Now
Jude
Ju, Ju, touch me again.
Corinne’s voice is sleepy and soft, and I love it when she takes that tone.
I roll over and slide my hand up her thigh, and it’s soft and bare and smooth. My fingers search for the moist warmth that I know I’ll find, and when I do, my wife arches her back, thrusting into my hand.
I smile into her hair, and she smells like warmth and vanilla and sunlight.
“Come on, babe,” I whisper to her. “Cum on my fingers.”
I move and she moves with me, and we rock and slide, until she quivers and moans, and her voice is husky as she orgasms against my palm.
I pull away my hand, just long enough to hover above her, and then I thrust into her and...
I wake up with an erection.
I’m startled with the suddenness of reality, then disappointment slams into me as I realize that I’m alone. My wife isn’t here. I’m not making love to her. The sheets are cold, the house is quiet.
Damn it.
Damn it.
I stare at the ceiling, calming myself down, slowing my breathing.
I’m alone.
Corinne is across town. In another bed.
I get to my feet with a sigh and let the dog out, and it’s as I’m watching her out the window that my phone rings.
“Jude?” It’s Dr. Phillips, which startles me. He doesn’t usually call this early.
“Is something wrong?”
“Don’t worry, it’s under control now. Corinne had a bit of an episode last night. She thought someone was in her room. We tried to discuss it at an early session this morning, but she had another episode. We had to sedate her, but she’s resting comfortably now.”
I’m silent as I process that.
“Jude? Don’t worry. It’s under control.”
“How bad was it?” I ask slowly, imagining the worst.
There’s a pause.
“She didn’t try to hurt herself again, if that’s what you’re asking. She had a panic attack and was clawing at her throat. But she was out of it. She wasn’t purposely trying to hurt herself.”
I suck in a breath.
This can’t be my life.
This isn’t my wife. It isn’t.
“Was it because... I mean, has she remembered?”
“No, she hasn’t.”
“Thank you,” I tell him. “Can I come see her before Saturday?”
Another long pause. “I don’t think that would be wise,” he finally answers. “In fact, we might want to put a pin in Saturday, too. She really needs to focus on herself right now, Jude. If you’re here, she’ll be worried about how you are perceiving her, or you could even trigger memories that she simply can’t handle right now. Why don’t we discuss this as the weekend draws closer?”
I’m numb as I hang up.
Numb as I pour some coffee.
Numb as I pour it down the drain without drinking it.
My coffee sucks ass.
I pick up the phone, and Michel answers on the first ring.
“Can we meet for breakfast early? I don’t want to be alone.”
My brother’s answer is immediate. “I’ll meet you in ten minutes.”
I make it to the café in nine.
I get my regular table and wait for my brother, and it isn’t long before his hand is on my shoulder.
“Been waiting long?” He grins.
I shake my head. “No.”
He sits, examining my face. “What’s wrong?”
“Besides everything?”
I tell him about Corinne’s newest developments as I sip on coffee. My heart feels heavy and hard, and everything seems a little hopeless.
“What if she never gets out?” I ask, and I know I sound crazy. I’m talking about my talented, brilliant wife. That idea is preposterous.
“She’ll get out,” Michel assures me. “And soon. I promise.”
I look away, at the floor, at the wall. My eyes sting, and I don’t want Michel to see. I’m not a pussy, for God’s sake.
When I look up, Zoe is sauntering toward us. Her eyes are knowing, her hips are swaying. When she stops next to me, her hand is familiar and warm on my back, and she flirts with both my brother and me in her typical fashion.
“What are we having, sailors?”
Michel orders, then Zoe turns to me. Her fingers trail down my back, lingering, and no one can see. I’m the only one who knows.
“I’ll have a ham-and-cheese omelet.”
“Anything you want, sugar.”
She winks and walks away, and Michel watches her go.
“She’s taken to this job,” he observes, watching her flirt with another patron at another table.
“Yeah, you did her a service getting it for her.”
I glance over my shoulder and see her picking up her phone. Her eyes are on mine, and she purposefully walks away toward the bathroom.
Two minutes later, my phone buzzes with a text. I already know it will be from her.
I glance at it, then shift it so no one can see.
It’s a picture of her bare tits, her fingers tweaking her own nipple.
Come suck it? she texts next. Please?
I swallow hard and furtively glance at my brother. He’s oblivious as he checks his own phone.
No, I answer.
Not right now? she replies. She knows she has me now. She knows my situation is precarious. She knows she can blow it all out of the water.
I put my phone in my pocket without answering. She’s the devil in a waitress uniform.
She brings our food twenty minutes later and sits next to us for a minute, and when she throws back her head and laughs, she puts her hand on my knee and leaves it there. There’s a weird tension between us, like a live wire flipping around on hot pavement.
Michel notices, and I shrug away from Zoe, her hand falling away.
She looks at me but doesn’t say anything.
“Well, I’ll leave you boys to eat,” she says, standing up and walking away.
Michel stares at me over his coffee cup.
“Anything you’d like to say?” he asks calmly, unruffled.
I shake my head. “I don’t know what you mean. You know how she flirts.”
“Yeah. I guess.” But he’s troubled as he eats. I can see it on his face. And he has every reason to be troubled. I am, too. I have no idea how I got into this tangled-up mess.
And it is a mess.
The only question is...how am I going to get out of it?