Julian
ALINA MASTERS
1984 – 2013
Wife and beloved mother.
In God’s hands, we trust.
The rain pours down around my umbrella as I stare her headstone.
Trapped.
I’m trapped in a sadness so deep, I don’t know how to escape it.
Every morning she comes to my house.
Every night, I die a little when she leaves.
I read the words carved in front of me again.
ALINA MASTERS
1984 – 2013
Wife and beloved mother.
In God’s hands, we trust.
I lean down and brush the dust from her name. I rearrange the pink lilies I’ve placed in the vase. I touch her face in the small oval photo, watching as she stares back at me, unblinking.
I step back and put my hands into the pockets of my black overcoat. I come here twice a week to pay my respects to a woman who gave me my children.
My wife.
A woman who was good. A woman who deserved a better man than the one she married.
I always blamed Alina for my sadness, but Brielle has taught me that my problem isn’t Alina. My problem is me.
I don’t know how to love a woman and not cause her pain. I see it every day. The look on Bree’s face nearly breaks me.
As I stand here, I can feel the blood pumping through my veins. My body is working, keeping me alive, but my heart has completely stopped. I exhale heavily. I’ve got to stop this.
I can’t go on feeling like the world is about to end.
I frown as a realisation dawns on me.
I need to do what makes me feel better. The only thing I know that works.
Half an hour later, I arrive at Madison’s, my therapist.
I always leave here relaxed. I don’t have to talk. I don’t have to think. I don’t have to feel. I walk through the front doors on autopilot.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Smith.” Hayley, the receptionist, smiles. “Good to see you back, sir. It’s been a while.”
“It has.”
“Would you like your normal room, sir?”
A frown creases my brow. “Yes.”
“Just go up to the penthouse and someone will be with you in a moment.”
I catch the elevator to the penthouse and pour myself a scotch. I stare out of the smoked-glass windows that overlook London.
I hear the door click behind me, and I close my eyes, already regretting what I’m about to do.
“Hello,” the feminine voice behind me says.
I turn to see Veronica, and my stomach drops. “Hello.”
She’s blonde and wearing a sexy black dress. She has a killer body-a body that has pleasured me many times before.
I sip my scotch with a shaky hand, my eyes holding hers.
She kneels in front of me and begins to unfasten my belt.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
She kisses my thigh. “You like that?” she whispers.
I stay silent.
Her hand reaches for my cock and she strokes it three times, I clench my jaw.
Her lips brush the end of me. My cock jerks in appreciation and I close my eyes in disgust.
I see a vision of Bree. My beautiful Bree.
No.
I step back from her. “Stop.”
She frowns. “I haven’t even started yet.” She crawls closer and I immediately step back again.
“Leave.”
“What?” She frowns.
“I said leave,” I whisper. I turn my back to her and zip my pants back up.
I need to get out of here. I grab my wallet and my keys, and then I rush from the room. I hit the button on the elevator three times to try and make it arrive quicker. My heart is racing and I’m losing control.
I fall into my car and put my head into my hands. Tears fill my eyes and I sob out loud.
I’m in a dark place.
Help me.
Bree
I’m sitting in the café with Frances. We have lunch twice a week.
I still adore her, despite it now being two months since Julian and I broke up.
I miss him every single day.
To the outside world, he seems fine, but I can see in his eyes that he’s not.
I can’t help him. He needs to work through this, whatever this is.
His mother told me he’s been seeing a therapist twice a week, and not the kind who gets on her knees. A real one. One who I hope is getting through to him. I want him happy, he deserves to be happy.
My email pings.
Julian Masters
Requests the company of
Bree Johnston
Occasion: Conversation.
Date: 31st September
Time: 7 PM
Place: Room 612: Rosewood London
Dress code: Ears
Dear God, he wants to talk.
I raise my hand to knock on the door, hesitating and closing my eyes.
I’m so nervous, I feel sick. I have no idea what today is about. Because it’s here at our hotel, I’m hoping it may be about us on a personal level, but I’m well aware that he may just want to fire me without the children overhearing.
But it is our Thursday, and it is 7:00 p. m.
I have hope.
I drop my shoulders, exhale, and I knock.
Knock, knock, knock.
The door opens and there he stands, dressed in a navy suit. He towers over me as his big brown eyes hold mine.
“Hello,” he says softly. “Thanks for coming.”
He gestures to the room and I walk past him to step inside.
My heart beats like crazy.
Being this close to him and the smell of his aftershave brings back so many memories. I can already feel the lump in my throat beginning to close over.
Don’t cry.
Don’t beg.
I wring my hands in front of me as his eyes hold mine. “How are you?” he asks.
I nod, unable to speak properly. “I’m okay,” I whisper in a barely there voice.
He runs his hand through his hair, his pause creating tension.
“Thank you for staying for the children.” His eyes drop to the carpet. “It would have been easier for you to leave.”
“I couldn’t leave them.”
His eyes rise to meet mine. “But you left me.” “I had to.”
“It’s been… difficult,” he admits.
“For me, too.” I tear up, unable to hold it in any longer. “I miss you,” I whisper.
He presses his lips together and nods, clearly struggling to speak, but I feel that he has so much to say to me. The room is heavy and silent. I know I’m going to have to lead this conversation. He’s clearly unable to. I take his hand in mine and I lift it closer to my mouth.
He watches me, his eyes become glazed, his pain palpable.
My face falls at his upset. “Baby,” I whisper as I take him in my arms. “Don’t look at me like that.” I hold him tight, and he clings to me as if his life depends on it.
“I can’t fucking stand being without you,” he whispers into my hair.
I smile sadly, and I kiss his lips. His face screws up against mine.
“Oh, Julian,” I whisper as I stare up at him, cupping his face in my hand. He’s so hurt.
“I’ve been working through things and…” His voice trails off. “I’m trying.”
“I know you are.”
Why am I doing to us?