Layla
ZaydwasgonewhenI woke up this morning. My heart twists when I think about never seeing him again. An unexpectedly familiar feeling, similar to when Sutton left. Like with Sutton, I wish he’d said goodbye. At least Zayd told me he was leaving. And at least, Zayd promised to come back.
My face warms when I let my mind relive those moments before dinner. I can still feel the heat of his thigh in my hand. Guilt swirls in my gut knowing that if he hadn’t stopped me, if he had let my hand drift all the way up his leg… My need was—still is—a thirst I can’t quench.
But he did stop me, and even though he said he wouldn’t leave me alone, here I am, alone and still in desperate need of a relief no one can give me.
The microwave timer chimes, letting me know my food is warm. Leftovers from our dinner the night before.
As I drop the hot plate on the countertop to avoid burning my fingertips, the door slides open behind me.
“Hey.” I run cold water over my stinging fingers. I take the dish towel off the hook to dry my hands as I turn around. “Sorry, I didn’t make you anything. I didn’t think you were coming…back.” My voice trails off, and the towel falls from my hands when I look up, expecting to find Zayd, but it’s Sutton standing there instead.
My first instinct is to run over, throw my arms around him, and kiss him senseless. I stay put, the second I remember why he, my husband, hasn’t been here to hold and kiss like he promised he always would.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, coolly. My lips purse as I fight back tears.
“Not the welcome I was hoping for but the one I deserve, I suppose.” Sutton walks over and picks the towel up off the floor in front of me.
“You suppose right. And you still haven’t answered my question.” I snatch the towel from him when he stands.
“Zayd didn’t tell you I was coming?” He sighs and answers himself, under his breath, “Of course not. In case I said no.” Addressing me again, he explains, “Zayd asked me to come back. To be here when his mark wears off.”
“Oh.”
“What?” Sutton asks, picking up on the annoyance in my tone.
“Fucking hell.” I throw the towel on the counter and walk around the dining room table, putting it between us. “I had hoped, when you came back, it would be because you wanted to, not because someone made you.”
“Idowant to be here, Layla,” he pleads, following my path around the table. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be here.”
I hold my position, raising my stiffened chin. “So, you’d have come back today if Zayd hadn’t shown up on your doorstep?” Sutton blanches and rubs the back of his neck, giving me my answer. “You’re not here by choice, Sutton. Only obligation. So, don’t patronize me with lies about wanting to be here.”
When he takes a step closer, I step back, not letting him take my hand when he reaches for it. Letting his hand fall at his sidewith a defeated breath, he says, “I have thought about coming back. But after what I did? The way I left? I didn’t think you’d want me.”
I scoff and throw up my hands. “For fuck’s sake, Sutton. That’s all I wanted.”
“But not anymore?” He dares another step forward.
I don’t back away this time.
“No—Yes. I don’t know.”
When the rough tips of his fingers graze the back of my hand, I pull away again, reminded of all the nights I cried myself to sleep, desperate for the touch he denied me. “Crying out loud, Sutton. I spent the last month trying to come to terms with you leaving and the possibility that I’d never see you again, and now you’re here, and I… I just… I don’t know. I—I don’t fucking know.”
Sutton stuffs his hands in his jeans’ pockets and shrugs. “His scent is strong enough to carry you for a while. You want me to leave and come back when you need me?”
Unable to hold back, I lunge forward and shove my hands on his chest. He absorbs blow after blow as I scream at him, “I want you to have never left! I don’t want to have to make this decision because I want you to have never put me in the position to make it!”
Sutton grips my wrists, holding me as I sob, and he tries to explain. “I’m sorry, Layla. But I had to leave. I wish it wasn’t true, but I had to. It just hurt too much.”
Hot anger turns into cold, unyielding ice when I look him dead in the eye and throw his excuse back at him. “And it hurts Zayd to be with me but not claim me, but he suffers through it. Night after night.”
The pain in Sutton’s eyes cuts my heart clean through.
“Fuck. I’m sorry,” I say, wishing I could take it back. “That was a low blow. Hurting you because you hurt me isn’t okay. I’m so fucking sorry.”
I expect him to fight back or leave again. But he just takes a deep breath and says, “But you aren’t wrong. I’m your husband. You only did what you had to do—what I told you to do. You both did. I chose to leave. The consequences of that choice are mine and mine alone.”
