"Mm, that feels good," he said, reaching for the spot between her legs.
She crossed her legs and rolled her lower body away. "No. I don't want you."
In response, he raised his voice, "Are you f**king kidding me?"
She whimpered. "Davey."
"Don't call me that." He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from his crotch.
"Davey, make love to me," she whispered in the darkness. "Davey, my boss is suspicious of what's going on with us, what we're doing in the guest cottage after your lessons, or instead of your lessons."
He rolled over and pulled her in tight to him.
She said, "Davey, I had to suck his c**k so he wouldn't fire me."
"For f**k's sake Brynn. What is wrong with you?"
She started to sob. "Davey, make love to me."
He put his hand between her legs and pinched at her flesh through her panties. She moaned with pleasure, even as she sobbed.
"Brynn, do you even love me?"
"Yes." She twisted her h*ps to the side, locking his hand between her legs.
He pulled himself up and on top of her, his face in her face.
"The baby," she said.
He'd been holding his body up with his arms, but he rolled to the side immediately and apologized. "Dammit, Brynn, I just want to feel loved by you."
"Or what?"
"Don't make me say it."
Her voice cold, she said, "You'll divorce me, and I'll get what's laid out for me in the pre-nup, and you'll never f**k me again."
Her back was to him, and he kissed her shoulder blades and the back of her neck. "Just make love to me, Brynn. That's all I ask."
She sat up, pulled off her panties, and shoved her ass at him.
He reached up under her shirt and grabbed her breast, which had swollen with the pregnancy. She made a noise, and he couldn't tell if it was pleasure or pain, but he didn't care anymore. She unbuttoned her shirt slowly, and he thought he heard her sniffle. He didn't know what was happening or where they were headed.
She pulled the blouse off and was completely na**d against his body, giving herself to him.
He slid into her, and he tried to forget.
The next morning, she was all smiles and sunshine.
The night before felt like a bad dream, with Claude as the only witness that any of it had happened, and Claude knew how to keep quiet.
As the two of them enjoyed breakfast in the dining room, Smith turned over the evening's events in his head, wondering how he might work the drama into the novel he was currently outlining.
He had peace, a beautiful wife, and inspiring material for his work.
His happiness was shortlived, though.
Three months later, their child was born dead, and the relationship died soon after.
The day she moved out, Brynn screamed at him and demanded he return the gun so she could shoot herself. It was exactly the thing he'd been hoping to hear, and that suicide threat allowed him to check her into a mental health facility, for her own protection.
He returned to the penthouse alone, to face the nursery and the nanny quarters and all their shattered dreams.
He called Claude up to the apartment and directed him to the pistol that was hidden at the back of the closet. "You'll dispose of it in a safe manner?" he asked.
"Give me an hour," Claude said.
"Take the whole day," Smith said, and he went to bed, even though the sun was still high in the sky.
Part 5: Remembering through Storytelling
Tori
I woke up sweating, in the middle of the night. Being in my old bedroom, at my mother's house, had brought back unwanted memories. I cried, and then I got a glass of water and resolved to tell my mother everything, come morning.
The second part of my sleep was more peaceful, and I woke up to the scent of coffee brewing and bacon frying.
I walked downstairs and into the kitchen.
"Mom, I have to tell you some things."
"Good grief, there's more? Did we not cover everything last night?" She gave me a quick smile that made me feel brave.
I helped her get the toast buttered and we sat at the little table tucked inside the kitchen.
"Mom, the thing that happened with my old teacher, Mr. Colt, was not just the one time."
She started to cry. "I should have done more to protect you. You were always so sure of yourself, though, and you shut me out."
"I don't blame you! I'm sorry. You made this nice breakfast and now I'm ruining everything."
She sniffed and took a napkin to dab her nose. "Tell me what you need to tell me. We all need to say these things, to get them out, or they fester like splinters inside us."
"The thing is, when I tried to remember everything that happened, I'd start to feel like I was suffocating, and then everything would blur and it was too overwhelming. It was like a blackout, like a dream, how it made no sense. Just feelings and things, but not in any order."