covers under my chin. The sun is starting to peek through the clouds, and I close my eyes, praying that I can fall asleep. But my mind is consumed with Latch. The way he looked at me as I rode him, our fingers intertwined, both of us loving the intimacy again.
But the perfect vision of us quickly changes as I get a flashback of him dry humping that woman on the dance floor. Five thousand dollars is a lot of money, there is no denying that, even for me. That’s why I don’t need him to tell me he won’t stop doing what he does, ’cause I know he won’t. It’s all he knows and he’s told me that. After he fell into the business, he finally has a purpose and a purpose that keeps his heart guarded. Plus, who am I to ask him to stop? If I were to get the balls to leave Darrell, and think that Latch and I could make things work, then I would need to be able to deal with his work, but I can’t.
So what I have to do now is make a decision. Do I want to make my marriage work, because it’s all that I have, or do I want to forge forward in this life, alone? Thinking of that scares the life out of me. Either way, the road ahead of me won’t be easy, and it hurts knowing that I’ll never be with Latch again, but it’s the right thing.
Off in the distance, I hear my phone vibrating. I’m sure it’s Latch, but right now I’ve got to put myself first. The sun is beginning to rise; he must’ve woken up and seen my note. I’m sure it hurt him, but it’s for the best and I have to believe that. We cannot be together and if either of us thinks for one minute that we can, we’re wrong. Even if he were to agree to stop, he’s told me before that relationships just don’t work, that he becomes closed off and detached. Which is why I accepted our relationship the way I did; I’d take Latch any way I could have him as long as it was mutual. Closing my eyes, I pray for some relief, some peace, and maybe the answers to the havoc that has rained down on my life.
A racket in the kitchen startles me out of sleep, my heart slamming against my chest. Darrell doesn’t cook, so I wonder who in God’s name is here. He probably called his mom or sister and they came to ruin my life even more. As I rub my eyes and look outside, the sun has capped the morning sky. Setting my feet on the cool, hardwood floor, I pad quietly across the room and peer out trying to see who is making the noise.
My jaw about hits the floor when I catch sight of Darrell, cooking. He burns his hand and pulls it away, silently cursing to himself and then runs it under the water. He looks sober as he takes a sip of coffee and then goes back to the stove.
Curious to see his reason for cooking and not sulking on drunk like he has been, I venture out and am surprised when he says, “Morning, beautiful.” He hasn’t called me anything except “Abby” in years. What? Now he’s suddenly acting like everything is normal?
Turning towards him with my eyebrows scrunched together, I search for the right words and he asks, “Will you hand me two plates?”
“What are you doing?” I ask him.
“Cooking breakfast.”
“Why?” He reaches above me grabbing the plates himself as I am still in shock.
“Why not?” he challenges back, splitting the scrambled eggs for the two of us.
I shake my head and turn back towards the coffee, so fucking confused. “It’s already on the table, Ab, just how you like it.” Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I see my favorite coffee cup, steaming, at the chair I always used to sit at.
Walking to the table, I pick it up and begin to take it to the bedroom. There is no way after all that he has put me through that some breakfast gesture is going to make me forget all of the horrible things he’s done and said to me.
“Please eat with me,” he pleads, walking towards me with the food in his hands, and I look at the genuine expression on his face. I don’t think that he has ever cooked for me.
His eyes are insistent
But the perfect vision of us quickly changes as I get a flashback of him dry humping that woman on the dance floor. Five thousand dollars is a lot of money, there is no denying that, even for me. That’s why I don’t need him to tell me he won’t stop doing what he does, ’cause I know he won’t. It’s all he knows and he’s told me that. After he fell into the business, he finally has a purpose and a purpose that keeps his heart guarded. Plus, who am I to ask him to stop? If I were to get the balls to leave Darrell, and think that Latch and I could make things work, then I would need to be able to deal with his work, but I can’t.
So what I have to do now is make a decision. Do I want to make my marriage work, because it’s all that I have, or do I want to forge forward in this life, alone? Thinking of that scares the life out of me. Either way, the road ahead of me won’t be easy, and it hurts knowing that I’ll never be with Latch again, but it’s the right thing.
Off in the distance, I hear my phone vibrating. I’m sure it’s Latch, but right now I’ve got to put myself first. The sun is beginning to rise; he must’ve woken up and seen my note. I’m sure it hurt him, but it’s for the best and I have to believe that. We cannot be together and if either of us thinks for one minute that we can, we’re wrong. Even if he were to agree to stop, he’s told me before that relationships just don’t work, that he becomes closed off and detached. Which is why I accepted our relationship the way I did; I’d take Latch any way I could have him as long as it was mutual. Closing my eyes, I pray for some relief, some peace, and maybe the answers to the havoc that has rained down on my life.
A racket in the kitchen startles me out of sleep, my heart slamming against my chest. Darrell doesn’t cook, so I wonder who in God’s name is here. He probably called his mom or sister and they came to ruin my life even more. As I rub my eyes and look outside, the sun has capped the morning sky. Setting my feet on the cool, hardwood floor, I pad quietly across the room and peer out trying to see who is making the noise.
My jaw about hits the floor when I catch sight of Darrell, cooking. He burns his hand and pulls it away, silently cursing to himself and then runs it under the water. He looks sober as he takes a sip of coffee and then goes back to the stove.
Curious to see his reason for cooking and not sulking on drunk like he has been, I venture out and am surprised when he says, “Morning, beautiful.” He hasn’t called me anything except “Abby” in years. What? Now he’s suddenly acting like everything is normal?
Turning towards him with my eyebrows scrunched together, I search for the right words and he asks, “Will you hand me two plates?”
“What are you doing?” I ask him.
“Cooking breakfast.”
“Why?” He reaches above me grabbing the plates himself as I am still in shock.
“Why not?” he challenges back, splitting the scrambled eggs for the two of us.
I shake my head and turn back towards the coffee, so fucking confused. “It’s already on the table, Ab, just how you like it.” Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I see my favorite coffee cup, steaming, at the chair I always used to sit at.
Walking to the table, I pick it up and begin to take it to the bedroom. There is no way after all that he has put me through that some breakfast gesture is going to make me forget all of the horrible things he’s done and said to me.
“Please eat with me,” he pleads, walking towards me with the food in his hands, and I look at the genuine expression on his face. I don’t think that he has ever cooked for me.
His eyes are insistent
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