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I shove my phone in my purse and walk to the large closet with it in hand, throwing the door open before I toss my bag on the floor and follow it with shaky legs. I step inside, toes touching the solid oak built in shelves as I pull my tight, black dress down to my knees and sit. I pull the door half closed and lean back, resting my head against the wall. When I place my hands over my face, I let out a sigh that I feel like has been lying dormant in my chest for the last two weeks. I don’t cry. I don’t scream. I just sit there in silence. The first bit of silence I’ve had since he passed.
But that silence doesn’t last long because now, someone is rushing into the bedroom with heavy breaths and loud footsteps. Before I can sit up to alert them that I’m in here, I hear kissing. Not just any kind of kissing either. Heavy kissing. The kissing that inevitably leads to fucking.
Seriously? Out of the dozens of bedrooms, they chose this one?
“Oh my fucking god. You’re so hot.” A woman says, her voice low and husky, breathless as they slam the door.
I see the shadows beneath the gap move to the vanity. The man lifts her on the table, and they continue attacking each other like animals in heat. My eyes widen and I cover my mouth, unsure of what even to do at this point. I peek around the doorframe, catching a glimpse of the couple just as the faint sound of a zipper being undone echoes through the bathroom. When I find the half-naked woman on the counter, I let my eyes move quickly to the man, where they freeze. Because it’s not just any man.
It’s Nico.
I move away from the opening in the door quickly, scooting as far away and as quietly as possible. I hear her the minute he enters her body, her loud gasp sounding throughout the room before he starts fucking her at an impatient speed. She’s moaning, loud. So loud that my ears twitch and my heart races. He grunts like an animal, but he says nothing. It’s her that’s doing all the dirty talk, something that I’m not used to at all. Luis was the only man I’d ever slept with and while we did it often, it was never like this. It was never passionate and hurried and there certainly wasn’t any dirty talk occurring.
“Yes, Fuck me. Do it hard.” she cries, her hand slapping against the counter as he fucks her.
She lets out this high-pitched cry, like an alarm almost. When he lets out one final groan and freezes, I know that they both just came.
Well, that was short lived.
I hear the woman get up and start cleaning herself up as he zips his pants, resting back against the counter.
“Thanks for making a boring job a fun one.” She leans over and tries to kiss him, but he turns, giving her his cheek.
What a fucking bitch.
Sorry that my husband’s funeral wasn’t entertaining enough for you, cunt.
Fire blooms inside my stomach and a rage washes over me as she leaves the room. A sudden and fiery rage that I can’t help but fall headfirst into. As soon as I hear the flick of a lighter, I stand and rip the door open. The joint between his lips nearly falling to the floor from his shock. When he looks at me, his eyes narrow.
Hiseyes narrow.
“Hey, Scar.” His dark voice chuckles awkwardly, that rage inside of me turning into a wildfire now.
I move my eyes from his to the joint and that back to this stone cold gaze.
“You can’t smoke that in here.” I say quietly, eyeing the joint as he continues to puff at it, the smoke blowing in my face.
I’ve smoked weed once in my life. I found Luis’ stash in the bedroom one time and while he was on one of his many trips, I decided to smoke it through one of his cigar tips. It was messy and I probably wasn’t doing it right, but I felt great. I felt peaceful. Until he came home. Then I became anxious. Luis liked that I was a good girl. His perfect girl is what he would call me. And for a while, I would revel in that. I loved when he called me that. Until his expectations came into play. Then, I didn’t want to be so perfect anymore.
I step out of the closet and walk over to him, holding my hand out for the joint as I lean against the vanity next to him. His eyebrows raise in surprise, but still, he hands it to me. I inhale slowly, tilting my head back before blowing the smoke out, my eyes still aimed towards the ceiling as I hand the joint back to him.
“I didn’t know that you smoked.” he says, the burn of his gaze stretching from my shoulder to my thighs.
“I didn’t know you fucked random staff members.” I say quickly, my eyes widening as the spoken words surprise me.
When I look at him, he smiles. A wide, tooth baring grin that does very strange things to my stomach. Things that I don’t wish to acknowledge. Nico knows he’s an attractive man. He knows the effect that he has on women. I refuse to show him that I almost let him affect me. I refuse to let my gaze linger on his dark beard, on the tan, exposed skin of his chest. He ditched the suit jacket and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his black dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up his thick forearms that adorn nothing but an expensive gold watch.
“Only on special occasions.” He winks, that rage coming back even though the single hit of his joint somewhat took it away.
“You mean your best friend's funeral.” I hiss, narrowing my eyes on him as he tilts his head back and continues to look at me.
He says nothing now, just continues to smoke and stare at me, my skin nearly crawling as I stand next to him. I sigh and look away, turning and gazing at myself in the mirror. There’s bits of smudged black beneath my gray eyes, nearly blending in with the dark circles I’ve gained due to the lack of sleep. I grab a hand towel, dabbing under my eyes before I brush my fingers through my dark, red hair. My best friend, Sofia, curled it this morning, but I should’ve known it wouldn’t stay put. It’s too thick and straight to ever hold a curl. My Irish genes are way too prevalent.
“You look as hard as ever.” Nico says next to me, killing his joint before he places it into his pockets.
I glare at him, scoffing as I walk to the closet and retrieve my purse. I throw it over my shoulder as I walk to the bedroom door, turning my head and looking back at him from over my shoulder.
“I may seem hard. I may seem like a little, quiet perfectionist who can do no wrong, but at least I’m grieving his death. At least I’m showing emotion. Unlike you.” I spit out, walking out of the room and slamming the door behind me.
