The Other Woman |Charlie Barber x Reader|

~Session Two~

It had been several days now and your mind was still reeling with the events of that fateful Sunday. How things had managed to escalate so quickly, you had know idea. The one thing you knew was the vivid memory of kneeling on the bathroom for Charlie Barber was still burning inside of you.

There were so many questions racing through you, you could barely concentrate on normal tasks. Even going grocery shopping was a chore all by itself. Rows of colorful cereal boxes, aisles with shelves of chilled dairy, the squeak of shopping carts, and the droning of music through worn speakers; none of it could distract you from him. From the man who had forced himself into your life, erased himself from it, and then drew another picture. The man who got you down on your knees in a country club bathroom. Who left you there needy and desperate and utterly confused.

That Charlie Barber. The asshole who left you high and dry. The asshole who Ophelia warned you to stay away from unless you could help it. That man who had just weaseled himself back into the crevices of your imploding mind.

How the hell were you meant to just continue his individual counseling like nothing had happened?

You could have sworn you were losing your mind; you saw him everywhere. Every time a tall, dark-haired man passes you on the street, you practically break your neck looking back at him, only to be conflicted between relief and disappointment. Once in a while, you swear you hear him calling your name from within a crowd.


Ophelia didn't know how dramatically obsessed you had become. She would scold you and come to you later, determined to make you forget all about him. With your luck, he would probably appear wherever you tried to run off to.


Part of you wondered if he was struggling as well. But who were you kidding? Charlie Barber had a fantastic job, a great kid, and a better life. You were a side thought.

Nothing more.

~

"Fuck," Charlie whispers, bracing his hand against the cold shower tile. "Oh, f-fuck."

He could picture you clear as day, squirming beneath him on the sheets. Your hands gripping onto the blanket for dear life. Eyes fluttering shut and lips parted. The way you had chanted his name still lives on in his mind even after a year of not hearing it.

As Charlie's hips buck further into his hand, he imagines your legs wrapping around his waist, drawing him in closer, closer, and closer yet. How tight you would be. How wet. You would scream for him. You would cry and plead. He would kiss you feverishly like you held the key to eternal life with your lips.

With one final pump of his hand, Charlie cums into his fist. The warm water pelts his head, soaking his hair and plastering the locks to his cheeks. Just in the other room, his wife was playing with their son. And he had just jerked off to another woman entirely. There was guilt burning bright in his chest. Especially when he turns off the water and is able to hear his son screeching with joy from the other room.

He wanted nothing more than to see you playing with Henry. You would be good at it, in his imagination. Laying on the ground in a pile of Lego dragons and ninjas. Henry giggling and declaring that his character had the best superpower. You would play along, gladly letting your character die if it meant Henry got to win.

"Charlie!"

Nicole's voice snaps him out of his daydream. He shakes his head, quickly stepping out of the shower with his towel wrapped around his waist. His thunderous reply practically shakes through the room, bouncing off of the tiles and the porcelain. "Yeah?"