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At seven thirty I rolled out of bed, spent and shaking. My legs barely held me as I made my way into the bathroom and cranked the shower on. When it was good and hot, I got in.
Hot water poured over me, washing away the grime of sweat. Too tired to stand, I sat on the floor and opened my legs.
Anton's cum had dried, sticky, on the insides of my thighs, but inside my pussy it was still collected. Tentatively I dipped a finger inside, felt the aching aftermath of our fucking, and shuddered with pain and pleasure.
Gently, I cleaned myself. My pussy was red and raw, and I knew I wasn't going to walk right all day. Lathering my whole body with soap I washed the night away and tried to rally.
When at last I was clean, I dragged myself out of the shower stall and wrapped myself in one of the huge towels hanging on the wall. Why did Anton have two towels? One for his body and one for his ego? The world would never know. I let the soft cloth drag over my hypersensitive skin, then wrapped it around my hair. Moving out of the bathroom I saw Anton still asleep in his bed. I crossed the cold floor and looked down at him.
He slept like a baby. His face, so controlled in waking life, became slack, relaxed in repose. Where his beautiful face seemed magnetic when animated, I found it alluring when asleep. I longed to reach out and brush away the dark lock of hair that had fallen against his forehead. I wanted to lean down and kiss him awake, but I didn't. He was still untouchable. And besides, there was no telling what kind of punishment he'd mete out for touching him without his conscious knowledge. The rules were different for me.
With a resigned sigh, I hobbled over to the closet and opened it. Inside hung an array of fine, extremely expensive clothes. I grabbed a shirt from its hanger and put it on. At least it covered my naked body. Bending down, I grabbed my little black dress from where it had pooled on the floor and tiptoed out of the room, down the hall, and to the stairs.
The steps creaked under my weight as I made my way down them, but no one in the house was up yet except me. Padding across cold floors, I made my way to the room I had chosen and shut the door behind me.
Once inside, I stood, unsure what to do. Lost. Anton had somehow unmoored me. Normally I'd know exactly what to do. It wouldn't always be the correct thing to do—many times my decisions involved smoking weed or texting old boyfriends—but at least I knew what I wanted to do. Now, standing naked but for a dress shirt and a towel on my head, I stared at the boxes holding my life and wondered what to do about such a pitiful bounty.
This was it. My whole life, except for my art, was here. My sculpting tools were all still at my old apartment, and I wished, suddenly, that I had asked for them to be brought here. Nothing would have made me feel better than to plunge my hands into some water and grab a block of clay and just fucking go for it. Make a horse, or a wolf, or a goat. Something lithe and beautiful. My hands would know what to do, if only I could lay them on some clay.
But all that shit was across town, and I was stuck here, cut off almost completely from the life I had lived a scant week before.
...Well, no sense standing around catching a cold about it.
I combed through the boxes, each labeled well, especially since my apartment had been a total disaster area when the movers had showed up, and found several boxes of clothes. Ripping them open, I dug through them until I found something warm enough to wear and got dressed. Just a sweater, slim jeans, and knock-off Ugg boots, but warm enough and I started to feel better. Plus having clothes strewn all over the guest bed I had claimed made the place feel a bit more like home already. I should just open all the boxes and dump everything out, I thought. It seemed like a really good idea. I mean, I'd only had about thirty minutes of sleep between getting my brains fucked out, but it would make me feel better. I put a hand on a box.
My door opened and I jumped about a foot in the air, stifling a shriek. Whirling around, I expected to see Anton there, but instead my father stood in the doorway.
Ugh. Great. Just who I didn't want to see.
"What do you want?" I snapped. "I'm busy."
"Felicia," he said, then stopped, clearly uncomfortable and not sure what to say. I cocked a hip and jammed a fist into it, waiting for him to continue. Finally he sighed. "I was just coming to check up on you."
"Yeah?" I said. "Well, it's a little late for that. I'm not your responsibility any more. You sold me off."
"Oh god, don't say it like that..."
I threw my hands in the air, a gesture I suddenly remembered my mother employing to distraction last night, and turned it into running my hands through my damp hair. "Well, what do you want me to say?"
He shook his head, glancing around at the boxes filling my room. "I don't know," he said. "
I almost told him I didn't hate him, but I did. So I stayed silent.
Finally he blew a stream of air through his teeth. "Your mother wants to go shopping today to start getting your wedding in order."
Uuuuugh. I already had a wedding. I seriously did not need another one, and I really didn't feel like going shopping with my mother. Whenever I wondered why she stayed with my father despite the fact that he cheated on her with a new girl every week, I just had to go shopping with her to remember. She was addicted to plastic.
"You think she's going to feel well enough to do that?" I asked.
He looked at me blankly for a second, then seemed to remember that she was sick. "Oh, I'm sure she will," he said. "She always feels well enough to spend money."
That was pretty rich coming from a guy who blew all his credit, capital, and concrete assets on bad business ventures and had to sell his own daughter into modern-day sexual-slavery to save his own ass, but I stayed silent. He was never going to change, and I didn't need to fight with him. Besides, as much as I hated to admit it, things could have gone a lot worse than they had. I liked Anton. And I didn't really mind being married to him so much. There were worse things to be.
"I guess I'd better get some coffee started," I said.
He moved aside for me and I brushed past him and descended the stairs.
*
