Dirty Forever (The Dirty Suburbs Book 8) Page 4

  The younger version of myself looks into camera and slides a hand between Grace's thighs, rubbing her pussy over the black satin of her costume. "Tell me how wet you are, Angel."

  Her voice is raspy as she grinds against my fingers. “I’m very wet.”

  “Show me how wet you are.”

  She leans back and unclips the snaps at the crotch of her bodysuit, exposing her glistening pink folds to me. She smiles at the camera, her eyes saying that she knows exactly how hard she’s making me.

  I make a threatening sound. “Let me taste it.”

  Grace runs her fingers through her wetness and touches them to my lips. The flavor drives me wild. I’m done playing these games. I push her down roughly and my face disappears between her thighs.

  Watching this version of Grace and Daniel – the playful, happy, crazy-for-each-other version, the version that slipped out of a campus Halloween party early to go back to my dorm and play – is making my chest burn.

  Yes, some may consider it creepy that I’m sitting here watching this, especially after my wife’s actions today made it clear in no uncertain terms that she’s over me. And yes, I’m going to delete this video and all the others. But, just cut me some slack.

  One last wank. For old time’s sake. I’ll permit myself that much.

  My veins heat up as I watch the grainy video of myself bending her over the dresser. Moaning in unison, we go at it hard. Her beautiful tits bounce with each punishing thrust and I bite her shoulder to keep from yelling. Our bodies shudder together and we ride the wave of ecstasy before collapsing onto the bed, kissing and giggling and whispering ‘I love you’s.

  I set the computer aside as my cock jerks roughly in my fist. A groan tears out of my throat as my vision blurs with stars.

  I close the video with a click on the ‘x’. I’ve got cum all over my hand.

  This is kind of pathetic, Daniel.

  Time to get rid of these videos. I’m done holding out hope that she’s going to wake up one morning and realize that we’re better together than apart. I navigate to the menu to move the video to my trashcan.

  The computer prompts me, giving me one last chance to change my mind: Are you sure you want to delete the video GRACE_AND_DANIEL_HALLOWEEN_PORNO.mp4?

  I glare at the screen. I’m not sure of anything anymore.

  Regardless, I hit ‘delete permanently’. It’s time to move on.

  Chapter 6

  Grace

  I thought I had already hit rock bottom. Apparently, I hadn't.

  The row of gray bars caging me in is the first thing I see when I open my eyes. My hip aches from lying on my side all night. My neck is sore and my arm is numb from serving as my makeshift pillow.

  I vaguely register Sebastian's happy coos and when I look toward my feet, I see him in the dim morning light, gripping the wooden railing as he gnaws away at a bumper pad.

  Yes, I woke up in my son's crib this morning.

  This is rock bottom.

  Shifting my head, my cheek presses onto the damp sheet and my heart tightens as I wonder if I cried myself to sleep again last night.

  But then my vision focuses and I notice the heavy, yellow-stained diaper sitting near my head.

  Ugh!

  Well, that explains the urine scent wafting through the air. I scrunch up my nose at the odor as I quickly sit up and scoot away.

  My son crawls over to me at a speed that is completely unjustified by the lack of urgency in his situation. “Mum-mum! Mum-mum!” He climbs on top of me cuddling his cheek to my chest.

  “Good morning, Mr. Pooh…” I whisper, smiling to myself as I rub the sleep from my eyes. This boy’s affection is what keeps me going in this difficult time. If I didn’t have him with me, I don’t know what I’d do to get through this.

  My mind goes to Daniel as it does every morning. I wonder if he slept last night…if he’ll take the time to have breakfast before racing in to the office…if he misses me the way I miss him.

  Sebastian tears me out of my over-sentimental musings when he shoves his hand into my shirt for my boob.

  “Seriously, dude?” I groan as I manoeuver out of his grasp.

  I weaned him a few weeks ago but reaching for my breasts first thing in the morning is as natural to him as breathing. It seems to be entrenched in his cellular memory. And as usual, when I tell him that we’re about to go to the kitchen for his bottle, he bursts into a mega tantrum, wailing and flopping back against the mattress, his skull narrowly avoiding a collision with the siding of his crib.

  And so it begins. Another morning in my household.

  Neither of us gets good sleep. He refuses to stay in his crib alone and when I let him stay in my bed with me, he inevitable climbs down the mattress and starts running through the house at three in the morning. That’s how I ended up in his crib last night.

  I don’t know if he’s going through a phase or if he’s teething or if he misses his dad, plain and simple, but for the past few months he’s been becoming increasingly difficult to deal with. His tantrums are incessant and he’s ridiculously clingy. I can hardly get the dishes done without having him tangled between my feet.

  Every time he gets like this, I can’t help but wonder just how badly I’m fucking him up with this divorce. Is this my fault? Am I the reason for his misbehavior?

  Jeez – as if I don’t already have enough to feel guilty about.

  “Okay Mr. Pooh. Let’s start the day.”

  I push down my guilt and scoop my flailing toddler into my arms. It’s a struggle to climb out of the crib without face-planting and body-slamming the kid on the floor but I somehow manage to pull it off.

  He’s still fussing when I take him downstairs and set him in his highchair. I hand him a few toys and by the time his bowl of cereal is ready, he’s settled down enough that I can finally hear my own thoughts moving through my brain again. I stare at him as he eats. How a person can be so frustrating and so adorable at the same time? No doubt a trait he picked up from Daniel.

  Sometimes, looking at my son is painful. He looks so much like his father, with his sharp nose and his penetrating stare. It gives me chills.

  Completely oblivious to what I’m thinking, he looks up at me and gives the biggest grin. And my heart melts.

  Now, thoughts of Daniel are running through my mind. I miss him like crazy and I worry just how badly he hates me. I try to hate him too, but it’s exhausting. Really, all I want is to feel his arms around me. I’ve got to find a way to accept that that just won’t happen.

  I momentarily consider making myself a bowl of oatmeal with fruit – y’know, a responsible adult breakfast – but the leftover red velvet cheesecake muffins call out to me like a siren song.

  This divorce is making me fat.

  But I can’t allow myself to crumble. I have a child to look out for. If I’m a mess all day, who’s going to take care of Sebastian? The inner pep talk is meant to stiffen my spine, to make me stand tall and take control. Instead, it brings me to my knees. I break down crying again, the idea that I’m alone – a single mother – really is too much to bear. And the worst part is, I know I’ll be alone forever.

  Because really, what man in his right mind would be interested in a divorcee in her late twenties, toting around an insomniac toddler fathered by a suit-wearing shark who makes a living suing people into bankruptcy?

  And I couldn’t bring myself to fall in love with another man, anyway. Despite all that we’ve been through, I know that Daniel Trotten’s name is branded on my heart.

  He, on the other hand, will eventually find someone new. Someone with perkier tits and longer legs. She’ll probably be younger than me, too. Maybe somebody fresh out of law school. A young, wide-eyed intern who captures his heart with her witty, legal quips and her come-hither lips and her effortlessly perfect hair. And I’ll have to run into them at PTA meetings, knowing that I have nothing to come home to but a moody teenager, a mountain range of dirty laundry and maybe a few cats
.

  Yeah – eventually, I’ll get a few cats. Because let’s be real – it’s over for me. I’m damaged goods. I run my fingers over my C-section scar just to hammer the point home.

  Sigh…

  When Sebastian is done eating and I’ve polished off three fatty muffins, I take him into the living room and collapse on the carpet as he watches his learning programs.

  “The apple is red…The banana is yellow…The leaf is green…”

  Shit, it’s the second Saturday of the month. That means that Daniel will be here sometime this evening to pick up Sebastian. My prospects for the weekend don’t look good – dragging myself around the house in my pajamas, eating crappy food and crying myself to sleep.

  #Winning

  “The sky is blue…The fish is gold…The shoe is black…”

  Before long, I’ve dozed off on the floor because Daniel is coming over for our son and we’ll probably find something to wage war over.

  Gotta be well rested to face the battle, right?

  Chapter 7

  Daniel

  I hit the doorbell.

  Yes, at my own goddamned house, I hit the doorbell. Because my wife kicked me out and changed the locks and I let her. Goddammit, Grace!

  After an eternity, she swings the door open. She’s wearing a washed-out gray t-shirt that’s torn at the neck together with pajama bottoms and fluffy bedroom slippers.

  It’s 4:45 in the afternoon.

  Her voice is scratchy and her hair is matted to her forehead. "Hi..."

  She tries to stand tall but her pale cheeks and her swollen eyes betray her. I know that look. She's been crying. A part of me wants to pull her into my arms and kiss her until she’s beautifully flushed and her eyes shine with wanting me. The other part of me wants to scream at her. Look what you did to us!

  But that's not fair and I know it.

  Look what we did to us. Look at the mess we made.

  I'm not man enough to say that, of course. Instead, I bark at her. "Where’s my son?"

  She looks taken aback by my brusque tone but after what she did, why is she surprised?

  Was she expecting me to show up here on a white horse, shirtless and oiled up, chest hairs blowing in the wind with a red rose clenched between my teeth to sweep her off her feet like this is a fucking Harlequin romance? Hell no!

  Ending our marriage was her idea. She’s got to stomach the consequences now.

  Her eyes drop to the floor and she sniffles softly. “Let me go get him.”

  God – I hate the little part of me that wants to comfort her, the little part of me that breaks when I see her broken. I chastise myself internally. You’re weak. Don’t let her get to you. She deserves to be miserable.

  That’s the propaganda I try to feed myself as I stand on the front stoop, waiting for her to come back with our baby. But the truth is, after spending so many years with a person, it’s hard to turn off your feelings just because one day they wake up and decide that they’re better off without you.

  Sebastian’s little face lights up from all the way down the hall when he spots me standing at the door. He stretches his arms out to me, pulling away from his mother’s body as they approach.

  “Hey, buddy,” I say as I swoop him into my arms and ruffle his white-blond hair. “Hey!”

  A smile pulls across his drooly lips. “Da-da! Da-da-da!”

  Grace slips a little fisherman hat onto his head. “Make sure to keep his hat on if you take him to the park,” she tells me as she puts on his rain boots, “and his sunscreen is in the bag. I know it’s cloudy but still put it on. You might have to reapply it a few times depending on how long you stay outside. I packed his favorite toy car. Don’t go to the park without it–”

  Seething, I cut off her nervous rambling. “Grace, I know how to take care of my son.” She does this every time I pick him up. It’s annoying as hell.

  She flinches again. “Sorry,” she says quietly, “it’s just so hard to watch him leave every other weekend.”

  This woman can’t be serious. “Really? It’s hard to watch him leave for two measly days every other weekend?” I bark. “How do you think I feel when I drop him off on Sunday nights, knowing that I won’t see him again for nearly fifteen days?”

  “Don’t do this, Daniel,” she pleads softly.

  “No, it’s your fault. All of this is your fault,” I snarl, flinging an arm in the air. “If you hadn’t torn our family apart–”

  “I tore our family apart?” she barges in. “You didn’t play any role in this? You’re just an innocent party?”

  Here we go again. Fighting is what we’re best at. The subject doesn’t really matter as long as we’re at each other’s throats. And now, Sebastian is wailing. His confused little eyes squeeze shut and he buries his face in my shirt.

  Both of us go mute. Grace’s lips press flat and so do mine. Our eyes hook onto each other in a hateful silent exchange.

  Wordlessly, she stretches the diaper bag out to me. I take it without a squeak.

  She kisses her fingers and runs them across our son’s cheek. I ignore the tenderness in her watery eyes. I ignore the tugging in my own chest.

  I spin on my heel and stomp across the driveway to my car.

  Chapter 8

  Grace

  When I open the bathroom door, steam chases me into the bedroom. I pad over to the mirror and set down my phone on the dresser. Faith's voice pours into the room. "Just one drink, Gracie. Please?"

  I shake my head as if she can see me. "Sorry. Just not in the mood."

  She exhales heavily, expelling her frustration through the receiver. "What are you in the mood for?" she mumbles sarcastically.

  "I just want to stay in tonight." I exaggerate a yawn. "Relax a little bit. Drink some green tea. Catch up on some reading."

  I throw a glance over at the collection of self-help books I checked out at the library earlier this week. I've made some good headway through Chicken Soup For The Bitch Who Stepped In Dog Shit: How To Gain Perspective And Turn Your Ugly Divorce Into The Best Thing That Ever Happened To You. It's a bit over-the-top but I plan to keep an open-mind to see me through to the end.

  There are some interesting passages, I’ve got to admit. As the book says, "Part of the healing process is accepting that next time the jellyfish stings, your ex-husband won’t be around to piss on your leg. You’ve got to harness the power within yourself to piss on your own leg."

  Honestly, I’m not exactly sure what that means but it sounds profound. I think it may be a modern spin on a famous Thomas Jefferson quote. I’m not quite sure.

  Faith is still whining in my ear. "Come on, Gracie. Don't be a bore. Daniel has Sebastian tonight. Shove your tits into a push-up bra and let's have some fun! We Monroe women don't do well when we pent up all our frustration without finding constructive ways to blow off steam.”

  “I’m really busy,” I say as I hold the phone between my cheek and my shoulder, and rummage around in my panty drawer.

  My sister carries on. “If you don’t get out of the house and have some fun, you’re going to shrivel up and die on the couch in front of The Dr. Phil Show. And then, instead of coming back as something cute and benign like a mandarin duckling or a rainbow eucalyptus tree, you’re going to be something miserable in your next lifetime. Like a sickly hangnail. On Daniel’s left foot. Is that what you want? Do you want to be reincarnated as a fungus-covered hangnail?"

  I step into a pair of cotton control briefs and chuckle at my sister's melodramatics. "Well, I've got to go now. Thanks for calling," I say cheerily before I hang up.

  Still wrapped in my towel, I drop to the mattress and pick up the book. Somewhere in the middle of chapter 11, I come across a section called Dreams and one quote in particular catches my attention:

  Take an honest look at your life and ask yourself, "Am I doing all I can do? Am I living up to my best?" If it’s Saturday night and you're sitting around in your bathrobe drinking red wine or kombucha or w
hatever the fuck and feeling sorry for yourself as you read this, then the answer is obviously ‘no’. Get off your ass, put on a bra and go do something. Something you've always wanted to do. It doesn't have to be something monumental. It could be something small. (Go knit your grandpa a sweater vest. Go pluck those hairs off of your chin. Go plant some marijuana under your back patio.) Anything to keep you from trying to stuff your fat ass into your wedding dress and spend the night watching videos of your wedding reception on repeat. It just has to be something that will make you look in the mirror before you crawl into bed tonight and say, "I finally did a thing!" As long as it isn’t something that will have you looking at yourself from a mirror inside the county jail, go do it. I'm serious. Because let’s face it, honey – your man ain’t comin’ back, and even if he did, you want him to find you better than he left you. Put down this book right now and go do it! DO NOT READ ONE MORE WORD OF THIS BOOK UNTIL YOU GO DO THAT THING!