked sorry for me. "You don't know?"

The heat was making me dizzy. "Know what?"

"He's engaged. To some girl back in Boston. He started dating her a little before he moved here and apparently they kept it long distance. Probably doesn't hurt that her father and his father are best buds. He'd marry into exactly what he was meant to. He's moving back out there, actually, I think before the year's over. Told the firm about a month ago. Don't know why he bothered coming here in the first place. All he did was stir shit up, but maybe he's the type to like that."

I could hear her pool's filter humming. Somewhere in the distance kids played and shrieked, and a dog barked along with them. Wind scattered leftover raindrops from the trees. I swear I could hear every insect winding its way through the earth below us.

And then someone was touching my shoulder, steering my body to the right. I was confronted with a dick—literally. Bruce stood there, business slacks puddled around his ankles, and jacked off. He must've run home for lunch. For me.

His heavy breathing and wheezing drowned out the rest of the sounds of the world. His cock was hairy and thick, and surprisingly long, too. Somewhere inside me I couldn't believe I had the presence of mind to notice such detail.

He pushed himself closer to me. I got the hint that he wanted me to blow him, but my mouth didn't move. He moved the spongy head against my lips. My eyes flicked up to his and his lips turned upwards in an open-mouthed smile. A piece of spittle dripped from his lower lip.

"Open, slut."

My life flashed before my eyes. Clichéd saying, perhaps, but it did. I know they say it happens to you before you die, or you almost die, and here I was merely confronted with a blackmail blow job. I wasn't facing death; I was facing a fate far worse than death. I was facing life as a ghost. I'd die right here, my heart torn and burned by getting just what I deserved, and I would face the future as a war trophy, a sex machine. A Stepford Wife. This was meant to be my indoctrination, I realized, or perhaps that was my first dinner with Luke. 

And Luke had lied, or left things out. Something shifted. I wasn't worth it, the decimation of his career wasn't worth it. Maybe he'd never had anything more in mind than having sex with me. And telling me about his mother, his last fiancée Ramona. What was a lie and what was a truth? He was a hurricane, a torpedo. Maybe it was as Patricia said, that he enjoyed fucking with people and watching the chaos. Or maybe he was oblivious to what he did. Somehow that was worse.

So I was sex to him. Easy sex. Needful sex. Sex with a side of just the right amount of illicitness to tip over the edge of ecstasy. It wasn't a surprise to the rational part of my brain, who knew this train wreck was coming some day. 

As my life flashed before my eyes, I saw myself as a little girl imagining the great things I'd do with my life. I saw myself as a teenager who played harder than she worked. I saw myself as a scared college student, pregnant and suddenly engaged to a stiff, cold rich guy who resented me.

Then I saw myself as I was for the past seven years, and I really didn't like the woman I'd become. It was as if I didn't learn anything at all from past experiences—and I guess you could say I hadn't. I could also see myself as the woman I'd become if I accepted Bruce's cock into my mouth and I hated her even more.

I wasn't aware of punching Bruce in the nuts. It just happened. His cock was ripped from sight as he fell to his knees, cursing and moaning. I stared down at my outstretched left fist, my wedding ring glinting in the sunlight. Patricia gasped beside me.

"Don't you ever, ever do that to me again."

Patricia spoke up. "He won't have to. We're telling. We're telling Mark today." Her tone was hysterical, and that gave me the strength to stand.

I got myself together and picked up my keys. I can't say I was indifferent to the news. My knees shook, my heartbeat sped and my breath fell short. But he'd have to be told, and I'd have to face what I'd done. 

"Go fuck yourselves," I said, before letting myself out.




A Rush of Blood to the Head Ch. 03



___________

The doorbell rang an hour before Mark was due home. I straightened my dress and peeked out the window. It was Luke.

My stomach churned as my wrist turned the doorknob. 

I was shocked when we were face-to-face. He had a black eye and his nose had been bleeding. His suit was all wrinkled and torn in a few places, as well. He'd had the shit kicked out of him, apparently.

"He knows," was all he said.

I leant against the doorjamb. "I see."

"I thought I'd warn you..."

"Very noble of you, Luke."

And then he knew I knew his own nasty surprise. His body straightened. "And I see that you know, too. About Sarah."

"I know about a girl. I didn't know her name was Sarah."

He wiped a bit of blood from his lip. "I didn't think it would end up like this, or I would have told you." When he saw my confusion, he added, "I thought I could ignore you. I didn't think an affair would be possible. I told myself it wasn't, anyway."

"Was the story about Ramona true?"

His face twisted in confusion. "Of course it was. I loved her."

"What was this, Luke? Between you and I?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "A distraction. Escape, maybe."

My heart broke a little more. "You're moving to Boston?"

He stared at his feet. "I didn't see any other choice. We can't keep our hands off each other and—"

"The rats always flee a sinking ship."

Furious fire ignited his black eyes.

"Fuck you, Lucy. Fuck you. I can quote shit to you, too. 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned', right?" He snorted, but from his flinch I could tell the action hurt him. "Like you have anything to say. You're married. You have a ring on your finger. It's fucking different for you."

It was amazing we could stand here and talk like this. I'd almost convinced myself we were soul-mates, that I loved him, that we could make each other happy. We'd had such deep conversations, I'd thought, but I supposed it didn't mean I knew him, the Luke beneath the flesh and bones. I didn't know him at all. The spell was broken now.

I stepped out of my house, closer to him. "You're right. It is. And it's different for you, too. How does it feel to fuck another man's wife? A man you probably laughed with throughout the day. Talked about sports with, or some TV show. It must have been exhilarating for a time or you wouldn't have done it. God, I really pity Sarah if she has to face a life with a fickle, weak, sniffling piece of shit like you."

His lip curled with disgust. "This conversation is over. You're sick. I'm leaving. Don't come after me, don't do another stunt like yesterday. I don't even want to hear your name after this." He snickered. "I probably won't have to worry—Mark is going to divorce the shit out of you. You'll be back to living with your parents, and you'll have to get knocked up by another rich asshole. Wonder if you'll be able to succeed with that this time around."

He turned his back on me and headed back for his car. 

"One good thing came out of this," I called out.

He stopped and heaved in a deep breath before turning to face me. "What?"

"I'll never have to wonder what it would have been like to be with you, really be with you, because you're a spineless, conniving loser who isn't one-tenth the man my husband is. And God knows he's full of flaws." I turned but not before giving him one last disgusted look. "And you're right. I'm furious, and scorned. I'm no better than you. But at least I wouldn't kick you when you're down. You're lucky Mark got to you first today, otherwise I'd have kicked the shit out of you so hard that when Sarah fucked you it would be like scissoring each other. I'd have eviscerated you. Think about that at night and thank God serendipity intervened."

I went back inside and slammed the door behind me.

_______

Mark came home exactly on time. He had a cut on his cheek and walked with a bit of a limp, but he otherwise looked perfect.

I sat on the couch. The TV was on but I wasn't watching it. He didn't look at me as he set his briefcase down and sifted through the mail.

And then it seemed he made a decision to look at me, because he turned his head slowly and caught my eyes. He was expressionless. Blank and seemingly innocuous, and still frightening just the same. His abilities to hide his emotions, to wait things out, to always scheme, were what made him an excellent attorney.

"I'm sorry," I said. "A thousand times, I'm sorry."

He came over and sat on the other side of the couch, resting his head against the back of it. He stared at the ceiling.

"Bruce told me what happened. I gleaned bits of the truth from what he didn't say." His head turned my way but he wouldn't look at me. "Did he try to seduce you with the cock in the face thing?"

"How do you know about that?"

"It's worked on greater women than you. I'm impressed."

"Mark, please. We need to talk about this. Really talk about this. Please."

His dark eyes met mine and he let me see the pain. I was astonished how much agony he held there. Never, ever in our years of marriage had he ever let me see him so emotive, so broken. I reached out for his hand but he snatched it away.

"You wanted to leave me for him, didn't you?"

There was no point in lying. "For a while."

He smirked. "All you women, fluttering around him like idiots. You had no idea who he really was."

"No. I didn't. I was an idiot."

He rubbed his face. "I'm at a loss at what to do here. I've gone over different possibilities since Bruce told me. I'm not going to lie—some of these fantasies involved my gun."

My body froze and he nearly smiled. 

"On one hand, I want to strangle your little throat. On the other, I want to drag you over to me by the hair and figure out how the hell this happened. Luke. Someone I parked next to almost every morning. I keep thinking about how he would smile at me and I swear to God there was smugness in his face."

He turned his whole body towards me. "Do you regret it?"

God, how I wanted to lie! But this was the most important moment, the most important conversation, we'd ever had in our marriage. 

"Yes and no. We couldn't keep on going the way we were, or at least I couldn't. We were due for an explosion."

He slapped my face and I flinched backwards, putting my hand atop the flushed skin.

"I'm sorry," he rasped. "I've wanted to do that since I walked in. I kept trying to talk myself out of it. I didn't want to hit a woman. Even you."

He got up and paced. "So instead of trying to talk to me, or doing anything productive, you fucked Luke. So I would—what? Notice? Get jealous? Confess my undying love for you? I don't fucking buy it, Lucy. Tell me a different story."

"It was everything! It was that, and it was envisioning something different. It was about me being bad, it was being with someone who I thought was good. Goddamnit, it's too complicated to look at one reason and go 'There, that's why I did it!' because it would be a lie, or it wouldn't be the whole truth. And who cares why?!"

Mark exploded. He threw the glass coffee table over and it shattered into billions of shards. "I care! I fucking care!"

I brought my legs up and sat on my feet, staring at the fragments of glass now imbedded in the carpet.

He stomped over to me, shoes crunching the glass, and put a hand on my chin. He roughly pulled my face up so that I had no choice but to meet his eyes.

"Why?"

"I fucked up."

"Why?!"

"Because I was greedy. Because for the first time in seven years there was someone around who could seemingly see through my bullshit. Because I needed a break and an escape. A fucking vacation from this artificial life we lead. I was so tired of it..."

"Poor you, Lucy," Mark whispered. "Poor you. Life is so difficult for you as you sit there in your designer dress, your hair perfectly done, nails manicured. Should we drive to the bad side of town so you can see what your life could be like?"

"Stop it," I whispered.

"And what do you think of Luke now? Packing up to go back to a never before heard of fiancée?"

My eyes shut tightly. 

"Like goes with like, Lucy. We were the exception. Maybe he liked you, maybe he didn't, but a guy like that would never like you for long. You'd embarrass him at parties. He couldn't control you. If I couldn't, he'd probably die trying. He never would have gotten that far with you, though, married or not."

A tear slipped down my cheek.

He stepped back from me. "Get up."

I looked down at the pieces of table all over. I was barefoot. "I can't."

"Get. Up." He pulled at my arm.

I did, immediately feeling a sliver of glass pierce my foot. A dozen others cut my feet. I could feel the burn and the flow of blood coming from the wounds.

He lead me over to the table against the wall where a great mirror hung on the wall. He roughly pushed me against the long table and yanked up my skirt. He tore my panties in his rush to get them off me.

"Mark," I breathed.

We stared at each other's reflections as he hurriedly pulled down his own slacks and boxers. Then he was inside me and it hurt because I wasn't ready, because his cock was demanding and angry, because seeing us in the mirror—me, in particular—was tearing me apart.

"I almost fucked your friend Angela years ago," Mark said between thrusts. He slowed down when my eyes widened. 

His arms reached around and he toyed with my nipples. I felt myself grow wet. My body began to enjoy his ministrations and I hated it for it.

"That's why she stopped speaking to you, you know. Your last friend from the outside world and I ruined it because I flirted with her." He pulled out of me and slammed back inside. My whole body jolted forward, and I had to throw out my palms on the table to stop myself from going headfirst into the mirror. "She was so sexy, and she had these little dimples that drove me wild. She was a poor man's version of you, but God I wanted to fuck her. She knew it, too, and she became obsessed. She was going to tell you we were having an affair. She wanted me to run away with her and I wanted to. I wanted to divorce you and marry her, because it felt like I was finally going to be able to make a decision about my own life for the first time ever."

His mirrored eyes dropped to my mirrored lips. "And then we went to some party, probably at Denise's, and you brought Angela along because you thought she really was your last friend in the world. And someone was talking to you and you were being hilarious—I think it was Bruce, actually—and you were destroying him. And he was laughing but we all knew he didn't think it was funny and that made us laugh even harder."

Mark's other hand moved to my clit and my hands clenched as the pleasure set fire to every cell in my body.

He pushed his cock into me in slow, deep plunges. 

"Then I looked at Angela," he continued, "and she was suggestively sipping her martini and looking at me like I was hers. In that moment I knew I could marry her and I could control her and she'd fit the mold. I'd never be able to control you. You tamed yourself over the years but you still can flay people alive with that attitude."

His breath was starting to pick up. His cock swelled inside me, and I thought with alarm I might come soon.

"I picked you. I told Angela to go away. I bought her a sapphire necklace and she vanished. You were devastated, and officially isolated. You were only mine."

Mark moaned when he felt me tighten around him.

"You're going to come, aren't you?" he asked me. 

He fucked me harder and I let out a long whine. "Mark, please."

The fucking turned basic and brutal as he thoroughly thrust in and out of me. My hips would surely be bruised after enduring being slammed into the table every second.

Then I was coming, spiraling out of control as consciousness scattered into millions of tangled threads. He cursed as I came, muttering things I couldn't hear and didn't want to understand.

When my body settled down, I watched Mark's expressions in the mirror. They went from smug and confident, to helpless and desperate, to strong and lustful and back again. 

He moved back a little and squeezed my ass with greedy hands. "I thought you were special," he grunted. "Like a little protégé. I knew you were bored. So was I. I thought we had each other. I found someone who was exactly like me, entirely accidentally."

He slipped out of my soaked pussy and let his cock slide between my ass cheeks. 

"I hated you when you told me you were pregnant. I had to have five shots of tequila before we got married. I hated my father for throwing words around like 'duty' and 'honor'. It was the right thing to do, everyone told me. And I hated everyone for it, especially you. Mostly you. I felt trapped." 

He rammed back into my pussy and I let out a cry.

"You can't imagine my surprise when it occurred to me one day that I actually liked you. That I thought we could do this marriage thing, this long haul, and do it well. I thought you felt the same."

He glared at my reflection in the mirror. "I want to watch you watch yourself get fucked. I want you to see me use you. I want you to know this is the last time you'll ever have the honor of feeling my cock inside you. I hope it was fucking worth it, your little foray into a cheating wife's world."

His pace grew frenzied. His face was red with effort, his eyes crinkled with pained pleasure, his mouth open with a soundless groan. He made me see it all, and I watched, entirely enraptured. I always loved his face when he came. To see my own expression—awed, respectful, proud—as he came was startling.

Then I felt his cock stiffen and pulse, stiffen and pulse. He pulled himself out of me and I could hear the slick sound of his hand furiously jacking off his slippery cock. He pushed the head against my ass until his cum exploded all over my skin and he was able to moan out loud again. He pushed against me a few more times and my body swayed with the movement like a rag doll. 

His hand ran over my ass, smearing his cum all around, and then he slid his sticky hand up my back. I could feel him dripping down my ass, over my thighs, to the floor and undoubtedly on my clothes. 

Mark's lips touched my ear and he stared at our reflections. "You'll leave tomorrow. I don't care where you go. I advise you to get the best attorney you can. I'm going to be relentless. I'll tear you apart. I'll bring you to your knees, Lucy."

Then he moved off of me. He thoughtlessly wiped his messy cock on my thigh and then pulled his pants up. He peered at his reflection only to smooth his hair back. He might have even been whistling.

He moved back out towards the front door. I heard him pick up his keys.

"I'm going out for a while. By the time I get back, I expect most of your shit—and most importantly, you—to be the fuck out of here. My lawyers will be in touch."

Mark slammed the door. Only then did I notice my erratic breathing, which sounded much more like wheezing. I felt frozen, like if I moved all of my body parts would disassemble and I wouldn't exist anymore. 

Slowly I pulled my soiled dress down over my bottom. My destroyed panties lay next to me on the glass-filled carpet. My feet had bled all over the place. I wondered if Mark wanted me to clean that up. I decided against it, and figured it behooved me to get my shit together.

My eyes caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked awful. Entirely annihilated. Wrecked. Over.

I took giant backwards steps, desperately eager to get away from myself. I didn't care about pushing more glass into my feet. The tangible pain was welcome. 

My mind rolled around and slowly absorbed every word said.

I let out a sharp burst of air, my best attempt at a laugh that could have been a laugh. The things we did to each other. The ways we loved to hurt the other. What broken people we were.

I got up, body aching, intent on bandaging myself up and packing away a life I'd hardly lived.



A Rush of Blood to the Head Ch. 04



Thank you to everyone reading this story. 

Thank you, Tinkz, for your super editing skills.

********

The only place I could go was to my parents'. 

I tried calling my mother on her cell but it immediately went to voicemail. I didn't bother trying my father; he never used his phone. It didn't matter because it wasn't as if they'd turn me away. At least, I didn't think they would.

They lived about two hours north of the city—maybe an hour and a half away from my house. What used to be my house. 

The bus ride felt interminable, but the driver did make good time. It was nearing 8pm when I stepped outside, blinking back tears. A bunch of taxis were lined up but it dawned on me I didn't have any cash. There was a little worn ATM near the ticket kiosk. I ran over and swiped my card. After punching in my pin, a notice popped up on the screen saying my card was void. It seemed Mark wasted no time in canceling everything.

My phone still worked, so he mustn't have gotten a chance to call our provider yet. I left a voicemail for my mother, telling her I was at the bus station and that I needed to be picked up. God only knew when she would get it.

I sat on a bench and craned my neck up to stare at the sky. I tried to quiet my mind by singing songs to myself, but it was no use. My leg was jumping up and down and I noticed with horror that I was toying with my wedding ring. It still sat on my finger, mocking me. 

Someone pulled into the nearly deserted parking lot. The headlights blinded me, so I couldn't make out the car, but a few seconds later I heard my mother calling my name. 

When I was finally in the car and we could see one another, her knowing eyes swept over me. "Did the two of you have a fight?"

"You could say that," I mumbled.

She didn't ask anything else, or attempt chitchat. She didn't seem annoyed with me, her only child, for not calling her in an eternity and not visiting in close to a year. Perhaps she was busy with her own life now. Both of my parents were retired, but they were still quite active in the community and were always hopping from one hobby to the next.

We pulled up to my familiar childhood home and tears filled my eyes. My mother turned off the ignition and moved to open her car door, but I grabbed her arm. 

"Mom," I whispered.

She looked back at me. "What's the matter?"

"Mark and I are divorcing."

Mom didn't look surprised, only contemplative. 

"I had an affair."

She didn't seem shocked by that, either. 

"I'm sorry to intrude like this. I know you guys are busy and the last thing you need is your weeping daughter to come home and—"

"Lucy, you can stay as long as you need to." Her eyes roamed over my face. "Why would we turn you away?"

"I haven't really been a great daughter," I whispered. 

Mom was slightly amused. "No. But you're here now, and so are we, and I guess we'll have to act like a family again. Need help with your bags?"

I shook my head and she got out of the car, headed for the house. 

A long sigh slipped from my mouth when I pulled myself up. The air was clearer here, and the stars were brighter. We were far from the lights and sounds of the city. Somehow, in spite of the wreckage I left behind and that cloying sensation of devastation rolling through my stomach, I felt safe.

I walked to the house, dragging my baggage behind me.

****************

If I had expected a great deal of fanfare upon my visit to my parents' house, I would have been extremely disappointed. Thankfully I knew my parents well.

Dad was asleep already when I entered the dark house. Mom said she was going to bed, too, and that there were leftovers in the fridge. She appeared reluctant to part from me and it broke my heart that it was because she hadn't seen me in forever...and here I was, on her doorstep, my life a total mess.

I paced around the living room, letting my toes sink into the plush carpet. My feet were still sore from all the glass I pulled out of them, but I couldn't stop myself from walking around and studying pictures of us in various stages of our lives.

My parents' wedding picture hung proudly on the wall. Instead of your standard picture, my parents were gazing lovingly at one another. My father had a mustache, and my mother was a great deal thinner. 

Now they were more like friends than lovers. They joked with each other. They understood every action the other did. They knew what to order each other at restaurants, and they knew exactly what buttons to push when they wanted a fight. Sometimes they didn't sleep in the same bedroom when I was growing up. Now they didn't bother staying in the same room at all.

"Your father snores," my mother explained to me once.

Which was true. But they'd never been exactly a model of the passionate marriages you read about in novels, or like my childhood friend Danielle's parents. They'd make out right in front of us sometimes, and we'd go "yuck!", but as we got older I came to consider it kind of cute. Danielle's dad was going gray, and her mother stopped wearing makeup, but they giggled like teenagers whenever they were around one another. I remember thinking, "Wow, they are so in love!" 

It never occurred to me that every marriage was different. That not every marriage was a storybook romance, and that in many ways, my parents probably had a more functional marriage. And just because they didn't suck face in front of me didn't mean they didn't touch one another or value one another behind closed doors. They wouldn't dare make out in front me, let alone my friends! It was inappropriate, and I was forced to admit that when I was younger, Danielle's parents absolutely made me uncomfortable underneath my fascination. 

My eyes moved over the rest of the photo frames haphazardly placed on different tables in the room. Most of them were me, transforming over the years from a toothless, pigtailed, platinum blonde precocious kid to a woman with long, golden hair and a twinkling grin.

That smile of mine dimmed a bit when Mark joined me in photos. Then eventually we both smiled at the camera— mouths closed, lips curved and eyes gleaming with our little private jokes.

I missed him already. My heart ached looking at his face, the face I'd known and kissed and stared at for seven years. 

But I was still torn thinking about his question— "Do you regret it?"

I fell back on the couch and admitted to myself I did. Yes, I regretted it more than anything. I couldn't believe that I had the capacity to do that to Mark, and that I'd so carelessly disregarded his feelings. Seven years we stitched a life together; I tugged at some loose string until our lives fell apart.

I was still stunned Luke managed to fool me so well, and that I'd become such a pleasure-driven slave and fucked up my life by fucking another person. I'd always had a self-destructive streak, but I never imagined it would screw me up this much.

I took the coward's way out. I did something Mark could never forgive me for, and I'd be haunted by that forever. He didn't deserve that send-out. He didn't deserve me screwing around with his coworker. Even if he had, there was nothing that could make what I did okay. 

I loved Mark. Sounds crazy, but I still did. I loved him like you love an old friend, but it was so mired with years of resentment and of living in such a bizarre world of pretend. We never really had a chance, considering the way we started, because mingled with the desire and love that grew between us was that little twinge of obligation. We were beholden to one another not out of passion, but by necessity. Passion did initially bring us together, and passion came back later, until it seemed like that was all there was between us. Years of familiarity wouldn't—couldn't— change that.

I spread out on the sofa and stared at my wedding portrait, the one my parents framed in gold and nailed up beside theirs. We were just kids, smiling too wide at the camera with a little too much space between us. That day was such a blur to me. I remember my mother doing my hair. My aunt accidentally stepped on my train and ripped it. Mark had a cold and sneezed all over the priest. His father got drunk and had to be carted away before we even cut the cake.

Remembering that disaster of a day had me laughing, even as I cried. Mark and I somehow pulled off being the most functional people during the experience. We stood quietly but firmly next to the other, for the first time as man and wife, perhaps not understanding yet the kind of friends we'd one day become. Or that we would have a relationship I would utterly destroy. I was still pregnant that day, and even though we were suspicious of one another, and even if Mark felt he hated me then, there was a faint sense of hope and the slightest bit of excitement at the thought of our new beginning. 

I tossed uncomfortably on the couch, but fell asleep just as the sun started to rise.

*******************

Dad woke me up, not intentionally, but because he was so fucking loud. I forgot about that. 

He made coffee and murmured inconsequential things to my mother. They were waiting for me to get up, that much was obvious, but they weren't going to rush me. A surge of affection for them warmed my chest.

I stood—still in the dress from yesterday—and tiptoed into the kitchen. They both looked up at me and smiled.

"Hi," I said. It was awkward.

"Dad just made coffee. Go get a cup and then we'll talk."

I followed Mom's instructions and put a little extra sugar in my coffee because, fuck it, I'd had a rough few days. I wondered what Mark was doing. Had he gone into work? It was Friday. He probably figured he could take the day off. Everyone would know about my disgrace, and no one would blame him for wanting to soak himself in whiskey. 

And Luke? Would he bother showing his face at the office, or had he already sped off to Boston?

My dad watched me sit and shook his head. "So you cheated."

"Sam!" Mom snapped. 

"Did you have a better lead-in, Linda?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, Dad, I cheated and he kicked me out."

"This is the first time I'm seeing you in months. Maybe even a year."

The table instantly became fascinating to me. I swirled my fingers around in invisible circles. 

"What happened, Lucy?"

I looked up at my father and felt those old familiar feelings of shame and fear that only a disappointed father can evoke.

"I made a mistake. I keep making mistakes."

"And Mark? What's happening with him?"

I blew out a puff of air and snickered. "No clue, Dad, probably burning an effigy of me. Or, more likely, burning my shoe collection."

"Okay." Dad shifted uncomfortably. "So, what's the next step? Separation? Divorce?"

"I'm sure divorce."

My voice was flat, but inside all I wanted to do was cry. 

"And the prenup?" Mom asked.

"Should take care of everything, but I don't doubt Mark will make a bit of a spectacle about this. I don't blame him." I spun my wedding ring around my finger.

Dad sighed. "And what is yours according to the document?"

"I'm not really sure. I actually think I get the house, which is too much. I'm going to sell it and give him half." I looked up at my parents. "Is it okay if I stay here with you for a while? Until I get on my feet?"

Mom took my hand and squeezed. "Of course. I'm just glad you're here. I'm only sorry about the circumstances."

She got up to do the dishes. I realized that Dad was watching me, a strange expression on his face. When he noticed I was staring back at him, he stood. He awkwardly put a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm happy to see you, too, Lucy."

He pulled his hand back as quickly as he could and rushed out of the kitchen. Mom smiled softly at me.

"We missed you."

"I can't imagine why," I said softly. "I feel like I always whirl back into your lives when I'm in trouble."

Mom leant against the sink. "You do, but it's okay. You're our kid. That's what kids do."

"I'm not a kid, anymore, Mom. Even if I still act like it. So if you guys don't want me around, or if I'm going to cause any trouble, please let me know. I won't be offended."

Mom came back to me and stroked my hair back like she used to do when I was growing up. "You're still my kid. I'll always want you around." She bent down to touch her nose to mine. "Even though you're a royal pain in the ass."

*********

Weeks went by and I didn't hear from Mark. I texted him one day, reminding him (as if he needed to be reminded) that we had to talk. Of course he didn't reply. I dug up a lawyer my parents could afford, hating I'd have to owe them but accepting I needed the help, and had him contact Mark's attorney. My lawyer came back to me saying Mark hadn't filed any papers yet, but he would. It would take around 40 days to finalize the divorce. 

Then my lawyer called me the next week, saying Mark had now filed the paperwork. In just over a month I would be Lucy Gallagher again. God, I'd have an ex-husband. A failed marriage. It was all so foreign.

That night I tossed and turned. The moon's light crept through a slit in my curtains and caught on my wedding and engagement rings. They were haunting me. It was silly that I was afraid of inanimate jewelry but I slid them off and placed them in my drawer just the same. 

Fall was beginning to drag itself through town, turning leaves orange and red. I loved Autumn. I adored the scent of burning embers in the air, the hard cider and the candied apples. This year I faced the season with a quiet dread. Any day I'd get the call from my lawyer that the 40 days were over, that any additional paperwork filed was finished. 

Suddenly one morning I woke up and realized it had been a full month since I saw Mark last. Bizarre thoughts flitted through my head. Was Luke married to that girl, yet? I felt a little sorry for her. He was a grand actor and he would undoubtedly make her unhappy.

Would Mark marry again? If he did, I hoped he had better luck this time around.

I thought of David and called him, missing the one friend I'd had in years. He didn't answer. I called him again later that week. No response, and no call back. It was a painful realization that I would never hear from him again.

Then one day I was raking leaves and my mother came to me with my cell phone. Her face was severe, and she spoke slowly and carefully.

"It's Joe, the lawyer. He has news."

I took the phone and listened, not saying a word. He informed me that it was over. All over. I was well provided for. The house was mine, and some of the contents in it. Too generous, I thought, but it was what it was.

That afternoon I took two ring boxes my mother never used, put my wedding rings inside and went to the post office. I mailed them back to Mark. I included a long letter. It was an attempt to apologize, to articulate how incredibly remorseful I was, to assure him that hurting him was never my intention. Of course it could never completely capture how horrible I felt about what I'd done, and it would never quench his disgust with me.

He never called. Never texted. I never heard from him. 

***************

"Lucy?"

I stopped examining apples and turned around slowly. It was a Saturday at 8pm. Who the hell could be lurking around here now besides me?

I did my shopping at odd times, terrified people would recognize me. Already some of the mothers of old friends had noticed I was in town. I became completely paranoid, thinking every time I saw people huddled together that they were talking about me.

After a while I told myself I wasn't that interesting and to get over it. It still didn't mean I wanted to run into an old friend and confess my absolute failure to them.

I was pleased, however, to see the girl standing behind me. Shari and I had been fairly close in high school, but going to college in different cities caused us to eventually drift apart.

She looked adorable, all perky cheerleader grown into perky soccer mom. And even though she was now an adult, her eyes were still adorably big and green and her hair was lusciously long and red. She still kind of of looked like a kid; I imagined her still getting carded at bars and almost smiled.

A toddler sat in her shopping cart, watching me suspiciously. 

"Lucy, it is you! Lucy, hi!"

Shari rolled the cart closer to me and gave me a big hug. 

"Years! Haven't seen you in years! How completely bizarre, right? This is my daughter. Her name is Anna, isn't she adorable?"

"Shari... Hi." I looked at the little girl, feeling extremely uncomfortable. Children made me nervous. "Hi Anna."

"You look beautiful! Almost exactly the same." Shari examined me closer. "Maybe a little tired. What are you doing in town?"

I picked at the label of one of my apples. "Visiting my parents. It's been a while, you know?"

"Totally. I moved back here after college. I was too much of a homebody to... Hey, wait a minute." 

She walked away from me and her daughter, who seriously looked like she was about to start wailing, and yanked a young boy over to us by the back of his collar.

"Mom!"

"Michael, if you can't stay by me like a big kid then I'll have to drag you around like a little kid. You got me?" 

Michael—who was probably around eight—groaned and threw a few boxes of candy into the cart. Shari glared at him but didn't pull the candy out. Softie.

"Sorry, Luce," she said, shaking her head. "Kids. They're killing me. And I'm pregnant again." She looked up at the ceiling. "God help me. I married this guy—his name is John—and he's hot, but jeez! He's so passionate that I can't ever say "I'm tired" or "I have a headache", if you know what I mean. He's all man, and that makes it even worse when he comes on to me because it's strong and ridiculously powerful! Sometimes I think we're going to end up with ten kids. I'm only 29, for God's sake!"

Her son looked completely embarrassed and I couldn't fight my grin. Yep, Shari hadn't changed; perhaps a bit too hyper and peppy sometimes but still amusing, and still kind.

"Congratulations. You sound happy, even if you're a little overwhelmed."

Shari moved closer to me and waved her hand. "Thanks, thanks. More importantly, how are you doing? How's married life treating you? Do you have an army of children yet? I always saw you as, like, the mother of a brood of boys. You'd totally order them around and raise them to be ladykillers." Shari handed Anna a few Cheerios without even looking away from my now panicked eyes.

"Um. Things are a little less, um... I don't have any kids."

"Oh, well I started young. Sometimes," she got closer to me and made sure Michael was far enough away, "I wonder if I should have waited. But he's such a freakin' cutie. I can't regret that face."

I smiled despite my anxiety. "Your kids are gorgeous."

She pulled her bag up higher on her shoulder and looked back over at Michael, who was once again getting too far away. She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Why don't you come over for lunch or something one day? Or is this just a brief visit into town?" 

Her eyes came back to mine and it struck me that it felt nice chatting with someone who didn't secretly despise you, who wasn't angling to get something out of you, who wasn't superficial and dull. I yearned to sit with her and laugh, because I knew she was still sunny and funny Shari from high school, but eventually I'd have to talk about my life and that sucked. I didn't want her to know that I was pretty much the same as I was when we graduated high school. And I didn't want her to know my marriage was over because I had an affair. It would hurt to have her judge me and possibly reject me.

But I heard myself saying, "I'll be here for a while," which was a surprise to me even as my mouth whispered the words.

She grinned and slapped her palms together. "Awesome. I live in my parents' old place. On Sycamore and Brewery? Remember?"




A Rush of Blood to the Head Ch. 04



I did and reflexively smiled. We'd had a lot of parties over there when we were kids. Shari returned my smile, knowing exactly what I was thinking.

"Come tomorrow, around 1? Okay?"

Michael stomped back over, sighing that his mother was taking too long.

"Okay. I'll be there."

She waved and then pushed the cart away, singing to her baby.

************

"I'm so happy you ran into her! She's such a nice girl." Mom sipped her tea and smiled. "Her mom is a sweetheart, too. She moved down to Florida with her husband, gave Shari the house."

I zipped my boots up and stood from the table. My hands were shaking and fear squeezed down my throat. "I'm nervous."

Mom blinked up at me. "Why would you be nervous? It's Shari. She works in the office at the high school—maybe she can get you a job there—and she's stable and sweet. She's a doll, and she is exactly the kind of person you should be socializing with. You're too isolated up in your room."

"Exactly. She's a nice girl, and I'm not."

Mom rolled her eyes. "Are you going to tear yourself apart all the time or can I look forward to a day where you accept the blessings that come your way with silence? Because self-loathing becomes old after a while, I must say."

My heel snagged on a crooked tile in the kitchen and I nearly fell. Frustration bubbled up and all I wanted to do was go back to bed. "That's it, I'm not going over. I'll say I'm sick or something."

Mom got up and angrily breezed by me, rinsing her cup in the sink. "You are going over there! I'll ram my foot up your ass if you don't go. You aren't working. You aren't socializing. Every day you're submerging yourself deeper into depression. I refuse to watch it passively anymore."

"Mom, I am not—"

"No, this is what you're doing. You're going over to Shari's. You're going to allow yourself to have a good time. And tomorrow? Tomorrow you're listing that house. Tomorrow you're going job-hunting. Tomorrow you're taking a deep breath and you're going to start forgiving yourself. It is time to come back to the world of the living."

******

I parked Mom's car outside Shari's house and took a deep, calming breath. Her house was as lovely as I remembered it; a large porch wrapped around the front, filled with potted plants and children's toys. Dozens of crystal wind-chimes hung from the porch. The house looked so warm and cozy with large, welcoming windows and deep honey-colored siding with maroon shutters. 

My heels clicked against the wood of her porch, which I assume someone heard, because the door flew open and a gigantic dog came panting towards me. I nearly fell but a man came out to help me, laughing and cooing at the dog.

"Gina, baby, calm down!" He tugged at the dog's collar and smiled at me. "Lucy, nice to meet you."

Michael came out to help his father drag the dog back by her collar. "Hi, Lucy," he said distractedly, as if I came over all the time. 

"Lucy!" Shari came to the front door and waved me in. 

I forced a smile and followed. John and Michael dragged the dog in behind me and closed the front door.

"Gina is a sweetheart, really, but she's so big! I hope you aren't scared of dogs. Sorry I didn't mention her yesterday but I totally forgot! If you're allergic or something we can—" 

"It's fine," I cut in. "Really. I love dogs." I bent over to pet Gina to ease Shari's mind. Gina came closer to me and passed out on my feet, her gigantic tongue lolling out of one side.

"She likes you!" Shari giggled. 

John cleared his throat and reached over to shake my hand. "I'm John. It's nice to meet you. Shari was very excited to run into you."

"Oh, right, this is my husband! Isn't he gorgeous?" Shari danced over to him and wrapped her arm around his waist. "He's gorgeous, I know it. He knows it. We all know it. I just like to remind everyone."

Her husband looked simultaneously embarrassed and amused, and it tickled me to think of what it must be like to live with Shari all day long, every day. Michael rolled his eyes, but I think he was blushing.

I couldn't contain it anymore: I burst out with laughter. Shari was ridiculous and cute and absolutely a mood lifter. I calmed down a little and shook my head.

"Sorry, but it was something about Michael's expression..." I tried to suppress a snort and failed horribly. John and Shari began to laugh with me. "It's very nice to meet you."

Anna came running out with a handful of markers in her hand. John sighed and took them from her, checking to see if she had gotten any on her skin. 

"Okay," he groaned playfully, "we're going out for ice cream and giving you ladies some space." He smiled again and I knew why Shari loved to remind people he was gorgeous, and that he was hers. He seemed like a really nice guy, too.

The three of them were out the door five minutes later. Then Shari dragged me through the kitchen and out the back deck. 

"It's a little chilly, I know, but it's such a sunny day. I made us some sandwiches and mimosas. And don't worry, darling, I may be pregnant but I made John get you some champagne so that is definitely a real mimosa."

"Thank you, that's very nice of you," I murmured, taking a sip of it before even sitting down. "Your house is even more beautiful than I remembered. And your family is wonderful."

They really were. They were exactly the kind of family I always envied-loud, bustling, warm, happy.

Shari settled down in her chair and gave me a sweet look. "Thank you. They really are wonderful. I'm very lucky." She picked up a sandwich and inspected it before taking a big bite. 

"When is the baby due?" I looked her over. If she hadn't said she was pregnant, I never would have guessed. She definitely wasn't showing.

Her mouth curved in a soft smile and I finally got what people meant when they said expectant mothers glowed. "Early April."

"Wow, that's great. A Spring baby."

"I know, right?" Shari poured some more orange juice in my glass and then reached over to put a splash of some more champagne in, too. "Enough about me. Let's talk about you. I know you went off to college with Janie—who I don't talk to anymore, by the way, we had a huge falling out years ago, she's such a bitch—and I know you got married to some big deal guy. A lawyer, right? Your mom told my mom a little, but that's really all I know."

"That's really all there is to know. His name is Mark. We live in a nice neighborhood just outside the city." My voice began to shake. I tried to cover it with another sip of mimosa but Shari's smile was dimming and she was studying me with a great deal of concentration. "He's... Well, we don't have kids and a big dog or anything. There's not very much to talk about."

Shari leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "Uh, oh. You're not telling me the truth. As a mother of two—especially, the mother of a boy—I know when someone isn't telling me the whole truth."

"It's...delicate. And I don't think it's very interesting. You should give me a tour of your house or something."

"It's none of my business, sorry." 

I could tell she wouldn't be able to leave it there and sighed. "It's okay. What do you want to know?"

"There are rumors, you know." Shari shrugged and looked off towards the back of her yard. "I don't typically listen but this morning I ran into someone and they started telling me about you. That you moved back with your parents." Her soft green eyes met mine and she reached over to take my hand. "It's okay, you know. I'm not going to judge or make a big deal of it or send you pitying glances all day. I just want to catch up with you, and help you if I can. I know divorce is no picnic, if that's what's going on, and if you need a shoulder to cry on or someone to go beat him up for you, I will. I'm a lot stronger when I'm pregnant, even John thinks so."

So she imagined me as the injured party. I wanted to correct her, but at the same time I wanted to relax for one afternoon and not think about what I'd done.

But that was cheating, and I'd done enough of that. 

I leaned over to her and said, "I cheated on my husband."

She sat back in her seat, eyes wide. "Wow."

"With his coworker."

Her eyes popped open even wider. "Double wow." She looked down at her hands. "Why?"

So many reasons. So many excuses. I couldn't pick a good one, or one that felt right to say, but eventually her gaze met mine and I couldn't lie. 

"I must've been unhappy but I didn't know it. And I didn't show it, not really, so Mark had no way of knowing. God forbid I tell him what I was thinking..." I looked away and swallowed a lump of sadness. "We had a strange sort of relationship. We were friends and partners, but we also never really let the other person in on what the other was thinking. Or maybe that was just me. Then this guy started working with him and came over to a party one night. Luke. He was good-looking and smart, and he paid me attention. And he didn't just stare at my boobs, or patronize me or anything like that. He was different from the others. He listened, or seemed to, and I don't even know when it started but suddenly I was fantasizing about him. He was attracted to me, too, and the next thing I knew we'd begun something I didn't even imagine happening."

"How did Mark find out?" Shari asked a few minutes later. I'd zoned out.

"Someone caught us and told him," I said slowly. I came back to the moment and looked across the table at her, preparing myself for her to politely but resolutely tell me to fuck off.

She didn't do that. I wasn't sure what she was thinking, but I relaxed a little when her expression didn't twist with disgust.

"That's terrible. Then what happened? He threw you out? Or did you leave?"

"He threw me out. And now we're divorced." I stared down at my mimosa. "I miss him. It's strange. I feel like I don't have a right to, that I don't have a right to still love him. But I do."

"Phew," Shari said. "And Luke? What happened to him?"

I forced myself to stay calm thinking about him. "He moved to Boston. He's engaged. He was secretly engaged the whole time, pretty much. I'm not sure if they're married yet. I just keep thinking 'Poor girl' which is funny considering the situation I'm in."

Shari shook her head. "Jeesh. No wonder you didn't want to get into this. It's horrible." She brought her chair over to my side of the table and watched me carefully. "Have you talked to Mark at all? I mean, if you want to reconcile you should tell him. I'm sure that time has quelled a little of his anger. I know you're divorced and all that but Liz Taylor and Richard Burton remarried or something right? Maybe he'd listen to you, if you said you were sorry. But, again, only if you want to reconcile."

God, she was such a romantic.

I opened my mouth and then shut it. I never considered there was any other possibility. Then I thought of Mark the day I left, how his eyes glittered with such disdain. No, there was no other possibility. And we were done, in the eyes of the law and in the eyes of Mark.

"I think," I began, "that I don't have an answer to that question. Not a satisfying one. He's all I've known for nearly eight years. I feel like I want to say "yes, I don't want him out of my life" but it's biased because change is hard, and it sucks, and I might just be resisting it."

"I think you'd know the difference," Shari remarked with a sad smile.

I couldn't help it; I folded. I told her everything in greater detail. How Mark and I came to be married, how we passed the years and how I completely annihilated our marriage. Shari listened calmly, commenting here and there but never interrupting me.

Only when I was done and when I realized I'd been crying did she react.

"You sound like you've had a very bad time of it, Lucy." 

"It's all my fault."

"Is it? Hmm. Sounds like there are a couple of things going on here. Part of it is absolutely your fault. Okay, maybe a bigger part of it was your fault. I wish I could say otherwise. But regardless, even if you were Eve in a past life and all this shit was your fault anyways, what's the next step? I mean, are you going to hide out at your parents' house for eternity?"

I blinked. "I don't know. I hadn't really thought about it."

"What about a job? A career? What did you study in college?"

"I was only there for a year and a half. I didn't know. I thought maybe about being a nurse."

"A nurse sounds like an excellent job to have! Hard work but you're a smart girl. You could handle it." Shari got up and fiddled with her cell phone. "I'm checking Craigslist for jobs. And you should take a look at some of the community college's programs. They have a pretty good nursing program. I know because John's sister went through it a few years ago."

I was breathless. She was still being nice to me, even after everything I told her, and she was raising some important points.

"You don't have to look for me."

Shari's eyes met mine. "Why not? I can still talk while I'm doing it, don't worry."

"I just don't want you to go through the trouble."

"It's no trouble," she smiled. "What are friends for?"

*********

Dad was out on the deck when I got home. "Where's Mom?"

He looked up from his paperback. "She ran to the store. We're out of milk."

I sat down. "Kinda cold to be out here, no?"

Dad put down his book on the table and gave his full attention to me. "Your mom says you're very down on yourself."

Well, what a wonderful change of topic. I was slightly suspicious Mom ran out to get milk on purpose to put my father and me together.

"After what happened..." I shrugged. "Certainly not thinking of myself very highly, Dad, no. And I'm embarrassed and ashamed to be here with you guys when I stayed so distant for most of my marriage. Then you also know what I've done, which is doubly humiliating."

Dad's expression was befuddled. He was never one to voice his emotions, to say exactly what was on his mind, to offer comfort. I could tell he wanted to say something, but I wasn't sure if it was good or bad. Eventually he cleared his throat, but kept his eyes on the dying trees in our backyard.

"You messed up. Doesn't mean you're not my daughter anymore. I love you, and I always will, and there isn't much you can do to change that." He glanced at me with a smile. "And I really am glad to have you back, even if it'll only be for a while. It was lonely and quiet without you here. And now Linda has someone else to tell her gossip to, thank God."

He got up, groaning as he stretched.

He had a few more parting words for me before he went back inside.

"You have to go on living, Lucy, you know. Your mother told me she said the same thing to you, and I agree. The world doesn't just stop when you do something wrong. You say you're sorry—and you mean it—and you try to pick up the pieces. You can't mourn here forever."

"I know, Dad," I whispered, tears in my eyes.

**************************

I picked up a job at a local florist run by a tough guy named Randy, who also happened to be a volunteer firefighter. How the hell he ended up owning a successful flower shop was beyond me.

He was maybe about fifty and divorced three times. He was dating a girl now, probably a decade younger than he was. When we got better acquainted with one another, I asked him one day if he thought maybe he'd been married enough.

He laughed and pinched my cheek. "You're silly."

If he even got a hint I was in a morose mood, he'd be on top of me with corny jokes and amusing but long-winded tales of his past. He became a dear friend to me, almost instantly. He was loud, tall, with ruddy cheeks and dirty blonde hair that always needed a trim. And he always wore plaid, which made me think of a lumberjack. 

And he was lewd. He loved, loved dirty jokes and pulled them out whenever he saw me becoming too maudlin.

One day I was ripping the Snapple label off the bottle. He came over, carrying a dainty bouquet of lilies (the dichotomy of such a huge, masculine sort of guy carrying such delicate flowers always amazed me).

"If you tear the paper off your drink bottles, it means you're sexually frustrated."

"Ew, Randy."

"It's a scientific fact, sweetheart."

Another day he was playing with his phone. 

"Hol-eee shit. Lucy, come over here."

Sighing, because I had an idea of where this was heading, I walked over to him. "What is it?"

"I can't believe what I'm reading on Tweeter."

"Twitter," I corrected for the billionth time.

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. This is complete insanity. Mind is blown right here, Lucy."

"What is it?" I asked again. 

"Like, men from the Middle Ages? They used to chop off their left nut." He nodded when I made a gagging noise. "They thought the sperm in the left testicle made girls."

"Ew, where do you read this stuff?"

"I follow informative Tweeter pages."

Randy also hooked me up with a car, so I didn't have to borrow my mother's anymore. 

And when Spring came, I signed up for the nursing program. My parents were happy for me, and Shari was over the moon. We quickly became good friends.

Pregnancy looked good on Shari. She was getting bigger by the day, but she truly looked beautiful. And she was so fucking nice that sometimes I stared at her in awe, wondering how the fuck we were friends. How she could stomach me.

Sometimes I babysat her kids so she could go on dates with John before the newborn madness descended again. I figured I owed her. At first I was terrified. Diapers, bottles, tantrums and the Disney channel made me dizzy.

But it turned out it was easier than I expected. Michael was a good kid who did his homework quietly, and he even liked to read. John had set up a whole X-box for him in his room, too, so that ate up a lot of his time.

Anna was a bit more challenging. SpongeBob would end but she wouldn't accept it.

"Pongy!" she'd scream, throwing her bottle across the room. "Pongy!"

"Jesus Christ," I said under my breath. I looked over at Michael for help but he was heading to his room, likely to avoid yet another tantrum. 

Then one night I got a splendid idea.

"Anna, baby, SpongeBob went to sleep." I wiped away her tears and picked her up. She was delightfully heavy and warm in my arms. I could kind of understand Shari's craziness for babies. "SpongeBob needs sleep, just like you do. He went to sleep in his little pineapple, and Gary the snail is snoring next to him."

"Sweep?" she asked, instead of 'sleep'. 

"Yes, honey, he's asleep."

She stared at me for a minute, gauging the truthfulness of my words. And then she set her drowsy head on my arm, nuzzling her face into me. It sounds ridiculous, but the small gesture of intimacy brought tears to my eyes.

********************************

It seemed like my new life was forming and cementing together. I quickly became used to heading to Randy's flower shop in the morning, and then dashing over to the community college when my shift was over. Weekends were typically spent gardening with my mother (I hated gardening but I owed it to the woman) or with Shari, playing with her kids in the backyard or rubbing her feet if she was particularly tired.

The life I'd lived seemed to drift away from me, as if it were all a bad dream. All that was left was my old house to deal with.

One April morning I woke up and called real estate offices until I found one who'd help me put the house on the market. I called my lawyer, asking him to relay to Mark's attorney that I'd be selling the house, and that he should retrieve what he wanted or needed from it. I also wanted him to know I'd be sending him half of whatever I got for it. It was only fair, in my mind.

I was mellow the next day. That was my last tie to the Lucy I used to be, and to the privilege, the excess, of the life I once lead. Now I was plain old Lucy Gallagher and I loved that, but a part of me became nostalgic and wistful thinking about the house I'd made a home in, that I'd decorated with such care, that I'd lived in with Mark.




A Rush of Blood to the Head Ch. 04



The next morning, however, I shook off the blues and wore my prettiest pink dress. I pulled up my hair into a high ponytail and applied a little more makeup than usual.

Randy whistled when I walked into the flower shop and I gave him the middle finger.

"Adorable," he laughed as he painstakingly put together a fragile flower arrangement. 

The phone rang and I rushed to pick it up. "Randy's Flowers, this is Lucy."

"Lucy, it's John. Couldn't get through on your cell. Shari went into labor this morning."

"Oh, my God! Should I come and—"

"No, Shari wants me to tell you not to worry about it. Things are slow right now. They're giving her some drugs, Pitocin or whatever, to try to move things around but it doesn't look like much will be happening until tonight."

"Poor Shari. Is she freaking out?"

John laughed. "No, she's ordering the nurses around and chewing their ears off. She's fine. I'll keep you updated, okay?"

"Okay, thanks for calling, John."

He hung up and I put the phone down, smiling. The bells on top of the flower shop jingled when someone opened the door and I turned, still smiling. 

Then my smile froze. Everything froze, in fact. Mark stood there, his eyes scanning the shop. He did a double-take when he spied Randy behind me. Then he finally met my shocked stare.

He looked the same. Omniscient, dark eyes that could see far beyond flesh and bone. Dark brown hair that flopped over boyishly. He was still tall, strong and imposing. He was the Mark I'd known for years. Just like that, the life we lived before flooded back and the day that had started out bright and promising grew dim.

"Your mother said you'd be here. She didn't want to tell me right away, of course." He ran a hand through his hair and let the door shut behind him. "I don't think I really believed her. You never had much interest in flowers before."

I was speechless. There were things I wanted to ask, but I couldn't bring my brain to gather my thoughts, nor could I get my mouth to start working. 

Mark picked up a stray white tulip. "Pretty."

"Mark," I said after a moment. My voice was breathy and small. I cleared my throat. "Mark, what are you doing here?"

His eyes lifted. I held my breath. Would he scream at me? Attack me? He didn't look particularly angry, but Mark had always been wonderful at hiding his emotions.

"When do you get a break?"

"W-what?"

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "A break. For lunch. I assume you have one?"

"Around noon," I heard myself saying.

Mark glared at his watch. "Damn. Okay. Meet me at the shitty Starbucks on the corner." His glittering eyes met mine. "Don't leave me waiting."

******************

I walked as slowly as I could down the street, but I still made it to Starbucks ten minutes before noon. I peered into the window and spotted him instantly. He didn't match with his surroundings. His designer suit and aristocratic air automatically made him an outsider amongst the down-to-earth townies. I wonder if he could feel it, and even more if he cared.

I heaved in a deep breath and walked inside. I pulled off my sweater as I walked over and then plopped in the seat across from him.

He looked at me for a minute. "Want coffee?"

"No," I declined, shaking my head. Then I got to the point. "What are you doing here, Mark?"

"The house," he said distractedly, either ignoring me or not listening. "You're selling it."

"Yes."

"You're not coming back."

It wasn't phrased as a question, but I could hear it in his voice. "No. No, I don't think so. I like it here."

He studied me. "I can see. You're thriving here. I don't remember you ever looking so beautiful."

What the fuck was going on? 

"Thanks." I fidgeted uncomfortably. "Well, what's up? I mean, did you want to buy the house from me or something? I didn't even think of asking before—"

"God, no, I have absolutely no desire to live there."

I spotted one of Shari's neighbors and gave him a wave. Mark followed the movement and leaned forward. Something changed in his expression.

"You really are happy here."

I began to wonder if he was pissed I wasn't falling apart, pining away for him. "As happy as can be, I guess. Did you expect something different?"

He gave me a quick smile. "Yes. I figured you were miserable up here. I imagined you licking your wounds, missing our little neighborhood and shopping sprees into the city on the weekends. I didn't expect... this." His eyes traveled down to my naked left hand. "I expected to find you watching reruns of rom coms and crying and getting fat."

"Ha." I gave him a small smile. "And how are you?" I asked awkwardly. "Things are...good?"

He shook his head. "Not really. Things are pretty terrible, in fact. Every day is the same and I'm living in one of those depressing singles apartments. Everyone says I should buy some posh bachelor pad but the idea exhausts me."

"Oh." I didn't know what to say. I wanted to touch him. In fact, my hand flexed as if it meant to reach across the table and take his. "I'm sorry."

He looked out the window. "I know you are." 

This was so confusing, not to mention painful. It was gut-wrenching to see him in the flesh, in the new world I'd crafted.

I took a breath. "I'm not sure why you're here." His head turned towards me. "I'm sorry, I'm just confused. Did you just want to check in or—" 

"Hard to believe...My ex," he said thoughtfully, interrupting. He shook his head and examined me. "It's funny," Mark went on, "you remind me of when we first met. You have looked this pretty to me before. I remember now."

"Mark, what are you talking about?" I rubbed my neck and looked over my shoulder, craving a coffee but fearing the jitters.

"That party," he exclaimed, getting frustrated. "When I saw you, you looked so wholesome."

"Wholesome?" 

Mark grinned at my tone but the grin faded when he looked away, remembering. "Don't forget I was always a rich kid. I went to rich kid schools, I hung out with rich kids, I dressed like a rich kid. And then I saw you in your little pink dress. It was so simple; it didn't have lace or silk or sequins or any kind of shape, really. My main model for women was my mom, and you know how ostentatious she is. And all the other girls were like her." His smile was warm as he pointed his finger at me. "But you. You had your hair in a braid. I'm sure your dress was less than thirty bucks. You weren't drenched in diamonds. You just looked like a nice girl. I remember thinking, 'I want to talk to her,' and somehow I made my way over. We talked about back home. When you talked about home—I guess, about here—you got so animated and sweet. I really wanted to kiss you. I wanted to sink my teeth into you, actually. I wanted to do a lot of strange things." He laughed and roughed up his hair. "You also kinda made me feel sorry for myself because clearly my childhood was nothing like yours, and I'd only dated girls who had the same kind of upbringing I did. I was envious of you, and weirdly I think it made me like you even more."

"You never told me that," I said softly. 

His eyes pierced mine. "I never told you a lot of things."

My cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw John was calling. "Sorry," I said, "I have to answer this."

I got up and stepped away. "Hello?"

"Hi, Luce, nothing's new. Shari just wanted me to check in with you. She also wants to know if you can visit later and bring some makeup. She's quite disgruntled that she forgot her makeup bag."

"Of course. I don't have class tonight so I'll come right after work and keep you company." A thought occurred to me. "Where are the kids staying?"

"Oh, with my mom. She is loving having them over."

"Good. So I'll see you later."

"Thanks, Lucy."

I hung up and spun around to face my ex-husband. I only had another ten minutes left before I had to head back to work, and I still had no fucking clue why he was here.

Mark's eyes ran over my face. "Was that a boyfriend?"

"Don't," I begged, dropping back on my chair.

"I really would like to know."

I sighed and rubbed my face. "Then you'll just have to deal with not knowing because it's none of your business."

We were silent for a few minutes. Mark stared at me; I studied the table. Eventually I couldn't take it any longer. 

"Mark, couldn't you have called? I mean, I think that would have been a lot better than you driving almost 2 hours out of your way."

Mark picked at the lid on his coffee cup. "I'm not a phone person."

"Bullshit."

"I'm sorry that I—," Mark began, looking at his coffee cup like it held all the answers, "that I never gave you a lot of affection. Sex, yeah, and camaraderie, sure, but I never told you how much you meant to me. It needs to be said." His eyes swept back to mine. "I'm sorry."

This was killing me. "God, Mark, please don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong. We're divorced and it's over. We don't need to be having this conversation now."

"It was the house," he said simply, as if that explained everything.

"The house? What about the house?"

"They put the 'for sale' sign up already and I passed it and—it just felt real for the first time. Filing the papers, writing my signature here and there...that just felt ordinary. I'm used to paperwork. But the house going up for sale got me. People kept saying, 'So your ex is selling' and that felt even weirder for me because I hadn't even thought of you as my ex yet." He laughed bitterly. "I never really even liked that house that much."

"Me either," I admitted.

"No," Mark smiled again. "No, you like your house here. I don't know why we didn't visit your parents more often."

"Yes, you do."

He ignored me. "I overheard you on the phone. You're taking classes?"

I gave him a little smile. "Yeah. I'm studying to be a nurse."

He was shocked. "Wow. Congratulations."

The look he gave me jumbled up all my nerves. I glanced at the time on my phone. "Look, I've got to head back to work. What are you doing here, Mark?"

"Most of my friends tell me I should burn your clothes, smear your name through the papers and fuck every friend who meant a damn to you. Or fuck girls who look like cheerleaders and babysitters. I don't know, some of them have come up with some pretty fucked up revenge fantasies. There have been nights, Lucy, that they've seemed pretty damned tempting. But seven years of marriage. Almost eight. You can't just stop feeling for a woman, if you ever felt for her, just like that."

I wiped a tear away. "Mark, please."

He exhaled heavily. "I miss you."

That threw me. My heart jolted, and I swore he could hear my heart beating. "We were married a long time. It's only normal. Like you said." My voice sounded shaky and high. 

Mark lifted his eyebrows, keeping the rest of his face frozen and his eyes impenetrable. "Yes, a long time. Still, don't you miss me at all?"

My eyes popped open. "Of course I do."

He reached over and took my hand. His was warm and familiar, but I didn't know how to feel about it. Should I snatch it away?

"I quit the firm."

My mouth dropped. "What?"

"I'm tired of it. The whole scene."

My heart sank. "Oh, my God, Mark, it's because of me, isn't it? I never meant to do this to you. I swear to God, I'm so ashamed over what I did. You were embarrassed, weren't you?" The thought of him quitting the job he worked so hard to get broke me.

His expression turned to stone and he ripped his hand away. "Of course I was embarrassed. I've never been more humiliated in my life. I wanted to strangle you. I fantasized about making you pay in so many fucked up ways. I wanted to mortify you like you mortified me." He huffed and looked away. "That's still not entirely why I left."

I took several calming breaths.

"So, what are you doing now?" I asked cautiously.

"Biding my time. I have plenty of money, Lucy, you know that." His eyes became glossy and I suspected with horror he was holding back tears. It was like the first time I ever saw my father cry. "You were such a selfish bitch. And you were going to leave with him." His laugh was bitter. "What a fucking stupid bitch you were. I never thought you'd do something like that to me. You bitch! You ungrateful, piece of shit whore!"

The words were nasty and vitriolic, but were uttered in furious whispers. Somehow that was worse than them being screamed at me.

I looked around, embarrassed. No one seemed to be paying attention. "Yes, I was horrible. I told you in my letter that—"

"Fuck, I don't care about your fucking letter. No matter how many times you apologize it will never be enough to help me forget. Forget imagining you with him, forget how easy it would have been for you to just leave me, the life we built." He stared at me, shaking his head. "Don't you want to know how Luke is?"

I rubbed my eyes, accidentally smearing mascara everywhere. "Not particularly."

"His girlfriend dumped him. Heard of you, I guess."

"I don't want to do this," I begged.

"He can't get work anywhere. His father always loathed him, and now he won't even lift a finger to help him. I find it very amusing, don't you?"

I closed my eyes, unable to see his face. "Please don't do this, Mark."

"Why? It makes you uncomfortable? Makes you hurt? Good."

"It's over. We both need to move on. I've castigated myself enough, and you've had your opportunity, too. Let's try to heal and—"

"Spare me," Mark scoffed. 

I looked at my phone, desperate to get away from this horrific game we seemed to be playing. I was through with games. "I have to get back to work."

"I'm not going away, Lucy. I'll still be in town when you get off. I'll still be here tomorrow."

I rested my elbow on the table and cradled my forehead. I began to cry. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

"Because I'm fascinated." He'd pulled himself together and now his detached eyes roamed over my face. "I only got a glimpse of this girl before we got married. I want to see more of her."

"You're here to torment me," I surmised, "aren't you? Divorce wasn't enough. Everyone thinking I was a whore wasn't enough. I knew you were waiting to do something worse." I got up and put my bag on my shoulder. "I fucked up. A lot. But I've done my goddamn penance, Mark. You left your job of your own accord. I won't allow you to come up here and screw up the life I've pulled together. I worked hard to get myself together and—"

"Fuck you, Lucy." He rose from his seat. I hated that I had to tilt my head back to keep meeting his stony gaze with my glare. "And I didn't work hard to get into that firm? To make those connections? To please my father?"

"I thought you didn't leave just because of me," I spat.

He took a step closer. "I didn't. But don't fucking think that absolves you."

"I'm going back to work. I think it's in both of our best interests if you go back to your home." I turned around but Mark grabbed my arm. I spun around to scream at him, or curse, or even smack him. 

He stopped me by restraining both of my arms and tugging me closer to kiss me. It was strange, but there was a hint of that bizarre chemistry that always crackled between us. I tore myself away, wide-eyed and terrified, and watched him pant. 

There was nothing more I could think of to say, and after that kiss any semblance of thought was wiped away. 

I only knew how to run away, and that's exactly what I did.

***********

The only person I could talk to about this was Shari, and she had enough on her plate as it was. My mother obviously knew he was in town since he first showed up at her house to find out where I was, and she'd left me ten different voicemails, each more frantic than the last.

She picked up on the first ring. "Lucy, are you okay? I didn't want to tell him where you were because I didn't know what he was going to do and you know how I watch my crime shows but—"

"Mom, it's okay." I took a deep breath. "We talked."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Randy gave me a look as he trimmed some roses. "Look, I'll call you when I get off work. Shari is in labor so I'm heading there after, okay?"

"Be careful."

"Talk to you later," I said, ending the call.

There was a moment of silence but I knew Randy was going to start.

"Whew," Randy whistled a second later. "Was that your ex before?"

"Yep." I busied myself by flipping through request orders.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly," I said, putting effort into making my voice cheery.

Randy put down his clippers and sidled up next to me. I sighed heavily and gave him a side-glance. "Honestly, Randy, if I talk about it I will fall apart."

"I cheated on all three of my wives. Know why?"

I groaned and slipped away, grabbing the broom to give the floor a sweep.

"I cheated on them," he continued, "because there was a hole inside me. I was fucked up. Drinking, hanging out with the guys, being immature. And you know what's really fucked, Luce?"

"Randy..."

"They were all great women. Fine women. Better than I deserved, even if I hadn't been a wild, cheating boar." He stroked his beard, reminiscing. "After the third divorce, I thought I'd never marry again. Turns out third time ain't the charm. You know what I did, Lucy? I went to therapy. I'm not too proud to admit it. I made steps to be a better man. I came into the flower shop more often—used to have a miserable old lady running this place, God, she was a fucking disaster—and I stopped hiding behind a bottle of rum and I didn't fuck the next willing girl I met. I took a breather." He grinned. "Then I met Claudine."

I stopped sweeping and rested against the wall. "Claudine is awesome."

"I don't deserve her, but I don't let that shit get in the way of knowing a good thing when I see it. Crazy girl wants to marry me. I told her, when she first started bringing it up, that hell no, marriage ruins everything. But that girl wants it, and I love her. For the first time in my life, I'm not going to be selfish and stupid. I know what marriage is. And I'm gonna marry her."

"Randy, you're getting married?"

His cheeks were red and his smile was large. "Yup! But I'm telling you all this for a reason. At some point, baby girl, you gotta let go of the past. I was a dog to my other wives. When I got my shit in order, I went back to all three and apologized. Two were touched and they forgave me. The third wouldn't even let me explain. The guilt burned in my gut for a long time, you better believe it. But at some point you gotta let go. You make your amends, you get forgiven, and you forgive yourself. Don't let that man come back around and make you feel sorry for him and for yourself again. You're a good person and you, just like everybody else, have the right to be happy when you work hard for it. You were doing too good to go down that road, and you are a hell of an assistant. I can't have you going down a depressed spiral, especially with that Whalen wedding coming up. Lord, they're gonna be such pains in the asses."

He didn't pause to let his words sink in, or to give us a moment. He just went back to work. And that's why Randy was a great person

"Speaking of which, I need you to call up that future mother and break the news that the blushing bride don't want no shitty carnations as the centerpieces, okay? If I talk to that woman one more time, I swear, I'm gonna get a fucking aneurism. Jesus."

He went off into the back, muttering to himself. And I realized that I was miraculously smiling once again.

*************************

I tried not to think about Mark as I drove over to the hospital. The nurse let me into the Labor & Delivery wing. John waited for me outside her door and ushered me in. I said hello to her mother who sat in the corner of the room and then turned my smile on Shari.

She looked pale and her hair was incredibly messy. But she smiled at me, anyway, and thanked me when I put her makeup bag and the small bouquet of flowers I brought with me onto her tray.




A Rush of Blood to the Head Ch. 04



"How are you?" I asked her, sitting in the chair next to her bed.

"It's not so bad just yet. They're trying to induce labor but it seems this kid is going to be the most stubborn of them all."

"Poor Shari." I reached over and pushed her hair back. "Want me to do your hair?"

She smiled and nodded. I took out my brush and braided her hair. She told me she felt much better when I was finished. 

I stayed for as long as I could. 

"Love you," she whispered as John brought me to the door.

"Call me if anything changes," I said to John while he walked me out to my car.

"I will. Thanks for being here, Lucy, really. You calmed Shari down. Before you walked in she was shrieking at her mother and threatening me and my manhood." He stopped to laugh. "She gets so hyped up. Understandably so, but I worry a little."

I smiled. "I'm glad I could help. I'll be thinking of you guys, okay?"

He waved and I hopped in my car, thoughts split between the life forming upstairs and the dead marriage my ex-husband seemed to want to bring back to life.

***************

I didn't bother going back home. I called Mark on his cell as soon as I hit the highway.

"Yes?" he answered crisply.

"What hotel are you staying in?"

"The Marriott, and it fucking sucks. You'd think they—"

"I'm coming over. What room are you in?"

He paused and then said, "223."

I hung up without saying anything else, torn between being terrified and intrigued. There was no denying that Mark's presence, that his kiss, stirred something inside me. That's what terrified me. That, and whatever he could possibly be dreaming up to do to me.

The lights in the Marriott parking lot were mostly off; a few were incredibly dim. One kept flashing like a beacon, waving me into shore. I parked and walked into the lobby, nodded at the bored-looking concierge and walked onto the elevator, asking myself what the fuck I was doing. 

Then I was in front of his door, glaring at the gold-covered 223. I raised my hand to knock, but reconsidered. All I wanted to do was figure out his plans—which were nefarious, no doubt—but knowing Mark, he wouldn't roll over that easily. There was absolutely no point in my being there. It was better to go home and ignore him. Whatever chaos he intended on doing I'd have to ignore.

Just as I made up my mind to leave, the door slid open just enough for Mark to pop his head out. He looked at me and smirked. 

"How long have you been standing there?"

"I don't know," I whispered.

He pulled the door open wider, keeping himself behind the door. "Come in."

"No, I—"

"Come in, Lucy."

"I can't. I don't want to."

His eyes narrowed. "Why not?"

"Because I have a bad feeling about it. Because I don't know what you're aiming for."

"We can't have a chat? A chat isn't bad."

I snorted and looked down the empty hallway. "I don't buy that you're lonely, or that you missed me, or any of the other bullshit you tried to feed me this afternoon. I especially don't buy you want me in your room to chat."

Mark's laugh was low. "Yet you drove all this way. You parked your car. You came as far as my door. Why do you think I want you in my room?" I didn't answer. His smile was mischievous. "Are you really sure you don't want to come inside? I'm certainly not going to beg."

It was ridiculous, but I was turned on. For the first time since our whole mess, I could feel that familiar tug to him. My nerves were tingling and desperate wetness formed between my thighs. It was humiliating, humbling...thrilling.

"Mark. Please."

"Are you begging me for something?" His voice sunk lower and became silky. His sex voice. I'm pretty sure I shuddered.

"Please." I blinked back tears. "This is a horrible idea."

His arm reached out to stroke the length of my own arm. The touch made my eyelids flutter.

"Are you begging me to drag you in here?"

My eyes squeezed shut. "We can't."

"We can," he insisted. His arm clasped my elbow and subtly dragged me closer to his room.

"After everything? Why would you want—"

"Shush. Don't think. Stop thinking. Just come in my room, Lucy. I need you."

He kept guiding me inside, and I didn't resist. When I was over the threshold, he shut the door. His hotel room was dark, with only faint light of outdoor lights shining through the folds of the curtains.

His hands were all over me. I didn't even have a chance to acclimate, to think things over, to deliberate. Then he kissed me. He gave me several hot, dragging kisses that cleared my mind of all thought. My body relaxed and responded to his insistent ministrations. 

"I shouldn't miss you. Or want you. Or even think about you. But it's ridiculous, and unrealistic, that just because we're divorced that I cut you off like a limb." He kissed me again and I groaned low in my throat. "Then I see you here and you're so different, Lucy. You don't even know it, can't even see it. You're where you belong... and you look so hot being here. So pink and," he kissed my shoulder, "clean and happy. Not like before."

He pushed me further into the darkness until I felt the backs of my knees hit the bed. He pushed me down carefully, his hand running up my thigh. I reached for him blindly, stroking his back, his face. 

"Kiss me," I whispered.

I felt his hot mouth smother mine. He hadn't shaved, and his whiskers roughly chaffed my face. I didn't care; I wanted more. 

I searched until I found his cock and squeezed through his pants. He cursed and moved away. I sat up with a foggy mind, blinking slowly as if I'd been jolted awake.

"Mark?"

He came back to me, pressing me down onto the bed. I realized he was naked. He ripped off my clothes and pressed that hot, swollen cock against my wet lips. 

"I haven't fucked anyone since you."

"Mark..."

"I should have."

"Mark, I—"

"I wanted to, but every girl I looked at left me uninterested and depressed."

"I think we should talk and not—"

"Shhh." He rammed into me in one long, slick glide. I cried out and he grunted, burying his face into my neck.

"I almost feel like I sullied you," he said against my throat.

"Oh, God," I whispered. It felt exquisite to have him inside of me. "What are you talking about?"

He moved in a delicious way and I cried out again. "I brought you back and made you like one of them."

"Mark, you didn't do anything wrong. So please stop it."

He kissed me and then proceeded to fuck my brains out.

It was primal, dirty and rough. He never let up, never slowed down. The pace was fast and determined. He rutted into me, slapping his hips against mine. The sound itself made me wetter and I clawed his ass, pushing him closer. I had initially wished we had a light on so that I could see his body again, so that I could see his eyes and read his thoughts, but the darkness added something far hotter to the encounter. I wasn't sure what it was...but the blocking of one sense heightened all the others. The sensation of his sweaty skin frantically rubbing against mine, his hairy chest providing tortuous friction for my nipples, the sound of his desperate and guttural moans and the taste of the salt on his skin drove me wild.

"Mark," I whispered. My breath twisted in a breathy moan. "Mark! I've honestly mi—"

"Be quiet," he said in a tone that shut me right up.

For a moment I was nonplussed, and my fingers squeezed into his biceps. He ignored me and continued until I forgot the moment entirely. My mind was filled with pleasure, and my pussy was filled with Mark's cock.

His body hadn't changed at all. At least, from what I could feel. I just longed for another kiss.

"Kiss me?"

He pressed his lips to my throat and then licked up the line of my neck. He nibbled on my ear. My frenzied hips moved faster against his and he let out a loud and long groan that told me his was close. That pushed me further towards my own release. 

"I'm going to—ugh!" was all I got out before my pussy contracted around his cock. His mouth finally came back to mine, and he thrust his tongue deep inside my mouth to give me a hot, sloppy kiss.

He slammed the mattress and came right after me, prolonging the excitement of my own orgasm.

Then he rolled off of me and I felt lost somehow. I slid over to him but he gently pushed me away.

"It's time to sleep."

"Mark, I think we need to talk about this."

"In the morning," he promised. "For now, we need sleep. Okay?"

I didn't answer, and shortly after I heard him snoring. I crept closer to him, making sure he stayed asleep, as I wrapped myself around his left arm. Eventually, I fell asleep, too.

And when I woke up, he was gone.

***********

How many times can you fall into old patterns? How many times can you make the same mistake? How many times can you call yourself an idiot?

I dressed myself slowly—in that same pink dress I'd been so happy to wear the day before—and tried desperately not to cry. I'd cried and mourned over our marriage over and over again. I couldn't do it anymore.

That's what I told myself, anyway, as I cried and sniffled and begged my tears wouldn't turn into uncontrollable sobs.

I was sore, which made it all even worse. I could see the hickeys he left behind, the bruises from his fingers and his teeth-marks from the little bites he gave me. I was marked all over, in more ways than one.

Before I left the hotel room I took a glimpse of myself in the mirror. A pale, scared and depressed girl reflected back. All my hard work was thrown away for one night of sex with a man who apparently loathed me.

I did my walk of shame and then drove back to my parents. My mother was waiting for me in the living room.

"Where the hell were you?" she barked out as soon as I slid the front door open.

But that she saw my expression and just knew, as mothers do. 

She brought me into her arms delicately and gave me the sweetest hug.

*****************************

I took a long, hot shower. When I came out I saw I had one text. Heart thumping, I slid my finger across the screen. It was John, I realized with a rush of disappointment. Then I absorbed the words. Shari had her baby—another little girl. 

I found myself smiling as I dressed for work. Then I tapped out a text—"Congrats, be there after work!"—and found myself marveling at the way the world worked. A birth for every death.

*****************************

Randy didn't say much. Sometimes I was positive he had a sixth sense and just knew things. Other times I was pretty sure he could just read people, and it was my misfortune that I was fairly easy to read.

I was just about done for the day. I put some papers in order, picked up my purse and cell, and called out to Randy.

I took two steps out of the shop and there was Mark, hands in the pocket of a newly purchased coat. I wasn't even sure it was a major designer, and I had to suppress my gasp. Then I realized he was in jeans. He was completely dressed down. I didn't know whether to be shocked at his apparel or his presence. This wasn't the Mark I knew.

"I didn't mean to leave you in the hotel room," he said when I got closer. "I just panicked. I had a lot to think about."

I didn't say anything.

"It was wrong of me to push that last night. Neither of us were ready."

"I didn't stop you," I murmured. 

He smiled without humor. "No. But I was the one who had the intention to use, or hurt."

"Are you leaving today?" I asked, not wanting to discuss the night before.

Mark nervously ran his hands through his hair. I didn't think I'd ever seen Mark nervous before, except perhaps on our wedding day. "No. I just rented an apartment."

I almost fainted. "What?!"

He shrugged and nearly smiled. "I like it here. You're practically glowing here. I could use a vacation. A retreat. And you begged so hard in that letter..." His stare was fierce. "It affected me, okay? You don't just stop loving someone, just like that. I'm not a fucking robot with no feelings, like you always loved to pretend I was. You can hate someone at the same time as you love them. I still hate you a little and..."

"Do you even forgive me?" My heart was pounding so fast I thought I might have a heart attack or pass out or something.

He thought for a minute and played around some more with his hair. "No." My heart sank. "No, not yet. I need time with that one." He saw my crestfallen face and cleared his throat. "I think I'm going about this the wrong way. So, maybe we'd need therapy, I don't know. Whatever you think. I want to give this a try, and in your letter you seemed like maybe you still had some feelings for me. I mean, you've succeeded on your own, though, so—"

"Yes, yes, I've missed you, too! I just do a better job at hiding it." I was grinning like a moron, and a few rebellious tears had slipped down my cheek. "Survival tactic."

Mark laughed and looked down the street. I took the opportunity to study him, the man I'd known for years as my husband. He looked the same—strong jaw, dark eyes, a devilish smile with a dimple in his right cheek— but I suspected I was only starting to get to know him. To really know him. To know him as the person he wanted to be. And I was sure the same was true of him; there was no doubt I'd changed. I was blossoming into someone else, someone I liked much better than the snarky and snide Lucy that judged others at dinner parties. 

Then he turned his eyes back to me. "What do you think? Should we... Do you want to try? Dating? Therapy? Are we being stupid to do it all again? I feel pretty stupid but it feels kinda good, too. My father flipped out on me when he heard I was coming up here." We both shared a smile. "What should we do, Lucy?"

I bit my lip and felt a droplet of rain. I looked up at the sky. "It's going to pour."

"We'd better get to where we're going, then."

Gently and slowly—so slowly he could snatch it back if he wanted—I reached for his hand. "Yes."

********************

Shari was still a little doped up, but I think her drugged mind caught on that my ex-husband Mark was standing next to me and all the implications tied to it. 

She gave me a "what the fuck?" look but smiled when Mark introduced himself.

John shook Mark's hand but the baby, currently in the hands of her older brother, distracted him.

Amanda Lucy, they'd named her.

"I'm sure there were other people you could have used for a middle name," I said, a little embarrassed but a lot more touched.

"Telling you, Luce, we're gonna have ten kids," Shari called out.

John smirked and rolled his eyes. Then he took his daughter from Michael and brought her over to me. 

"Oh, I don't know. I probably shouldn't. I—"

"Shut up and hold her, Lucy!" Shari ordered. 

I laughed. No matter how many drugs they plied her with, she was still a bossy thing. I washed my hands and then tried not to let my shaking hands show as I took the baby into my hands.

I peered down at her, this pure, innocent baby, and kissed her warm forehead. She huddled closer to my chest. She was a new beginning, a new hope, a clean slate. She had her entire life ahead of her. She would make mistakes, but she would be okay.

"Hello, Amanda," I whispered. "Welcome, baby. It's so nice to meet you!"

I looked up, teary and choked up, and met eyes with Mark. He watched me, fascinated and touched. Longing. So different from the cool, calculating attorney who could use words as knives and looks as bullets. He had wanted a kid, even back in our past life. Looking at him now, it occurred to me for the first time that it wasn't a status thing, keeping up with everyone. He'd really wanted a kid, probably since we lost ours.

"Want to hold her?" I asked him, my lips curved in a small smile.

He answered with a slow, secretive smile of his own—the one I knew well on the man I was just starting to know again—and then reached for us.



A Rush of Blood to the Head



I mumbled "sure" and hurried out. David lingered at the end of the hallway, not even bothering to hide his curiosity.

"He's a goody two-shoes, right? Thinks he's above it all?"

I shrugged one shoulder and took his glass of whiskey, chugging down the rest. "I liked him."

"Oh, no."

I gave him a look. "What?"

"You like him, like him, don't you?!"

"Are we in the fifth grade?"

David grinned like a mischievous little boy. "You have a crush on him. Holy shit!"

"I absolutely do not."

David ignored him. "You totally like him!"

"I do not!" I repeated. "I mean, I like him in a general sort of way. I like you, too, by the way."

"Sweetheart, it's not the same and you know it. You can't fuck me."

My eyes ran up and down his body. "I could sway you."

David cracked up. "I don't doubt your allure. I'm just saying you might wanna simmer down with that. Don't shit where your husband eats; fuck the pool boy instead."

_____________

I didn't see Luke for the rest of the night. Mark emerged from Nick's study a little while later and went for our coats. We hustled out into the night. 

When we got closer to home, Mark finally began. "So, what did you think of Luke?"

I tried to sound blasé. "He's okay. I don't know why all the girls are obsessed with him."

"Bullshit," Mark snorted. "I saw you looking at him. You were eye-fucking him."

"I was not!"

"You think you're better than all those girls," Mark laughed. "You're fantasizing, too."

"Mark, give me a break. He's attractive, no doubt, but as if I could even entertain the--"

"No, no, I know you wouldn't really have sex with him. It's just entertaining to see you acknowledge for the briefest of moments you're human."

"Ouch."

He reached out and stroked my hair. "It's said with love."

I made a sound of amusement but I tilted my head for more of his touch. 

When we got home we went straight upstairs where Mark roughly undressed me. He tore off his own clothes and pounced. In spite of his nonchalance, I knew he was irritated with me. In his eyes I flirted with his coworker. And I was in agreement that I flirted.

He threw me on the bed and climbed over me, his hard cock lining up with my pussy. I was aroused; I loved this side of Mark. If I could have spoken, I'd have told him so and would have repeated his words to him; when he was like this--fierce, jealous, threatened, passionate--he reminded me he was human, too.

His hand snaked its way into my panties and he snickered when he found me wet. Two fingers thrust inside me and I threw my head back.

Mark fingered me for a while until I heard the sounds of his fingers shoving into me. He finally took them out and smeared their wetness over his cock. He jacked himself off for a few seconds, his hungry eyes watching my chest heave in and out. 

He bent his head and sucked in a nipple. I moaned and threaded my fingers into his hair. He pulled his mouth off and rubbed his cock against my pussy, teasing me.

"Tell me the truth," he panted. "Do you want him?"

"Who?" I asked, knowing perfecting well who he meant. 

He bit my bottom lip and then pulled back, his face twisted into a disapproving expression. "Don't play with me, Lucy. Tell me if you wanted him."

"No," I said, "Just you."

"Because I fuck you good."

I nodded. He entered me on a slick glide.

"Because I own you."

I agreed because it was true. No matter how superior I thought I was to the other girls, I was just like them. I spent my days getting manicures, swimming in the pool and getting drunk on my patio.

Mark pinched my clit and picked up his speed. I cried out as I came. He pumped into me until he also came in a rush of curses and cum. 

He rolled off and passed out next to me. As he snored, I let myself daydream.

What would Luke's future wife be like? Would he marry soon? Would he also lord over here, enjoying the power trip he got doing it?

I reminded myself how pointless it was to fantasize, and eventually I dozed off.

_________

I didn't see Luke again until a month later. I was at Patricia's house to sunbathe with her. It was a puzzle to me whenever she invited me over; she hated me the most, and hid it the least. But if she wanted to gossip about me, she needed material. So I'd be invited over, and if I tried to come up with an excuse she complained to Bruce, who harassed Mark, who in turn scolded me.

I escaped her for a few minutes and stood alone in her kitchen, stuffing a croissant in my face. Bruce strolled in and Luke followed. They held papers in their hands and appeared to be arguing. When they saw me, they stopped short. Bruce grinned; Luke stared.

"Luce! Good to see you, babe. I didn't know you were coming over today."

"Hi. I didn't know you'd be here before 10pm."

He got close to me--too close--and patted my cheek. "Such a funny girl. Is the wife outside?"

"Yep. Speaking of which, I should go tell her to turn over. Nice to see you, guys."

Bruce reached for my arm. "Hang out here for a sec. I need to talk to her for a minute."

He strolled outside, leaving Luke and I staring at one another.

He broke the silence first. "I didn't expect to find you here."

"Patricia's pool is bigger."

Luke grinned and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it. I watched the movement with fascination.

"You remind me of my mother, you know." 

My eyebrows rose. "What?"

He broke out in laughter and shook his head. "Sorry, that didn't come out right. Believe it or not it's a compliment."

"Is your mother a beautiful, intelligent, classy lady?"

"She was." His smile turned soft. "She passed away last year, actually."

"I'm sorry," I murmured.

"Don't be. I was a mama's boy, and she was the last of my family... I have a sister I don't talk to, though. I don't count her. She sucks."

I didn't quite know what to say. In all the fantasies I had of running into Luke, having a heartfelt talk was the farthest thing from the mind. I didn't do emotions well, and I was awkward about death. Still I wanted to comfort him.

"I understand. I haven't seen my parents in at least a year. They aren't dead but we're not close."

A sympathetic noise came from his throat. "They didn't even teach you to ride a bike."

I let out a surprised laugh. "Exactly."

"What about Mark's parents?"

"Good God, please. Have you met them yet?"

"No," he smiled. "I've heard stories, however." 

I nodded. "Don't worry. You'll meet them soon enough."

I peered out the window and spotted Bruce talking to Patricia, gesticulating angrily. Luke followed my gaze.

"What do you think he's pissed about?"

I snorted and shrugged, remembering belatedly that this was quite unladylike in front of Luke. "Who knows? Probably about her spending."

He laughed but then froze up. I could tell he wanted to say something. I brushed some croissant off my bikini and waited.

After a few tense moments he worked up the courage. He took a deep breath and asked, "How did you really end up here? Not that your college party, love-at-first-sight tale wasn't cute."

It was apropos of nothing, really, but I knew what he meant. I wondered distractedly if he'd heard a rumor. I didn't bother playing stupid. "In this world?" He nodded. "Mark. Life. Choices. It's so strange how one choice, one mistake, can totally alter your world, you know?"

His eyes reflexively jumped to my stomach and I knew that he heard something. He tried to play it off when he caught me looking but an uncomfortable weight settled between us.

"I like my life, mostly," I felt like I had to add. "As much as anyone does, I imagine. You'll get used to it here."

"I kinda hope I don't."

His black eyes scanned my body and I fidgeted. For the first time in a long time, I was uncomfortable to have a man's gaze sweep over my curves. 

His eyes zeroed in on my neck. He brought his hand towards me. I flinched and he smirked. "You have a ladybug on you."

"Oh," I said lamely.

His fingers brushed against my skin as he plucked it from me. I jumped a little at his touch, and he stared at my lips. He cleared his throat and turned to release it outside, just in time for Bruce to catch up with him. 

"You ready?" he asked Luke.

Luke nodded and gave me a wave. He'd swept any familiarity and warmth from his expression, which was a good thing; I noticed Bruce watching me carefully.

Bruce waited a beat before coming over to me and lifting my hand, kissing the top of it. "Say hello to Mark for me, baby."

___________

Two weeks later we were back at Nick and Denise's house. As a cruel torment, I was seated next to Luke again. A strange electricity hummed between us. 

This time Mark sat across from us. He watched with shrewd eyes, cataloguing every inane comment Luke and I made to each other. I was exhausted by playing the disinterested wife. For the first time in a long time, I was grateful when Denise rounded up the girls to go into the kitchen.

Patricia remarked that I was quiet tonight. I smiled and cracked a few jokes to ease the tension. They ignored me after a few minutes and I escaped to Nick's office. I sat in his chair and swiveled round and round until I spotted Luke watching me by the doorway. I reached out a heel to stop my spinning and noticed his eyes follow the movement with a perverse sort of pleasure. 

"Hi, there," I sighed.

He came into the room and stopped a few inches away from me. He looked down at me in silence. In this domineering position, it was hard to banish the thought of me sucking his cock out of my head. Where the hell did that come from, I wondered. His eyes narrowed and I could have sworn for a moment that I saw lust in them. Could he have been imagining the same thing?

"I wondered when I might see you again," he finally said.

"I can never avoid these things."

He backed up, sensing I wanted to stand. We walked over to the window seat and sat far too close to each other.

"I wish I could, too, but it seems we're doomed for life."

I pushed my hair back behind my ears. He smelled too good. I'd never felt such a raw, baseless attraction before. I'd liked how men looked in the past. I'd imagined them moving inside me. I pictured what their cocks looked like, or if they'd bother to make me come. But with Luke, I wanted to act on it. It was dumb and silly. We'd barely talked to each other. I knew nothing about him. 

Yet I just knew sex with him would be unlike anything I ever experienced before.

He must have caught the vibe, or perhaps I wasn't as good at schooling my feelings as I thought I was. Whatever the case, he leaned over and kissed me. It just happened; neither of us had a chance to hesitate. At first I stiffened up and told myself I needed to push him off. Maybe I should slap him, too, and scare him out of ever trying it again. A part of me felt nervous, like I was some shy virgin again. It had been years since I kissed a man other than my husband.

Then I relaxed into it. His soft lips pressed against my own. His tongue moved in and out in long, wet slides that made me shiver. I exploded into flames. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to take his hand and press it between my thighs.

Sense returned to him and he moved back, jumping off the seat. I reluctantly opened my eyes, feeling as though I'd just been jarred from a wonderful dream.

He stood with his back facing me. After a few minutes, he took a noticeable breath and dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling. I could barely move. My panties were soaked, my nipples were hard and my lips were numb. I got up and touched his shoulder. He shuddered and stepped away, shaking his head.

"That was a bad idea."

I exhaled in a whoosh. "Yeah."

"I want to do it again."

"Me, too."

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "Aren't you supposed to be smacking me? Protesting your faithfulness to your husband?"

"Yeah. I'm supposed to be doing a lot of things right now."

"Can we pretend this never happened?" he asked.

I thought about it for a second. I recalled the sensation of his lips, the taste of his mouth. The little groan he let out when I kissed him back. Then I envisioned our future of dinner parties and charity events, of having to ignore one another and the connection that seemed to be growing between us. 

"Nope."

"Shit," he grunted. "This is ridiculous! We barely know each other! But I look at you and I just want to... Fuck!" He stalked back over to me and kissed me again. This time he released all of his frustration and brutality into our kiss. His hand touched my thigh and traveled upwards, pulling up my dress. I thought he might go further, but he regained control of himself. When he pulled away, he stared at my swollen lips. "Shit, shit, shit. You look like you've been kissing someone."

I ran my tongue over them and felt them pulsate with heat, felt the impressions of his teeth. "Okay." I was uncharacteristically speechless. I'd had sex with a few men before Mark, and I'd kissed my fair share of boys, but it was never like this. Not even with Mark. 

Fuck! Mark! He would know instantly what happened. I shook my head and added, "That's not good."

"I've got to get back." Luke walked away from me awkwardly, and I couldn't find the words to stop him.

_____

The rest of the night passed quietly. Luke studiously avoided me, and I forced myself to ignore him. It was a futile effort. My mind would inevitably go back to our kisses and I'd flush.

No one noticed my raw lips, or if they did, they didn't mention it.

Mark pulled me out of there later than usual. He talked a lot on our drive back home, but I didn't listen to a word of it. He must've realized I was someplace else when he parked the car in our driveway. As I turned to the car door, he grabbed my other wrist and tugged me closer to him. The gear shift pressed into the left side of my ribs.

"What's with you?"

"Nothing," I said too quickly.

Mark yanked the bottom of my dress up and pressed his hand against my back. "Get on top of me."

I knew where this was headed. "Not in the car. It's messy and uncomfortable and--"

"Get on top of me, Lucy."

I complied. He was so hard and he didn't bother with foreplay; he sank into me and I moved against him wantonly, having been ready all night.

We fucked each other hard, each frantic for the other's orgasm.

We didn't speak much when we were finished, but I sensed his eyes on me. When we were in our bathroom and I brushed my teeth, he rested against my back and stared at my reflection.

"Are you sure nothing is going on?"

I spit. "Positive."

He palmed my ass. "I know you spent some alone time with Luke. Were you a good girl?"

I faced him and kissed him long and deep. When we were both panting, I answered him. "The best."

__________

I saw him again. This time I purposefully waited around the office after surprising Mark for lunch. I was just about to give up when I saw him walking in the building with some girl I didn't recognize. My heart skipped a beat and I struggled to take in a breath. 

As if he sensed me watching him, his eyes lifted and widened when he spotted me. He said something to the girl, who then looked over at me. She nodded and said something, then disappeared down the hallway leading to the elevators. 

He got close to me and then looked over his shoulder. When he turned back to face me, he looked as impassive and emotionless as the first time I met him. "What's up?"

"I wanted to see you."

He exhaled sharply. "Lucy. This can't happen."

"It's already begun, I think. We're doomed, remember?"

His eyes dropped to my lips. "It's not going to work. I can't fuck another man's wife, let alone a guy I see every day. Who I have meetings with. I just can't."

"I've never wanted someone like I want you."

He squeezed his eyes shut. "You're the devil."

"Do you know how wet I was last time?"

"Lucy." His eyes popped open. "Stop." 

He backed away from me and ran his hands through his hair. "Why are you doing this?"

"I have no idea," I whispered. It was the truth. This would only end in disaster. 

"I have to get upstairs."

I grabbed his hand and brought it between my legs. He tried to pull himself out of my grasp, but not hard enough. His fingers pressed into my pussy.

"I'm not wearing panties," I confessed.

As if I'd electrocuted him, he ripped his hand from me and stomped away. I didn't follow.

_____

I went shopping a few days later. I did serious damage on my credit card, but I needed retail therapy. 

At night I was tormented by the memory of Luke's mouth. It was absurd and irrational, but it was quickly becoming an obsession. 

I thanked God that Mark was consumed by at case at work; he'd be up my ass, otherwise.

When I got home I picked up the mail and brought it inside. I put away my purchases, fixed myself some tea and sifted through bills. I reached an envelope only addressed to me with no return address. Curious, I tore it open and pulled out the single sheet of paper.

"You're right. We're doomed. The Hilton at 6. -L"

I didn't realize until the kettle went off that I was grinning so wide my cheeks hurt.

______

I didn't have Luke's cell number, and I didn't want to approach the front desk. The less people saw of me, the less my cover would be blown. So I sat in my car and listened to the radio, hoping Luke would spot me here.

I didn't think of Mark, or my marriage, or the life we'd built together. It wouldn't do me any good. And I'd decided to let myself enjoy this. We would get this out of our system and Mark would never know. We could face each other indifferently in the future. 

A big part of me knew this was all wrong, that I was convincing myself of the truth I wanted to believe rather than the plain truth itself.

I'd left Mark a voicemail that I was going to a new yoga class. Would he believe me? Probably.

Doubt started to creep in, however. I was about to shift the car into reverse and speed back home when someone knocked on my window. It had been raining so I couldn't see 100% clearly, but I knew it was Luke.

I pushed the door open and stood next to him beneath the drizzle. He stared at me and pushed some hair behind my ear. 

"Are you sure?"

I kissed him in response.

He'd already checked in so we went straight to the room. We kissed as he undressed me. Shockingly I had no nerves, but I could feel his fingers shaking when he unhooked my bra.

"Luke," I breathed.

"Yes?" His voice was gritty. It turned me on.

"Are you okay? We don't have to do this."

A finger slipped into the waist of my panties and he stroked the sensitive skin of my lower stomach. "We don't?"

I swallowed a moan. "No. I know this is h-hard for you."

He pressed himself against me so I could feel how tangibly hard it was for him. "I made my decision, Lucy. Do we need condoms?"

I shook my head. "The pill," I said succinctly. 

I wondered if he'd insist on a condom anyway, but his gaze was on my body and he wasn't really paying attention.

The panties were pushed down to the floor. He sucked in a breath and lowered himself to his knees. His other hand skimmed through my pussy, catching on my entrance. He studied me so intently I blushed. His eyes flicked up to me as his tongue slipped from his mouth and lapped at my clit.

Instantly I clutched his head and attempted to bring him closer to me. He pushed his fingers into me while he sucked my clit and made me impossibly wetter.

"Should I do this until you come?" he whispered against my wet flesh. "Or should I make you suffer?"

"Please."

He looked back up at me. "Please, what?"

"Please make me come. I need it. I need...Please."

"Greedy girl." He increased the pace of his fingers and returned to licking me. 

I felt him panting and moaning. The sensations all fueled me and I exploded in an intense orgasm that sent shocks through my nerves. Indescribable pleasure swam into my foggy mind and everything felt heavy and sensitive. 




A Rush of Blood to the Head



He stood up and nudged me towards the bed. Bonelessly I collapsed and watched him tear off his clothes. He watched me with single-minded focus until he could crawl on top of me. His wet cock ran up my thigh as he moved to position himself. His eyes finally returned to my face as he slid inside. 

We both moaned when he reached as far as he could go. His mouth find mine as he moved in deep, slow nudges. He was so hard and thick. The walls of my pussy contracted and released over and over. I could tell it was driving Luke mad, especially when he held my hips down to the bed with a little more force than necessary.

There was a strange flow of emotion from him to me, and vice versa. He watched me watch him as his pace picked up slightly. God, it was as if I'd been parched all my life and I'd finally been offered the drink to quench all the years of thirst. It was so much more than fucking, but I was terrified to think about what that could mean so I just felt.

I was soaked to the point that he moved easily in and out, his thickness incidentally rubbing against my clit. His chest moved sensually against my hard nipples, providing ample excitement there, as well. My mouth fell open when I felt like I could come again. He read my expression and slipped his hand down to flick my clit over and over. Tears came to my eyes and I shook my head back in forth in disbelief.

It only took seconds for me to come around his cock, sucking him in with deep pulses. He went crazy then, seeking his own fulfillment. He pounded his cock into me until I cried out, positive I couldn't take much more.

Then he pushed into me once, twice, three times. On his forth deep surge I felt the flood of his cum filling me.

When it was all said and done, he dropped on top of me. Our sweat melded us to one another. He kissed my nipple and I jumped, still feeling incredibly tingly.

"Shit," he cursed with something like alarm in his tone.

"What?" I asked, entirely out of breath.

"This isn't going to be a one time deal. Is it?" His voice was quiet, slow.

I felt amazing. Exhilarated. Truly alive, for the first time in a long, long time. What I thought was clarity before was murky and dull. This was sharp, bright.

"No, it's not."

"Shit," he said again. "This is so fucked up. I can't deal with this, Lucy. I don't do shit like this."

"Me either." Then I burst into tears and he gathered me closer, not saying a word.

________________

A few hours later I was sprawled against his chest, swirling my fingers around in mindless circles over his abs. We shared some more stories, though it was obvious we still barely knew one another. It also didn't matter much at this point, though I craved more information. Call me a woman, but I wanted to know everything about him. At that moment, I wanted to know about the tattoo over his heart.

"Ramona?" I asked, tracing the letters in the literal heart he had drawn there. 

"Yeah."

"I didn't take you for the stereotypical heart-with-a-name-inside-it tat." I tilted my head and analyzed his expression. "Did you love her?"

"Obviously. She was my fiancee, actually."

"Really? How come you guys didn't end up marrying?"

He let out a breath and stared at some point just above my shoulder. "She died."

My heart thudded. "What?"

"Car accident a month after my mom died. I think stress contributed to her not paying attention and..." He shrugged.

"Oh my God, Luke, I'm so sorry."

He kissed me and stroked my hair. When he pulled away, he mumbled "Thanks."

"You've had a shitty year."

He nodded and ran his hands down my spine. I stretched and nearly purred at the feeling. "Then I met you, and this is going to cause me even worse karma."

"Not what every girl wants to hear when she still has your cum inside her."

I felt his cock stiffen near my hip. "I'm sorry."

"Are you?" I teased him by moving my body across his hardness. He hissed. "This says otherwise."

"Why did you marry Mark?" he blurted out. 

I stopped writhing against him and stared. I couldn't imagine why he thought it was a better idea to bring up my marriage. He watched me pause with a touch of sheepishness. 

"I can't stop wondering. You two aren't exactly the perfect fit."

"Opposites attract," I said flatly. 

He clutched my ass. "Don't be cute."

"You already know. I got pregnant," I snapped. "Are you happy now?"

He went back to stroking my spine. "I'm sorry."

"We're a disaster, you and I."

Luke ignored my comment. "Why did you stay married to him? After you lost it?"

I laid my head down against his chest and went back to making invisible circles on his warm skin. "It might not make me the most altruistic person by admitting this, but it's a comfy marriage. All my needs are taken care of. Mark is an okay husband."

"And you're satisfied being a housewife?"

"I believe the correct term is 'homemaker' now. And sure, why not?"

I felt him shrug. "You just seem like you'd enjoy busting people's balls in boardrooms or whatever. I just got the impression you were bored."

I was bored. Dreadfully so, in fact. 

"Was the miscarriage bad?" he asked softly. 

I was irritated that this was his version of pillow talk. "Yes."

"I'm sorry."

I blew out a breath and shifted so that I could see him. "It's gotten better with time. I can't imagine having a kid right now. I can't even think about what it would have been like then. Maybe it was nature's way of doing us all a favor."

"Do you regret it? Marrying Mark?"

I clasped my hands together and rested my chin on them, studying Luke's blank face. "Do you regret fucking me?"

He shut up and I kissed his tattoo, then I kissed his stomach. My kisses trailed down to his cock, which was hardening again. My mouth sucked him in. I brought him as far as I could down my throat. I gagged against the head and he grunted.

I ran my tongue over him and bobbed my head up and down until he came down my throat.

_________

An hour later I was frantically zipping up my clothes. We'd dozed off after our last round and it was nearing 11pm. I had nearly a dozen missed calls from Mark, and two irate voicemails. 

Luke lay naked in the bed, watching me flit through the hotel room. "I'm keeping the room for another day."

I slipped on my heels. 

He sighed. "Come back tomorrow."

"You have work tomorrow," I said. I put my earrings back on.

"I'm taking off."

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror and smoothed down my hair. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

"I don't give a shit."

I looked back at him and my heartbeat raced. I wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep next to him, inhaling his scent. But you couldn't always get what you wanted, and I had a pissed off husband back home. For a moment I fantasized about telling him what happened, but I pushed the wild impulse out of my mind. It certainly wouldn't benefit Luke, either.

"Will you come?" he asked.

I went over and kissed him. Then I put my purse over my shoulder and headed out. Just before the door shut behind me, I tossed him a "yes" over my shoulder.

If I was doomed, at least I had someone like Luke going down with me.