My husband is a liar.
He also makes porn. Well, not exactly. He doesn’t make it. He only takes the still snaps. Video is a whole ‘nother department.
I’d like to think that I’m strong. I’d like to think that the only reason I came back to the apartment with Abel is because I’m mature and married. And married couples talk about things. And we should too.
But as soon as we arrived at the apartment, I dashed to our room and locked the door. Abel pounded on it, demanded to be let in, but I refused. I didn’t want to be near him and I didn’t want to be away. Does that make any sense? I wanted to know he was close but not close enough where he could touch me. I knew he was dying to. I knew he’d give anything to touch me and I wanted to punish him. And I wanted to listen to his breaths. Wild, savage breaths.
It’s night now, darkness galore. Abel has gone quiet; he’s stopped pounding at the door. I know he’s close though.
I can’t sleep; the mattress is too empty and my mind’s too full of things. I clutch the pillow to my chest like I would Abel and cry into it. But it’s too soft and not warm enough. It doesn’t have arms and it doesn’t tuck its heavy thigh in the dip of my waist. It doesn’t breathe, doesn’t talk in his sleep like my Abel does sometimes. The stupid pillow makes me cry even harder.
God, I miss him so much and he’s only on the other side of the door, waiting to be let in. I don’t want to spend only my second night as a wife all alone. He should be with me, by my side, making love to me. He should be here. Period.
But I can’t let him in.
In my mind, I see the warehouse, those people. When I was in there, watching them, I thought they were in love. I really thought that. Now I think, what if they were in love? How magical would that have been? How wild and chemical and explosive? They would’ve set the camera on fire. People would be talking about them for days. Then I think that it’s just porn. It’s cheap and disgusting. It has nothing to do with love.
I think of our neighbors, who are loud. They are in love, right? I think so. I’ve only seen them a handful of times, both thin and reedy and dark haired, and they’re always engrossed in each other. They have to know that they are loud. Do they just not care? Do they not mind that others can hear them? Maybe they’re so in love that it doesn’t even enter their minds.
In the darkness of night, it doesn’t seem so bad, having sex on camera, having sex in an alley, having sex where people can see us. My skin tingles as I imagine people’s eyes on us. The skin of my upper thighs feels chafed after the way I’ve rubbed my legs together. I’m losing my mind. I’m crazy for thinking this.
When the dawn comes, I’m exhausted, but still, I can’t sleep. I debate calling Sky but it’s too early for her. She must be sleeping. Besides, I just talked to her and I don’t want to tell her that in only twenty-four hours I’ve managed to mess up my marriage.
My parents would be happy though, right? In fact, I assume parents sense these kind of things. It’s not surprising. We share genes, habits, behavior. It makes sense that they would know when their child is in trouble. My mom must be sleeping like the dead tonight, no care, no worries. My dad must be feeling lighter because he already knew that Abel would be bad for me.
So, they win.
I’m fucking pissed and angry and I want to smash something. I want to hug Abel and never let go.
But I can’t. Because he lied to me. He wants me to do unspeakable things in front of a camera.
Does he, though?
He never said it, never said the words. I assumed. But then why was he aroused?
Why was I?
I don’t remember going to sleep but when I wake up the room’s super bright. I open the door and see Abel hunched by the opposite wall. His neck is slanted at an odd angle. He’s going to have a kink from sleeping wrong. He does that. He usually sleeps wrong and then grumbles about neck pain. I bought him a nice pillow a few days ago because I know he won’t buy one for himself. That’s another thing he does. He has zero materialistic desires. All his desires are either emotional or carnal.
Like I’m something disgusting. Like I’m a monster.
I see his lonely, disappointed expression back at the alley. Hear the crack in his voice. It breaks my heart. It makes me feel ashamed of myself. How am I different from the people who brought me up if I never gave him the chance to explain? How am I… better? Again, I get this urge to hug him. I want to kiss all his hurt away, but I don’t. I can’t. Not until we really talk about this.
I pad over to the kitchen and start making breakfast. I’m a crappy cook so it’s usually Abel’s job to take care of the food aspect. I think he likes it. It makes him feel that he’s providing for me.
Abel comes into the kitchen just as I’m pouring coffee into a white, chipped mug. He stands at the island, his eyes red-rimmed and sleep-deprived. We stare at each other across the space. I know he wants to come closer; I want to go closer to him too. The bed was so cold and lonely without my human heater.
I pour him a cup of coffee too and sit at the island. He does the same, taking the seat opposite to me.
“I’ve been so paranoid over the last few days that one day I decided to spy on you. I opened your computer and I hated every second of it. I thought I was breaking your trust. I thought I was letting everyone – my dad – get to me.” I scoff. “It was your computer, wasn’t it? Ethan lied for you. Did he tell you that?”
Abel nods, ashamed, regret dripping from every inch of his beautiful face. Of course, it was his computer. I don’t know why I believed Ethan.
“And that woman I saw. She was Blu, wasn’t she?”
I figured out some time last night that woman in throes of passion was the same one I met at the apartment, weeks ago. I remember telling both Ethan and Abel about her and Ethan got embarrassed, while Abel lectured him about letting strangers in while his fiancée was here. I didn’t think it was a big deal but I should’ve caught on. Isn’t it funny how the brain works? It protects. It blocks out things. It rejects the possibility that something must be wrong. That the person you love the most might also be the person who’s hurting you.
“Yes.”
I shake my head, chuckling. “God, you must think how stupid I am, right?”
“Pixie, I don’t…” He trails off before saying, “No, I don’t think that. If anything, I think I’ve been stupid. I’ve been fucking selfish for lying to you. I’ve hated it. I’ve hated every single second of it. There were times I didn’t wanna come home and look into your trusting face. There were times when I almost told you. I almost spilled my guts because it fucking hurt to look into your eyes, to see how bothered you were and it was because of me. And then one night you asked me if there was…” He sighs, tugs on his messy hair. “There’s no one else for me, Pixie. There can never be. Every day I fucking drown in you and I don’t wanna come up for air. How can there be someone else? I don’t want someone else.”
“So why didn’t you tell me? How can you lie to me when you love me so much?”
He seems to be gathering his thoughts and I let him do it, even though I want to scream at him, hit him, do something totally crazy right now. But I deserve an explanation, an honest explanation.
“My parents and I, we had a difficult relationship. When I found out about them, there were days I hated them for telling me. And then I hated them for not telling me before. It took me months, years to adjust to the fact that they were related and that no matter what, I loved them. And that was the root of the problem. The fact that I loved them. They did everything they could to give me a normal life. They loved me. They cared for me. It was hard to hate them but I wanted to.”
Abel takes a deep breath and plows his fingers through his hair, again. “And then, they died and I was sent to a town where people actually hated them. Called them names. Called me names. I…” He shakes his head, his eyes watering.
Why do I think today he’s going to lose the battle and his tears will shed? I’m dreading that moment.
“It messed with my head. I wanted to fight back. I wanted to… tear something apart. Every day was a struggle. Every day I wanted to leave that fucking town and go somewhere people didn’t know about them, about me. You were the only one who made things better. You were the only one who made me feel better about myself. You looked at me like I was some kind of a miracle. Like I mattered. But even that was so hard to come by. Even seeing you was so difficult. And it was all because of my parents, of where I came from. When they died, I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t hate them. That I’d make every effort to forgive them, not judge them. I wouldn’t taint my love with hatred, confusion. But I did. I broke my promise.
“I’d see you around town, at church, at school. I’d see you laughing. I’d see how I made you blush. How you were dying to come closer to me but you couldn’t. It made me hate my parents again. It made me feel like that little boy who couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that his parents were never supposed to be parents to a child. They were never supposed to be that to each other. And now because of them I couldn’t love my girl the way I wanted.”
God, he’s breaking my heart right now. I can’t stop my tears. The salty water streams down my cheeks as I listen to the love of my life pouring his heart out.
“A lot of times I thought I should back off. I thought, if so many people are saying the same thing, maybe it’s right. Maybe my blood really is bad. Maybe I don’t deserve you. But whenever I thought of giving you up, I…” He rubs his chest. “I couldn’t breathe. It was like someone was crushing my heart. Like there was this weight inside my chest and I was dying. So I didn’t. I didn’t give you up. I don’t regret that, Pixie. I don’t regret loving you the way I do.”
“I don’t either,” I whisper, knowing to the depth of my soul, depth of my being that I’m telling the truth.
The muscle in his jaw tics but he doesn’t say anything for a while. I wish he would. I wish I knew about his struggles. I never wanted him to feel this way for his parents. I never wanted him to hate them. They were in love, and yes, it might be wrong and unnatural or whatever. But that’s not Abel’s fault. Why’s that so hard for people to understand?
He laughs bitterly. “When Ethan took me to the studio and I saw what it was, I thought he was fucking with me. The very thing your dad wanted me to go away for, it stood right in front of me. Like a temptation or something. Out of a million jobs in this city, I land the one that they condemned me for. It was like the universe was slapping me in the face. Telling me that I’m not good enough. I’m not normal enough for you. I thought it was God telling me that I should give you up. When the fuck would it end? Why don’t they leave me alone, I thought. All I want is my Pixie. Why does it have to be so hard?”
I grab his hand. The bruises on his face have faded but I never counted on the wounds inside. I never thought that if you hear something a hundred times, you start to believe it’s true. “Abel, honey —”
“I should’ve walked away. I should’ve said no. But fuck that. Fuck the world. Fuck being normal. Your parents, your entire town couldn’t keep me away from you and I won’t let God tear us apart either. They don’t get to judge me. They can hate me if they want but they don’t get to tell me what to do. So, I took it. I took the job because I can do whatever the fuck I want, as long as…”
“As long as what?”
“As long as you don’t hate me.” He swallows. “I know what I did was wrong. I should’ve told you from the get-go. I should’ve made you understand but I got scared. I thought you’d leave me. I thought you’d start believing what people had been telling you all along. And… I wouldn’t be able to take it. I’d been apart from you for so long, I wouldn’t be able to do it again. You chose me the night we ran away, you gave me the privilege of being with you forever and I wouldn’t be able to let you go. I’m not that strong.”
Even though my heart’s completely broken, smashed, I need to tell him this: “You can’t do that, Abel. You can’t take away my choice. You have to trust me, okay? Trust me that I’ll always choose you. You can’t lie to me. You can’t break my trust. You can’t. I can’t bear it. I don’t think I could cope if that happened. Promise me. Please.”
“I promise.”
I nod, wiping off my tears, and stare down at my cold coffee.
“I’m not ashamed of it,” he says in a defiant tone like a little boy who’s trying to stand up for himself. “The job, I mean. It’s a job. It’s unconventional but I’m not embarrassed.”
It clenches my heart. “I know.”
“And I’d… I’d never make you do anything you didn’t want to do. I’d never ask you to fuck me on camera.”
My breath hitches at his words. The fluttering, the shivers I’ve been trying to tamp down start up again. I press my thighs together. “Have you… Have you thought about it?”
His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath and gives me the truth. “I’m a guy. I’ve thought about it, yeah.”
I don’t know why I wince but I do. I wince and shudder and my nipples bead. A current runs along the length of my body. It’s more than a current. It’s a rebellion. Under my skin, floating in my blood. It feels like an earthquake that’s been building up for years.
“Do you hate me? Do you hate me for thinking that?” he asks me in a serrated whisper.
I let myself go, then. My pain, my anger is too big for the silent tears. My pain has sounds. It has agony. So I sob and sob. I cry for the man in front of me. I cry for the boy who loved me so much that he started to hate his own parents. I cry for what my parents did to him. I cry because I’m tired of carrying around this hate, this feeling of unfairness. I want to cure it. I want to do something to purge it out of my body. I want to hurt them like they have hurt us. I want justice. I want to change the world so no child has to ever bear the consequences of their parents’ deeds.
I shake my head as Abel gets up and takes me in his arms. I see a tear snake down the harsh lines of his cheek and that makes me cry even harder. Abel’s always been so strong, a pillar who never lets his tears fall but today he does. I cry and cry until I can’t anymore.
And then I look up at him. “I hate them too, you know. My parents. The first day here when I got lost, I saw my dad on the street. I thought he was here to take me back. I still see him sometimes. Out on the street. In my dreams.”
His arms flex around my waist. His breathing changes. He’s angry. “No one can take you away from me. You’re mine.”
I put my feet up on his feet, reducing my world to him. I breathe into his trembling, angry mouth. “Show me. Love me the way only you can. Love me like we’re dying and our lust is the only thing that can save us. Love me as your wife.”
He does. He carries me into our room and throws me on our bed and enters me.
“So deep…” I moan.
“Yeah. Gonna crawl inside you, Pixie. So you never run from me again.”
“I’ll never run from you,” I promise as he thrusts inside with a violence that shakes my entire body.
He presses a soft kiss on the side of my neck before licking the column with his hot tongue. Like an animal. “Good. Because you’d have to be out of your mind to think that I’ll ever let you go.”
Smiling, I come, gushing over his hard length. I come on my husband’s cock. I come as his wife. My orgasm brings forth his and he whips his dick out to ejaculate on my stomach.
There’s nothing sweeter than being joined to the man you love, the man you’re married to. It’s a different level of intimacy. But for the first time I feel like I want more. I want something beyond this. Abel looks into my eyes and I read the same hunger in the depths of his gaze.
But what could be more intimate than this? What could be more intimate, more revolutionary than being one with the person you love?