The stories in this series will deal with the issue of sexual abuse and the wounds it creates, so readers sensitive to that topic should take note. Also, while this story connects to the events in some of my other stories (especially Bottles, A Strange Arrangement, and More than a Substitute), it is not necessary to have read the other stories first, though I recommend it!
I've put this series is in the romance category, even though the first and second chapters might not fit. In this case, I've chosen to categorize this series as a whole.
A hearty thank you to GaiusPetronius for his diligent and helpful editing of this series.
*******
She closed her eyes and listened to the waves. The wind blew stronger, no longer a breeze. Sand stung her cheeks as she tightened her lips. Her blond hair whipped about, slowly unraveling the loose braid she had woven that morning.
It was evening, sunset. A few curious seagulls loitered about, hopeful for some crusts of bread. But the only thing she had in her hand was a small white envelope, which she gripped more tightly than she intended.
She didn't feel angry, and she didn't feel sad. Those were mere words, concepts that didn't resonate in her soul. Maybe it was a sacrifice worth making - she could not feel joy, but neither could she hurt. There was only emptiness. And emptiness feels like nothing.
She had lived near that beach for more than two years, and all of that time had been with the easy-going night watchman who seemed to think she could be a different kind of woman. He said he loved her, and he probably meant it. But she couldn't love him. She could fuck him, she could play with him, and she could enjoy the warmth of his body next to hers at night. But she couldn't love.
It wasn't even love that prompted her decision to leave. She wasn't trying to protect him or spare him any pain. Sure, it would hurt him when she left. It would sting him for a moment, probably. Ern was too sentimental anyway, so in a way, it was his own fault. But it would only be the emotional equivalent of a small flesh wound. He didn't know real pain.
In the morning she would give him one more time. She would allow
herself
one more time with him. One more time to feel close and safe and special. One more time to moan appreciatively as he spent himself inside her. One more time to give the only thing she had worth sharing, to connect with him in the only way she knew how. He would work tonight, they would have sex in the morning, and then she would tell him.
She felt a wetness on her jaw. Letting the wind dry it, she mused,
It must be getting ready to rain.
Please, let it be rain.
Hannah never cried.
********
As she walked around the house, Hannah observed that she didn't feel any sentiment about the place. It had never felt like a home to her. She had resisted the urge to redecorate the rooms to suit her tastes. She had made that mistake before, when she had settled into Tim's place. She stayed with him longer than she should have because she had started to feel attached to her environment. She had even mistaken that attachment for some fondness for Tim himself.
Those eighteen months in the company of the quiet park ranger should have been only half that. But once she pulled the paintings off the walls, stashed the candles in some boxes, and tossed the pillows into the closet, it was as if the blinders had been removed from her eyes. She pushed the furniture back to where it had been a year earlier and suddenly it felt like she could walk out the door without even saying good-bye to Tim. And so she did.
Dancing carelessly at a club a few nights before that unceremonious exit, she had bumped into Ernst. He was there for a bachelor party and seemed to surprise himself by spontaneously asking for her number. A few dates later and she was moving her stuff one town over from Tim, into Ernst's modest house near the beach. She "accidentally" dropped her phone during a walk on the beach that evening, removing any chance that Tim might try calling her.
That was just over two years ago. She couldn't believe Ernst was still putting up with her. The poor guy obviously wanted the whole marriage-and-happy-family thing, but she was not the woman for that kind of story. He was good in bed and aside from the occasional pressure to get her to open up and be sentimental, he was not too annoying. She had even been mostly faithful to him, even though they'd never talked about being exclusive.
The past few months, however, he had continued to try to talk about the future. Thank God she had stumbled across the diamond ring he was hiding a few months ago and had returned it to the store before he could embarrass himself. For Hannah, talking like that was pointless. It used to be that she could distract him with a mind-bending blowjob, but Ernst was starting to lose patience. And then that morning, they had fucked quite thoroughly. He had been hovering above her, supported high enough on his fists that she had been able to rub herself to a jaw-clenching orgasm. As if he had only been waiting for her to finish, Ernst had quickly followed her climax with his own. When he dropped himself onto her with a long exhale, he put his lips next to her ear and moaned a soft, "I love you."
It wasn't the first time he'd said that to her, not by a long shot. And only once or twice had she been careless enough to consider responding. But for Hannah it was starting to ruin the moment when he said that during sex. Why add that layer of complication to something that was satisfying enough by itself?
And then there had been the envelope in the mail the week before. Only a very short list of people had her address. Her sisters were two of them. The envelope had shocked her out of stagnation, and Ernst's tender declarations only served to agitate her further.
"I need to move on... This isn't working for me," she had told him. He had rolled to the side with a look of sad surprise. He had to have seen it coming. His face didn't seem to be asking "Really?" or "Why?" so much as "Now?" He had tried half-heartedly to talk her out of it, but there was no point in that. Hannah was leaving. Not that day, but soon.
That evening, as she walked back from the beach, she looked again at the return address before tucking the envelope into the large pocket of her thin dress. She still didn't know which way she would be heading, but she could rule out two places: her current address and the address in her pocket.
*******
She quit her job with a few days' notice. Ernie worked nights, and so the evening before she left, she packed up her car while he was gone. It didn't take long, and the place didn't look any different with her stuff missing. He got home that morning and she pulled him straight to the bedroom. She wasn't really in the mood and was thinking more about wanting to make a sandwich before she left than she was about the stiffening cock in her mouth.
She had always enjoyed sex- it was never something she did for her partner, it was only for her. Whether or not
