Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
We sit outside, passing the joint back and forth, until my eyes start to droop. Then Gage insists we head to bed. I snuggle into the sheets and close my eyes as he joins me, spooning me from behind. I’m just about asleep when I hear the sound of his drawer opening and closing. A pill bottle being opened, and then the distinct sound of him swallowing.
Pills… He’s an addict. Just like my husband is my final thought before I allow myself to fall into a fitful sleep where I dream about my life before I lost everything.
And for the next several weeks, our routine seems to run on a loop. During the day, I visit the graves, refusing to leave my son and daughter. When it gets late, Gage comes and gets me. We eat and smoke and eventually pass out. Until the last week in September, when I wake up and see what the date is. Then everything changes…
“Can we stop by the store?” I ask on our way to the cemetery. Gage gives me a confused look, most likely because, aside from asking to pick up tampons last week, I never ask for anything since there’s nothing I need.
“Today’s… Collin’s birthday,” I tell him, hating that after all this time, I still can’t say my son’s name without my throat clogging with emotion and tears filling my eyes. “I’d like to get him a cake. His favorite is…” I clear my throat. “Was vanilla with buttercream icing.”
Gage nods and takes a detour to the store. Using my card, I purchase a small cake and have Happy Birthday, Collin written on it.
“He would’ve been five years old today,” I tell Gage as we sit on the balcony later that evening. We never talk about anything, but not talking about my son, the best part of me, on his birthday feels wrong. “He was so excited to start school, but because his birthday is after the cutoff date, he had to wait an extra year.” A choked sob pushes up my throat. “He never got to go to school.”
My eyes meet Gage’s, and he nods in acknowledgment, not bothering to say anything since there’s nothing for him to say.
“He loved Batman,” I continue. Even though it hurts like hell to think about him, I’m afraid if I don’t talk about him, no one will, and my little boy deserves to be thought about, spoken about, on his birthday. “And riding his bike. We would ride for hours along the streets of our neighborhood.”
My sobs strengthen, but I can’t stop. “He was so smart and caring and…” Fuck! “He should be here!” I slam my fist on the table. “He should be here! His father’s job was to protect him, and instead, he killed him, and now, on his birthday, he’s not here!”
Between my screaming and crying and despite being high as hell, I quickly spiral into a panic attack that has Gage picking me up and carrying me to the bed. But tonight, the weed isn’t enough…
“I need you,” I beg, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Just for tonight, I need you to make me forget.”
“Sadie,” he groans, shaking his head. “I can’t be that person for you.”
“I need you to help me escape,” I beg. “Help me feel something other than pain. Please.”
He stares at me for a long moment as if contemplating what to do, and just when I think he’s going to reject me, his mouth crashes down on mine. He tastes a mixture of spicy like the alcohol he was drinking and smoky like the weed we were smoking, and I focus on that, allowing myself a moment of reprieve. The kiss isn’t sweet or gentle. It’s rough and hard, and everything, at this moment, I didn’t even realize I needed. I’ve gone months without feeling wanted or needed or desired. My only emotion has been constant pain.
Needing to feel something else, something more, even if I allow myself to get lost in Gage for a short time. Our clothes are ripped off, and hands are everywhere, all over each other. Mine grab for his dick while his massage my breast. His mouth sucks on my neck, my throat, then wraps around my nipple, biting hard and making me squirm. Vincent was always gentle, loving… Most of the time, he was apologizing for messing up. But Gage is unapologetically rough, and it’s exactly what I need.
He glides down my body, finding my center, and pushes a couple of digits deep into me. If I wasn’t so wet, it’d probably hurt, but I’m soaked, and as he pumps in and out of me, that’s proven by the sound of my slickness reverberating throughout the otherwise quiet room.
As my orgasm slams into me, I hold on to it for dear life, wanting to latch on to this moment of euphoria, where the short-lived bliss overpowers the agony and devastation I know are waiting for me.