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“You can’t fuck me. Can’t ask for a divorce and then fuck me.”
He chuckles again. “I’m not going to fuck you, Ash. Let me get you into bed.”
“But you miss fucking me, right? Because I miss fucking you.”
He slings my arm over his shoulder. “You have a lot to say tonight, honey.”
“No!” I shout. “I’m not your honey. And you only came over here because you’re jealous.” He stands up, and in turn, I stand up as he’s helping me back to our room. “But, answer the question. Do you miss fucking me?”
He lets out a moan. I may be drunk, but I know his moans and groans, and what they mean.
“Is that a yes, Noah. You miss my dick. You miss my ass?”
“Shut up, please. Will you just shut up?” he pleads.
We’re past the doorway of our bedroom, and I fall into bed. “I won’t shut up, Noah. You miss me, my body. You want my cock. You want my ass. And it’s been too fucking long since you had it.”
“Go to sleep, Ash. I’m staying the night. I need to make sure you don’t vomit and choke on your puke and die.”
He doesn’t answer me, but I know he misses my ass so fucking much.
49
Noah
Tonight,was supposed to be simple. I picked up the kids. I had made plans with Mom and Dad last minute, but then Lainey told me Ash was going out on a date. And now I’m back at a house we bought together, to raise our family, and he’s drunk.
More so, he asked me if I missed him. I miss every part of him. Sure, I miss his cock, and his ass, and making love to him, but there has always been more to our life than sex.
After I barely get out of the room, not answering his question, I check on him twenty minutes later, and he’s snoozing hard, his snores filling the room.
I won’t leave him, but I need space. I write him a quick note.
Painting. It’s what I do when I feel like the world is about to swallow me whole. I take the small walk from our back door to our studio. I enter the key code and walk through the door. Turning on the light, I see nothing has changed. I have my space, and he has his. I walk over to a blank canvas, and begin with a picture in my head. It’s the profile of Ash. My strokes aren’t exact, and there’s a level of abstractedness to it, but fuck, it feels so good to give into my desires and paint the man who will forever own my heart.
I asked for a divorce, but I’ll never love another like I love my twin brother.
When I’m done with the first painting of Ash’s profile, I begin my next piece, which is his face, as if I’m looking straight at him. The painting is beautiful like him. I capture the pain when I told him less than ten hours ago that I wanted a divorce. It’s evident on his face, like the brown eyes we both got from our mother.
I start on a third painting, and it’s how I saw him tonight, on the couch. The world would think this picture is a man sleeping, but he’s drowning his sorrows so deep, and I know the truth. I’ve destroyed him.
I reach for another canvas when I look outside and notice the dark night has turned to early morning. I should make sure my husband is still alive, but when I cross the room, Ash is leaning up against the wall.
“You’re still alive. How do you feel?” Fuck, he’s beautiful.
He cocks his head to one side. “Like I drank a half of a bottle of tequila.”
“You sort of did, you know that, right?” I ask.
He moves further into the room, over to my paintings. He looks at each one of them. “No one knows me like you do, Noah. If anyone tried to paint me, they’d never capture the pain in my face like you do.”
“I have caused you a lot of pain lately,” I admit.
“But you’ve given me so much more joy than pain. If we’re over, I need you to know that.”
I gaze upon the paintings. He’s right, no one knows him like I do. The way he scrunches his nose at night, or sleeps with a pillow between his knees, the way he can’t stand mint flavored toothpaste and gags the entire time he brushes his teeth.
“Were you on a date last night?” I don’t have the right to know, but I ask anyway.
