Page 65 of Bitter Poetry
I unscrew the top and toss it on the low table before me, tip the mouth of the bottle to my lips, and drink… and drink.
Christian stalks off toward the kitchen area. He’s on his phone talking to someone.
Leon sits on the coffee table, his worried gaze on me. “Did you fuck her?”
I take another deep drink. “Yes.”
He mutters a curse.
Christian returns with two ice packs. He hands one to me. “She went back to the party. Nothing happened. No one knows.”
“I know. She knows. At some point tonight, Ettore is going to know.”
I go to get up. Leon shoves me back. “Don’t be a bigger dumbass than you already have. Ettore won’t know shit. I doubt he’ll even get it up.”
“Don’t fucking patronize me!” I throw the bottle at the wall. It smashes, leaving a stain and the stench of alcohol.
I put my head in my hands, grip my hair, and yank. I’ve never felt this helpless in my life.
“Get him another bottle,” Leon says calmly.
I hear footsteps retreating and returning. Another bottle is pressed into my shaking hand. I take a drink. It’s not making me numb enough fast enough for my liking.
The seat sinks next to me. “I fucked up,” Christian says.
“You really did,” Leon agrees. “Who were you talking to?”
“Jero. He’s alright.”
“He used to be my father’s man,” Leon says.
“Yeah,” Christian says. “I’m getting the impression he still is.”
CARMELA
Dante leaves. Jessica enters.
The sense of abandonment is profound. I don’t know how I put myself back together. Jessica’s worried face certainly has a sobering effect. I’ve not had more than a sip of champagne, so I can’t even blame that for my lapse in mental judgment.
She has a purse containing the kit provided by the beauticians. It has everything one might need to rectify one’s makeup and hair after just being fucked. By the time I’m done, I don’t look quite so thoroughly ravished and more of a bride a little high on her big day.
Between my thighs, I’m aching and tender. On the outside, at least, I will pass.
It’s the best I can do, and we leave the powder room together.
“Don’t try and tell me you didn’t kiss him this time,” Jessica says, threading her arm through mine.
“I kissed him.”
“Do you love him?”
“Yes.” Shouldn’t I hesitate over admitting that? A man who is not my husband just took my virginity during my wedding reception. I begged him to. Then he abandoned me, again.
I can’t love him.
Ishouldn’tlove him.
“Good. This isn’t forever. I know it’s not. If anyone asks, I was upset about Mama,” she says. “Thank you for looking after me.”
