Sadie (18+)

Chapter 20

"But why?"

Vincent ran a hand through his disheveled hair, then blew out a sigh. He was still hovering above me, had just pushed my hand away when I touched his belt.

"We just shouldn't," he said. "Let it go, alright? Find your clothes."

But he hadn't looked away from my naked body since I finished below him. In fact, a hard bulge still remained through his jeans, a delicious sight. I was leveled with his face, but I made it a point to peer down at his crotch.

"Look," I said, still unable to breathe normally, nor think rationally. "We'll have a clean slate in the morning."

"No, Sadie. It is the morning, We should stop now."

"Can I just touch you through your pants?" I asked. "I won't go under, I swear." I knew I was sounding desperate and impatient, but the rejection was settling and it didn't feel good.

Vincent was already retrieving his clothes, his face void of emotion. "No."

My eyebrows scrunched together. "Why can't I do what you did for me?"

He ignored me, and so I pushed upward and moved to the front of the car and found my way back to the passenger seat, my bra nowhere to be found. I cupped my breasts as I hunted around, the tension back in full swing. The adrenalin and excitement from our steamy session wore off almost immediately. It was off-putting to see him so cold, as though my presence was suddenly unimportant and even possibly inconvenient to him.

I couldn't bear to look at him now; perhaps this was for the best. I got what I wanted, right? We could both move on now.

After we'd both cleaned up and dressed and I found my bra under the passenger seat, he faced me, his hazel eyes glimmering in the dark. "Do you want me to call you an Uber?"

I shook my head, my throat tightening with each second that passed, gaze fixed on the floor. "I'll be fine."

I wasn't fine, of course. What I wanted was his attention, maybe to snuggle, maybe a stupid hug. I swallowed down the lump in my throat, knowing that would never happen, that it couldn't possibly make sense. I fought the urge to beg for intimacy, to speak my mind with him which I had done so easily in the past, but now felt silenced by his emotional shift.

I waited for a moment, praying for it to not end like this, but the silence only grew thicker, and my heart heavier.

"So that's it, then?" I asked quietly, picking at a piece of skin at the corner of my thumb.

"This will never happen again," he said. "We can't be around each other anymore. It's my fault for bringing you here, for all of this. If you still stay at the house, we can't interact anymore."

My eyes filled with tears, but I let out an incredulous laugh, bordering on insane. "Wow. Fine, if that's what you want."

I let the door slam shut behind me and booked it to my own car across the parking lot. He pulled out and left shortly after I got inside.

Did he even care about me? What if I didn't make it home safe? What if some guy broke into my car and murdered me?

I knew deep down what was happening—I was losing my title. I was no longer just his daughter's best friend, the girl that had been coming over to have sleepovers since she was an immature middle schooler, Oreo crumbs smudged in the corner of her lip. I was now the promiscuous girl that held his dirty secret, the girl that threatened his marriage which had never seemed so fragile until recently.

He would resent me soon, I'm sure. It's not like we haven't avoided each other before, but it'll be worse now. Maybe he really will never talk to me again, never laugh with me, perhaps refuse to acknowledge my presence from now on.

He's going to have to live with this guilt for the rest of his life, and I'm to blame.

He was different already, I could admit. He was kind of mean, and desperate, and when he touched me or looked at me there was always this far-away look, like I wasn't really there. I hadn't thought about it until now, and that made my heart sink deeper into my chest. He used to be nice and funny and sweet, but those qualities have seemed to dry out as our affair had progressed.

I realized I was mourning my life, myself, even mourning Vincent, back to a time when I had yet to be exposed to a crumbling marriage, back when he actually respected me. Now? I'm probably just a piece of meat to him, a distraction from his struggles. Did I cause them, or did he have demons before me?

I took a long and deep sigh, and let the horrible thoughts come and go. Maybe I was still drunk. Maybe I didn't know what the hell I was talking about.

But this changed him, I knew that much.

I screwed up. If I wanted him in my life, I should have never made it sexual. I buried my face in my hands, defeated.

I crawled into the backseat and curled into a shivering ball. I was too tired and sad to drive home, so I willed myself to fall asleep as the icy sun began to rise over the old bar.

I drove home a couple of hours later after the bustle of a Saturday morning woke me. I drove past Julia's house, past Vincent's parked car in the driveway, past the man I had been so vulnerable with and now regretted every single bit of it.

My mother was on the couch still in her pajamas, her presence, for the first time in a while, bringing me comfort. I hadn't cried to her in years, and while I didn't know how she would take it, I couldn't keep my tears from falling the second she looked at me.

"Momma," I cried, my shoulders drooping.

"What happened?" she asked, coming over to me and pulling my jacket off. "What's wrong?"

I would never tell her, of course. I sniffled and shook my head.

"How about some tea with honey?" she asked when she took hold of my hand. "Your skin is so cold."

I nodded and followed her into the kitchen. She was slightly awkward and perhaps out of her element, as moments like these had not happened often, but I appreciated her effort and desperately needed this right now. Maybe she really was changing.

Nonetheless, I needed mothering more than ever right now.