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“I didn’t know.” I hand the paper back to Jackie. When she takes it, she squeezes my hand, and for a moment, I feel as though she’s the counsellor, not me.
“I only found out yesterday,” she says. “I tried to call him but there’s no answer. Understandable, I suppose.”
The rest of the group is looking at us with interest. When I turn to explain to them what’s happened, they go silent, their eyes wide. Staring.
For them, it isn’t only the shock that turns them mute, it’s the knowledge that this tragedy could have been theirs. They all have addicted children and they’re all treading the line between compassion and anger, and sometimes veering off wildly. The rest of the session is muted, with quiet voices and considered conversation. Minds that are far away, thinking about our own children, wondering if that could be us.
When we finish, we’re all a little stunned. As I leave the clinic, making my way to the nursery, I decide I’m going to hold Max a little closer tonight.
* * *
Alex calls me later when we're both in bed. For long moments we say nothing, simply listening to each other breathe. I lay on cotton-soft pillows, my pyjamas tangled around my legs, and find myself dreaming of ink-etched skin.
We talk about nothing, our voices drifting, my eyes fluttering. My body tingles with the need to have him close.
“I miss you.” There a soft cadence to his voice. “I miss feeling you, touching you. I want to wrap myself around you, have your skin next to mine. Run my fingers down your stomach.”
Closing my eyes, I can almost sense him next to me. His breath warm on my neck, strong fingers digging into my hips. He used to wake me up with soft kisses and hard licks, making me gasp with a waking breath.
“Do you remember that time in Rhyl?” he asks. “When we took a blanket down to the beach.”
“I remember.” He peeled off my clothes, inch by inch, lips and fingers stirring me until I couldn't stop shaking. “That's where we made Max.”
“That first time I felt him move, I thought I was going to cry. In the middle of a field, surrounded by our mates, and I was a blubbering fucking mess.”
We'd been at a festival, lying on blankets, listening to bands. I grabbed his palm and pressed it to my stomach, watching his face shine with amazement as the baby fluttered against his palm.
“That night...” I close my eyes, my breathing ragged. He couldn't stop touching me, even as I slept. Woke me up twice to make love, his movements gentle, and his breath slow. It was uncharacteristically tender, as if he was holding himself back. But it felt right. So right.
“You were beautiful. Soft pink skin, perfect little bump. And your tits, God your tits. Fucking sublime.”
My nipples tighten at his words.
“I used to daydream about them. Imagine them pressed against me. Your soft skin against my hard on.”
The bed feels too big, too empty. I reach out to the spot where Alex used to lay, feeling the coolness of the sheets. “I wish you were here.”
“So do I, baby.” His voice is pure seduction. “I want to feel your body against mine, your sweet little arse pressing into me. Want to touch you until you're chanting my name.”
I run my palms down my stomach. “Alex...”
“Say it again.”
A breath, a plea. “Alex.”
“Yes, baby?”
“I need... I want...” My skin tingles as if it's covered with tiny bubbles, crackling and popping as I shiver. My thighs clench as he speaks, warm and trembling.
“What do you want?”
“You.”
“I fucking want you, too. So much, baby. Wanna push my fingers inside you, until you tighten around them. Want to slip inside you from behind and listen to you moan. Can you feel me? My chest against your back? My hand sliding down until I make you sigh?”
God, yes. I can feel him. His warm skin, his hard muscles. The strength of his chest, the way his taut abdomen leads down to harder, tighter places. I want him; all of him. The dirty words and the sexy grin. The sweet touches and the caring glances. As we whisper and moan, our bodies throbbing in a rhythm we can never control, I'm finding it hard to remember why he isn't with me right now.
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