Dear Husband (Sinner's Society:ONE) REWRITING***

Chapter 8(c)

Two Years Ago

Happiness is a human condition in which...

...what happens when people decide...

...a state of mind if we just...

...bullshit.

Happiness is bullshit.

Just like this stupid essay, I'm writing for Louis.

Sighing, I scratch out the line and tear the paper from the notebook, crumbling it and tossing it aside. I've been working on this for the good part of an hour, trying to get it written since Louis has to submit it tomorrow but that's the best I can come up with.

And I don't even believe it.

It's half past one, and I'm still wearing yesterday's clothes, having just got here sometime around noon. I should shower, and change, but I'm exhausted from broken sleep and sore from rough sex with my clients. I want nothing more than to rewind a few days and go back to the darkness reliving the moments with Alex in the roof and backstage again and again.

That was happiness.

Happiness is being fucked so rough you can hardly breathe, can hardly speak, can do nothing but squeal like a pig as he nails you over and over, pushing inside of you so hard, so deep, that you can feel the man not only with your body, but also with your soul. Happiness is waking up the next morning, barely able to recall your own name, because the only one that mattered in hours was his, screamed so loud your throat is painfully raw, like the name had bled from your lips.

Something tells me Louis' teacher won't like that too much.

I rip out that page, too, and toss behind me, along with the half dozen others I scribbled nonsense.

Happiness is having your very first hickey, put there by a set of soft lips that speak the smoothest words that sound like music to your ears and whispers to your soul.

Yeah, happiness makes you speak in ridiculous riddles and create poetry worse than William McGonagall.

I toss the notebook aside and lay back on the bed, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

Days have passed.

Days of nothing.

The soreness from our encounter has faded from my body as another ache has seeped in—the ache of not feeling his touch in days.

It's a double-edge sword, a strange sensation I've never dealt with before.

I feel so empty.

It's crazy. I know.

I'm crazy.

He's driving me insane.

Alex is taking a new approach with me after that night. I was prepared for a sensual attack that I will not be able to resist but instead, he's taken a step back, allowed me to stay at Tyrin's. He has asked me to dinner, to dance, or to have a glass of wine with him in his Club's office whenever I've gone to meet Tyrin. It is an attack I didn't expect and it's blindsiding me. He's patient and his charm is at all new high.

I don't know what to do about it.

I don't know what to do with myself.

Today, Alex has sent me flowers at Tyrin's with no note. And, as if that isn't enough, my appointments is slowly disappearing. I spend the days alternating between hiding out in Tyrin's new guest room and venturing out into the city, slipping back into my world of solitude and cheap food.