Chapter Six

The immediate events that transpired after Randy dropped to his knees in front of me in the spare room were dreamlike at first but quickly turned into a horrific nightmare. It all happened so fast, without any rational thoughts or reasoning to stop either of us.

Circling his arms around my waist, Randy buries his face into my chest after confessing he would never stop fighting for me, hugging me tightly. I stood there motionless at first with my arms slack at my sides, so overwhelmed and numb from the shock of last night. I faintly hear the front door of the apartment open and close, indicating Kyra had left, leaving Randy and I alone with one another.

Not entirely aware of my own reaction, my arms rose and enfolded around his shoulders with my hand cradling the back of his head on my chest. This feels so right, and I hate that it does. Our bodies pressed together, his warmth and strong arms holding me tight, never wanting him to let me go. Internally, my emotions battle each other with such ferocity, it feels like World War III is blowing apart at full force inside of me. For right now, though during this tender moment, I turn my cheek from the escalating frenzy within.

When his hands slip under my t-shirt on my back, I don’t stop him. Caressing my bare skin with his fingertips, I don’t hold back the resulting longing sigh from my lips. I let him nuzzle my neck and softly moan, enjoying the sensation of his lips feathering across my sensitive skin.

His hands slid down to my bottom, gripping it firmly. In one swift movement, Randy rose to his feet, lifting me off of mine. Instinctually, I wrap my legs around his waist and feel his hardened groin pressing into me. Leaning back, I peered up, questioning him.

Resting his forehead to mine, Randy’s heated gaze pierces into me, whispering in a low gravelly voice. “Let’s take a shower together so I can prove how much I love and want you.”

Not giving me a chance to protest or deny him, his lips lock with mine as he opens the door, striding with purpose down the hall towards the master bathroom connected to our bedroom with me straddling him.

I remain quiet when he sets me down in front of him in the bathroom, watching him turn on the shower and sticking his hand under the stream of water to test the temperature. Showering is an act we have enjoyed doing countless times together. This time feels different though. The air between us is thick with tension, unspoken words, and thoughts.

Moving to slide my shorts and underwear off to undress, Randy gently grabs me by the wrist, halting me. “Let me, please.” He offers softly. “I want to take care of and love you in every way I possibly can.”

I accepted his offer with a single nod.

Each article of clothing, which there isn’t a lot of, gradually slipped off of me one by one. My hastily chosen outfit for the day consists of a pair of heather gray shorty-short jersey joggers, a fitted and faded Black Sabbath t-shirt, an unlined lightweight bra and cotton string bikini underwear. For every piece of clothing removed, I am rewarded with a flood of kisses over each section of my body that is bare.

“You are perfection personified. There isn’t going to be an inch of you left that I will not love on today.” He murmurs, kneeling before me with his mouth caressing the skin below my navel while sliding my underwear off. Closing my eyes with a sigh, I tilt my head back when Randy begins planting warm, languid kisses on the indentations at the apex of my hips.

The water raining down on us in the shower is steamy and relaxing, soothing away my body-wide pent-up tension from my aching muscles down the drain. I wish the water had the ability to rinse away the awful events of last night as well, which are so raw and burning at the forefront of my mind. I forcefully shove away those thoughts, however, and push myself to concentrate on the luxurious feeling of Randy’s fingers kneading my scalp while washing my hair instead.

Living in what is considered more of a luxury apartment, the furnishings and hardware are a far cry from the largely outdated builder-grade variety found in most apartments. The walk-in shower of the master bathroom is no exception. To honor the buildings' history and age, the apartments were designed with that in mind.

The bathroom features a Victorian-era wall mounted white porcelain sink with two decorative legs at the front, white glossy subway tiles run along the bottom half of the walls with a raised decorative tile border along the top edge. The flooring is white and black mosaic tiles with black subway tiles around the bottom edge of the walls.

It’s a large, comfortable space. The generous sized enclosed glass paneled shower featuring a mosaic tiled bench at one end was a major selling point when I first toured the apartment. Randy was there with me that day and as soon as we were out of earshot of the rental agent showing us around, he whispered in my ear several ideas of the naughty things we could do in a shower on a bench.

Finished with washing and conditioning my long thick cinnamon hair, sitting on the bench, Randy stands on his knees between my thighs, taking his time while gently scrubbing my entire body and limbs with a soapy loofah.

I’ve barely said a word since coming into the bathroom, other than offering a yes or no when necessary. Unclipping the handheld shower-head from its wall mount, Randy carefully rinses the soapy foam off of my body. Indicating for me to stand with a delicate tap on my thigh, he finishes rinsing my back and bottom off.

“Can I help you shave?” He questions softly, peering earnestly into my eyes still on his knees.

Crinkling my nose, I’m unsure of what exactly he wants to shave. “You want to shave my legs?” I wonder.

“Yes, and other areas as well.” He clarifies, sliding a hand up the inside of my thigh, and pausing when his fingertips just reach my throbbing center. Kissing me on the mouth softly, his tongue presses against my lips in invitation to enter. I accepted and offered mine to him, feeling his finger slip between my slick folds at the same time, making me groan in need.

“This area in particular,” he added in a husky voice. “I want you bare and smooth, so you’ll be especially sensitive and thoroughly feel every movement and motion of my mouth, tongue, fingers, and cock.”

Shaving or trimming your own private parts is nerve wracking enough to do yourself. One wrong move or slip of the razor can easily result in nicking or slicing the delicate and very sensitive skin of that area. Which, unfortunately, from experience, I’ve learned that even the smallest of nicks in that general region practically gushes blood.

Inhaling in a sharp breath, my heart races in my chest at thought of someone other than myself putting anything metal and remotely sharp near my privates. Randy perceived my apprehension, and tenderly took my face in his other hand, caressing the side of my face with his thumb.

“Do you trust me?” He questions carefully with a hint of trepidation that I don’t miss in his tone.

Excuse me? I cannot believe he has the freaking nerve to ask if I trusted him after last night! Seeing my eyes narrow and the mood instantly drop, Randy tries to back pedal.

“I meant by doing this, not—”

“Shut the hell up!” I snapped, shoving him away hard in the chest, trying to put some distance between us. I don’t give a shit what he did or didn’t mean. Those words should never leave his mouth after the events of last night. I’m not sure if I can bring myself to ever trust him again. “Don’t you dare ask or expect me to trust you about anything ever again! You have absolutely no right!”

Randy’s entire demeanor slumps in response to my sharp tone and angry words. Lowering his gaze from mine, his hands slid away from me, falling limp at his sides.

“I don’t expect you to trust me Leslie, or expect anything from you, because I’ve lost that privilege. I just want to make you feel better. Even if it's temporary.“

Swiping his hand over his eyes to wipe away tears that I have only ever seen him shed once or twice before in our relationship, doesn’t prompt any sympathy from me whatsoever, as it would have before. Instead, it results in the volatile rupture of my pent-up emotions brewing over the past several months.

“Make me feel better?” I hissed, leaning forward, so my face was within inches of his. “What about all the times I’ve tried discussing your increasingly excessive drinking? All the times I cried, pleaded, reasoned, or just tried having a calm adult conversation with you about it? You didn’t care about making me feel better then! What about all the horrible, mean, nasty things you would say to me when you were drunk? Last night would never have happened if you hadn’t obliterated yourself every time you got a whiff of alcohol! We were so happy and wonderful together until you started drinking...and then seeing you in bed with her!" I growl the word 'her' in disgust when I say it. "You've utterly broken my heart this time Randy.” I sob, wiping the tears from my eyes regardless of the fact that I'm in a shower and soaking wet.

My face tightens to the point that it feels like my skin will crack. Sobs burst out of me. I buried my face in my hands, thinking back on the horrid things he would say to me. Everything I put up with, telling myself over and over, he’s only saying that because he’s drunk, or Randy doesn’t really mean it. I was such a fucking fool, and apparently, I still am!

Once again, I've allowed myself to be wooed by his good looks and charm. Who lets their boyfriend put his hands and mouth all over them after finding him in bed with another girl the night before? A total dumbass that's who. It's me, I'm the dumbass in this situation. God, why did I let things get so physical between us today?

Because it hurts too much to admit our relationship is more than likely broken beyond repair at this point. It was easier to act like we always have with each other when things got rough; kiss, take off our clothes and make up with Randy thrusting between my legs until I could barely remember my own name. The thought of never feeling his lips on mine, or snuggling/screwing on the couch while watching movies together or going off on another adventure with each other to scout out potential locations to shoot videos for our paranormal investigation YouTube channel is agonizing. The realization that we are no more, steals the air from my lungs.

Standing up, Randy turns away from me and grabs the top of the glass stall to brace himself, hanging his head down between his outstretched arms.

“You didn’t deserve any of it. Drunk or not, I should never have spoken to you in such an awful manner. I was verbally abusive towards you. I--." He chokes and pauses for a moment, taking a few deep breaths before speaking again. "You were right you know, before, when you said I was turning out to be just like my father... whenever he drank too much, he became a monster. You've seen it up close and personal, unfortunately, and know it's true. I'll never forgive myself for any of this!"

Randy... you're not your father--," I started, but he's quick to cut me off.

"No! Please stop and let me finish." Whirling around at me, Randy's eyes were ablaze with anger and frustration. I know he isn't upset with me. His heated emotions are due to this awful situation. His breathing is hoarse and ragged. As he speaks, he raises his hand with his finger pointed up and shakes it for added emphasis. "You don't understand. Hell, I don't understand it myself. Fuck, fuck! None of this makes any sense!"

"Understand what?" I demanded, not having the slightest idea of what the hell he was talking about.

"I swear I barely drank two beers last night, Leslie. That was it, over a several hour period at that. Everyone else was taking shots and each time I was offered one, I turned it down. I knew, have known for some time at least, that I was losing you because my drinking had become so out of hand. The hurt in your face when you describe the things I’ve said to you after the nights whenever I was drunk. God, this has been killing me!"

Wait, what? Not even two beers, yet he was too drunk and unsteady on his feet to stop the guys from pushing him into our room with Katie? Either he's lying or something else is going on.

"You were slurring your words last night, Randy, when you were slumped on the ground, held up by the door, begging me to come out of the spare room. I saw you staggering and struggling to steady yourself. Maybe that's all you can remember is drinking two beers."

Adamantly shaking his head, Randy looked me directly in the eye. "No, they were all making fun of me for it. Calling me a lightweight and saying I handled my beer like an eight-year-old girl. I didn't exactly feel drunk though. I felt hazy, incredibly silly, easily persuaded into doing whatever was suggested, and out of control but having no control over being out of control. Like I was outside myself... A couple of the guys even sent me text messages right after they left, teasing that two beers were going to make me pass out before..."

Unable to finish and realizing there's no need to complete the sentence for me, Randy pauses because he knows I know what he was going to say. His expression is pained from feeling mortified and disgusted.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I inhale a deep breath to calm myself before stating what's on my mind. "Randy, if I didn't know any better... It sounds like you were possibly drugged."

His entire body goes rigid and his breathing halts in response to what I've said. Raking his hand through his wet hair, he scoffs in disbelief. We've been in the shower for at least a half an hour. Thank goodness for tankless, continuous water heaters.

His face pales as the possibility sinks in. "You know... no it can't be. She wouldn't do that. Oh, who am I kidding? Yes, that slimy skank absolutely would!"

Turning away from me again, Randy moves himself as far as he physically can into the corner of the shower. In a quiet, shaky voice with his fists balled at his sides, Randy confesses something to me, he's never spoken of before.

"There were several times when I dated her where either I ended up somewhere and couldn't remember how I got there with her or woke up next to her in her bed completely baffled because the last thing I remembered from the night before was getting ready to leave her house. She would get mad and hound me to stay over, but I worried that her parents wouldn't appreciate finding me in their daughter's bed the following morning.

After it happened a couple of times, I demanded that she tell me what the hell was going on because I had no memory of going to her room at night or changing my mind to stay instead of leaving or getting in bed with her and doing whatever we did once in bed. She would always brush me off though, saying I was probably just tired from football practice or working after school. Each day after that happened, I would wake up feeling extremely groggy with a wicked headache for the rest of the day..."

Oh God, this is so messed up. If she really did drug him all those times and last night, then he was more than likely completely unaware of his actions, let alone having the mental capacity to stop anything... She's a fucking sick and twisted predator. She potentially raped him! Rising up from the bench, I stepped behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist, resting my head between his broad shoulders. My stomach is turning and twisting inside of me.

"Randy... if you suspect she drugged you, then we need to go to the clinic right away and have a test run to see what she may have slipped to you."

Placing his hands over mine, he responds in a small voice that reminds me of a timid child. "Yeah, I just want to get this over with."