Author's note:
A couple of warnings here.
First, you REALLY need to have read my first book, Messy, in order to understand this chapter. Characters will be appearing, events will be referenced... Yes, this chapter could probably stand by itself in the context of THIS book, but it traces events not shown but occurring in Messy. Preferably, readers would have read all my past works, as this will illuminate some of the characters and sequences that occur later in the series.
Second, there's only one sex scene, so if you're reading just for the erotic sequences, I'd recommend skipping this chapter. That scene is violent and degrading despite both characters enjoying it, so even IF you're reading just for sex and want to read just that... It may make you uncomfortable.
Third, this chapter, due to being plot-centric and taking place within the Messy time frame, contains several scenes of violence (though nothing overtly graphic), discussions of violence, a scene of contemplated suicide, and a discussion of a sexual assault. This is not a "happy" chapter, though it is very necessary to the story, and I tried to minimize what was "shown" "on screen" while conveying what needed to be.
Thank you once again for reading, for all your votes, for all your messages both public and private. I appreciate it.
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I'd never been this lonely.
This...EMPTY.
Mike was working. Tori wasn't picking up her phone. Nina was probably pulling a bullet out of some gangbangers chest. Colette and my sister were in the wrong fucking time zone to call at this hour.
My parents were dead.
And Cady hated me.
Fuck.
I was tired. Tired of being lonely. Tired of meaningless random hookups. I felt like I was going through the motions of attraction and desire, not feeling them despite my participation. I was tired of teaching, of grading papers. Tired of dealing with my neighbors' petty complaints about the townhouses I now managed.
Tired of driving home to an empty house every night.
I was tired of being tired.
The bottle of Chopin was sweating condensation all over the kitchen table and I didn't see any reason to use a glass.
I grabbed the bottle and took it up to my bedroom. The world seemed hyper-aware through the alcohol and exhaustion haze. I could feel the carpet, soft under my shoes. Hear the hum of the light fixtures. In the next townhouse over, a TV was turned up.
The bed creaked when I sat down, and I reached into the nightstand, pulled out my father's Browning Hi-Power. It was heavy in my hand, muzzle wanting to tilt towards the floor. I pushed down the tiny safety, retracted the slide enough to see the chambered brass through the ejection port.
I dropped the magazine, tried to catch it. It thunked softly on the floor.
Who cares?
I contemplated the gun for a long time. Or maybe I didn't, maybe I was just sitting there.
Dammit.
I angled the gun up, placed the muzzle under my chin, made sure to tilt it back towards my neck instead of up through my mouth.
No living disfigured, with a mistake.
Fuck, I should really do this in some other place that won't bother the next owner of the building.
I trudged up the steps to the attic, flicked on the light. Cady had puked on the floor right there. Our relationship had ended in this ugly room full of boxes.
I sat against the wall, took another drink from the bottle, and started to cry. I couldn't do this anymore. Pretend like nothing was wrong, pretend like I was strong, like I was normal. I wasn't normal, I was tired, and sick of it.
My life had ended in this room, years ago. Looking back honestly, I couldn't have lived with myself if I'd done anything different. Couldn't have allowed myself to do anything different.
It was fate.
Now my life would end for real in this room. The bullet was just punctuation on the final sentence I'd started writing when Cady walked out of my life.
The muzzle warmed under my chin.
Three and a half pounds of pressure, and I wouldn't feel like this anymore.
I wouldn't be tired anymore.
"Wanna fuck?" Tori asked.
I looked up at her. Muscular brown legs led up to a tiny denim skirt, and a short, strappy tank showed off her midriff.
"Why?"
"Cuz fucking feels better than dying. She crouched in front of me. You can kill yourself any time. I need some cock tonight. Your cock."
I set the Hi-Power on the floorboards. "Why does everyone think I'm a walking hard-on?"
"Because you've got the libido of a billygoat with three dicks. And to hear your friends tell it, you always have."
Even in my drunk, depressed, and suicidal state, I could appreciate her body. The neckline of the shirt had been cut to show off ample golden curves, and between her shadowed thighs, I could see her thin red panties stretched over her feminine mound.
"Yeah, kinda." I laughed bitterly.
Tori held out her hand. "C'mon. It'll do you good, let some of that darkness out."
