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“Clearly, I’ve come at the wrong time,” AJ whispers, her wide eyes darting back and forth between my bed and me.
“No, I can explain this,” I state again knowing that I can’t. But I have to try.
“You know, as much as I’d love to stick around and hear that explanation, I’m going to go,” she croaks out, her words slicing and dicing with the precision of an operating physician as she turns and practically runs from my bedroom.
“You can’t leave,” I beg, reaching out and grabbing her arm when we get to the bottom of the stairs.
She whips around, her eyes full of blazing tears. She looks torn between wanting to tear me apart, limb from limb, and beating me to death with them, and wanting to curl up in a ball and cry. If I had a choice, I’d choose death, because watching her cry is its own brand of torture. It’s worse than any death could ever be.
“I love you,” I whisper hoarsely, my throat dry and the biggest ball of emotion lodged firmly in place.
“Clearly you and I have two very different ideas of love.”
“Alison…” Her name is a plea on my lips and a knife to my heart at the same time.
“Congratulations, Sawyer. You’ve managed to prove every tabloid right in a single night.” She turns and walks to the front door. “But do you know what hurts the most?” She doesn’t turn around. She stares straight ahead, her body soldier straight, as she delivers her final blow. “What hurts the most is that you proved me wrong.”
The sound of her soft sob, followed quickly by her retreating footsteps, consumes me as I stand, eyes closed, and pray for this to be a bad dream. No way in fuck did this just happen. No way did I take my ex-wife to bed. No way did I just destroy everything AJ and I have been building together over the last couple of months.
I try to remember anything–any shred of memory from last night when Carrie arrived–and come up empty. I know I didn’t consume that much alcohol, and no way in fuck would I have willingly invited Carrie into my bed. Not when the only woman I want there just walked out my door.
And who would blame her? I have no recollection of last night’s events, no plausible justification. All I have is what looks like a confirmation that I’m the biggest douchebag player ever conceived. This is a nightmare.
My nightmare.
My feet are heavy as I make my way back upstairs. No way in fuck do I want to go back into my room, but I need a damn explanation. Storming into the room, I find Carrie still naked in bed. Her perky tits are on full display, but the sight of them–and her–just makes my stomach repulse that much more than it already is.
“What did you do?” I ask, my hands on my hips and breathing hard.
“Me? I believe it was you who did lots of things to me last night,” she giggles and slides her hands down her chest.
“What the fuck happened last night, Carrie?” I ask, stomping over to my dresser and grabbing a clean Rangers shirt from the pile.
“I could tell you, but it would be so much more fun to show you.” I can hear the sheets moving and the bed dip. I know she’s approaching me from behind. I’m not quick enough to get my shirt over my head.
“It’s bullshit, Carrie. I know it.”
“Do you?” she asks, running her hands up my back. I shudder at her touch, and not in the good way. Not in the way I do when AJ runs her fingers over the puckered scars on my shoulder.
“I didn’t sleep with you,” I insist, even though I don’t know that for a fact and every detail is suggesting I did.
“Oh, there wasn’t much sleeping,” she giggles once more before kissing my back.
That’s it. I can’t take it anymore–not her touch, not her voice, not her insinuations. “Get out,” I demand.
“What? But last night you said we were together again,” she whines.
“I may not remember what the hell happened last night, but I can guarantee that me agreeing to an us again, wasn’t it.”
She stands there, naked, with a knowing smile on her face. “Oh, come on, Sawyer. You got rid of the trash. Now it’s just you and me,” she coos as she steps forward to press her tits to my chest.
And I see red.
“Get out,” I holler, not even caring that I’m raising my voice, something I rarely ever do. In fact, the last time I raised my voice at her was when I found her in bed with my replacement. Even through the divorce, and her constant implications that I couldn’t keep it in my pants, I never lost my cool.
“Saw–”
“No! Get out! Get your clothes and get the fuck out of my house, Carrie!”
