Something Wicked Ch. 01

"I'm sorry, but I think exchanging numbers would be a terrible idea." My head began killing me; the drinks were wearing off. Now I just felt sober and ill. "Thank you for... for walking me back."

He nodded. "Sure. No problem," he replied tersely.

I turned around and fought the urge to sprint to the elevator. I punched the button and looked over my shoulder.

He was gone.

*******************

"Wake up!" A pillow smacked me in the face.

"Ow!"

"Oh, please. No way that hurt—it's just a pillow."

I groaned as I sat up. My head was throbbing and my body was beyond sore. The reminder of why I was sore flooded back into my consciousness and I nearly was sick all over myself.

"We're getting breakfast," Abigail sang. "All the girls left with Anna so it's just you and me. C'mon!"

We had breakfast at the hotel's little restaurant. I ignored Abigail's stare and buttered my toast.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

Abigail rolled her eyes. "Um, are we going to talk about how you came back in the middle of the night? Where the hell were you?!"

"I told you this last night: I was on a winning streak and lost track of time."

"And you lost all of the money, too?"

I rubbed my head and wondered how I could get her off my case. "Obviously."

"I don't believe you." She leaned over the table. "Anna says she saw you with someone. She won't tell anyone else, but she told me this morning before they left. She was downstairs at the vending machines and she saw you with some guy. Some guy, Laura. What is going on?"

Fear froze me temporarily. I didn't expect anyone to see us.

"He was just a guy I was playing with who offered to take me home," I lied.

Abigail's eyes narrowed. "She said he was holding you."

"He was trying to hug me goodnight. He got a little touchy but it's not a big deal. I wish you'd drop it." I forced a shrug.

I was miserable. There was no way I was going to escape this line of questioning until Abigail was satisfied I wasn't lying, and I was a terrible liar. I could tell she wasn't believing one word of what I said. I had no idea what she suspected, but I hoped she wouldn't think I could possibly be as bad as I really was.

"Fine," Abigail eventually said. Her blue eyes squinted. "I don't buy it, but I'm letting it go for now."

The check came and I automatically grabbed it. My sister wouldn't understand what happened the night before, but she still loved me more than anyone. She would be getting married soon and would have a whole new life of her own. I owed her at least breakfast, especially considering how much I was lying to her.

I dug into my wallet and pulled out my credit card, then glanced back at my wallet again. Something was missing: my license.

"Fuck," I muttered, "I can't find my license." I pulled everything out of my bag, growing more frantic by the second.

"I don't remember you pulling it out at the club," Abigail said. "Maybe you lost it before AC."

"Maybe," I sighed. I doubted it, but I couldn't very well call up the hotel from last night. "Let's just go."

The ride back to New York was quiet. Abigail would look at me from time to time, but I pretended to be completely focused on the road ahead. Thoughts of Brendan occasionally came to mind, but I'd push them out—I wasn't ready to face them yet.

I pulled up in front of Abigail's apartment building and pasted a smile on my face, pretending as if things weren't awkward between us.

She gave me a dirty look. "You don't want to share what's going with you... yet. Just know you can call me whenever you're ready. Don't make any hasty choices, okay?"

I nodded, wondering how it happened that Abigail suddenly became the mature, "together" sister.

The lights weren't on when I got home. The dried-out Christmas tree looked pathetic and droopy in the corner. I needed to take off the ornaments and get rid of it as soon as possible, but I just didn't have the energy yet.

I glanced at the clock—6:08. It felt like midnight. The sky was already pitch black and I was beyond freezing. Part of me wondered if I should call Brendan and see if he wanted me to make him dinner, but I was too afraid.

I pulled together a simple dinner and stared at the TV. Eventually I heard a car door slam and knew he was back. I tried to push away my emotions and act like everything was fine, but I felt horrible. It felt like Brendan would be able to know what I did as soon as he saw me.

Brendan walked into the house humming. He saw me and flashed a smile. "Hi there. I guess we aren't millionaires after your weekend in Atlantic City, huh?"

I tried to smile but my lips just wouldn't obey. "I'm afraid not."

He sat down on the couch next to me and reached over for a bite of my sandwich. "Should we go out? We deserve a good dinner."

"I'm not in the mood."

He eyed me closely. "You okay?"

I stood up and finally managed a weak smile. "Fine. Just tired and a little hungover."

He dropped the sandwich on my plate and made a small sound of disgust. "Damn it, Laura. Are you seriously still angry about last week?"

Last week seemed like a million years ago. I had to really focus and try to remember what he was talking about, and then it clicked. He'd forgotten our wedding anniversary. Not a big deal in general; I was never overly sentimental. It was just because of all the other tensions and struggles in our marriage. The least he could have done, I thought, was make an effort on our anniversary. I had. I had gone to cooking lessons with Abigail for weeks, prepared the finest dinner I could, and waited. And waited.

He came home in the middle of the night, smelling like cigarettes and beer. He'd genuinely forgotten. Brendan and a friend had just finished medical school and the celebrations were continuing.

"How many different ways can I say sorry?" Brendan had asked that night.

I'd ignored him, taking my stuff with me to the guest bedroom. There was nothing he could do, I told myself, convinced our marriage was over.

"Hello? Laura? What's wrong?" Brendan snapped his fingers in front of my face and gave me a little jostle on the shoulder. "Are you okay? You're crying."

I wiped angrily at my tears, annoyed with myself. "I just... I want things to be good between us."

That wasn't a lie. I'd wanted that for as long as I could remember, as soon as I'd realized we were drifting apart two years ago. Some nights I wished for it so badly that my stomach hurt. It's so strange to wake up one morning and look at the person you know the best and suddenly find yourself unable to imagine what they're thinking. When that happened with us, it scared me so badly that I decided I didn't want to know what he was thinking.

Brendan looked away from me, deep in thought. For a terrifying moment, I thought he was going to say things could never be good between us again. I wondered if he'd found out, if maybe my sister's friend blabbed after all. Maybe my expression gave me away. Was there a particular look a woman who'd foolishly had an affair would have? If there was, I'm sure I had it.

Then he surprised me. He grabbed my hands and kissed my fingertips, just like he used to do when we dated. "Me too. You have no idea how much."

I swallowed. The righteous part of me thought I needed to come clean. Maybe Brendan would even understand.

I took too long deliberating. He leaned over and kissed me, and any plan of coming clean quickly dissipated.

*******************

It was slow at first. Brendan would make an effort at coming home from the hospital at a reasonable time. I would stop myself from making faces or snarky comments.

We finally had sex one night. It had been nearly nine months since we'd touched each other beyond a hug or a quick peck on the lips.

I was in the living room, idly watching TV shows. He sat beside me and played around with his phone. I didn't even know something was up until I noticed his knee bobbing up and down.

"You okay?"

He laughed. "Yeah, yeah. Fine. Just... anxious, I guess."

"About what?"

"Nothing in particular," he said. He went back to his phone and I went back to my TV show.

Then I felt it. He put his hand on my leg, so softly that I had to look down to ensure he really was touching me.

"Brendan." I turned my head to look at him.

He wanted it. Me. I could tell when our eyes met and he breathed in deeply. His eyes were dark and direct, occasionally slipping down to look at my body.

"We need this," he said a few moments later. "Both of us. I've tried to be patient since we started working things out, but I feel like I need to say that we need this or we'll never make it."

"Brendan..." But how could I say no? This was the man I'd loved for almost as long as I even thought about the opposite sex. I loved him so much that it used to physically hurt me to be away from him.

I had to say yes, I told myself, but more importantly, I didn't want to say no.

We both undressed silently and nervously. It had been months and we were both dealing with our own issues.

He pushed me against the couch and pressed his mouth against me in hot kisses down my throat—down my cleavage and my right breast. My nipple was hard. He tongued it and then slipped it into his mouth. He knew how I loved that.

"Brendan," I hissed. My body arched against him. It had been too long. I shivered as goosebumps rose across my skin.

He stared at my breasts and then thumbed my nipples.

I massaged his back. He thrust against me, letting his hard cock press against the softness of my inner-thigh.

It was always like this—the need. Somewhere along the lines we'd forgotten.

We stared into each other's eyes as he slowly pushed inside my pussy. He moaned while he filled me, thrusting in harder when he heard my little breathless whimper.

"I love when you make that noise," Brendan sighed. Then he kissed me hard as his hips chose a rhythm.

He chanted that he wanted me, that I was his, that he needed to cum, that he was sorry it took so long for him to remember all of that.

I fucked him back, helping him go deeper. He huffed against my throat and pressed his finger against my clit. I hugged him closer to my body, rubbing my nipples against his slick chest.

He rubbed my clit with urgency; he wanted me to cum. He hadn't forgotten how to get me to my breaking point, either. I opened my mouth with pained pleasure, grasping at his body.

Brendan lifted his hand from my pussy, rubbing my wetness against my lips. "Laura," he moaned. "So sweet... those swollen, pink, wet lips. I'm close."

His pace inside me became uneven. I couldn't help but moan loudly, running my nails down his back. He hissed at the pain and pushed inside me even harder. My hips tilted up to take him better. I wanted this, needed it.

"Cum inside me, baby," I begged.

He inhaled sharply and looked at me. I was on the pill and he knew that, but it still must've surprised him. Still, we both knew how much he loved cumming inside me. I couldn't deny him that.

And finally he gave it to me. It wouldn't end. He groaned into my mouth, holding his cock deep within my body. Then he groaned again when he felt my satiny walls tighten around him as I came. We shook as we panted and held each other.

After we both calmed down, he pulled out and kissed me softly.

Our breathing settled. He watched me slide my hand down my stomach and rest it over my pussy.

I smiled and punched his arm. "That was messy, Brendan."

His cock twitched against my hip. He touched my pussy. "Good."

We spent the rest of the night catching up, talking to each other the way we used to communicate. I felt hopeful, even as I felt the pressure of keeping a terrible secret from him.

He started taking me on dates again—the movie theater, the nicest restaurants, bowling, etc. Sex was a regular thing once more. He was wooing me, Abigail pointed out, and I should feel lucky.

That's the funny thing about guilt: it doesn't go away. In fact, it only festers until it burns a hole through your soul.

Every kind thing he did, every sweet gesture, every loving word, tortured me. I told myself I deserved it.

Remember Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale in The Scarlet Letter? He has an affair with Hester Prynne in the Puritan Massachusetts Bay Colony and allows her to bear all the societal scorn. I used to think he was the biggest literary coward, the worst kind of man. I never understood him and always felt sympathy for Hester.

Now, I identified with him. I was just like him, I was horrified to realize. I understood the A he etched into his chest, why it was so hard not to tell and yet so easy to let it continue.

I could barely look at myself in the mirror. I lost weight. Brendan worried about me and told me to go to the doctor. I didn't have to; I was suffering from the horrendous weight of guilt.

It had been two months... hardly enough time to be forgotten.

And something was waiting in the darkness to make itself known, something nasty and destructive that I had unknowingly conjured up myself.

*******************

Abigail stopped by one day just as I was getting home from work. It was nearly winter break and the students were antsy. We were all eager to be home, so I understood their desire to be anywhere but school very well.

"Hey!" she called. She put a package on the kitchen counter. "This was outside your door."

I glanced at it but didn't recognize the handwriting and there was no return address. "I'm not expecting anything. Maybe it's for Brendan."

"Whatever, I'm just coming by before my romantic weekend in Vermont." She squealed as she spun on her ankle. "You jealous?"

"I'm okay here," I laughed, "but I hope you have an amazing time."

"Tim always plans amazing times. I'm just so excited!" She kissed my cheek and headed for the front door. "Call you later!"

"Be safe!"

I put on the tea kettle and then poked at the package. I took a knife and opened it up.

It was a small cassette player with a tape inside. A note was stuck to it:

Laura,

Hope you haven't forgotten.

Strange. I deliberated not playing the tape. It could be a hoax or a prank or even dangerous. I should wait for Brendan, I told myself, but something inside of me made me press play.

I couldn't place the sounds right away. It sounded like animals, and then the voices began speaking. It was two people having sex, I decided, and was immediately repulsed. Who would send me something like this, I wondered. Then the voices spoke again and icy horror spilled down my back and into my heart.

"You're... you're so good. So good."

"Yeah, I know you love this, you little slut. You love the feeling of my cock inside you. Do you know how dirty that is?"

"Please."

"Please, what?"

I—I don't know. I don't—"

"Oh, I think you do, slut."

I pressed "stop" so hard I almost broke the button. My body sank into a chair and I shook my head repeatedly.

How? Who? Why? Fuck.

I picked the note back up. There was only one person I could imagine sending this to me—the stranger himself. He'd turned toward the end of our tryst. He'd become intimidating, pushy, slightly demanding. He'd frightened me.

My stomach twisted as I tried to figure out how he could have found my address and why he would send me such a thing. He had to be crazy.

Another thought twisted my stomach again until I felt I was going to be sick.

Maybe he got my address from my license, the one that went missing.

I looked around me, entirely dazed, and ran over to the front door. I locked it twice, then checked all of the other entryways and windows. My body shivered and I sobbed, not even knowing when I'd begun.

My nightmare hadn't ended, I realized. It was just beginning.