I stare up at my ceiling breathlessly. My panting makes the remnants of my orgasm continue to course through me. I can't even remember the last time I had an orgasm this good, not from touching myself, at least. I'm still twitching from head to toe because of the things Boston and I had just said to one another, the very dirty things we'd talked about wanting to do to each other, wanting to have done to us.
After another minute I mange to collect myself, standing up and heading to the door in quivering state. I need to go to the bathroom to wash my hands of the wetness I'd just managed to coax out of myself. I probably could use a shower too because I'd ruin any pair of underwear I'd put on in my current state.
When I open the door I jump back, stunned, because I had not expected to see a large male body right outside my door. My cheeks flare automatically, hoping he wasn't privy to my previous activities. His features look just as stunned as I feel.
"Uhm," I tuck my hair behind my ears, "Professor Haddix, is there something you wanted?" Because it's Sunday morning and I was not expecting to have my professor at my door, bright and early, especially after just telling my estranged husband dirty things while touching myself. You know, filthy things, like that I want him to stroke himself harder and think about coming inside of me with a finger planted inside my tight ass.
He looks me over and swallows deeply before clearing his throat, "I was wondering if you'd like to have a cup of coffee and go over your latest paper." He holds up the pages but glances over my shoulder before glancing back at me. "But if you're busy we can always go over them later."
If I'm busy... like he knows what I was just doing. Oh God, please no. Why does this happen to me?
The Earth can open up and swallow me at any time.
"How about we meet up later?" I nod my head but then he adds, "that is if you're not going out with the rest of the class and Mrs. Avery."
"I didn't know Mrs. Avery was taking people out."
"I think it was sort of a last minute thing. They were discussing it at breakfast this morning, which now, come to think about it, you weren't in attendance."
"Yeah, I was, uhm," I think about what had just transpired between Boston and I, "I was wishing a friend back home a happy birthday." That makes him arch a brow.
"That was very nice of you. How old is he now?"
Does he know? Does he not know? Wait, he said he. I didn't specify if it was a male or female friend. Oh my God, he knows. He heard.
My cheeks flare. "He just turned twenty-one." My phone pings in my back pocket but I don't dare reach to grab it. I asked Boston for a recent picture, like a masochistic idiot, because I missed him. I missed looking at him. He said he'd take one after he was done cleaning himself up. My phone pings a few more times and my cheeks burn even more.
"Well, let me know about doing dinner later or coffee, whatever you'd prefer really. We can go over this." He holds the paper up again. "It's really good and I'm intrigued by your ideas. I'd really like to discuss them with you tonight, that is if you're not going out with the rest of the class, of course. Which, I would completely understand if you want to go out with them." He cups the back of his neck with, "wow, I'm rambling."
I can't help but let out a little laugh. "Yeah, maybe you are a little bit." He looks uneasy and I guess I would be uneasy too if I heard my student doing what I'd just been doing, saying. "I'll let you know about later."
"You have my number, right?"
"Yeah, I have everyone on the trips phone number."
"Right." He smacks his forehead in exaggeration. "Duh. Well, I'll just be going." He thumbs over his shoulder.
"Okay." He backs up two steps before turning and walking down the hall rather quickly.
After washing my hands I go back into the room and see several missed text messages from Boston. I click on his name and then immediately suck my bottom lip into my mouth. There he is, shirtless, hair damp with a few strands on his forehead, like there always is. His texts tell me how good it was to talk to me tonight. How he missed me and was glad we cleared some of the air on certain topics.
I think back to what he'd been doing earlier, going out on a date with someone. I picture it going better than it had and her coming back home with him. The two of them laying in that bed with him looking much the way he does now, sexually sated and sexy as hell. I hate the thought, hate picturing some other woman snuggled up to that body, my body.
It's not yours anymore.
That thought makes me think of the fairness of asking him to not see other people in that way. It isn't fair. If Boston wants to date, to see other people, then he should. We were supposed to be separated, not getting off together over the phone.
I sigh at the confusing thoughts going on throughout my skull because they're entirely conflicting. I don't want to be with him but I don't want him to be with someone else. But if he were with someone in that way it would surely shatter me, even though we're separated.
My fingers graze over the image of him on my phone. He's so handsome, beautiful really. His body is fit, toned, tatted and everything I've ever wanted. It's mine, except it's not. He may still legally be my husband but he hasn't been mine in months, sans our phone call.
I walk over to my bed and send him a text about how good looking he is. Then I send one that nearly crushes me.
Thank you for this morning. Thank you for loving me. If you want to see, or sleep, with other people, I won't hold it against you.
Just as I'm about to chuck my phone on the bed it rings. I see Boston's name flashing across the screen and close my eyes before picking it up. I don't say anything. I wait for him.
After a moment he growls out, "are you fucking serious, right now? You send me that after what we just did? After you asked me to send you a picture because of how much you miss me? You fucking send me that?"
"It isn't fair of me to ask you not to be with other people, Boston. We aren't together. If you want to see other people it's only fair considering our circumstance."
"Fucking other people means moving on. Is that what you want me to do? Do you want me to move on? To get over you? Us?"
"I don't know, Boston. I just want you to be happy and do what makes you happy." Because I love you enough to want that for you.
"You make me happy, Monica, you."
"You make me happy too but you know why we're doing this. You know why I need this break. I'm trying to find myself, become the woman I want to be without the influence of another. I should be free to do that without telling you to still be faithful to me."
"So then let's be abundantly fucking clear. You and I can get naked with other people. We can touch other people. I can put parts of my body inside of another woman. I can put my mouth on her intimate areas, taste—"
"Boston stop." His words are making tears rain down my face like a waterfall.
"No, I want to get it all out there, wife." The way he slurred that word hurt me deeply, like he was disgusted by it. "You won't care if another girl sucks my dick? If she rides me? If she has her hands all over me?" I hate every word he just said, hate the visuals he continues to give me. "Tell me the next time we see each other, if I let someone else do all of the things to me, will you still look at me the same way?"
"You'll still be you." The words were a garbled mess, even to my own ears. You'll still be my husband. I can't utter that though.
"Alright." His voice is tight, just barely containing his anger. "Then this is it, then. You and I are completely done as of right now. No more phone calls. No more well wishes. None of it. You want to be completely apart then here you go. Goodbye Monica." He ends the call.
I can't leave it like that. We can't leave it like that. I quickly go to his name and tap it. When I bring the phone to my ear I'm met with, "your call cannot be completed as dialed. The number you have dialed is invalid or out of service."
With panicky fingers I bring the phone in front of me to make sure I tapped the right number. It's Boston's. I end the call and tap it again, getting met with the same message. I switch to our text messages and type out his name with a question mark. My phone pings automatically.
Message not delivered.
He blocked my number. He seriously blocked my number. If he blocked me there then— I go to social media and can't find him. He's gone. Vanished. Blocked me from his life completely.
I said I wanted a break— now he's really giving it to me. A swift and clean break. Completely cut off. Completely broken.
✩✩✩
I'd declined dinner with Mr. Haddix, telling him I was unwell. It wasn't a lie, I was not okay after what had transpired between Boston and I. My bed was my solace for the duration of the day but not even then did it block out thoughts of Boston doing unspeakable things with other women. He'd given me quite an array of visuals and my brain clung to them.
My boyfriend, husband, my Boston— touching someone else the way he touches me. And I'd told him to. I'm the one who said it was okay. Now I have to deal with the consequence— my heart shattering at the thought of him actually doing it.
I tried calling him a handful of times but it was no use. He kept me blocked. Not that I blamed him really but it didn't make the burn any less painful.
There's a soft knock on my door and I don't bother getting up, I just say, "come in." The door opens, letting the light from the hall drift in.
"Monica?" I sit up slightly and turn on my bedside lamp.
"Mr. Haddix?" I'd though it would be one of the other girls, not my professor. I glance at the clock, revealing a rather late hour to be visiting a student. "What are you doing up so late?"
"I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You said you weren't well and you haven't left your room all day." He's looking around, clearly feeling out of place. "But you seem to be doing alright. So—" His words cut off and he comes over to my bed, sitting on the edge of it. "Hey hey, don't cry. It's alright."
Had I begun to cry? The sob that escapes my throat tells me that yes, yes I have.
"Shh, come here." He holds out his arms and I hesitate for only a moment before letting him embrace me. The closeness and comforting contact make me cry even harder. "I'm guessing your phone call earlier was the initial reason for your jet lag?" I don't say anything, just nod into his chest. "It'll be alright, Monica. You'll be alright."
A/N:
How are you all feeling about this chapter?