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I nodded to the bartender, then chugged my last shot. “Good. Let’s go.” I staggered toward the restroom, feeling drunk enough to not feel anything, drunk enough to ignore the warning signs of an impending mistake. I wanted Franky gone. I wanted his scent off my skin, wanted his imprint removed from my heart and mind, and I wanted every space in and on my body that had been reserved for his cock only to now be open for walk-ins. I wanted someone— many someones—to fuck him out of my system.
I wanted that guilty, shameful feeling that came with giving away something that belonged to someone else. I wanted there to be no going back for me, just like there had been no looking back for him. I wanted that flimsy string holding what remained of me together to break. I wanted to be the old me—someone who never got too attached—and a mix of someone new, someone stripped of all compassion. I wanted to be walled in where nothing or no one could ever hurt me again.
The bathroom had seen better days, and from the drying streaks on the stall door, we weren’t the first to use it for unintended purposes.
“Don’t take your time with me,” I whispered, fingers trembling against my belt buckle. “Pretend I’m not even human.”
“Okay,” he said easily, all traces of the shy guy at the bar gone now that he was seconds away from having what he’d come here for. The sound of the condom wrapper being torn open hit my ear, and true to his word, he worried only about getting himself off.
He fucked me as I gripped the top of the rattling stall door, focusing on the place inside me that still clung to hope, focusing for the sole purpose of obliterating it.
He pawed at my hips, but his hold lacked the proprietorship that Franky’s contained. His dick rocketed in and out of me at a fast clip, but it lacked the punishing edge that drove each and every one of Franky’s devastating thrusts. Our bodies clapped together, but absent was the thunderous crack that filled the air and nearly deafened me whenever Franky crashed into me.
And preppy-boy was a man of many words, prattling on about how good I felt, how hard he was going to come, and how he planned on ruining me with this one, sad fuck.
Franky was a man of few words, a man who could ruin me with one look, a man who could make me come with the promise of a single touch, a man who could make hate sex feel like the greatest expression of love ever known.
I grew dizzy as a vortex of emotion gained momentum in my core, aiming for that final thing tethering me to the man I’d been with Franky. The internal snap came with the shedding of tears, cleansing me of love as the first of many strangers to come finished inside of me.
Next came numbness. I couldn’t even feel myself silently crying anymore. Couldn’t feel the organ I assumed was still beating within my chest. Couldn’t even feel myself orgasm as he reached around to jack me off, adding more white streaks to the collection on the door.
It was over. I was done. I would never be hurt by anyone ever again. It was all wrong, but it was everything I needed.
Part Two
Chapter 22
Franklin
Two Years Later
Josephine’s had gone through a renovation since the first and last time I’d walked through its doors with Leland. They now served dinner and had added dimly lit alcoves with high-backed booth seating, providing an area for patrons to have a more intimate and private experience.
I was there because I could no longer sit in the home where my wife had died mere days ago. I couldn’t stomach the way I’d emotionally shut my children out, leaving their grief to fend for itself as I hid away like a coward. I needed to be someplace where I could disappear, where I wouldn’t matter. Someplace that felt closer to the version of me I hadn’t seen for some time.
Those were the numerous reasons I’d given myself for being at Josephine’s. I hoped to God they weren’t actually excuses.
“Ready to order?” my waitress asked, interrupting my self-flagellation.
I quickly perused the menu. “I’ll just have a Stella.”
“Sorry, but this area is reserved for diners,” she said.
“Add an order of fries, then.” The mention of fries, coupled with the nostalgia of this place and everything that came after it, made my chest hurt in a way it hadn’t in two years, compounding the pain that had already made a home there. I gripped the small bundle of bar napkins on the table, feeling the tissue tear beneath my hands, beneath my agony.
Left alone, I slipped Selene’s last journal entry from my inside pocket, unfolding the sheet of paper and smoothing out the edges. It went into detail about Cole and Jasper’s intimate relationship, something I knew nothing about, another complication I didn’t need, one I didn’t know how to address.
It didn’t help that if my suspicions were correct, it meant this secret played a role in Selene collapsing and taking her final breath inside Jasper’s bedroom. A vivid imagination wasn’t required to paint a picture of what she’d likely walked in on. I’d seen it written all over Cole’s and Jasper’s faces when I pulled up to the house that night to find her being loaded into a waiting ambulance. I hadn’t understood their identical expressions of culpability until later finding her journal.
The entry ended with her needing to make things right with Jasper after making him promise he’d end things. A promise she’d extracted on my behalf, because she didn’t want the news to break my heart. If only I’d been just as mindful with her heart throughout our last years.
I couldn’t help but also believe she was afraid the revelation would cause me to cast Jasper aside. With her gone, we were the only family he had left, and she probably assumed a transgression this big would’ve rocked an already fragile foundation.
A part of me blamed them both for what happened to their mother. The irrational part of me that didn’t want to carry the burden of blame alone. It was easier to make it through the day if I could direct some of the rage swimming inside me onto someone else, a nasty habit of mine, which of course made my guilt that much worse.
I’d been about to start on my second beer, my fries going cold and untouched, when a familiar sensation prickled at my spine, stiffening it.
“How many times I gotta tell you, you don’t shit where you eat, Leland,” a stern voice said in a paternal tone. The mention of Leland’s name sent my world spinning. I hadn’t dared to speak it since I’d abandoned him to his heartbreak. I hadn’t even deserved to dream of it.
