Cats In the Cradle

6. Daniel

We were inseparable.

She spent the night almost every night, always down for sex. Always wet, always tight, always a perfect fit around my cock. She would sometimes wait in my room naked while I was in class, kneeling on the floor with her legs spread, ready for anything. Always hungry for more.

Hungry for me.

And Naomi was right: she was an incredible singer.

Pretty much excelled at every art form. She majored in theatre, with a minor in dance. And watching her perform on stage was captivating. She commanded attention in every room. Her body moved like fluid when she danced, and her voice could make angels weep.

And she was also extremely good at painting. And at making fresh bread.

That was the one thing I'd never been able to kick: my obsession with warm bread.

We'd sometimes bake together, and we always seemed to end up covered in flour...then fucking loudly in the shower.

My family didn't seem to be as enamored with her as I was, however. Actually, they fucking hated her. Even my brother Kayden—who thought she was gorgeous and was extremely jealous that she bent over for me at every opportunity—thought she was batshit crazy.

And as much as that fact pained me...I knew why.

She was...uh...a little erratic.

Sometimes...slightly irrational.

She loved to smoke weed, even though it made her a little paranoid. And she loved to provoke me. It turned her on when I was irritated or angry. I literally couldn't think of a single romantic gesture I'd done that got her as wet as when I completely lost my shit and blew up at her.

Sometimes she'd deliberately pick fights over tiny things—like me FaceTiming with my siblings too often—or she'd subtly flirt with other guys to make me upset.

It was always little things, like a gentle touch on the arm or twirling her hair while she batted her long eyelashes. But she did it when she knew I'd be watching. She only did it with guys who were clearly interested, subtly teasing them, praying I'd hit someone.

The unsuspecting guy or her.

It was kind of hot at first. We'd have passionate, angry sex. She'd beg me to choke her, slap her across the face or tie her up and then spank her. She'd spit in my face and kick and scratch me, trying to get me to rough her up more. She just kept pushing and pushing, hoping I'd snap.

And I don't think she understood that I was holding back; that if I really tried to hurt her, she'd end up in the emergency room.

She was like 110 lbs soaking wet, with most of the weight centered in her boobs and probably in her long mane of dark hair. I was around 210 lbs, with very little body fat; I'd been benching her weight since the 9th grade.

Her being so tiny and fragile made me feel so powerful at first. I could easily wrap my hands around her whole waist. We liked to compare our sizes and take pictures of her in my clothes. Everyone thought it was adorable how huge I was compared to her. They joked about her having my children someday, how our kids would probably be taller than her by the time they were 3.

Everyone said we were end-game.

Naomi boasted often about how she just knew we were perfect for each other.

Simply meant to be.

...But the crazy sex and volatile emotions were exhausting.

It felt incredible at first, to let out all my pent-up anger and frustration every time I spanked Sienna or fucked her within an inch of her life. It was a heady feeling, when she was too sore and sated to walk the next day, and I had to carry her into an Epsom salt bath and take care of her.

It was almost therapeutic, not having to be a mild-mannered gentleman all the time. It also made me feel strong and needed when I'd hold her hand in public, shielding her from prowling creeps and protecting her from catty girls.

And there were lots of catty girls.

Because she seemed to always have some kind of drama going on, but I liked it when she would vent to me or cry against my chest. And I liked knowing that she trusted me, that I was her safe place.

But I eventually realized that she wasn't mine.

When I was upset, she tried to make me more upset; like she was a succubus who fed off my anger. I found myself venting to Diego—who I could barely stand—more than my own girlfriend.

She thought it was weird that I called my mom every week, and she seemed jealous of how pretty she was. She seemed threatened by how tight I was with my family and hated not knowing all our inside jokes.

Which was beyond fucking weird.

After a year, I just felt like I was going through the motions. I didn't bother arguing with her when she accused me of flirting with someone or of secretly being in love with Naomi or my other female friends. I didn't want to slap her or choke her or have the wild, anger-fueled, violent sex that she craved every night. I didn't even really want her waking me up with blowjobs every morning.

I just wanted peace.

A peaceful, stable, normal relationship with a rational, mature person.

Just like I'd told myself the night I met Sienna.

And I knew she could sense it. She could sense me growing distant, pulling away.

I told her honestly that I was tired of the high emotions and the perpetual drama. And she actually listened. And things were better.

For a few weeks.

But then she was over it.

The peaceful stability was boring, she said. The vanilla sex was not doing it for her. She didn't want to just be another boring, sexually-frustrated Stepford wife, she exclaimed.

So I told her maybe it wasn't working out.

Maybe we weren't meant to be end-game after all. The match was lit that first night and the flame had burned too bright, too hard. And then it fizzled away too quickly.

But she wanted to work on things, and all our friends encouraged us to stick it out because we had "insane chemistry."

So tonight, I decided I'd cook a nice dinner for her. I'd buy a good bottle of wine.

We'd talk things out, maybe watch another documentary. We would reconnect and reignite that flame.

I felt optimistic as I walked to her apartment door to pick her up. It would be fun to kind of recreate our first night together.

But then I stopped suddenly when I saw her pressed against some guy in the hallway on her apartment floor, who was cupping her ass in his tiny hands.

And I fucking lost it when she glanced at me, totally unbothered...and smiled.