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18
MONTY
Kayla’s words had the effect of throwing cold water on embers.
Everything shut down then, all the warm, fuzzy after-effects from the afternoon disappearing. For a moment today, I had been able to escape and pretend like I was just a normal man making love to a beautiful woman. We’d made love two more times, and then I had held her in my arms afterward and woken up this evening more rested than I ever felt in my life. My nightmares had been the last thing on my mind when I woke up and saw her sitting there. I had run my eyes down her body, wanting a repeat, but now it all came back full force.
I wasn’t a normal man. She didn’t see me as the hero every man wanted to be to the woman they cared about. No, instead, I was a man with issues longer than a damn CVS receipt.
I got out of bed and tugged on my jeans, ignoring the way her eyes dropped to admire my cock before looking away blushingly. Without saying anything, I walked right past her and out the door.
“Where are you going?” I heard her ask behind me.
“To the kitchen,” I responded breezily. “To make dinner. Do you want lamb or steak tonight? Faith has Hunter for a few more hours, right?”
She sighed. “You can’t keep avoiding this, Monty.”
“Actually, I think I’m more in the mood for pancakes. Breakfast for dinner kind of deal. What do you think?”
“There’s nothing wrong with having PTSD,” she continued stubbornly because, of course, she would. It was the kind of person she was. “It’s a sensible reaction, especially considering everything you’ve been through. And some things can help. Therapy, for one. Have you ever tried it?”
Had I fucking tried therapy? Was she kidding?
Oh yeah, I had tried therapy until I was blue in the face. I’d gone with my fiancée at the time at first and then by myself later. The psychologist had been a friendly older woman, although something was unsettling about her. Session after session, it felt like she was digging into my mind, trying to uncover everything she could about how messed up I was. She had implored me to reveal it all, every ugly thought that crossed my mind.
All that only to turn around and relay every information I had told her in confidence to my fiancée, giving her every ammo she needed to leave me and demand financial recompense for the emotional turmoil I put her through, whatever the fuck that meant. But even if she hadn’t betrayed me, ultimately, the sessions didn’t help my nightmares or the isolation I felt. Talking about what I had gone through only made the nightmares worse, and I would have quit therapy anyway. Still, I was willing to try again.
The next therapist I got had thought fucking me would somehow fix all the shit that was wrong with my head. After that, I simply gave up on the whole thing and turned to drinks instead, attempting to drink away the problems. It was the only thing that quieted the voices in my head, and if I was going to spend money on getting my head all messed up in the process, I might as well have fun while doing it.
That continued until, one night, I was driving home and nearly killed a civilian crossing the street. At the time, I told myself I only had one beer, but it had probably been more like three. Either way, it was enough for my reaction time to be significantly delayed that by the time I slammed on the breaks, my car was nearly about to spin off the road. If not for a last-minute maneuver with the steering wheel, both the man and his bike would have been totaled, completely under my car. I then sat there stunned like an idiot for minutes afterward, just thinking about it.
Despite having killed people on the battlefield, those affected me less than that near miss. But then again, it was different.
The experience was enough to make me completely quit drinking and do this whole life thing sober. The nightmares returned in full force, but I didn’t care. I handled them by not sleeping and just simply walking them off. Or by working until I wanted to drop dead.
Of course, I couldn’t explain any of this to Kayla. She wouldn’t understand, and I would only be giving her more ammo to hurt me, just as my ex did. I’d already seen how vindictive Kayla could be when she was riled up, and my ex had been the same way.
No, that’s not fair,I caught myself. Kayla was nothing like Amber. Kayla had only lashed out at me out of fear for her son’s life, and she had immediately apologized. Couldn’t say the same for Amber.
Still, I couldn’t reveal myself to her. I didn’t want to watch the moment desire died in her eyes and disgust set in, so I simply turned and said, “Okay then. Pancakes it is.”
* * *
The restof the week passed rather blissfully.
To my surprise, Kayla didn’t mention the fact that I had ruined her job opportunity again. In fact, I could have sworn she was more than a little relieved not to have to go back to work in the restaurant, although she called to apologize to the manager for all the trouble. If I were the gloating type, I would have been a little smugger about it, but I didn’t want to show her how happy I was, or she might take it as a provocation to return to work. She was already insisting on sending back the million dollars, but I completely shut it down.
“Absolutely not,” I said. “And if you send it back, I’m only going to keep sending it until one of us gets tired of doing it. And I guarantee you, darling, it won’t be me.”
“I can’t accept the money,” she implored one night in bed. “You should know that. And you should understand how it appears—you transferring a million dollars to my account right after we had sex.”
I shrugged. “Technically, I sent it before we had sex.”
“Still. You get how it looks.”
“Well, in that case, maybeyoushould have sent me a million dollars, considering how hardyouusedmelast night.”
She blushed as she remembered. Despite her initial claim to be tired, she had been insatiable yesterday, taking me again and again, not satisfied with coming once. Only when her body started to grow limp did I flip her over and finally take over, driving her to the screaming edge once more before I emptied my seed inside her again.
