Rose 2.41: Strings

     For weeks, I go through the motions of life. I return to work. I take care of my son. I help Papa with the garden. I even take Lorenzo for a walk in the stroller. People get quiet when I walk by. Then, after I walk away, the talking starts back up again.

     One day after work, I decide to go get a drink before coming home. My papa used to work here. This is where my parents met.
     I tell the bar tender that I'm a recent widower. I didn't have to. He recognizes me. That kind of recognition used to earn me free things or discounts, but not today. I am now infamous. Still, he claims he has the perfect drink for me: a tombstone topper. I don't like his humor, but he assures me it works.

     Amazingly, I discover it does. So, I order another. And another. Perhaps I also have one after that; I stop counting.
     The bar stays empty. This is definitely not tonight's hot spot, but I decide that is a good thing. I like not having a crowd.
     By the time I leave, I feel like I'm walking sideways. I have difficulty keeping my bicycle upright as I go down the road. Somehow, I make it home in one piece.
      Night has already fallen, and I stand outside my house and look at it, memories of my happy childhood greeting me like an old friend. Then, I look over at the little house, and I see Willow's figure pass behind the front window.
      Willow will leave soon. She has been keeping her distance from all of us, which is probably a good idea. I can only guess she eats out frequently. That, or maybe Papa brings her food.
      I stumble my way in her direction. By the time I make it to the little house, I realize she's gotten into the shower. I decide to sit down and wait.

     I hear the door open. While she'd showered, I'd sat and thought thoughts, thoughts how I miss my wife. I miss her flowery scent. I miss how she'd feel beneath me as I'd make love to her.
     I turn my head, and Willow starts like she didn't expect to see me here. I guess she didn't. My eyes lazily drift over her attire, and I decide I really like it.
     "Donovan, what are you doing? I didn't expect to see you." She doesn't try to cover herself.
     I stand up and wobble to her.

     "You're drunk," she points out.
     I look down at the tie holding her robe closed. "Yes. Yes, I am." I need a woman, and the one standing in front of me is oh-so-convenient. That tie taunts me, and I like the taunt.
     "And...you don't want your mother to see?" she asks, probably wondering if that's why I'm here.
     "I don't want my mother to see," I echo. Sure, I don't want her to see me right now, but it's not because I'm drunk. My hand reaches up and runs down one of the strings to the tie on her robe. I don't pull on it, just run my thumb and forefinger along the silken material.
     Willow catches onto my mood. "Donovan..."

       "So soft," I whisper, place one hand on her waist, and lean forward. I kiss her shoulder where the fabric meets the skin and plan to work my way slowly to her neck.
      She takes a shaky breath. "What are you doing? I'm not doing anything to you."
      I chuckle low in my throat. She means she's not using her power to alter my mood. "You think you have to do anything to Don Robles if you walk out of the shower dressed like this?"
      "I'll go change," she offers quickly, but I snap my other hand to her hip, holding her tightly.
      "I like it," I tell her and watch my hand move into her gown's opening to run along the string on her hip. My thumb toys with it, contemplating how I could easily break it. I run my thumb now under the string, moving down to press into her hip socket.
      Willow sounds breathless as she says, "You're not yourself."

     I roughly grab her, jerking her into me, and she gasps in surprise. "I am perfectly myself," I growl to her and run my hands over her, my fingers pressing into her flesh wherever they go.
     "No, you're not," she argues with me. I notice she does nothing to stop me; she only acts surprised. I press harder into her, probably causing her some pain. She squirms, but she still does nothing to stop me.
     I look into her violet eyes and see the guilt she feels. I glare and angrily kiss her, knotting my hand into her hair, balling it in my fist at her neck and jerking it down, bringing her face up so I can own her mouth. She whimpers, finally showing that I'm hurting her.
     I want her, and I think about dragging her to the bedroom.
     No. No beds. I made love to Tiffany in the bed. No beds.

      Instead, I pick her up and dump her on the small couch. Before she can sit up, I'm on top of her, holding her hands above her head.
      "Is this what you want, Willow?" I ask her and press my hips against her. "This is why you've always done that to me."
      "Give it to me, Don Robles. Go ahead."

     I make quick work of the string my thumb had toyed with earlier. I'm rough, and she takes it, thinking she deserves it. I'm so angry with everything that's happened, and I take it out on her body. I don't care how she feels, if she gets anything out of it. She cries out a few times, but not as often as I'd like.
     When I finish, I turn her over and keep holding her down. Slowly, I pull up her robe past her hips, leaving her bare. My hand lands on her ass with a loud crack, and she lifts her head and cries out again.
     "That's what you need, isn't it?" I ask and smack her again, knowing how guilty she feels. I don't wait for an answer but do it again, watching as her skin pinks.
     "Yes," she whispers, and I continue for a long while until she starts truly crying out. Then, I turn her back over and finally untie her robe.
      All the while I had her turned over, I started wanting her again. Still, not wanting to go to the bed, I drag her into the shower.

      It doesn't take me long. Afterwards, I get out of the shower and pick up my jeans. I put them on facing away from her, pick up my shirt, and leave the little house for my bed.

Click here to go to 2.42