Always Wanting (Consumed)

“Oh God, please make it stop,” I moan through the pain gripping my stomach.

It’s never been this bad before. I can barely breathe through the pain. Each breath in and out alternates between feeling like a million tiny dull knifes are scraping my insides, to sharp needles puncturing every surface of my skin. I draw my knees closer to my chest and tighten my arms around them, shivering uncontrollably. I’m not sure if it’s my regular shaking or if it’s because of the blast of icy cold water raining down on me. I’m naked in the shower because my body felt like it was on fire, and I needed to cool off. The water is no longer helping. Now it just feels like small drops of lava are being poured all over me. My head pounds and tears drip down my cheeks, mingling with the water.

I want to move, I want to get out, but I’m so fucking scared. I barely made it to the shower in the first place. The cramps were so bad that I literally had to crawl my way into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before emptying my stomach.

Why the hell did I decide to put myself through

this? I should have known better. I should have known this wouldn’t work because I’ve tried this before. I don’t know if this time is worse, or if I’ve just forgotten the pain of not giving my godforsaken body what it craves.

I try to clench my teeth shut, but they still manage to chatter together. I’m surprised I haven’t chipped any. You know when you’re so cold that your body is constantly spasming to get your blood flowing to warm your body? Yeah, that’s me right now. My entire body is starting to cramp from the rigid way I’ve been holding it for the past twenty minutes.

I feel so goddamn hopeless. I don’t even have my phone with me to call for help. All I can do is sit here and pray the city runs out of water soon. I silently laugh at myself with that thought. I’m so fucking stupid.

I drop my head on my knees and cry out when the slight movement causes a well of pain to go through my chest and stomach. I cry, but I try to do it softly, so my body doesn’t move from my sobbing, making the pain worse.

My fuddled mind turns to Blue. I see his gorgeous Caribbean blue eyes staring at me, and it brings a new pain to my chest, one that has nothing to do with my body’s need for fulfillment. This pain is focused on me accepting once and for all that there’s no way we could ever work out. I feel like my world is cracking in two, and I’m being torn into pieces. I didn’t realize how badly I wanted this to work, until I realized it never would. I’m mourning something that never really started.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I sit as still as I can and wish for the coldness of the water to numb my body, to take away the pain that’s slowly destroying me, knowing that it’s a wish that won’t come true.

Chapter Seven

Colt

Leaning back in my leather office chair, I laugh at the picture Asher just painted in my head. He and his wife, Poppy, just got back from their honeymoon to Texas. Apparently, Asher was trying to show off his horse riding skills to Poppy and didn’t do a good job of it when he fell and broke his coccyx. I’m not laughing because my friend got hurt, I’m laughing because he had to ride back, hanging over the side of the horse.

“So, what you’re saying is you broke your ass?”

The image of Asher riding on the back of a horse with his ass in the air brings another bout of laughter.

“Laugh it up, asshole,” he grumbles. “Have you ever broken your tailbone before? That shit hurts.”

“Yeah, but I bet you’re eating up all the attention you’re getting from Poppy.”

His chuckle sounds across the line. “I am. She’s actually massaging it right now.” His laugh gets deeper, and I hear Poppy scolding him in the background.

A smile tips up my lips when I think back to when Asher first saw Poppy. She was in my office building for a job interview. One look at her, and he was utterly hooked. He demanded I not hire her, to send her to his office instead. I did, but it wasn’t until a year later, after literally obsessing over her, that he finally made his move. From what he said, he did some pretty shitty stuff to ensure Poppy fell in love with him, things that most women cringe over and never forgive. After working his ass off to show Poppy he truly loved her, and after his bastard friend nearly killed her, she finally forgave him. That was six months ago. Asher didn’t waste any time getting a ring on her finger. I can’t blame him, though. Poppy seems like a very special lady.

“I’ve got a new venture I just bought into,” I tell him, getting back to the reason I called. “I need a system set up in a week. I know it’s short notice, but do you think it’s doable?”

“Come by the office Thursday, and we’ll work out the logistics.”

“I appreciate it.” I sit up and mark a reminder down on my calendar, then throw the pen back on the desk. “So, besides breaking your ass, how was the honeymoon?” I inquire through a chuckle.

“Not long enough,” he groans, then I hear a murmured, “Give me a minute, Beautiful.” There’s a shuffling sound, and another muffled groan, before he says quietly, “I got a call from the Georgia Department of Corrections. Eric hung himself last week.”

My hands ball into fists at the name. Eric was more Asher’s friend than mine; they were friends before I came into the picture. My anger isn’t for myself, but for Asher and Poppy. The motherfucker became sickly obsessed with Poppy and tried to kill her right in front of Asher when he realized that Poppy would never pick him over Asher. Luckily, Asher was smart enough to put a protection detail on Poppy when she started receiving strange phone calls. His trial was swift, and he was sentenced to forty years in prison for the murder of Brice, the guy Poppy’s friends had watch over her, and the attempted murder of Poppy. I’m glad the bastard is dead. I just wish his death was more painful.

“How is Poppy taking it?” I ask, knowing she also felt the betrayal of what Eric did. She worked with the guy for almost a year, and never knew what he was capable of. I can’t imagine how Asher felt, knowing he was friends with a twisted asshole like that, and had almost made him partner in his company.

“She’s fine most of the time, but I think she feels guilty for the relief she feels.”

That’s Poppy for you. She’s sweet, kind, and caring, and the type of person that would feel guilt where it wasn’t due.

“I’m just glad the son of a bitch is gone,” Asher adds darkly.

“I don’t blame you there.”

We talk for a few more minutes, mostly about business, until I sense Poppy has come back into the room. Asher’s words become distracted.