Chasing Us (Dark Love 2)

Has she finally found my address?

“Girl… when was the last time he fucked you?” Nikki is straight to the point.

I shuffle my feet. It isn’t that I don’t know, it’s because I know exactly when it was, and it is killing me. Every night, I lay in our bed, and sleep has become an afterthought. His scent is sprayed all over our sheets, and the torture of lying beside someone who holds so much contempt is enough to shatter any confidence I had.

And the desire he once had lacing his eyes each time they devoured me has been replaced by darkness.

“Hmm… two months ago… the day before Elijah passed away.” My voice is barely above a whisper.

I’m waiting for a look of shock from my friends, but instead, each one of them places their hands on mine. I look up as my eyes cloud with tears.

“You’ll get through this, you have us. Don’t ever forget that.” The three of them smile as I place my other hand on top of theirs.

It’s exactly what I needed to hear right now.

***

Lex calls occasionally to say he will be home late from work, but he’s rarely home before midnight. He succumbs to his old ways, buries himself in his work, and spends the little time he has free with Adriana and Andy.

It breaks me. Each day it hurts more and more. I try to keep my mind busy, but without him, I’m slowly dying inside. The insomnia sets in. I’m out of my mind trying to save my marriage. Things haven’t improved, if anything, they are getting worse. I struggle to find a moment alone with him without Amelia around us constantly distracting him from any kind of conversation. Emily knows Lex has reverted to what she calls ‘post-Charlie’ days, and on a whim, takes Amelia for the night, knowing Lex will be home in an hour.

The hour ticks by and nothing. I know I need a distraction, so I sit at the dining table with some briefs I need to work on. Two hours later, I hear the car pull in the driveway. My heart beats intensely as I wait for him to enter the house. Strong-willed Charlie decides to fly the coop the second I lay eyes on my husband. Despite our relationship taking a turn for the worse, I want him so badly.

I ache for him to look at me, for his emerald green eyes to feast on me the way they used to. On several occasions, I have to take matters into my own hands because that’s how fucking desperate I have become. Of course, it’s when I am in the shower, and every single time I wish he would enter and fuck the living daylights out of me, but that never happens.

“Where’s Amelia?” his voice is flat. Great, no “Hello, how are you?”

“Staying over at your mom’s. Lex, we need to talk.”

“You sent her over there, so we could talk?”

“No, your mother wanted to take her for the night to give me a break. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s been a struggle trying to juggle Amelia, work, and everything else going on.”

“YOU think it’s a struggle?” He lets out a laugh, but it’s cold and snarky. “How about you put yourself in Adriana’s shoes for a moment and then tell me if you are still struggling.”

What the fuck?

He has no idea who he’s messing with.

I was born to fucking argue, and I’ve even got a degree in it. This is what the extent of our communication has become as of late, and I’m sick and tired of arguing with a man who’s supposed to love me for better or for worse.

“Don’t you dare compare me to Adriana. Her pain is the worst pain imaginable, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, but I’ll tell you what comes a very close second to that, shall I? Your husband going AWOL, not fucking touching you for two fucking months! Not even able to look you in the eye or hold a civil conversation.”

There, I’d said it—done! Take that, you asshole!

“Wow, and here I thought marriage was about love, not sex,” he answers sarcastically.

“Really, Lex? You want to turn back into Asshole Lex? Well, don’t think I’ll be sticking around to welcome that bastard back home.” With my chin held high, I grab my briefs and head for our room, slamming the door behind me. My muscles are quivering, the speed in which my pulse is racing impossible to ignore. I’m livid. The fucking jerk has the nerve to turn everything back onto me.

I grab my phone and text Eric that I need to go somewhere and drink. Within moments, he suggests a bar we can meet at on Melrose.

Inside my closet, I change into a pair of black jeans, a very slinky white top with an open back, and my strappy gold pumps to complement the outfit. Stopping by my vanity, I can’t help but notice how much weight I’ve lost from all the stress. I dab on some lip gloss and tousle my hair which I had let out. Not satisfied with the dark circles under my eyes, I apply some foundation and pull out the mascara.

As I make my way back to the kitchen, I search for my keys.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” He leans with his back on the countertop, arms crossed with a smug look on his face.

The worst part is I still hope he will grab me, bend me over, and fuck me into the middle of next week. I hate my fucking cooch for betraying me on so many levels. On a side note, I know I look hot, and I purposely wear this top because it makes the ladies look like they are parading for a Miss America beauty pageant. Oh, and because I know it will get some sort of reaction from him.