I fall on my bed landing on my back, my hand holding the bottle of wine dangling over the bed as I look up at the ceiling. I wonder what Bobby is doing. I wince at my internal thought, and close my eyes tightly.
“This is your fault,” I whisper to the bottle of wine in my hand. The wine helps with a long day, but often brings me to thinking about Bobby. I hate how he makes me want him; has me thinking about him all the time. Not to mention, Bobby’s a rock star in the sack, making it that much harder to stay away. I’m usually so high on desire from his skilled fingers and the affection he shows my body, that I don’t realize what I’m doing until it’s over. He’s not the one afraid of taking what we have and complicating it. Bobby has made it clear, as I have, that he has no desire to take things further. That’s not what I necessarily want, but absolutely need. What we have works: no attachment, no broken hearts.
I groan and sit up, taking another big swig, the fruity goodness numbing my senses. My phone vibrates in my back pocket making me jump and spill wine all over myself.
“Shit!” I yell, licking my fingertips to get every drop.
I slide my finger across the screen bringing my phone to life, cursing it at the same time. There’s a message from Bobby.
Bobby: Naked?
I should tell him I am wearing tan granny panties, and a nightgown my grandmother gave me. See if that gets him all hot and bothered. But knowing Bobby, it probably would turn him on.
Me: Hardly.
Bobby: I can help with that!
Me: Going to bed.
Bobby: Think of me, Hummingbird.
I sigh. I hate it when he calls me that. He says I hum a lot, reminding him of a hummingbird.
I toss my phone on the floor, and take another big gulp of wine, letting it slide down my throat, praying it helps numb this feeling of grief in my soul. I ran to the club a few years back, my last resort in saving my daughter and me from Travis, my deceased husband. I never thought I would trade a life of danger for the temptation of another hell.
I roll over and see my closet lit up, my eyes catching my forbidden shoebox at the top.
“Don’t do it, Jessica,” I whisper to myself. I know nothing in that box will help with what I’m feeling. The box that keeps little snippets from my past. I don’t know why I keep it. Actually, I do. It reminds me why I’m doing all of this. Living carefully and loveless. I’m caged by fear and tormented by recollection, making my life pretty monotonous.
I take another big gulp, my head lightening from the wine’s effect as I stand from the bed, and make my way to the closet. My fingers brush against the brown box. As a tear slowly escapes my tired eyes, the scars across my back blaze from terrifying memories.
“Your life as you know it will be mine. It’s up to you how long that life is to be endured and how. You will learn your role as my wife, and your happiness will depend on that,” Travis whispered, his voice calm and solemn against my ear. My body raised in fear when I heard the slight noise of something trailing along the floor as he paced behind me.
Wine splashes my feet, along with a loud crack, waking me from my dreadful memory. I look down and notice the wine bottle has slipped from my grip, landing next to my feet. I remember that night more than most. I went out with my girlfriend, Heather, and we got a little crazy and drank too much. A police officer drove us home so we didn’t have to drive. Travis was furious when the officer dropped me off. As soon as the door closed behind us, he grabbed me by my hair, and pulled me down to the basement.
Bobby
I am blowing on my cup of coffee when Jessica walks into the clubhouse. Her pink scrubs snug against her body and her blonde hair pulled up into a tight hair tie immediately draws my attention. Her vivid blue eyes spot me on my stool and she smiles. Her smile is contagious, holding me hostage for a moment before I manage a smile in return. Her face is round in the sexiest way. The hint of neutral red on her defined cheeks speak of the summers she stayed outside as a kid, staining her cheeks with a permanent glow. I swear every time I see her, my chest cramps and my dick swells painfully.
“I’m here to dress Tom’s leg,” she explains, holding up her black bag. She has been here every day for the last few days since the wreck happened. I’ve been here every time, and I’ve tried every day to get her to stay afterwards, go for coffee, anything. My efforts have been turned down, as usual. But when I do finally break her wall, she’s worth every painful stab to the chest caused from the countless rejections. I know she’s afraid, terrified of giving her heart to someone she trusts only to have it violently ripped from her chest. She needs to be pushed past her threshold of security to know I’d never hurt her. However, I’m terrified too. I fear pushing her to the breaking point and her never returning back to me. So I tell her what she wants to hear… that we’re just friends and nothing else. No complications.