Chapter fifteen:

 

 

I don’t move for approximately 2.5 seconds, and then I run up the stairs calling her name.

“Carrie? It’s okay!” I call as I run. “I’m not angry!” I say, because no doubt that’s what she’s worried about.

I slip on the top step and fall. I slam my face against the hard mahogany floor and my teeth smash together. It hurts and I yell out in pain. When I sit up I can taste blood in my mouth. It’s dripping down over my lips and down my chin. I stand up and it drips from my chin to the floor.

She’s shut her bedroom door, and I try the handle but it’s locked so I speak to her through the wood.

“Carrie? It’s me, Ethan. Please don’t be frightened, I’m sure it was a shock for you,” I say, but she doesn’t open the door. “I meant to bring flowers and wine. Not the cheap stuff either. I was going to bring you something expensive because I know you like expensive things now, and that’s okay. I don’t mind.”

She still doesn’t answer me, and she still doesn’t open the door. And I’m getting annoyed now, because what the fuck’s wrong with her? I thought she’d be happy to see me. And then I think, I bet she’s embarrassed, because she called Mr. Fancy Asshole’s name and not mine.

There’s not much I can do about that. She did call his name, and it did hurt, but she needs to know that I forgive her anyway. That it’s going to be okay now that I’m here.

I jiggle the handle again, but it doesn’t budge so I barge it with my shoulder. She squeals when I do that, as the door shakes in the frame, and I like that. I like that squeal. It makes the hairs on my arms tingle and stand to attention like soldiers, so I barge the door again, and by the third time the door collapses open and my cock is rock hard in my pants.

I nearly fall over as I stumble in, but I stop myself just in time.

Carrie is in the corner of her room. She’s still naked, like she doesn’t even care that I can see all of her. Has she no shame?

“It’s okay,” I say. “I don’t care about him.” I smile again, but she still doesn’t smile back.

She still looks scared. And she’s never looked at me like that before. She looked at her dad like that, but not me, because she knows I would never hurt her. She knows that. So why is she looking at me like that now?

“What are you doing here, Ethan? How did you find me?” Her voice tremors when she talks, and all I want to do is hold her and kiss the top of her wet hair and tell her I love her and it’s okay.

“I don’t care about him.” I nod and smile and hope this will calm her down.

“Him? Who?” She scowls at me.

“Mr. Fancy Asshole,” I say, and still she looks blank. “Adam, I presume. The guy you just fucked,” I snarl. And I don’t like speaking to her like that, but I can’t help it. The words make me angry. I want to spit them out, so I do. I spit on her floor, and then I apologize because that’s really not very polite and it’s also unhygienic.

Do you know how many bacteria live in your mouth? Around twenty billion. Disgusting isn’t it?

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I say, and I get down on my knees and I wipe the floor with my soaking-wet sleeve. I don’t like it on me; I can practically feel the millions of germs crawling up my arm, but it’s not fair for it to be on her floor, even though her downstairs is dusty and her windows are dirty. “It just makes me feel sick to think about you with him,” I say.

She’s still not saying anything, and before I can stop myself, I say, “Do you like fucking him, Carrie? Please say no.”

Her eyes go wide, but she looks more angry than afraid now. And I think I prefer that emotion.

I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. Of course you don’t. I understand, I really do. We’ll be fine. I promise. We’ll get past you being with him. I’ll get past it.”

And we will, I know we will. I’ll work on my jealousy issues. I’ll get over the whole Adam thing. I’ll fuck the feeling of Adam out of her body and out of her head, and everything will be fine.

“We’ll get past it?” she whispers, looking confused.

“Yes.” I nod and smile. “You should put some clothes on,” I say. And I can’t stop my eyes straying to her pert breasts. The sight of them makes my heart beat faster because I remember what they used to feel like and how they fit in my hand, but now they are bigger and heavier and I don’t think they’d fit in my hand now. I think they’d bulge over the top.

Drum, drum, drum…my heart is beating the same rhythm as the prostitute fucking one of her johns.

“You’re so beautiful, Carrie.” I smile. “And you were right.” I point to her breasts, and she looks down at them and then back up at me.

“About what?” she asks.

“They weren’t fully grown yet,” I say happily. “But they are now.”

Because I want her to know that I’m observant. A good husband would be observant and notice things like that. Just like I’ll notice the subtle change in her body when she’s pregnant with my child. I’ll notice and I’ll tell her how beautiful she is every day. And when she worries she’s getting fat, I’ll tell her it’s baby insulation, and she’ll laugh and say yes, I suppose it is. And then she’ll say she’s going to breastfeed our baby because it’s the healthier option and also that it helps burn calories. And she’ll promise to get back in shape right after the birth and I’ll laugh and tell her I don’t care what she looks like. But of course I do really, deep down. I mean, no one wants a fat wife, do they? But I’d never tell her that because I love her. So she’ll breastfeed and she’ll lose the weight and she’ll be my hot, sexy wife with the perfect tits and the tight ass, and…

“Oh God,” she says. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“You’re not pregnant are you?” I ask. I don’t think she looks pregnant, but I’ll tell her that I’ll raise the baby as my own if she is, and that we won’t tell Adam because I don’t want him to be a part of our lives. And I’ll tell her that I’ll love the child as if it were my own, but of course I won’t, because it’s not really my child—it’s Mr. Fancy Asshole Adam’s child. And I hate him. So as soon as she’s given birth, I’ll get her pregnant again so that she can have our baby, and then it really will all be okay. And we’ll get to have lots of sex, which will be great as well, of course. And we’ll have two kids, and then a year later I’ll make sure she has more. Because we’ll want a big family, and we also like fucking, so it’s hard to keep our hands off each other. It’s hard to keep my sperm away from her. It’s like we’re supposed to be. Our bodies were made perfectly for one another.

And everything will be perfect…

Apart from it won’t be okay, not really, because we’ll still have Adam’s child living with us for the next eighteen years and that will suck so badly. But I won’t ever let her know how much I think she’s a stupid whore for getting herself knocked up by that prick. And when the kid grows up I’ll make sure it leaves home and doesn’t want to ever come back.

“No!” she says quickly.

And thank God, I think.

“I feel sick because you’re here.”

“What?” I say. And it’s not very polite of me. I should have said “pardon” or “excuse me,” but I didn’t because I am so shocked that she said that.

“I want you to leave, Ethan,” she says. “Get out!”

And What a fucking bitch, I think.