Working Stiff(53)

His friends’ parents, even his own parents, were all estranged, those who hadn’t just divorced. His parents lived separate lives, only seeing each other at official functions, and briefly, and without looking at each other. He believed that his mother had had the first affair, but his father had definitely had more of them. They hated each other so virulently that, surely, they must have been in love at one time.

Casimir and his siblings and most of his friends had been shuffled between their respective parents during breaks from school and had watched the anger between their parents, wanting it to stop.

It never did, though. With every affair, every vindictive one-night-stand, the rage between them grew.

Casimir didn’t do that to people. He wasn’t going to be the reason that relationships were destroyed or that children couldn’t have supper with both their parents at the same time.

He might be all those things that they said about him—heartbreaker, skirtchaser, womanizer—but no one had ever called him a homewrecker.

Casimir got out of the shower, toweled off, and walked over to the sink. Above the basin, a still life painting of fruit was framed under thick glass that kept the bathroom’s humidity away from the paint. The luscious peaches and apples, painted in glowing hues of gold and amber, seemed too much like her skin.

He set the stand mirror that he used for shaving over to his right. A quick glance showed only his unblemished cheek on that side. He brushed his teeth, keeping his gaze on the painting or the copper sink. He peeled gauze off a roll, taped it up, and pressed the patch to his left cheek, catching a glimpse of pink, twisted skin in the mirror.

Monster.

He shouldn’t have done it. He shouldn’t have held her, tasted her, seen how wild she was in the throes of an orgasm.

Now, he knew what he couldn’t have.

And he’d probably only allowed it because that damn, disgusting scar was clinging to his face. It mocked him, twisting him inside.

Monster.

Plus, he had started the clock. Being around her those last three years had been sweet suspense, but every day, he had known that they could go on like that. They weren’t involved. He hadn’t imposed himself on her. Their time had no limit.

But now, things had happened.

Now, soon, she would see what he was, and it would all fall apart. Beyond the fact that she was married, she wouldn’t stay with him anyway, not a spineless man who had molested her and then practically shoved his dick in her mouth.

Ah, there was the crippling remorse. Casimir had wondered how long it would take to show up.

He pulled on pajama pants and a tee shirt and wandered the house until dawn. As the sun came up behind the house, he went to the deck to watch the sunlight fill the air and the ocean.

He didn’t even really notice what he was doing when he climbed up on the railing to sit, to swing his bare feet over the expanse of nothingness where the deck hung over the side of the mountain. Far below, the sea crashed against the boulders at the base of the cliff.

Below his naked feet and long toes, shadows still gathered deep on the side of the hill among the boulders and weeds down there.

He still didn’t know why he had made a move on Rox last night. Nothing but heartache could come of it. He might have messed things up between her and her husband, even though Casimir suspected that he was just a pity fuck and she would be repulsed if she ever saw the deformity under that bandage.

No. Not Rox.

She wasn’t like the others.

All the others.

He knew that these whispers were phantom pain, just a memory of heartache from years ago, but the regret amplified them.

And the knowledge that he was going to lose her soon was paralyzing because surely she wouldn’t stay in the same house with him anymore.

Far down below, shadows whispered amongst the rocks, sounding like hard truth.

No one could love the monster.

His bare feet swung over the emptiness as the sun lifted in the sky behind him, heating his back like a hand, pushing.





NOT JUMPING BUT FALLING





Rox stood in the doorway that led to the deck, touching the wall to steady herself, while Cash leaned too far over the thick wooden railing above the cliffside that fell away from the house. The breeze from the ocean, strong this morning, plastered her pajamas to her body, and the deck chilled her bare feet.

He was bending very far over the rail. His feet were planted on the deck, but he rested a lot of his weight on his elbows on the rail, almost as if he were unbalancing, trying to tip over.

Usually, he sat in a deck chair or braced his arms against the railing. He never did this.

The tension in his body screamed that he was stretching to go over the side.

“Cash,” Rox said, careful to keep her voice low as if she were gentling a skittish puppy at the animal shelter. “Cash, honey. Come on inside.”