Knocking on the door to the dressing room to keep from startling her, she calls out to come in.Looking up from her hands, I find she already changed clothes and is back in her hoodie and jeans. It must be eighty degrees outside but I imagine with as little body fat as she's currently carrying around she likely stays cold. When she sees me, she stuffs her hands in the pocket of her sweatshirt in an attempt to hide whatever she was focused on before I interrupted."Are you ready to go home?""Yeah, I'm just getting my stuff. Do you want to meet me there?""No, my car's already at the house. Dax picked me up there this afternoon."She's confused and doesn't understand this has been my plan since she walked out of the hospital. Well, right after Dax and I got into a screaming match, and he punched me in the face. After that, this became my plan.She doesn't resist or argue just rises to her feet, grabs her purse and garment bag. I take the dress from her, holding the door open
I don't have the energy for this. Between last night and today, I'm out of fuel to pretend like I give a shit anymore. I refuse to perpetuate a sham of happiness in my own home. I have no idea why Moby came back here, but if it's to rub my nose in how content he is, I wish he would've saved it for another day. Collapsing on the couch, I stuff my hands in my hoodie pockets, finding the little memento someone so graciously sent me. I haven't had time to really study it, but from the quick peeks I've taken, it's stunning. I rub my thumb over the inscription using it to soothe my weary soul.I watch in awe as Moby strolls across the room, not a single sign of the stroke visible. Whatever he's been doing for the last five weeks worked. He looks fantastic, and his confidence is soaring once again. I fight the attraction I feel seeing the man I married emerge again. It will only end in heartache. When he takes a seat across from me, I know this conversation is going to be more than I can
Waking up, still wrapped in Moby's arms, his nose nestled near my ear, I stare out the same window that brought so much disdain yesterday, and wonder if it's possible the world has righted itself and is back on the correct axis.Twenty-four hours ago, the same sun shone through the same glass onto the same face, but its warmth did nothing other than start the repeat of another mundane, dismal day. Today it holds promise and wonder.I observe the clouds move as the light becomes brighter, not wanting to wake my sleeping husband, and instead opt to just enjoy the dawning of a new day.He begins to stir beside me, but I'm unable to tell if he's still in the throws of sleep or going to attempt to join me in the wake of the morning. He answers my unasked question by nudging his hard member against my butt, just letting me know he's there. His smile moves across my neck as he begins to scatter soft kisses over my skin.As his hands begin to wander, I tense in the apprehension of his
Six months ago, I moved back home. I thought things would be simple. I figured once I was physically back where I needed to be, everything else would just fall back into place. It didn't. It took work, lots of fucking work, and continues to take work daily.Emotionally, Piper was in a far worse place than any of us realized. She had developed abandonment issues and separation anxiety, not just with me but everyone she's close to. The great thing about working at a crisis center is the resources available to her. Just like Cam, Shelly has become her confidante. They meet a couple times a week, and together, we're all working on putting our relationships back together. It's a slow process and maybe one we'll work on for the rest of our lives. I'm just thankful to have the chance to do it. Whenever I see Shelly, I wonder if she comprehends just how many times she's really saved one of the Cooper boys' asses. Our journey through treatment is made a little more difficult in the last fe
As the CEO of Regional Bank, I was a dominant female-a no-nonsense woman, driven to succeed. Every aspect of my life was controlled. Every single one. But at the end of the day, I hadn't figured out why I felt so adrift and unfulfilled. Then, the awakening came-the one role in which I didn't want to dominate, I didn't want to control-and it hit me like a crash of lightning. I realized my need for submission in one area. I wanted-no, needed-someone to control me, to give me the freedom to exist without decisions, and enjoy life under someone else's direction. It had been so long since I'd had it, I couldn't remember what an essential part of me it had truly been.My heart burned for a man who could tame my attitude, who could give me a look and heat the pool between my legs, whose glance sent me to my knees in submission, waiting for instructions. I desired with every fiber of my being to have a man take over, to trust him to care for me and nourish my soul. I dated a guy who had p
I didn't see Dax on Friday or even know if he'd come to see Julie. In fact, I didn't see him again, at all. I hadn't seen him for weeks, which had somehow set me on edge, putting me on high alert. I cursed myself every time I glanced at the door, expecting him, and he didn't pass through it. I'd done this to myself; I'd discarded his advances as though he wasn't worth the time of day. In an attempt to let go of the unreasonable anxiety I felt toward missing a man I didn't know, I decided to go out with my girlfriends. The bar sat on a side road off Main Street running through downtown, and I spent fifteen minutes looking for a place to park. Friday nights were usually pretty busy, but when we closed the bar down, the streets were empty by the time we left. The bartender had cashed out our tabs, and my friends headed out when I called a cab. With them all living in the vicinity of the pub, they hadn't had a need for a designated driver, but I was out in the suburbs and would never ch
A small slit in my eyes provided blurred visibility anytime I tried to open them, but the pain the light caused was only a fraction of discomfort compared to the way my throat burned and the choking sensation that sent me into a panic when I floated in and out. The migraine was worse each time I dared come to, and there wasn't a single part of my body that didn't throb in pain. I prayed to God this wasn't real, that I wasn't lucid, and that this was a nightmare I couldn't wake from. But it had to be reality-it paled in comparison to the beautifully vivid dreams that took me back under. The only part of that plague I didn't try to avoid when I managed to peek out of my slumber was the angel next to me, luring me back into unconsciousness with his songs-an acoustic melody that softly echoed off the walls around me. The guitar hummed a serene tune-one I desperately wanted to hold on to, hear forever, as though it could become a tangible part of my spirit. I took note of the stark
"Kitten, I need you to wake up. Come on, I know you're tired, but the doctor's here to see you to take the tube out." I opened my eyes wider than it seemed I had in years. The swelling had dissipated enough to allow the light to flood through the larger slits between my lids and blind me. But cords connected from my body to God knew what stopped me from shielding my eyes with my arm or hands. I wondered briefly how many machines monitored some aspect of my bodily function. I'd never felt discomfort like what I experienced trying to adjust to the sunshine filling the room. As my pupils contracted, I would have sworn I felt their actual movement and the way they narrowed until I was able to focus. It was surreal and would have been a sensation I wanted to hold on to-the way the world came back into view after days of lost perception-but the migraine surpassed the beauty, and turning my head resulted in agony. When the searing spikes through my skull subsided, I was able to recogniz