that I haven’t wanted him. I want him. I want to be touched. Despite my exhaustion, I’ve been restless in bed at night. My thoughts usually drift to Weston, to the last time I saw him, in that pastry and coffee shop — his hand grasping my thigh, sliding under the silky fabric of my pencil skirt. When he’d said he could take me into the washroom and fuck me senseless, part of me had wanted it.
In the hidden corners of my mind, I always take the scene to where it never went. I whisper ‘yes’ in his ear. And he takes me in there, locks the door and hoists me on the edge of the pedestal sink, his face pressed against mine, my head pushed against the filthy mirror. He hikes up my skirt around my waist. He doesn’t gently slip my panties off — he rips them off. My hands grip the edge of the sink tightly as he pounds into me — so hard, the sink clanks against the wall. There’s no fear, no guilt, no inhibition, just pure pleasure. That’s the great thing about fantasies.
It’s always the same fantasy — the same little naughty film playing in my head. I don’t know why it’s so dark, so raw. I’m not daydreaming about kisses in the park, his hand on my belly, on our growing child, his mouth against my ear, whispering sweet nothings.
No…it’s all about this raw, sexual desire. Maybe it’s always been about that. When I let myself fall into these fantasies, I get restless — I want to touch myself. But I don’t. I don’t because I don’t deserve any pleasure. All I deserve is the pain and torment I’ve been living with.
CHAPTER TWO
This could break us.
II pull out a large brown suitcase from the storage room, drag it upstairs, and plop it on top of Chloe’s bed. This trip will do us good, I remind myself as I unzip the luggage.
Claire runs over and hands me her stuffed monkey. “Don’t forget Bitzy.”
I smile at her. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Definitely wouldn’t dream of it, because if we forgot her ‘best friend’, we’d probably have to turn around and come back home. I carefully press the girls’ dresses against the bottom of the luggage, and smooth out the folds. This Fourth of July trip has been planned for quite a while, and I think it’s perfect timing. It seems Gwen and I have been talking about it for ages. Her beach house is ‘totally awesome’ as Chloe likes to say.
My cell sings and I drop a pile of clothing on top of the bed and dash downstairs. When I finally reach it, frustration washes over me as I recognize my dentist’s number. I decide to let it go to voice mail. I know it’s stupid, I know I’ve said my goodbyes to Weston and I’ve asked him to leave me alone. And he’s respected my wishes. I should be happy, shouldn’t I? But I want him to chase me again. I want him to reach out. I want to hear his voice, to feel his presence. Part of me wants to have a chance, an excuse to tell him about our baby.
Claire saunters in, a navy and white polka-dot bathing suit in her hand. “Here, Mommy. I couldn’t find Chloe’s. It’s really important that we find it.”
“Of course,” I tell her. “I’ll look for it.”
I smile when I catch the huge eye-roll on Chloe’s face. Claire is still into wearing matching outfits with her big sister. She gets a big thrill out of it, but Chloe…not so much.
“She loves it,” I remind Chloe. “It makes her feel special. She’s proud to be your little sis.”
“Ugh,” is all Chloe says before she scurries off, a book in hand.
What she doesn’t realize is how lucky she is. What I wouldn’t have given to have a sister, a built-in BFF. I’m so happy I found Gwen. She’s my best-friend-forever, my confidante. So why can’t I tell her about this? I know she’ll be shocked and most certainly not impressed with me. But still…
I sigh as I pack a few pairs of shorts and t-shirts, a pair of wedges, a summer dress and a cover-up.
I need to tell her. I’m sure she’ll understand. It was an accident…a twist of fate. Maybe she could share some of her wisdom, tell me what I should do.
I wince as I imagine confiding in her. Of course, she’ll ask what the hell