Lupine Dreams Pt. 05 Ch. 14-17

Author's note: Just a refresher: The story is completed and I'm posting a couple of times a week in parts of 2-4 chapters based on how the story breaks naturally. You definitely will need to have read the previous parts first. Hope you'll give it a shot if you're seeing this series for the first time (:

This is a romance through and through, meant to appeal to your heart, not as much to other parts (; Readers who want to get lost in a vivid, modern character study of imperfect, emotional people trying their best will enjoy. Sex plays a large role thematically, but occurs sporadically. That being said, for those who appreciate a heads up, there is some rough sex in today's chapters.

~~~

Chapter 14

[vibe track: murakami - made in heights]

Morning sun leaked through the curtains. Cameron could still feel Henry's arm around her midsection, hers resting on top.

She turned in his arms to face him. He was still asleep. Everything about his face looked relaxed, and she realized she felt just as unencumbered.

The silence of night had been replaced with the gentle sounds of a suburban Friday morning, filtering through the room — the chirps of early birds, a dog barking, cars getting started before the commute. It lent a softness to everything — even Cameron herself.

As she examined him closely in the morning light, she still didn't think the man holding her was terribly handsome. That wasn't the right word for it. But there was something about his face now that she associated with the warm, unfamiliar feeling inside her she'd woken up with.

Careful not to disturb him, she found herself curiously running her hand slowly along his jaw, a day of stubble rough against her palm. Maybe she was starting to understand a little bit the connection Henry seemed to relish through touch, she thought to herself. Just a little.

Her finger traced to the corner of his mouth, where his smiles began. Cameron tried to see if she could mimic it herself, coaxing a smile to start subtly at the corner of her lips and jerkily tugging it across. It didn't come naturally. Smiling in general didn't come naturally to her. She was happy plenty, laughed plenty. Just... she didn't feel the need to show people what she was feeling all the time, that was all.

The smile stayed on her face for a few moments while she soaked him in. She didn't know what time it was. But it still felt like the same moment she'd fallen asleep in — one just for them that could stretch on as long as they wanted it to.

Then the alarm on his phone went off. Her smile disappeared.

Oh yeah. He probably has to get to school.

His eyes opened a little, squinting at the light, and he let go of her to reach back to the nightstand behind him, switching off the alarm.

He turned back to her, his eyes still only half open, and gently moved the long wave of her hair drooping over one side of her face so that it flopped back instead. She let him, comfortable at his touch.

"Morning," he whispered. He apparently didn't want to break the quiet either, even though his alarm had already done it.

And there was the smile, following the path her finger had traced just moments ago.

For once, she didn't try to stop herself from doing the same, letting her tight lips loosen and spread into their own lopsided expression. It made him grin even wider. But he didn't comment on it. She liked that about him, too. He didn't make a big deal out of things that didn't need to be a big deal.

"Sleep okay?" he said, groggily.

She nodded, her eyes locked on his. They were as soft as his caress.

A scratching at the door interrupted them, and Henry gave a little laugh.

"Da Vinci's gonna break down the door if I don't go feed him." He sighed. "I should get up anyway. We carpool on Fridays, so I really shouldn't be late."

Just like that, the spell was broken, and she remembered what had made her so close to bolting last night.

Right. Friday morning carpool. You probably chat in the car about your... life insurance plans and 401(k)s or whatever.

Her smile evaporated and she turned over, rolling out of bed before he did. She started to collect her things while he sat on the edge of the bed, watching her and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Rather than kneel, she bent over with her back to him while she put away her laptop and speakers, knowing he would like the look at her legs.

When she turned around, that's exactly where his eyes were, and she smiled to herself — but only on the inside. She stooped to a crouch instead to finish her work, facing him.

"Umm..." he started. Uh oh. Here we go with one of his "umms" again. Must be something he's uncomfortable about. "What... what are you doing tonight?"

She stopped zipping her backpack and looked up at him, surprised at the question.

Why should I be, though?

Cameron reluctantly admitted to herself that while she wasn't sure what, they were kind of... something now, weren't they? This was the third night they'd spent together, and she'd woken up in his arms and... hadn't tried to run. That made it about a little more than the fucking, didn't it....

Fuck, I guess... I guess it does.

On its own, that didn't fill her with fear or anxiety, it was just... unexpected. She really hadn't thought any further than just last night. She hardly ever did.

Cameron realized she'd been quiet for way, way too long, just looking at him. She snapped out of it and returned her attention to her backpack, finishing zipping it up.

"I'm doing the late set at Moonlight," she said, rocking back out of her crouch to slip on her socks. She picked up her hoodie and sweatpants, getting up. "You... should... come."

He grinned at her, beaming. "Sure, that sounds fun."

"Okay. I'll... I'll text you."

She'd dated before, of course. But she just felt so out of her element here. Maybe if they hung out at Moonlight, her turf, then she'd be more...

I dunno. Just like, less fucking awkward. And we wouldn't have to talk much, either.

He opened the door to the bedroom, allowing Da Vinci to fall forward and meow at him demandingly. Henry went into the kitchen to feed him, and Cameron lazily followed.

"Hey, I have to jump in the shower again real quick — you can feel free to grab some breakfast or something," he said apologetically. "I'll be real quick."

"I was just gonna leave..." she said, thumbing toward the door.

He shrugged. "You don't have to go yet if you don't want."

She didn't want to. Everything that had been waiting for her yesterday was still there, even in the light of day — and even if she felt more equipped to face it.

So she dropped her stuff next to the couch instead. "Yeah, okay, sure. Thanks."

He smiled and headed back to the bathroom.

"Wait," she said, "what? You're taking another shower? Are you... like... one of those germ people...."

He laughed. "No. My hair just like — I mean look at it."

She did. It looked messy. Like he'd been sleeping on it. But that was all. She shrugged.

"It just doesn't look right if I don't wash it in the morning. Trust me. It's a whole thing."

She gave him a look that she hoped conveyed she did not trust him, on this anyway. He just laughed again and went into the bathroom.

Cameron pulled out a Cheerios box and found a bowl and spoon, pouring out the cereal. She stopped on her way to the table to offer her hand out to the sated cat, letting him get a whiff after he'd had enough of his own breakfast. He rubbed the side of his face against her fingers and she gave him a scratch behind the ears in return.

Familiar doubts crept in as she took a seat, helping herself to a spoonful of Cheerios. Natural light streamed in through the windows.

She felt acutely out of place here. She didn't have a kitchen table. She didn't have Friday morning carpool. She didn't have a calendar with happy family vacations on it.

This is crazy. We're both just... well I don't really know what the fuck he is, I guess. That's the problem. I know I'm here because I'm fucking... she sighed, not wanting to even admit in her own head how lonely she had to be to end up at his kitchen table before 7 a. m. on a Friday.

She looked down at the divorce papers next to her bowl, right where they'd been the night before.

He's probably just pussy-starved. And a fucking pussy himself.

She knew that wasn't fair, but she felt a little better anyway.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Cameron froze, and so did Da Vinci. They both looked at the front door as if it might jump at them if they moved.

KNOCKKNOCKNOCKNOCK.

It was more insistent this time. When she heard keys slot into the lock, she wished she could've joined the cat in scampering under the couch.

The handle turned, then a woman backed through the door, holding a cooking tray in one hand and a laptop in the other. She was taller than Cameron, wearing professional-looking jeans and a bright orange blouse. Her dark blonde hair was up in a ponytail.

"Hey Aaaaaaandddreewwww! I brought—"

Her green eyes went wide when they found Cameron, and she stopped in her tracks.

"Oh... oh... oh shitshitshitshitshit," she said, seeming to go through several realizations in sequence.

Cameron was thinking the same thing. Actually, she was thinking about a thousand things, all buzzing around her head at once.

She has a key to his place? And... did she say "Andrew?"

Whoever she was, she wasn't Mal — Cameron had seen her before and knew it wasn't his wife. It didn't matter either way. Cameron immediately regretted not trusting her instincts, scolding herself silently while she dropped her spoon and got up.

"Oh I am so, so sorry," the woman said, still standing in the doorway as Cameron crossed to the couch to tug on her sweatpants. "I was... returning the laptop before carpool... and...."

This was definitely rocketing out of control, Cameron thought as she stepped into her shoes.

Way too messy, way too fast — whatever the fuck this is. What the fuck was I thinking?

"We're just friends, by the way," the woman said, taking a step inside with her hands still full. "Err... not that... not that you should've thought anything else... shit. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just come in."

Cameron pulled on her hoodie.

"Oh please don't leave because of me, really, can we just pretend I was never here...?"

Again, Cameron was thinking the same thing. As she slung her backpack over her shoulder, she took a couple hesitant steps toward the woman and the door behind her, but stopped short to ask one of the buzzing questions bouncing around her head.

"Umm..." she heard herself say. Fuck. Now who's uncomfortable? She looked up at the woman haltingly. "Does he... does he go by his middle name?"

The stranger's sharp green eyes softened as Cameron asked the question, though the woman looked confused.

"Err... what's his middle name...?"

"Andrew."

The woman seemed surprised. "Uhh, then... yeah. I guess he does," she said with as much of a shrug as she could manage without dropping anything.

Cameron nodded gravely. How many fucking names does this guy have? How come he let me call him Henry? Just like he let me call him Melvin. Whatever. That shit doesn't even matter. It's everything. Why did I think this was a good idea. This is too fucking compl—

She was going to think "complicated," but it reminded her too much of him and how he'd described her that night. She settled for "messy" instead, annoyed that now she couldn't even use that word without thinking of it as com-pli-ca-ted.

The woman's eyes seemed to recognize something in Cameron because they got a little wider. "Are you—"

"I was just leaving," Cameron finished for her. And she strode past the woman, slamming the door shut on the mess behind her.

~~~

Chapter 15

The TV was on, but Andrew wasn't really watching the black-and-white science fiction movie he'd turned on. He'd texted Cameron a couple of times, but figured any more would've looked desperate. Da Vinci headbutted him before stepping onto his lap, probably pointing out the first two texts were plenty desperate enough on their own.

Heather had apologized and apologized — she felt terrible. But while Andrew was a little pissed at her, he knew it wasn't really her fault. Cameron was unpredictable. Or at least he hadn't figured out how to predict her.

He'd just been in such a stupidly good mood after she'd smiled at him in bed this morning. Smiled! He didn't know her that well and hadn't known her for that long, but he'd made her orgasm twice and never saw her smile until they woke up together this morning. It felt like... like they were moving toward something, not ending something.

Andrew still couldn't understand what Heather could've possibly said to set her off. Heather couldn't either. She told him that she just was blabbering like an idiot about how she shouldn't have come in, and then Cameron asked her if he went by his middle name.

Is that what did it? That I go by Andrew but she's been calling me Henry?

Henry was his first name. But he hadn't gone by that since... since he was 8. Almost nobody called him Henry anymore, even his sisters.

He liked it, that's why he hadn't corrected her. He didn't think of himself as Henry anymore, but when she called him that? He liked the way it felt. So much that when she said it during her orgasm....

Ugh. Okay. It was stupid. I gave her a fake name to start, then I let her call me Henry. I guess maybe she felt like I was just lying to her again and again?

That couldn't possibly be it, he was sure... but it was the only thing he could think of. He thought he'd at least managed to learn a working vocabulary for speaking Cameron, but she'd proved him wrong yet again.

Why did I take the shower dammit! Who cares if your fucking hair doesn't look quite right, NOBODY FUCKING CARES!

Cameron certainly didn't care. Maybe it was the shower? Did she think he was like, weirdly vain? Or was she just done with her Cheerios and left without thinking anything was wrong?

Honestly, that hadn't seemed out of the realm of possibility. But now that it was after 6 and she had yet to respond to his texts... it felt unlikely. Whatever the threshold for ghosting was, he was pretty sure they were past it.

Andrew sighed, stroking Da Vinci's fur while the cat purred on his lap. He didn't know when the "late set" at Moonlight started but—

KNOCK-KNOCK KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK... KNOCK KNOCK.

Andrew looked up from the couch where he was sitting.

Is it her? No... she doesn't knock. But, maybe....

Da Vinci put up no resistance in hopping off Andrew's lap, diving straight under the couch. He knew a knock on the door meant a visitor.

Trying not to get his hopes up, Andrew swung the door open — and nearly swallowed his tongue.

"Surprise!"

Mal stood on his doorstep, holding up a McDonald's bag and wearing a plastered-on grin. It wasn't one of her patented electrically powered smiles — it was forced, like she knew this was not exactly cool, but she was doing her best to put a casual face on it anyway. "Can I come in?"

Andrew stared at his wife in utter shock. Cameron had completely driven from his mind the anxiousness about Mal being back in town that had taken up residence there not so long ago. Now it all came flooding back.

And she's standing on my doorstep.

She was still smiling, illuminated only by the light leaving the living room on a night cloudy enough to obscure the moon. There was a pleading in her hazel eyes that said she had no delusions about whether a reasonable man would let her in. But they both knew that when it came to her, he had never been a reasonable man. Especially when caught flat-footed.

After the few seconds of shock wore off, Andrew turned and let her pass.

What the fuck is she doing here? What the fuck am I doing letting her in? Just tell her no! It's not too late now, you can still do it, goddammit!

With a will of its own, his hand closed the door behind her, and he watched her while she walked to the kitchen table as if she'd been there a million times before. She was wearing tight, stylish dark blue jeans and a silky, cream-colored blouse with black, professional flats. Her hair was down, pouring down half her back — a melting chocolate-brown. Her body looked as trim as ever, and his eyes followed her like a reflex, settling on her athletic, taut behind before she turned around to see if he would join her.

Snapping out of it, he did, taking one of the three seats at the small, round table. Their divorce papers were still sitting on it.

Did Cameron see the divorce papers? Did she get freaked out over that? Why would that freak her out? She knew about Mal, didn't she?

Mal didn't show if she took any notice of what the papers were, she just slid them to the side and pulled out a wrapped-up burger, putting it in front of him — smiling all the while.

"Just cheese, no worries," she said. "Not unlike yourself," she added with a wink.

He gave a thin smile back, trying to catch up with what was suddenly happening.

Setting a chicken sandwich box in front of herself, Mal took a seat next to him, then snagged a couple of fries from a container she put between them.

"You okay?" she said with a sidelong glance after finishing chewing.

He wobbled his head from side to side noncommittally, delaying having to answer so he could snap himself out of his own thoughts and focus on what was in front of him.

"Y-yeah... yeah. Sorry. Just... yeah. Hi." He smiled at her, but it felt as forced as hers had looked.

"Hey, I know I shouldn't be here," she said, bowing her head. "I just figured, we're adults, right? I'm back in town now, so let's... talk. And see where things go, yeah?"

He took a bite of his burger. She'd remembered he wasn't a big fan of condiments. Of course she had, he thought. She'd always teased him about being a plain vanilla kind of guy. She just usually wasn't referring to food.

"So... you and Paul not hitting the clubs tonight?" She winked at him and he snorted, more genuinely amused now.

"Yeah, you know, figured we'd give the ladies a break. They can only handle so much of this," he said, gesturing at his body. "As you well know," he muttered as an afterthought.

He immediately regretted saying it. For a fraction of a second, her expression changed before reverting to the professional smile she'd apparently painted on for the night. But for that fraction, he recognized the pain of guilt flash across her face.

"So... you were at a bachelorette party?" he said, trying to move the conversation along and away from his barb.

She nodded, swallowing before answering. "Yeah, Nikki's getting married next weekend. You remember Nikki? My friend from—"

"from that law firm you worked for for a while, yeah. Sure, I remember Nikki." He hadn't recognized Nikki on the dancefloor that night, although that wasn't where his attention had been, to be fair.

It made a more genuine smile form on Mal's face.

You think I don't remember every single detail about you? You know I do. Maybe you just want to prove it to yourself. That nothing's changed. Or at least that I haven't. Have you...?

Unexpectedly, she set down her sandwich, eyeing him seriously.

"Umm... what's up?" he said, freezing his burger halfway to his mouth.

"It's... it's gonna be awkward until I say what I came here to say, so I should just get it out of the way, okay?"

He felt the blood drain from his face and he set his burger down gingerly.

At least I'm finding out her agenda sooner rather than later, I guess.

"I've had a lot of time to... reflect on... us," she said after taking a breath. Andrew wasn't sure if she was launching into something she'd rehearsed, but it was definitely something she'd thought a lot about, that much was clear. "I was awful to you. I'm back in town now, and I came here to say that... I'm sorry."

She reached for his hand and he let her hold it, too stunned to do anything else.

She's here to... apologize?

This... this is what he'd been hoping for, deep down, wasn't it? That someday she'd just show up at his door and... want everything to get back to normal? To how things were before she cheated on him? Before she treated him like he was nothing?

Before I fell apart?

Andrew didn't even know what he was feeling inside yet. He was just... blank. Numb. Completely unsure of what was supposed to be there.

The burnt hazel of Mal's eyes were flecked with darker brown, like a unique, mesmerizing kaleidoscope that always enraptured him, adding to whatever she was saying. He couldn't remember how long he'd spent looking into them over the years, memorizing where each fleck was.

They were right where he'd left them.

"I took you for granted, took everything we had for granted," she said in a quiet voice, not breaking eye contact. "I wish I had an excuse, something that was better than I just..." she looked for the right words, "was an asshole. But I don't have one. You deserve so much better than that. Anybody does, anybody deserves more than the zero respect I treated you with. But especially you do."

Andrew tried not to look away — or maybe he was trying to? He wasn't sure, just that he was stuck, unable to think about anything or look anywhere else. Tears started to well up at the bottom of his vision.

"I'm sorry, Andrew. From the bottom of my heart. I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't want you to forgive me — you shouldn't. I can't take it back. I wish I could. All I can do is say I'm sorry and tell you that I wanna be better.

"I'm gonna be better."

She squeezed his hand, like she was making him a promise.

He felt a tear fall. She didn't say anything, didn't even look at it. The paint-by-numbers smile was gone, and her eyes were glistening, too.

Did she think this was going to change something? She remembers my cheeseburger preferences and says she's sorry?

"Thanks," he mumbled, not sure what else to say.

She removed her hand and wiped her eyes, taking a second to put her mask back on while she picked up her sandwich again.

They made small talk as they ate, gradually getting less awkward. She could still make Andrew smile in the most unexpected ways. She reminded him of his sister like that. Mal had always seen him in a way nobody else had. Nothing sent a charge through him like them noticing the same thing together that no one else did — and then sharing a laugh over it.

Maybe... maybe I could handle being friends. I mean, we got married because we got along so well, saw things so much the same. And we cared about each other. We just... didn't work as a couple. Maybe.

They sat together long after they were done eating, Mal telling him stories about places she'd been and people she'd met for her job. She was an economic development consultant, heading to communities across the country — but mostly the west coast — to help them attract businesses and industry. She was probably pretty good at it, which didn't surprise Andrew one bit.

If there's one thing she can do, it's convince people they can trust her.

He'd meant the thought cynically, but he wasn't totally certain it was. If Mal was in your corner, you could trust her. And there was nobody better to have there.

You just, you know, might wanna look back and check she's actually there every once in a while. She might've found another corner — or four — a little more fun to be in.

"So, were you at Moonlight checking out the bachelorettes? Looking for your next nightly conquest?" she said with a goofy wink after a lull in the conversation.

He laughed, maybe a little too easily. "Yeah, but, you know, it's hard." He took a sip of water, then finished. "Conquered so many, hardly any left at this point! Gonna have to find someplace new soon probably."

Mal gave him a good-natured laugh in response. "Suuurrree. That's you, Andrew Mullins: Cuntquistador!" They both laughed harder, the awkwardness almost all the way gone.

If this is as awkward as it gets, maybe this really could work. We are both adults. In a couple more years, maybe it won't even be weird at all. And if it keeps her in my life... why wouldn't I want this?

They shared an easy silence as he watched her smile return to its normal shape.

"So... really though, have you been getting out there, Andrew?" She took his hand now to let him know she was being serious, that she was really hoping he had been.

"You mean like... dating?" he asked, confused.

Does she just feel guilty that she was out there getting her share of dick and I never... opened myself up to the universe of pussy? Or would it just make her feel better to think that I'm moving on, that she didn't permanently break me or something?

She nodded. "Or just, you know, whatever." She shrugged suggestively, if such a thing were possible.

Andrew grimaced. "Not... not really."

"What's that mean?" she asked, a genuine care in her voice. It reminded him of before they were dating, when they were just friends in college. She'd been such a good friend then, so good at zeroing in on his feelings even better than he could. That was part of what had made them such a good couple.

"Umm... I... don't really know if I am or not," he heard himself say.

Why am I opening this can of worms? Am I really gonna ask my wife for advice about Cameron?

She laughed, letting his hand go. "Ohhh, classic Andrew! So... there is someone... you just don't know if you're dating. Hmm... is it Heather?" she said with a conspiratorial grin.

Andrew snorted. "What? No, it's not Heather, that'd be... weird. She's like another sister."

"Well?"

He sighed. "I don't really wanna do this. Why are we doing this?"

"Hey, you said something. You know that means you wanna talk about it. And there's no reason we can't, right?" She turned up the wattage on her smile, and he couldn't stop himself from smiling back.

"Yeahhhhh," he groaned. And she was right, as usual. "She's... her name's Cameron. And I dunno, she stayed the night the other night—"

"Oooooh, the cuntquistador has planted his flag??" Her eyes danced mischievously and he felt himself flush, shooting her a look before continuing.

"... so she stayed the night, and then... I dunno, she just took off when..." he coughed uncomfortably.

"When...?"

"... when Heather came into the house in the morning to pick me up for carpool."

Mal stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing. "Oh my God. Andrew! Yeah that'd be pretty fucking awkward! Why does she have a key, Andrew?!"

He shook his head, unable to keep from smiling a little himself now that he'd said it out loud. "She and Paul both do! We're all key buddies! We have each other's keys for emergencies! And... also... I guess just when she feels like popping in to drop off my laptop before carpool...."

Mal's look shifted to pity.

"Oh man." She shook her head. "So she just... left?"

He nodded. "Yeah. We were... actually supposed to go somewhere together tonight but...."

"Oh... shit, I'm sorry!" She looked genuinely horrified. Probably because she knew it was entirely within the realm of possibility that Andrew would've just blown off someone else if Mal turned up at his door. "You aren't here instead of with her are you? Please tell me you didn't let me crash—"

He shook his head. "No, no. I woulda just been sitting around here waiting for a text that never came. So... actually kind of glad you're here." He looked up at her with a sheepish half-smile.

"Me too," she said.

They just smiled at each other in silence, nothing left to say. Andrew felt like he could sit with her like this for hours. They'd done it, actually, plenty of times. They could talk for hours on end, or they could just sit together for hours without exchanging a word. Both were equally as exciting to him. He missed it. He always had, ever since they started to grow apart.

"Did you miss me at all?" he heard himself blurt out in a quiet voice.

He wanted to hide — he was convinced he was going to ruin this, whatever new kind of relationship they were building here.

A few different expressions took turns sprinting across Mal's face. None of them looked like she was annoyed with the question, though.

"Of course," she finally returned, in the same quiet tone. "Of course I missed you, Andrew. Every day."

She reached for his hand on the table hesitantly, giving him the chance to pull back. He didn't.

The touch of her long, slender fingers felt just as exciting as it ever had, sending a familiar jolt through his whole body. It was exactly as he'd remembered — as he'd thought about late at night when he was utterly, achingly alone.

Mal picked up his hand and held it in hers for what felt like a full minute. The whine of the refrigerator was the loudest sound in the room, but he could barely hear it over the buzzing in his own head. He barely dared to breathe, not wanting to risk ending the hypnotic moment.

"I should probably get going," she finally muttered, reluctantly. He nodded with a reluctance to match.

After they held each other's gaze for another few seconds, she gave his hand a squeeze as she got up.

Andrew gathered up the wrappers and threw them away while Mal walked slowly toward the door, waiting for him.

She was smiling again — the smile he recognized, from ear to ear, her gleaming teeth glowing in bright contrast to her skin, tanned from a summer in the California sun.

"I'm really glad you invited me over for dinner," she said with a playful wink.

"Ha, yeah. I am too. You're welcome."

Mal's smile radiated off her face. She'd come in so anxious, nervous that things would be different between them. He had been too. How could they not be?

But underneath it all, they were the same people they'd always been.

Like we were made for each other — to fit together perfectly. And we still fit.

He smiled back.

Then Andrew felt her hand on his cheek, and he nearly moaned, closing his eyes at her gentle fingers on his skin. He wanted to lean into it, to lean into her, for her to hold him and tell him she was back. To tell him that she loved him, that they were going to be together again.

And too small a part of him wanted to cry, to scream that it was happening again. That he was letting it happen again. But it was too small a part to be heard over the buzzing in his ears, over her beaming smile, over the thrill of her touch.

When he opened his eyes, she was closer, paused just in front of his lips, the warm breath from her nose on his. But she wasn't going to close the final inch. If he wanted to kiss her, he would have to make the choice himself.

He couldn't make any other.

Her lips felt so familiar, her tongue so inviting, welcoming his into her mouth. Her hand pulled his head closer, digging into his hair. He did moan now — he couldn't stop himself. It made her move her other hand to his cheek, and finally, to gently push him away, separating them.

She was flushed, breathing just a little too heavily, like he was.

"I... uhh," she said, giving him a quick smile and a little laugh. "I should really go now. But... maybe... maybe we can... do this again sometime."

She opened the door in the same motion, looking at him and flashing another of her electric grins. It jolted him in a different way this time as he closed the door behind her.

Andrew turned his back to the door, slumping down against it, grinning — unable to stop grinning. He knew the feeling welling up in his chest was dangerous. But... he couldn't help it. He felt... alive. For the first time in years — wanted, worthwhile.

Mal kissed me, and she wants to see me again.

He didn't know what that meant. He didn't want to guess. But it was hard for him not to jump to the end, imagining them together again — this time, permanently.

Da Vinci finally came out of hiding from his usual spot beneath the couch. His look of annoyance changed to a cocked head of curiosity at Andrew sitting in a place that usually wasn't for sitting. Or maybe it was the grin in the place that usually wasn't for grinning.

Eventually, his smile faded as he replayed the night in his head. It was helped along when he remembered how his night had begun — sitting on the couch like the lonely loser approaching middle age that he'd been just a few hours ago, pining after a girl more than a decade his junior who, in a sign of his pathetic desperation, had made him feel an echo of what he was feeling right now by deigning to give him one smile.

Andrew shook his head slowly as he thought of how real that had seemed to him then, how much sway it had over how he felt — and how ridiculous it all seemed now.

He checked his phone and saw no new messages.

It's for the best.

After all, what if she had texted him? He would've been hanging out with her at Moonlight tonight.

This never would have happened.

Andrew stuffed the phone back into his pocket, and grinned wider.

~~~

Chapter 16

[vibe track: trampoline jauz remix - shaed]

Sync tracks. Play. Crossfade.

Cameron was in a groove, her body surrendering to the beat. This was how she wanted it. The crowd had thinned out by now. The ones left were the ones who had nowhere to go but where the music took them. And Cameron was ready to follow it anywhere.

But her eyes weren't. They kept darting to the entrance. She knew why, but she didn't want to think about it.

Sync tracks. Play. Fade.

She tried to focus on the vibe of the crowd, the pulse of the bass. The wispy vocals spreading its wings over the top of it all, like she longed to do.

Time was an illusion, one she'd shattered hours ago. Or maybe it was days. Or maybe she hadn't gotten around to it yet. Was she ignoring that too?

I should know by now ignoring it doesn't do any good, either.

Every time she looked up, she was hoping to see him walk in, bewildered and out of place until he spotted her.

She knew that was stupid.

So she went back to ignoring it.

Sync tracks. Play. Fade.

Cameron had finally gotten the answer she'd been dreading when she got back to her shitty apartment that morning.

Gram scheduled the burial. Everything was taken care of, just like Cameron had wanted.

Ten days. That's how long it would take to burn her mother's body, put it in a box, and get ready to stick her in the ground. Or maybe that was how long it took to burn everybody else's mothers until they got to hers.

Why couldn't she feel the molly yet? Wasn't she supposed to be feeling good? It never took this long to kick in.

Sync tracks. Play. Look to door.

Gram said she'd come. So would Kendra.

See? I'm not alone. Look at all these people!

She surveyed the vibrating crowd, the throng of night owls like her who didn't want the party to end.

Whatever they were ignoring, she was happy to help.

He wasn't coming. She'd helped with that, too, hadn't she.

Sync tracks. Play. Look to door.

Sure. She knew it was her fault. Who else's would it be? It was always her fault.

She could try on different outfits, different hairstyles, different attitudes — but underneath it all, she was the same person she'd always been. People were always that way, weren't they?

That's it. Blame yourself — but not really, because everybody's as shitty as you, isn't that right? Whatever helps you sleep at night, babygirl.

Sync tracks. Play. Look at phone in disappointment.

He doesn't even know why I ran out. I don't even know why.

Shit was too real. Too fast. Too com—... pletely fucked.

It was better just to ghost him. She was convinced of that.

Wasn't she?

Sure she was.

He can just bury the memory of me down deep in his deep brown eyes.

Another shitty nightmare he can cover up in there and cry about when he's too drunk to remember he's not supposed to remember.

Would he think I'm even worth burying?

Sync tracks. Play. Who gives a fuck.

I was gonna be better. Remember? But, like mother like daughter, huh? Took off running at the first sign of something you might have to take responsibility for.

Yeah. There you go again. Blame it on your dead mom this time. Just so long as it's not your own fault you're miserable, right?

Sync tracks. Play. Fuck everything.

Did my mom ever regret it?

She had to, right? Sometimes at least? One time?

Is that what she would've told me? Or would she have blamed it on her mom, too. Or that it's too hard for people to change. Or that things were just too com—... prehensively shitty.

What would I say on my deathbed? Who would stand me up at the hospital? Would it eat away at them, too?

I should write it down sometime. I might need it.

Sync tracks. Play. Fade away.

~~~

Chapter 17

Andrew pet Da Vinci idly while the TV was on in the background. His attention was really on his phone, though, his eyes drawn to it even though he knew she wasn't going to text him tonight.

He'd fallen into a routine all week with her, texting late into the night. They hardly ever ran out of things to say. He went to sleep every night this week feeling better than he had in years.

But tonight, Mal was at Nikki's wedding. So he knew he wasn't going to be getting any texts from her. Still... his eyes kept flicking involuntarily to the phone beside him anyway, hoping he'd see it light up.

He hadn't dared to tell Paul and Heather. Not yet. He knew how they'd react, of course. And he couldn't blame them. It wasn't like he thought this was a good idea, necessarily... but... if the only risk was that he might get hurt... hadn't that already happened?

Too often, he'd been a passenger on the trip through his own life.

How am I ever going to get what I want if I don't put myself out there?

He'd done that with Cameron, to a degree. Not too much, thankfully, so it didn't hurt that much that he didn't expect he'd hear from her again. Not after she ghosted him.

All in all, he was even more sure now that was really for the best. They were just two lonely people who'd needed someone to keep them warm at night. He'd served that purpose for her when she'd needed it, and it was a good memory. Now it would stay that way instead of becoming a bittersweet one when things inevitably frayed in the end.

Because whatever they'd been skirting around the edges of, it was never going to work. They just didn't have anything in common. They couldn't even hold a conversation without half of it being silence.

Usually her half. He smirked at that.

But with Mal? Even the silences felt electric. It had always been that way — and it still was, even after three years of being apart.

That didn't mean Andrew wasn't well aware he had a blind spot for his wife. Obviously he did. He had to make sure he wasn't setting himself up for an even worse fall than he'd gone through last time.

If she was really going to do things differently this time, she'd have to show him. Andrew was determined to take it slow, so he could find out if this was real or just a desperate mirage they'd both conjured up.

In his head, he could feel Paul and Heather exchanging one of their looks.

Yeah, yeah—

KNOCK-KNOCK KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK... KNOCK KNOCK.

He grinned, floating to the door. Da Vinci wasn't as enthusiastic, immediately abandoning the couch cushion for the safe space underneath.

Mal stood on his stoop, her grin beaming bright enough to be a hazard to planes and ships. She was wearing a powder-purple bridesmaid gown with a long slit that showed off her toned, tanned leg practically from her mid-thigh. The dress clung to her body like it was made just for her. Her chocolate hair was done up into a braid that cascaded down her back and framed her glowing face, her cheeks slightly flushed — her hazel eyes alight with the kind of mischief that made his heart beat faster.

"I thought you had Nikki's wedding?" he asked, half serious and half joking.

"Yeah," she said with a kidding sigh. "I hung out at the reception for a while, but eh — felt like going for a walk. How 'bout you?" She winked.

He didn't see a car out there behind her. "Did you walk here?" he said, impressed.

She laughed. She had a contagious, delightful laugh that invited everybody who heard it to join in. "No, not in these heels."

He turned aside for her to enter and she did, holding up a pair of sneakers. As he closed the door behind her, she looked around, craning her neck conspicuously.

"I was a little afraid I might be interrupting something..." she said, looking back at him. "I'm not, am I?"

She was fishing and he knew it. But she wasn't interrupting anything, so what did it matter?

He shook his head with a knowing look. "No. I never heard back from her." Andrew didn't even try to sound disappointed.

Mal shrugged as if to say, "shucks, that's too bad," and stretched her leg out of the slit of her gown much further than it needed to go as she bent over to change shoes. Her legs were smooth and strong, like everything about her. She wasn't small, like Cameron. Mal had muscle on her. Years on her. Life on her. A woman in every sense who knew exactly what to do with what she had.

Wow, am I getting turned on already?

She gave him one of her galvanic grins, pretending to be oblivious, but he didn't buy it. That didn't mean he didn't like it, though.

"Ready?" she asked, which made him realize he'd just been standing there. She tsked at him as he slipped his shoes on and grabbed his keys.

Outside, it was clear — the stars twinkling in the sky without a cloud to obstruct them. Andrew loved this time of year, and this time of evening. Everything felt crisper, clearer, more focused. Even the quiet of night.

They started walking around his neighborhood, to nowhere in particular. She looked like she'd be cold, but she said it was crowded and hot at the reception, so it felt good out here. The rosiness still lingering in her cheeks said she wasn't lying.

That didn't stop her from looping her arm inside Andrew's so she could get closer. He felt a little silly that he was wearing a T-shirt and jeans and she was dressed to the nines. But then, he probably would've felt sillier had he answered the door in a suit, so he made his peace with it.

It was the kind of night that nostalgia was made for — quiet, peaceful, cool. The stars overhead invited reflection. She must've been thinking along the same lines.

"Reminds me of when we were in college," she said wistfully, her head on his shoulder as they slowly approached a little neighborhood park with a bench and a swing set.

He wasn't sure what to make of her being so comfortable with him already. At the same time... why shouldn't she be? She's my wife for Pete's sake. It doesn't even feel weird. Just like it always did.

"Yeah." He smiled at the memories. They were good ones. "We'd just... walk together, for hours. 'Til the sun came up, sometimes."

She smiled too. "Everything seemed so urgent then, you know? Everything was so important. Now I can't even remember all those things that were the most important things ever." She laughed a little, rubbing Andrew's arm with her other hand.

Mal stopped and looked up at the stars, so Andrew did too. It'd been a long, long time since he'd looked up at them — really looked up at them. Looking up at the night sky was something you did as a kid, when you were a romantic and when you had time to get lost in your thoughts — good and bad — with a future to dream of.

Even though there was a bench right there, Mal flattened her gown behind her and took a seat on the grass, gingerly lying down on her back.

With a laugh, Andrew joined her, settling in next to her.

"You're gonna get that thing dirty," he chided.

"Psh, they're gonna clean it anyway, not like it's mine!" She stuck out her tongue at him and they laughed.

The sky was clear and dark. What they could see of it was framed by tree branches that hadn't yet lost all their leaves, but were well on their way. The new moon, cloaked in shadow, let only the smallest slivers of light reflect down onto them.

He felt her fingers close around his and he did the same.

"Not everything seems so urgent anymore," she said, her head beginning to rest against his.

"There are some good parts about getting old, I guess."

"Some of us faster than others," she said, even though they were the same age. He elbowed her and she let out a giddy laugh.

They were quiet for a moment, feeling the warmth of the other in the cool grass, lost in the night sky.

"I think I'm better about seeing what's important than I was," she said quietly. "I would do so much differently." Her voice was even softer now, barely above a whisper. He felt her head turn toward him.

"I never stopped loving you," she said. "Even... even when... when I was hurting you." He could hear the shame in her voice now. "I just... I didn't know what love was then."

He turned to face her, their noses fighting each other for space.

"I love you, Andrew," she whispered, her lips brushing his as she said it.

Her hand rose to his cheek, and he moved the millimeter forward he needed so that their lips met. Andrew pulled her closer, their tongues dancing with each other.

"I love you too, Mal," he said, breathless. "I always have."

She kissed him again, her tongue aggressively exploring his mouth as her hands roamed his chest. Abruptly, she pulled back before they went any further, and they grinned at each other like they were in school again. They got up and walked back to his duplex at the quickest pace they could manage while still holding hands.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Mal planted him against it, turning him toward her so she could kiss him again without any inhibitions. Her tongue snaked into his mouth and then onto his face and down his neck. She gave him a playful bite — grinning and giggling suggestively as she did — then kissed him in the same spot, tipping up his chin.

Andrew gasped as he felt her fingers undoing his belt, tugging down his pants and boxers in the same motion. His cock sprang out, bare against her gown, excited even more by the silky touch of it.

Excited was the watchword for every part of his body. Every touch, every caress, every sound was so heightened that he could barely breathe — what he had dreamt of for so long was finally happening, and it was real.

Mal moaned into his ear as she cleaned it with her tongue, nibbling on his earlobe, and he felt his knees wobble.

"Yessssss," he hissed out, like a steam kettle doing the only thing it could to stop from overflowing.

With one of her mischievous grins, she took his hand and slid it under her dress, between her thighs. She wasn't wearing any panties.

Andrew groaned at the feeling of his wife's pussy — hot, wet and eager for him. He slid two fingers in and out of her, and she let out an audible sigh into his ear.

"You've been waiting so long for this, haven't you," she whispered. Her voice dripped with the promise of finally ending that unbearable anticipation... as long as he could wait just a little longer.

All he could do was nod, unable to do or think anything else.

Mal draped her hands around his head, grinding her naked pussy against his growing cock, pressing him into the door. It was all he could do to stop from unloading right there on the welcome mat. Instead, he held her hips, gripping them tightly through the silky fabric of her dress as the door rattled against his back each time she pressed into him, his aching cock getting harder and harder.

"I can tell you have," she cooed. "You're so hard already." Her voice was a low growl in his ear, driving him wild inside. The knowing, in-charge tone she took with him had always had an almost hypnotic effect on him.

"Do you dream about this pussy at night, Andrew," she said, more statement than question. "Dream of fucking your wife again?"

He groaned, feeling every muscle in his body surging to lurch into her in answer. Yes, he had dreamt of this. And she knew him well enough to know that he had. More often than he ever wanted to admit.

Andrew tried to move his hands up her back, but she grabbed them and held them above his head, roughly pinning him by the wrists to the door. He writhed in her grip, not because he was trying to get away, but at the excitement cresting inside him.

He gasped and his body hummed at the feeling of being stretched out against the door, exposed in front of his wife, his swollen cock at a 90-degree angle and begging for her to do whatever she wanted with it — with him.

Mal kept humping him, slowly, testing his endurance. The door banged loudly against its frame each time. If his neighbor was unsure of what they were up to before, all doubt would be removed now.

She growled from deep in her throat, a grin beaming at maximum wattage, and he groaned like an animal in heat through his own grin, anticipating her next move.

Holding his wrists still, she jammed her mouth against his, her tongue aggressively and sloppily having its way.

"You don't care how many other men have been in this pussy, do you," she said between kisses in that same commanding tone.

Andrew felt a shuddering whimper come out instead of an answer. He didn't know what he was supposed to say anyway. He did care... but... she was also right. He needed it — needed her. Right now. And she knew it.

"Aww, poor little cuntquistador," she said in a voice that she clearly meant to be playful, "can't conquer any other pussy, can you?" Her eyes were an inch from his now, and her index finger impishly slid off the edge of his nose. He closed his eyes, not wanting to answer.

How did she know?

Who was he kidding. Everybody probably knew.

Everybody knows I can't man up, that the best I can hope for is some sad girl letting me eat her out 'til she falls asleep.

He felt her lean in, his eyes still clamped shut while her tongue slithered along his neck again. The heat from between her legs radiated against him just before she slid along his painfully erect shaft.

"But you don't even want another pussy, do you, Andrew," she whispered into his ear. His entire body shuddered at the sound of his name on her lips. "You'd do anything to fuck me — and only me, wouldn't you."

He would. He knew she was right. She was always right. She knew him too well. He would do anything. And so he nodded vigorously, a low-pitched whine escaping the lips he thought he'd closed up tight.

Mal smiled and let his hands come down, leading him to the couch. Da Vinci quickly scampered out from underneath, hightailing it for Andrew's bedroom.

She pushed him into the seat and yanked off his shirt.

"Mal," he said as she attacked his chest with her mouth, "can you — ahhhh — can you... not say stuff like that? I just — ahhhhhh — I just wanna focus on us, okay?"

She stopped and looked up at him with genuine surprise in her hazel eyes. "Of course," she said. She was smiling, but at his rock-hard dick. "My little prince." She pressed her reddened cheek against it and he groaned, throwing his head back. He wanted to cum right then, but did his best to hold on — until she told him it was time.

"Aww, you couldn't handle a blowjob right now, could you, little guy," she said, licking the glans with the very tip of her tongue. He shuddered and squeezed the armrest tight.

With a devious giggle, she pulled him down, leaving his upper body on the cushion and the rest of him hanging onto the floor. Mal kicked off her shoes and stood over him with a leg on each side, stepping up onto the couch in her bare feet.

He gazed up between her long, strong legs, able to make out the outline of her pussy in the dark underneath her dress. His eyes seemed to roll into his head without him telling them to. He could smell her, remember her taste on his tongue — he'd completely surrendered any semblance of control he thought he might've still been holding onto.

And he had never been more excited about it.

She lowered herself onto him and he eagerly licked her, holding her steady on his mouth as he worked into the familiar contours of her perfect pussy. He recalled exactly where to swirl his tongue, where to suck, how to get her to moan through her whole body — everything felt exactly as he'd been imagining for so long, exactly as he'd remembered in his dreams.

He gasped for air as she ground into him, balancing on his face. Andrew loved how wet she got, how drenched he was in her juices while burying his face in her folds. He lapped up every drop he could, choosing it over air as he gulped for breath.

"Mmmmmm you wanna feel it, don't you," she said, hinting that he would be able to soon. "You wanna pump this beautiful pussy full, don't you, my little cuntquistador." She laughed at reusing her word, and he groaned eager agreement into her, not wanting to leave his post for even an instant.

Grabbing his hair, she moaned again and pulled roughly, jerking him out from under her gown. The specks of brown in her hazel eyes blazed almost orange as she looked down on him, the out-of-control lust behind them matching his own.

"You'd do anything to feel my tight, hot cunt squeezing your little cock again, wouldn't you," she murmured with a lopsided smile that said she already knew the answer.

She always used to call his penis small when they were together. She thought it was cute. It hadn't really bothered him... until she'd started fucking other guys with bigger dicks. He tried not to let it bother him now.

Besides... she was right. Again. He knew his cock wasn't anything special, and he knew that right now, there was nothing in the world he wanted more — needed more — than to fuck his wife.

She laughed again and let his head drop to the couch cushion. As she stepped down onto the hardwood, she leaned in and kissed him deeply, her warm tongue meticulously licking up every drop of herself from his lips.

"Mmmmm." She wiped her lips, gleaming with her juices and glossy lipstick, then leaned closer to whisper into his ear. "Then take it."

She took a couple of steps back, her arms crossed, wearing a teasing expression. Standing tall in her somehow unwrinklable gown, Mal appeared as a goddess, daring him to fuck her.

Andrew heard only his blood pumping in his ears. He was going to fuck his goddess, no matter what.

He launched himself off the couch and took hold of her, eliciting an excited yelp as he bent her over the couch, lifting up her gown. He couldn't wait any longer, rabid with the taste of her pussy still on his tongue.

Guiding himself inside her, he slid in easily, letting out an open-mouthed groan at the feeling of finally entering his wife again. She was still tight, her pussy still squeezing his cock — no matter how small it supposedly was — as he pushed further inside her. He was done waiting, though, and grabbed her hips underneath her flipped-up gown, spearing her on his cock.

She yelped again, in a deeper register this time, and it extended into a long moan.

"Fuccckk yessss, Andrewww," she said. "Oh my god, FUCK ME!" There was as much excitement in her voice as he felt inside himself.

He needed no more encouragement, and slammed into her as far as he could go.

"YESSSS, FUCK! THERE'S my man, YESSS!" she screamed.

He responded only by thrusting himself into her again and again, reveling in the feeling each time of diving deeper inside this woman he needed, feeling her body react to his quickening pace. Andrew never wanted this feeling to end, fighting every impulse inside himself to release into her just like he used to do.

"Ahhh, what would that slut from the club think now, huh?" she said wickedly as he went faster. "No random little bitch's pussy's like mine, is it Andrew?"

She gasped and moaned with each creak of the couch, clutching the back of it for dear life.

"Spank me!" she barked out. "Ahhh, yes, yes YESSS AHH, come ON!"

He was overcome with the moment and slapped his palm as hard as he could on her bare ass, groaning from deep inside while he did. It gave a satisfying smack and already her cheek was turning red against the air. She yowled with pleasure as he made contact.

"YESS! FUCK YES, SPANK ME LIKE A MAN!"

He hated it when she said that. She knew he hated it when she said shit like that — and that's why she did it. Just so he would get angry.

Andrew gave her what she wanted, channeling into his palm his anger at what she was doing. Two more smacks reverberated through the living room and each time she loosed a guttural howl laced with intense pleasure.

"Ahhhhh I'm-I'm so close," she gasped out as he started ramming into her again. He could feel she was close, for sure. So was he.

"DON'T YOU CUM YET," she snarled. He was sure his neighbor heard that loud and clear, too. "KEEP GOING!"

She grabbed his hand from her hip and tugged it forward, jamming it on her throat. He tried to jerk it away, but she snatched it again and held it there this time.

"Do it," she hissed between gasps.

Andrew wasn't himself — he was an animal, completely devoid of reason and driven only by her scent, the taste of her lingering on his lips, the sound of their sweaty skin slapping together, all made only more maddening by the feeling of her pussy squeezing his cock deeper and deeper into her with each thrust. He couldn't think, not while he was keeping himself from exploding inside her with all that remained of his will.

So his fingers squeezed around her neck, choking off her loudest moan while she pushed back into him. "YESSS, HARDER!" She clenched out, pushing his hand to apply more pressure.

When he didn't, Mal turned, looking him in the eye while she braced herself against the couch. Her eyes were on fire.

"Andrew," she spat, "maybe you can't manage to bang some drunk whore even after you get her into your bedroom, but if you don't fuck me right, I know plenty of real men who aren't afraid to."

She slammed his hand against her throat again as she turned back around, daring him to finally do what she wanted.

He screamed out through gritted teeth — not a word, just a determination inside him made manifest — and crushed her throat as hard as he could with his fingers, pounding into her from behind. He could feel the muscles in her neck trying to scream, but no sound came out.

Her body tensed all at once — then shivered, starting in her toes in a wave that crashed up through her shoulders and neck. He yanked on her throat and saw her eyes rolling into her head as she looked up at the ceiling, lost in the ecstasy of her orgasm, only able to spit and blubber through the vise grip he kept on her.

Her pussy did the same to him, and he cried out again — plenty loud enough for the both of them — and felt his fingers close even more tightly as he jetted rope after rope inside his wife. He felt it leaking back out of her even as he spasmed again, dripping onto the couch and the hardwood below.

As he finished, his grip on her throat loosened and she coughed, gasping for air. She would have gone limp, but he held her up, emptying yet another round into her.

Finally spent, he slumped onto the couch next to her. She was still heaving in shuddering breaths, snaking and writhing as she delighted in the afterglow of her intense orgasm.

For several minutes, she made no move toward him. Didn't even look at him until after she got up and stretched.

When she did, loose strands of hair rebelling against the formerly perfectly done braid, Mal was beaming with contentment. As she looked down on him, though, still on the couch, she noticed Andrew wasn't.

"What's wrong, Andrew?" she said with a frown and what looked like real surprise that he wasn't grinning just as widely as she was.

Andrew only glared up at her. But he wasn't angry at her. The only person to be angry at was himself.

While Mal had gotten what she'd wanted, he was again left with the familiar emptiness, the coldness of what they'd just done. Of what he'd just done. There was no pleasure in it. Just another reminder that the only way he could give her what she wanted was for her to control him, to show him just how little he had to offer other than serving as an eager plaything.

And he had been eager. So, so eager to do everything and anything she'd asked.

How the fuck did I fall for this shit again. Everyone told me what she was like. I told myself what she was like. But here I am. Again.

She leaned down toward him, cupping her hand to his cheek. The lustful flames in her eyes had been replaced with kindness and concern.

"What's wrong?" she repeated, gently stroking his cheek with her thumb. This was the Mal he loved, and who, more importantly, loved him.

How can this be the same Mal? How can she not know how she made me feel?

As tears started to well up in her eyes, he realized that she did know. Some part of her, at least.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, not breaking eye contact. She pulled him into a hug, pressing his face to her breast. He didn't move. He didn't feel like doing anything at all.

"I didn't mean it, you know," she whispered. "I never mean it. I... I thought you knew that." She pulled back and held his face in her hands, looking into his eyes for... forgiveness? Acknowledgment?

Whatever it was, she wouldn't find it, Andrew knew. There was nothing there to find.

"I think you should go," he said quietly.

His wife's face fell as she backed away, another tear falling. "Andrew... I'm... I'm sorry," she said, looking back at him. "I thought...."

He knew what she thought. Because he'd thought the same thing.

I thought we were going to do it right this time, too. But maybe... maybe it's better we found out now.

Her eyes were still searching him, pleading with him. Reluctantly, she pulled out her phone to get an Uber.

Eventually she sat down next to him on the couch and he felt her fingers close around his hand. He let her. He wasn't mad at her, after all.

They both just sat there, Mal holding his hand, until her ride arrived. Before she left, she kissed him on the cheek gently.

"I'm sorry, Andrew. You know I do love you."

He didn't respond, and he watched her leave, her immaculate makeup streaked with tears as she closed the door behind her.

After a while, he felt Da Vinci against his bare legs, and Andrew realized he was cold, sitting there naked on the couch.

He collected his clothes and threw them in the hamper, then went into the bathroom, getting a look at the pitiful reflection in the mirror as he started the shower. Andrew expected to see tears in his eyes, but they weren't there. Maybe he didn't have any left to shed over Mal. Or over his own stupid mistakes.

The pathetic man inside stared back at him with weary eyes, tired of making the same mistakes again and again and again. Tired of ending up hurt — and nakedly alone.

How... how did I do this again. How did I let this happen.

He stepped into the shower and closed the door, standing under the showerhead, letting the water pour over him.

Never forget this feeling. No more nights that never happened. This. Fucking. Happened. Don't forget it.

He leaned against the wall, trying to figure out where he could possibly go from here. He didn't want to tell Paul or Heather. Definitely not Brooke.

Brooke might actually kill her. Well, have her killed, probably.

Andrew couldn't bear the thought of them all looking at him with the same caring expression of disappointment and concern. He knew how they looked at him. Those little looks Paul and Heather shot each other when they thought he wasn't watching. Why they really insisted on both having keys to his place.

They all looked at him like he was one crack away from shattering. And...

And maybe I am.

He sighed. It was hard to argue with them. That's what made it so hard to think about how they would react.

The only person who's seen me at my messiest and not looked at me like I was broken— he cut that line of thinking off, too. One fuckup was enough to focus on for now.

In hindsight, he admitted to himself it was obviously always going to end this way. From the moment Mal showed up at his door with dinner — no, from the moment she texted him — she was going to get what she wanted.

She really seemed like she didn't understand at first, though. Like... like it was even a surprise to her that she was... what, manipulating me? Is that the right word if you're manipulating yourself, too?

Closing his eyes, he felt the tension in her neck against his fingers. He hated it. He hated the feeling of his palm slamming into her ass. He hated the feeling of her body convulsing, the pressure building in her as she struggled against his grip to breathe.

Now the tears came.

Andrew let them fall along with the water, reliving the feeling of choking the woman he loved more than anyone he'd ever met.

She told me she didn't know what love was. That she loved me even while she was hurting me. And I just fucking ate it up.

He didn't care that she asked for it. Didn't care that she liked it. He'd felt the same way when she'd gotten him do the same things — worse — during their marriage. During "happier" times.

So many nights that didn't happen flooded back from his memory now. It had started out normal enough — harder, spank me, bite me. He hadn't really minded playing along at first.

But then the progression never stopped. None of it was even really that exotic: a paddle, some handcuffs, zip ties, and of course the choking. It had never been about the pain for her, he was sure of that. It was all about the perverse satisfaction she seemed to take in getting Andrew to hurt her in different ways for her own pleasure.

About seeing what she could get me to do for her. How far I'd go to do what she wanted — even if I hated it. Especially when I hated it.

He still saw the gentle, caring Mal he loved when he'd have to look at her eyes bulging red, and tears pouring out as she gagged on him, still managing to gasp out exhortations about how small he was, how she was barely choking at all — egging him on and getting off on the turmoil inside him.

But he'd done it. He'd done it because it made her feel so good afterward. And because he was afraid — no, because he knew — deep down, that she'd always been too good for someone like him. She always fit in too well with every crowd, was too easygoing, too funny, too beautiful, too sexy, too daring for vanilla, fragile Andrew.

He covered his face with his hands, letting the warm water seep between his fingers.

I told Brooke I was terrified of being forced to find out what comes next. I had three years to figure it out. And instead, I just spent all that time being terrified of letting go.

Now... now he just felt... unmoored. The thing that had been anchoring him — as unhealthy as it had been — had finally disintegrated into the unrelenting waves. And he wished they could carry him away, too.

As the water turned cold, he reluctantly shut off the shower and stepped out, shivering at the chill that seemed to be all around him now.

I guess I was right, he thought while he dried himself. Underneath it all, we were still the same people we'd always been.

He shivered again — feeling even colder still.

~~~

I know ): I'll try to submit the next batch sooner so we don't have to sit with this for very long. I was originally going to release these as two separate parts broken in half, but the overwhelming feedback seems to be that you all definitely prefer longer parts to shorter ones, so I'll be consolidating some of what I'd planned into longer sections where it still makes sense storywise.

As always, I look forward to your comments... although I know this was a particularly crushing batch of chapters. Honestly, the final chapter in this part was the most difficult to write in the whole story. It was a real heart-wrenching experience. We aren't even halfway through yet, though, so maybe things are... gonna be better (;

Arcadia