LEAH
The thought of eating greasy, cheesy Dominoes pizza had me running to the bedroom to find my wallet. I waddled into the bedroom and looked around.
My thick's stuck together as I moved, Jarrod's cum mixing with mine as it slid down my thighs. I grimaced, knowing I needed to clean up but also in deep need of delicious meat pizza.
After checking by my side of the bed and Jarrod's as well as under the bed, the dresser, and the bathroom, I took one glance at the little bookshelf in the corner of the room. There was my purse, tucked neatly onto one of the shelves.
How the hell had I not noticed it? Also, why did Jarrod move it in the first place?
He must have been as OCD as me.
I snatched my purse off the shelf. While I dug my wallet out of the bottom, dodging wrappers and random receipts, I looked mindlessly at the shelf.
A thick, denim spine that looked like a photo album caught my eye. Now was not exactly the time to be nosing around in Jarrod's baby photos but, for some reason, I dropped my purse to the ground and pulled the album from the shelf.
The cover was soft and well-worn, clearly old. I opened the cover and flipped through the first few photo pages.
A collage of tans filled my eyes as picture after picture of bare skin lay before me.
My hands trembled. Oh my God.
Every photo was of a naked woman—the same woman. She had short brown hair and a thin, long figure. She looked very different than Tiffany so this was someone else.
How many ex-wives did Jarrod fucking have?
I flipped through the pages with sickening curiosity, unable to stop myself. Some of the photos were candids—her strolling down a boardwalk, sipping from a coffee mug, smiling at the sunset.
Those were really good quality. Like, by a professional.
Maybe she was model?
Then, towards the back of the album, were photos that made my mouth dry and not in a good way. These were clearly not professional and were more unfocused.
She was tied down to a bed in a few, strung from a ceiling with rope in another. In some pictures she was bruised, skin littered with hickies, or bleeding.
She smiled in some of them despite her injuries. In others, she looked like she was crying.
What. The. Fuck.
I slid down to sit on the floor. Touching my lips in mute horror, I ran my fingers over the photos.
How could someone do this to someone else?
I understood BDSM was a real thing and I didn't judge the people who got off that way. But she looked seriously hurt in some of these.
How could Jarrod do this?
I couldn't imagine him ever hurting me or tying me up.
Did he just hide it really well? Did he want to do this to me?
"What are you doing, babe?"
Screeching, I dropped the album in a fit of panic and twisted around to look at him. My pulse pummeled my temples like punching bags.
"What the actual fuck is this?" I demanded. My voice sounded watery even to my ears.
I didn't want to believe it was his, that Jarrod had yet another secret from me. And this was so much worse than Tiffany.
This was so much creepier.
I had to acknowledge the obvious fact that this album was on a shelf in his room in his apartment. It had to be his. There was no other reasonable explanation.
"It's not mine," he said calmly.
My brain tripped at his denial. Of course he would deny it.
Is he lying to me even now? Wow.
I swallowed down the knot of apprehension in my throat. Even just looking at his face made my stomach turn.
Kicking the album away, I pushed myself to my feet.
"Leah, wait." Jarrod held out his hands to placate me, but all it did was make me feel trapped. "Take a breath. Just calm down for a sec."
"I'm sorry," I said, my voice no longer sounding like my own. "I think I need to go."
He sighed and shook his head, stepping in my path when I moved forward. "Those pictures are not mine, Leah. I didn't do those things to her."
I met his eyes again as a bolt of anger pulsed through me. He just kept lying to me!
"Then whose are they?" I asked bitterly.
Clenching his jaw, he held my gaze. "Why don't we sit down on the couch and talk about this? You won't listen to my explanation if you already believe I'm lying."
"I don't want an explanation!" I bit my lip to stymie an unexpected rush of tears. "Why would you have all those pictures if they aren't yours?"
"They belong to my brother!"
We stared at one another for a moment. I felt myself both relax and tense.
My mind felt numb, unable to do anything with that information. Not believe it nor question it.
His eyes seemed to be open and clear, but I didn't trust my own judgment at this point.
"The woman in the picture was his fiancé," he continued gravely. "They were into some freaky fucking things. Then she died. I don't know what happened. There was an investigation, but . . ." He shrugged with a sigh. "James wasn't charged with anything. They said it was an overdose of some sleeping medication. I guess she tried to kill herself but we'll never really know. James is still fucked up about it. I don't think he'll ever move on."
My nostrils burned as I dragged a breath into my body, finally coming out of my trance. "What does that have to do with the album? Why do you have it?"
"She gave it to him as a gift for Valentines Day or some shit. I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "He was going to throw it away when she died and . . . damn it, I should've let him. But I thought he would come out of that funk and he would want anything of hers when he did. But he's still in the funk and I still have the fucking photos."
After a tense few seconds of just breathing, I nodded slowly. I turned and walked past him towards the bathroom. Bending down, I plucked up my clothes from the floor where I'd shed them last night.
Blood simmered under my flushed skin. My brain swam with a fog I couldn't seem to clear.
"What're you doing?" Jarrod asked from the bathroom door. "Leah, stop."
My chest squeezed in both fear and sadness. Keeping my back facing him, I pulled his shirt over my head and hastily put on my bra, panties, jeans and then shirt.
"I'm leaving, Jarrod," I said. I gradually turned to him again.
He stepped forward, filling up the entire frame of the bathroom door. "Why?" His hand raked through his messy sex hair. "Leah, please. I've told you why I have the album. I'm not lying to you."
Pulling my hair into a messy ponytail, I found the courage to look into his eyes. My chest felt achey, like a vortex was opening right in the middle of my heart.
He had told me his story, but I simply didn't trust him. I had no way of knowing if it was the truth or not.
"I can't do this," I told him. I sucked in another breath to keep my voice steady. "First it was Tiffany and then the blood on your clothes from last night and now these photos. You move my shit and take my phone and read my messages. It's all weird. I can't do this, Jarrod. Even if it's the truth—even if it's all the truth—there's too much. I can't keep pretending that I don't think something is wrong—"
"Blood on my clothes?" he asked, blinking hard.
"Yes!" I pointed to the laundry bin behind him. "I found my phone on the dresser this morning and I just happened to see a whole lot of blood on your clothes. And I-I remember you coming in late last night. I honestly don't even want to know if it's my blood or not."
When I started for the bedroom, he remained planted in the doorway. I stopped and forced myself to meet his gaze.
Pulse lobbing in my temple, I peered into his beautiful eyes. So colorful and teeming with intelligence. They regarded me now in a steeliness that made my hair stand on end.
"I'm not a bad person," he said. "I have saved lives and protected lives. Leah, baby, I would never lay a finger on you. I only want to make you happy, but you're killing me right now."
"There aren't good and bad people, Jarrod. There are those who hide secrets and those who try to be open."
I breathed out and let my eyes close for a second. When I opened them, I'd found my inner resolve.
"I think we need to stop seeing each other. You need to let me out."
His eyebrows furrowed and his lip quivered. He reached a hand out to touch me, but I pulled away.
"We were doing so good," he whispered, agonized. "Just five minutes ago, we had incredible sex."
"I'm sorry." I shook my head, swallowing down the knives in my stomach, and pushed his shoulder aside.
Walking quickly through his room, I went to the kitchen and looked around. I couldn't find my damn heels but, at this point, I didn't care.
Before I could grab the door knob, a hand caught my elbow. I turned towards him hesitantly. The heartbreak in his eyes made me weak.
My mouth opened, ready to take back what I'd said, but my brain experienced its first bout of clarity all day.
"I'm sorry, Jarrod," I said. "Maybe I'm just too suspicious and dysfunctional. Blame it on me, if you want. I have to go."
I removed his hand from my arm, applying a gentle squeeze, before I opened the door and left. The vortex wheezed inside me as it grew bigger but I didn't look back.