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We couldn’t survive the pain together. It made us angry and irrational, we pointed fingers, we called each other names, and then one day, I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stay in that house where love used to live. I couldn’t exist inside the ghost of the life I lost.
I told her that. And she felt the same. She cried tears of grief and I held her, and then we both cried tears of relief, in each other's arms, because we knew that separating would sadly bring us both a tiny sliver of solace.
Where is she now? Does she hold her breath in the shower? Does she slide below the surface of the tub and torture herself, the same way I did? Does she still put flowers out every single week? I don’t know. I’ve never wanted to know. Ever.
Scarlett places her hand on my forearm, and blinks up at me through her thick dark lashes. “Cohen, are you okay?”
I smile, shaking Valerie and my thoughts away. “Yeah,” I reply, nodding at where the binder is spread open. “Is that the one you like?”
She wrinkles her nose. “No, I think I’m going to get the two here in store.” Concern weighs her shoulders, and she slumps a little as she blinks up at me. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. I’m good. What else did you say you wanted to snag tonight?” I dig my phone from my pocket and open it to the notes, and hold the screen for her to see. “I forgot—I made a note of what you mentioned you wanted the other day.”
Her eyes fill. “Y-you did?”
I lean in and steal a kiss from her cheek as she looks down and sees the note. I slip my hand in hers and turn to the salesman, ready to ask where the bathroom cabinets, end tables, and TV stands are.
But his eyes are on her breasts, and in a matter of a second, my happiness transforms into a physical, palpable anger. I stare at him until he finally looks up at her, then me.
I give him a warning glance. The kind of look a man gives another man who’s checking out his wife. The kind of look a man gives another man to warn him that he just got his first, second and third strike. The next time his eyes hover on her anywhere, we’re going to have a problem.
I don’t break his gaze when I soften my tone and grip her hand tighter, lifting our joined hands to our lips to press a kiss to the top of her palm.
“I see some things in the back that you may like,” I tell her, and we keep moving, leaving the salesman behind us. Standing in front of a large media cabinet, wood painted white, rich florals etched with precision, Scarlett lowers her voice.
“Your nostrils were flaring back there,” she whispers with a giggle in her voice. She wraps her other hand around our linked ones, and strokes my thumb.
Her affirming touch calms me. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” I admit.
She sighs, dreamy and light. “People look at me all day. On set, online,” she muses, poking me to clarify what’s different between that and this.
“I respect your work, and I know that Otis and Tuck and Maxi—and all the actors at Crave—are working. And when people watch your movies, you bring them pleasure, that’s what you do. You make people feel good and happy.” She sits on the edge of a mattress near the media cabinets. I find myself naturally dropping to a crouch at her feet, placing my palms on her knees, kissing her there. “But we’re in public, you’re mine. And I don’t appreciate some sleazy salesman thinking he has any right to what’s mine.”
She flushes, capturing my hands on her knees, weaving both of our hands together. “I’m yours,” she states dreamily before leaning down, bringing our mouths together in a scorching kiss.
Right there on my knees at her feet, I feel overwhelmed by the urge to share. “I watched you on set today, for the first time.”
She arches a manicured brow. “For the first time?”
I nod. “And I wanted to jerk off.”
She understands the weight of those words. “Is that the first time you’ve hadthaturge?”
I nod again, because my mouth is dry.
Scarlett glances at the media center again before fishing her wallet out of the bag slung across her chest. “Let's pay, and then let’s go home.”
Home. Do I have one of those? I did. Before. Do I now? She holds her hand out, and I know what she needs. I take it, and she gets to her feet, using me to steady herself.
Wherever she is, that’s my home.
Back at her apartment, where we go to place her new lamps and side tables, Scarlett collects a few things, and asks if we can sleep at my place. She chews at the inside of her cheek, as I unplug the lamps and grab her multivitamins from the counter. I got her these last week, because she’s always so tired. They’ve got iron in them.
“Do you think they’re helping?” I ask, shaking the bottle as I flip off the light over the kitchen sink, preparing to head across the breezeway.
She volleys her head, still chewing her cheek, her eyes glazed, focus faraway.
“Are you okay?” I pace to her, and pull her into me, holding her until she’s ready to share. After a few peaceful moments, she nods and I step away, giving her space and room to speak.
