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I hate myself. I hate my dad.
Even so, I can’t help but wonder about that woman I saw.
I hate that every evening when Abel comes from work all horny and charged up, my very first thought before I lose myself in lust is why. Why is he so desperate to fuck me? Why’s he so flushed with arousal? Is there a new shine in his eyes? I wonder why he can’t keep his hands off me.
“What’s wrong, honey?” I hate that I ask him this one night when he won’t let me sleep. He just came on my butt and I was drifting off when he turned me on my back, and slid inside me in one go.
He stops, his eyes bright and grip tight. “You’ve never called me that.”
“What?”
“Honey. You’ve never called me that before.”
“Never?”
“No.” He begins rocking, picking up his pace. “I like it. My mom used to call me that.”
“Then I’ll keep calling you that,” I moan, my heart full and my throat choked up.
His thrusts are brutal and even though my pussy is sore and hurting, I don’t want him to stop. I arch my back to let him in even deeper, as deep as he can get. I want him to obliterate all my doubts and suspicions. I want him to purify me with his lust.
Moaning, I rake my nails down his back. He murmurs that I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen and all of a sudden, dread makes a home inside my chest. Despite myself, I begin sweating, shaking so hard that Abel has to stop.
“Pixie?”
Oh my God, it’s obvious. It’s so fucking obvious.
“Hey, Pixie? What’s wrong?” he asks, again.
“Are you sure?” I pull on his hair, unable to stop myself.
“About what?”
“That I’m the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen?” He’s confused; I can tell. But I need to know. Is that why his behavior has changed?
“Are you sure that you haven’t seen a more beautiful girl than me? At your job, I mean.”
That’s when he gets it.
He’s silent for a second. I see disbelief and hurt flash through his face, and my heart squeezes. I’m an idiot. How can I even think that? Our love is bigger than that. So much bigger. Affairs, cheating… those things are child’s play. Our bond is beyond that kind of crap. I open my mouth to apologize but he barks out a laugh. It’s harsh and sharp-edged. He picks up the pace; in fact, he jackhammers inside me. The room echoes with his pounding and all I can do is clench that silver cross between my teeth to keep myself from screaming too loud.
We both come at the same time. He spills his cum on my stomach and collapses on me. His weight’s too much but I don’t let him go. I hug him tight.
“If you think that, Pixie, then my entire life has been a waste. My entire fucking life,” he rasps and a tear spills down my eye, and drops on the side of his cheek.
***
Today’s our twenty-sixth day in the city, which means today’s the day I’m going to marry Abel Adams.
Oh, and today’s my birthday too. Who cares? The only thing worth remembering about today is that I’m going to be his, forever and ever, in front of God and men.
Sky calls me to wish me a happy birthday and I tell her about the wedding, and apologize for not calling her sooner. I was terrified to put her under more scrutiny, in case people were watching her.
“They don’t know you’re in New York,” she says. “Everything is fine. I’m fine. They’re not looking for you. You go get married, okay? Focus on your big day.”
I want to ask more but I leave it at that and say my goodbyes. “Okay. I miss you. Talk to you soon.”
So they don’t know. They’re not even looking for me. All this angst of the past days have been for nothing. I’m relieved. Well, I should be relieved but I think it’s not very many little girls’ dream to be married without their parents. Up until a month ago, I thought they would be there when I married Abel. I knew they might not like it, but I had no idea that I wouldn’t even see them on this day.
They are not looking for you.
But it’s okay. I survived the humiliation of being paraded around in a bedsheet by my own mother, I can get married without them. Happily.
I wear my pink dress and hold a bouquet of sunflowers in my hand. Abel wears a white shirt, with sleeves rolled up to expose the veins of his forearms, and black dress pants. Ethan and a bearded guy from their work are our witnesses.
We stand in front of a judge and in a matter of minutes, it’s done, and Abel kisses me in front of everyone, like he said he would long back when we were in that town. His kiss is both desperate and relieved, and when he breaks it and looks down at me, for the first time in weeks I think he’s truly happy. I don’t see currents of desperation running under his skin or flashing in his eyes.
