Page 41 of Don't Leave Me
Marc:Okay, I’ll stop. It’s just…been a long time. What about for you? Has there been anyone? Some dude Sandra threw in front of you, you decided you liked?
He was asking me if I’d dated anyone since being in Florida. Was he kidding?
Me:Hello? Grieving, on the run, pregnant, new job, new baby. None of that equals dating.
Marc:Good.
Me:Why do I feel like you’ve got your smug face on right now?
Marc:Let me check the mirror. Yep, total smug face.
Me:What are we even talking about?
Because that’s how it felt with him. Like I’d gone down some weird rabbit hole where we were Marc and Ash again, but that wasn’t possible. I knew, because I was the one who killed us.
Marc:I think we’re talking about sex.
Me:No, we were talking about why I can’t sleep, which is because you are making me crazy.
Marc:Well, I can’t control how you’re feeling. But, I do have a cure for your sleeplessness. I could come over and go down on you. Give you one or two orgasms and then I’d leave. I promise. No funny stuff.
Me:Will you be serious? You being in Florida is about Danny, not about us.
Marc:I’m pretty sure us is you, me and Danny.
No! It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. As part of my grieving, I’d promised I’d put any idea of anusin the past. Marc and I had no future. There was only the physical reality of what we’d made together that he needed to address.
Marc:You just need to believe in us again. It’s my job to make you.
Me:But why do you want to? Haven’t I done enough to you already? You’re not thinking about everything that’s happened.
The unforgiveable things I’d done.
Marc:I’m not thinking about that, and I won’t. I’m thinking about the future. Our future.
Me:What if I said I didn’t trust that we could have a future?
Marc:Then I’ll change your mind. With persistence and orgasms.
I threw the phone to the edge of the bed and crossed my arms over my breasts. Pretending not to notice my nipples were hard.
When was the last time I even thought of myself as a sexual creature?
Vegas.
When was the last time I’d craved an orgasm?
Vegas.
When was the last I thought about wanting to take a bite out of a man’s chest?
This afternoon.
Oh, shit.
* * *
The next morning
