pg-13 | no warnings apply
Her arm was starting to go numb, but she remained still, her eyes closed, hoping that he thought she was asleep. She heard him zip up his pants, felt the weight on
the bed shift as he sat down, probably to put on his shoes. She hadn't told him to go, but she hadn't asked him to stay. Taking a chance, she opened her eyes, hoping
he didn't catch her gaze in the mirror on the dresser.
He's only fucking you because he lost his kids.
Maybe, she thought. Maybe Martin was right. Maybe he was just jealous, angry. God knows she would be, if she were in his shoes. The only thing she was certain of was that this was definitely just a fucking. It was ugly and frustrating, and just because he didn't bruise her skin didn't mean that she wasn't hurt. She would say that something had gone wrong between them, but she wasn't sure that it had ever been right.
She should have changed the sheets. She would have changed the sheets, but he was so distant after the encounter in New Jersey that she honestly thought this time, it was really over. His arrival at her door tonight had been unexpected. When she inhaled, she thought she could smell Martin, although she tried to convince herself that was impossible.
"I'm filing an appeal tomorrow," he said.
"I figured you would." Her voice was dead, hollow. She was tired of talking about his kids, as callous as that sounded. It was moments like this when she felt used; he borrowed her ear to dump his frustration and pain, and now he was seeking release from the sorrow in her bed. She couldn't remember the last time he asked her how she was. Maybe it was because he knew she'd tell him that she was about to fall apart.
Her mom would say that God was punishing her.
She waited for the 'good-bye', hoped in vain for an 'I still love you', but only received the quiet sound of him shutting her bedroom door. She hated herself almost as much as she loved him.