Unhinge

  “How was your dinner?” he asked.

  My blood ran cold. I couldn’t have smiled even if I tried. I felt so much hatred it threatened to choke me.

  Wes’s smile faded. He shut his laptop and gave me a concerned look. “What’s wrong?”

  I shoved the pictures between us as if they were a live grenade. “I got this in the mail.”

  He frowned and stood up and grabbed the pictures. He scanned only the first few. His face paled.

  “Do you know her?” I asked carefully, when all I really wanted to do was claw his eyes out.

  His jaw clenched. I could see the gears moving in his mind. He tried to hand them back to me. I didn’t take them. “Who sent these to you?” he asked.

  “Answer my question first: Do you know her?”

  “She’s a client of mine.”

  My eyes widened. Wes swallowed the distance between us, but I held my hands out.

  “Victoria, she’s my client but I would never…” He waved the pictures between us. “I would never do this.”

  I didn’t believe a single word he was saying. For the first time my fear took a backseat to my anger. I wasn’t going to back down. “Why were they sent to me?”

  Wes looked genuinely hurt by my question. “I don’t know!”

  I dropped my face into my hands. If I needed any proof that this marriage was over, it was this. But that didn’t make the pain any easier; there’s a big difference between knowing the truth and accepting it.

  “Victoria, you have to believe me.” Wes’s hands landed on my shoulders. With my eyes shut I could picture the old Wes I fell in love with. Old Wes was the very reason why my heart felt like it was slowly splitting apart. Old Wes was the person my heart latched itself on to.

  I ducked beneath his arms. I couldn’t be here right now. I hurried down the stairs. My only thought was to get the hell out of that house. To where, I really didn’t know. I just needed to process everything.

  “Victoria!” he shouted behind me. “Stop running!”

  I didn’t stop. I grabbed my purse and keys on the counter and continued to the back door. My hand curled around the doorknob. The door opened an inch and then Wes slammed it. He grabbed my arm and whirled me around. My back hit the door.

  He didn’t look crazy or wild. But he was angry.

  “Let me go.” Inside, my heart was beating like a drum, but I kept my voice even, trying to conceal my fear.

  “Let me explain. You’re not even giving me a moment to talk.”

  “Because there’s nothing to explain. The pictures kind of said it all, didn’t they?”

  For a second, his eyes flared. His grip tightened. But his hands dropped. He took a step back from me. Within seconds, my hand curled around the knob. “I can’t be around you.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know…my mom’s probably.”

  He followed me out the door, hot on my heels. I hated having my back turned to him. I felt wide open for him to attack me.

  “Victoria.” I rolled down the window and stared at him blankly. “I love you,” he said.

  “You have the strangest way of showing it,” I whispered.

  September 2014

  My hands were shaking as I turned off the engine. I stared straight ahead at the empty street. Bikes were on front lawns. Cars were parked. A few porch lights were on. Lamps glowed inside. A few people had their curtains and blinds open, welcoming everyone to look into their lives, but most were closed.

  Somewhere down the street someone was dribbling a basketball. This street was cozy. Like you could pull up and move in to your forever home.

  I loved it.

  I had no business here, but I couldn’t have driven away even if I tried. My body felt weary and depleted of energy. But being this close to his house already made my tension dissolve.

  With a deep breath I opened my door and stared at his house. It was surprisingly modest. I’d always pictured something grand. Like the houses he builds. But his was a simple two-story bungalow. The front porch was small, with no furniture. I locked my door and fought the urge to run up the path. I wanted to blend in. Make it look like I belonged there and had in fact been there my entire life.

  My heels echoed loudly on the tongue-and-groove porch floor. To me it sounded like bullets leaving a chamber. A warning that I needed to leave right this second.

  I rang the doorbell. And then, for good measure, I knocked loudly on the door. A few seconds later the door opened, revealing Sinclair.

  He opened up the screen door and I quickly stepped inside before I could lose my courage. It was less of a bachelor pad than I expected. The walls were painted a tasteful brown. Two tan couches faced a big flat-screen television. To the right I could see the stairs. Up ahead the hallway extended back toward what I assumed were extra rooms.

  “What’s going on? Are you okay?” Sinclair shut the door and turned to face me. My mouth opened yet not a single word came out.

  “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

  He took a step closer and I snapped out of my haze. I didn’t say hi. I didn’t say anything. I just wrapped my arms around his neck and molded my body against his.

  I’d done my best not to give in to my feelings. I’d spent countless hours reminding myself that Sinclair Montgomery was something that would never happen, telling myself that it was wrong to feel this way about someone who wasn’t my husband.

  But I just didn’t give a damn anymore. Something had been set free in me. What that was, I didn’t know, but I liked it.

  I sealed my lips across his. He was momentarily stunned, stumbling back a few steps until his back hit the wall. But within seconds he was responding, moaning into my mouth, his tongue gliding against mine. It was all happening so fast, but not fast enough.

  It was madness, this kiss. Just when I thought I’d had enough and had sated my desires, I got a second wind. If I didn’t stop now, our kisses wouldn’t be enough for me. But there was no stopping me now. My hands were frantic, maybe even a bit desperate. They moved over his broad shoulders, down his arms, across his stomach.

  And then, out of nowhere, Sinclair put a stop to it. He pushed himself away and dragged his hands through his hair. His internal struggle was apparent in the way his eyes darted between me and the door. There was a torturous second when I was afraid it was over.

  Then he charged toward me and cradled my face in his hands. “Tell me no and this stops right now.”

  My hands dropped to his narrow waist. They lingered before they drifted up his chest. “I can’t,” I whispered.

  “Then you’re mine tonight.”

  In one fell swoop he was kissing and touching me. He held my body tight, one hand banded around my waist, the other curling around the back of my head. I liked how tightly he was holding me. It was an affirmation that he needed me, needed this just as much as I did.

  We moved out of the kitchen. My blood was roaring through my veins and I couldn’t stop myself from shaking in anticipation. As we moved along the wall, I grasped at the hem of his shirt, slipping my hands underneath. Greedily, my fingers raked down his stomach, making the muscles beneath his skin tense. My hands drifted lower and lower and when they skimmed his belt buckle, Sinclair swore underneath his breath.

  We entered what I vaguely realized was his room. But the setting didn’t matter; there was this charge between us. It was so powerful, controlling each of our actions, making us frantic. Sinclair backed me farther into the room.

  “You drive me crazy,” Sinclair groaned.

  “Yeah?” I breathed.

  I felt him nod. His fingers curved around the back of my neck, holding me in place. “Every single day. Every fucking hour. Every second you’re on my mind.” His tongue skimmed the curve of my neck. I tilted my head back. Instinctively, my eyes closed. “You don’t know how much I want this,” he whispered.

  I pushed back. Even in the dark I could feel his heated gaze on me. “So show me,” I said.
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  A moan tore from his throat and in one swift move he hooked his hands around my thighs and lifted me up. My legs wrapped around his waist and the two of us fell back, landing on the soft mattress. With his body molded against mine I could feel the rapid beating of his heart, the warmth of his skin. He shifted slightly, his dick brushing against my lower stomach. Instinctively, my body arched up.

  He lifted himself, resting his weight on his elbows. “Clothes off,” he demanded.

  I shook as he undressed me. Sinclair’s eyes were riveted on my body and I ached for him in a way that I never thought possible.

  On the inside and out I was on fire.

  He unbuttoned his shirt with deft fingers and shed it quickly. Before it touched the ground, my hands were all over him, exploring every part of him—arms, chest, abs. My lips followed after. I had a one-track mind and my attention was all on Sinclair. My nails dug around the strong V above his boxers. I knelt, my tongue gliding down the center of his six-pack. Looking up at Sinclair from beneath my lashes I saw that his head had tilted back. Eyes closed. Mouth open in ecstasy.

  It was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen.

  With my eyes closed, I undid the fly of his pants. The telltale sound of the zipper sliding down made my heart race; I was that much closer to touching him.

  His pants fell midway down his legs and I grabbed ahold of his black boxers and pulled down.

  He caught my hands, making me look up at him. “You don’t have to do this.”

  As I stared at him, I hooked my fingers around the material and tugged. Sinclair sucked in a sharp gasp. I curled my hand around the length of him, giving him a half smirk. “I need to do this.”

  With that said, I took him into my mouth.

  Sinclair’s hands glided up from my shoulders and sank into my hair, holding me tight against him. The action made me suck even harder.

  An anguished groan escaped him.

  When he reacted like that, it made something inside me go up in flames. I gave, he took. Vice versa. And I loved every part of the exchange.

  My left hand curled around his cock and slowly slid up and down at the same time as my tongue brushed against the very tip of him.

  “Fuck!” he shouted.

  I continued the torture for the next few minutes. Until I’d driven him crazy. Until he was guiding my head up and down. Until I knew Sinclair was about to come.

  “Stop,” he panted. I stopped midsuck and glanced at him. “Come here.”

  He jerked me up. I wiped my mouth but I had no time to take a breath before he jerked my underwear down around my ankles.

  Sinclair moved me up the mattress. I expected him to grab me, but instead he took me in with his eyes, looking me up and down in such a way that my body started to tingle.

  I reached my arms around his shoulders and pulled him to me. Sinclair’s perfectly defined body pressed into mine. His skin was warm, like fire against my own. I glided my tongue across the seam of his lips. He groaned against my mouth and deepened the kiss. When Sinclair was all in, he was all in. He didn’t do anything by half measure. My mouth opened and his tongue flicked against mine.

  He laced my hands through his, guided them up, and held them captive against the headboard. My body arched. My nipples tightened. Instinctively, I wanted to get closer. There was this animalistic hunger that I had with Sinclair that I’d never experienced with any man. His fingers trailed across my skin as if my body was Braille and it would show him the way I wanted to be kissed, touched, fucked.

  He lowered himself and I felt his dick brush against me. My entire body jolted.

  Sinclair propped himself on his elbows. His eyes never left mine as he slipped into me. All the way. Fully. Completely.

  I sucked in a sharp breath and closed my eyes, head tilted back, brushing against the headboard.

  Sinclair started out slowly, deliberately moving in and out of me as if he had all the time in the world. Every time he surged back into me, I swore he was deeper than the last.

  We found a rhythm that made every part of my body come alive. He moved his hips in a circle. Sweat dripped from his forehead and fell onto my chest. The sheets drifted down the bed and fell to the floor. The bed creaked loudly, yet we continued to move.

  Without warning, Sinclair moved my legs around his waist. The action made him sink even farther into me. I felt myself stretching, slowly but surely making room, and soon all I could feel was him.

  For a second, Sinclair paused. He was panting just as much as me. His hands covered my breasts and squeezed hard enough to make my body arch.

  “I swear your body was made for me.” Those intense green eyes were focused on my face and nothing else. I didn’t look away even though I wanted to.

  “Ask me to stop,” he demanded. His lips brushed against my ear.

  Hissing in a sharp breath, I raked my hands through his hair.

  “Go ahead, Victoria. Ask me to stop.”

  “I can’t.”

  A corner of his mouth curved up. “Exactly.” He rocked into me. His forehead touched mine. “What we have is uncontrollable.”

  Sinclair smiled, his lips damp. He glided out of me slowly, with just the tip resting inside before sliding back into me. Torture. Agony. Perfection.

  From this vantage point, I could see only his lashes against his cheeks, since his eyes were closed. His hair looked coal black even with the moonlight shining down on it. And that smooth skin of his was dusky, making the definition of his sinewed muscles even more apparent. I could see the tendons in his arms straining. He had a potency about him that most men wish they could have.

  He’s mine. All mine, I thought to myself.

  I moaned so loudly, he covered my mouth. “You know what those noises do to me?”

  I opened my eyes long enough to look up at him. I saw him staring at me, his eyes blazing.

  “Makes me want to fuck a little harder, go even deeper, so you scream my name so loudly everyone will hear.”

  My hands, wrapped around his neck, were suddenly ripped away. He grabbed them and held them against the headboard, swallowing my wrists with his large hands. He was buried in me so deep I could hardly breathe.

  All my control broke.

  My fingers stretched into the air as I gasped for breath.

  My muscles locked, my body bucked. I felt myself come and it was complete bliss. Unlike anything I’d ever felt before.

  My eyes wanted to close, but they never wavered from Sinclair’s. I felt the slightest tremor of panic because the emotions running through me were almost too much.

  This was soul sex. Where it’s less about the act and more about the feelings rushing through you. Every breath you take becomes amplified.

  Our eyes remained locked as I cried out, his name spilling from my lips.

  As Sinclair collapsed on top of me, I realized that my heart had been made up about him long before I knew it.

  I would die for him. Kill for him.

  I loved him more than life.

  I couldn’t let him go. I’d found a man who could undress me with just one look. He spoke and I was undone.

  His actions unraveled me.

  November 2015

  It’s been two days since my outburst.

  Everyone, including the other patients, has given me a wide berth, staring at me as if I’m poisonous. You know you’re in bad shape when even your fellow patients are scared of you.

  During breakfast and lunch, I keep to myself, very much aware that every move I make is being monitored by nurses. I can feel Alice’s cold eyes on my back, burning two holes through my clothes. During group therapy I sit still, my arms encircling Evelyn. She sits in my lap totally silent. She seems to pick up on my change in personality like a bloodhound.

  Now it’s art therapy time. Each table in the dayroom has been transformed into an art station. Blunt-tipped scissors, crayons, markers, glue, colored pencils are scattered on each table. A lot of the patients immerse themselves in their
art. I’ve never been one to get lost in coloring and creating. But I make an effort today. I end up making a rainbow that looks like it was crafted by someone on an acid trip.

  There’s a girl at a table across from me who swipes a stapler from a fellow patient. She steals one of the staples and tries to inscribe words on her skin. Immediately the nurses surround her, extracting the staple from her hand. The girl is dragged away, but not before I see the hurried attempt at self-infliction. The letters H and E are clear as day, dark red blood pooling out of the letters.

  What’s the rest of her message? I’ll never know. I don’t want to know.

  Reagan is sitting at another table. She’d winked at me when I walked into the room before Susan steered me away from her.

  “Very nice, Victoria. Very nice,” the art teacher says. I’m pretty sure this lady who comes every Tuesday is the art teacher at the local high school.

  I nod bluntly.

  “Now what does this represent?”

  “It’s a rainbow.”

  “But what does it represent for Victoria?” She taps her chest emphatically. “What’s inside you that’s nothing but light and color?”

  Her words are cliché, like they’ve been stolen from an after-school special. I try to take her words to heart, though. I really do. I tilt my head and focus on my deranged art. No matter how many times I stare at my rainbow, I can’t find the light that the art teacher keeps talking about.

  The balance of my world is tipping. Thoughts and memories are sliding this way and that and I don’t know what to think or believe.

  Art therapy ends. The scraps of papers are picked up. Supplies are put away. The room clears out. Only a few people remain. I am one of them.

  The television is on in the dayroom. There’s some soap opera playing. Only the nurses who are sitting in there are watching. I stare at the screen with boredom.

  A man is having a heated conversation with a woman who looks torn up and confused.

  My chair screeches as I push away from the table and stand up. I have this restless energy that refuses to die. I pace the dayroom. I feel useless. I feel idle. I need to do something. If no one will help me, I need to help myself.