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“Your ex cheated on you, right? Was it just the once?”
“What do you meanjustthe once? Isn’t once enough? God, I hate how men always back one another up with that sort of thing. Don’t make excuses for him, Kael.”
“I’m not backing him up. Not in the slightest.” He holds his hands up in protest. “Honestly. I’m really not. The guy’s a massive dick, if you ask my opinion.”
“Yes, he is a massive dick.” I couldn’t agree more with him on that point. “He doesn’thavea massive dick. He’s no ten inches that’s for sure. But heisa dick no less.”
Kael starts slow clapping, evidently impressed by my little outburst. “That was like poetry. I think I just felt a tear.”
I fake bow. “Why, thank you.”
“And a ten-inch dick? Who the hell has one of those?”
Mr. Beaumont, apparently, but Kael doesn’t need to hear about any of that. Come to think of it, neither did I, but there you go. And I know I shouldn’t, but I’m already in over my head with this guy, and now I’m all riled up just thinking about Jonathan and the way he treated me over the years, so what do I have to lose?
“And no, it wasn’t just the once.” A soft sigh that belies my inner strength slips through my lips. Some days the goddess inside me wants to curl up under a blanket and just cry. Thankfully, today is not one of those days. “Jonathan cheated on me for years throughout our entire marriage. The first time definitely wasn’t the last time, and the last time definitely wasn’t the first.”
“Fucker,” Kael grumbles.
“After that, our marriage just sort ofexisted.”
Kael nods, as if he understands. But I don’t think he has a clue what I’m talking about. I highly doubt he’s ever experienced unrequited love in his life. I bet he’s always gotten whoever he wanted, when he wanted them, leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him.
Let’s pretend I’m not going to be one of them.
Kael
Day 40
Since becoming sober, everything is still the same, and yet everything is completely different. It’s still me, but it’s not me. The urges remain—I’d be naïve to believe otherwise—but they’ve faded slightly, like an old photograph that’s been handled too many times, worn and tattered around the edges.
I’m still not sleeping. I’ve had a few headaches recently, but for the most part they’ve settled down, and despite not having much of an appetite, I find myself with more energy than I’ve ever had before.
I crawl out of bed with a smile on my face most mornings, and trust me, that’s a first. Though my smile may have less to do with being sober, and more to do with a certain blue-eyed blonde who makes me feel like I’m not so alone anymore.
My sessions with Sienna are going really well. I’d like to take the credit for that, but I can’t. It’s all her. She’s really good at what she does. We’ve covered a lot of ground, so much ground now it’s kinda scary.
But scary in a good way.
Sienna has shared a lot with me too, almost as much as I’ve shared with her. She told me about her parents passing away, and she told me all about her teenage brother and his autism spectrum disorder diagnosis. She told me he can spit out trivia like he’s a walking/talking encyclopedia and that despite not knowing he’s doing it, he loves harder than anyone else she’s ever known.
He sounds like a really cool kid.
An easy familiarity has settled between us. I can’t really explain it, but it’s comfortable, even in the moments of silence when neither one of us is speaking.
I’ve wanted to touch her so many times now it’s driving me crazy. What I wouldn’t give just to hold her hand or play with her hair. I’ve hated not being able to tell her how beautiful she looks every day. I hate that, when she walks into the room, I have to pretend she hasn’t been on my mind all morning, and I hate that when our sessions are done, she doesn’t know she’s all I think about for the rest of the day.
I know she feels it, too, though. I’m not that out of touch with reality. It’s undeniable, the sexual tension between us, and despite it being insanely pleasurable, I worry the more time we spend together the more complicated it will be in the end.
Jonesy’s mouth keeps moving, but I’ve long since tuned her out. She’s reading some shit to me from one of her many textbooks. It’s boring as hell and in no way relevant to me or my current situation.
I could leave, yeah sure.
But fuck it if her mouth isn’t all soft and sexy as she speaks, and despite the urge I have to poke my own eyes out with a blunt stick right now—anything would be less painful than the monotonous scientific garbage she’s droning on with—I like the way her lips wrap so seductively around the words.
The things I’d like to do with that mouth of hers.
Sweet Jesus.
