AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I was so mad at my mother. At least, I was mad at something I can’t exactly pinpoint. I’m frustrated and angry, and I’m exhausted from pretending I like this contract.
I hate it. If I had a paper version of it, I’d stand in front of Wilder and shove every piece of it in the running garbage disposal, turn on the water, and laugh. I take my phone out at work and scroll through the contract while I’m reshelving books, leaning over the cart and squinting at the screen. I lose track of time while I look at it. Am I looking for an exit clause? Something to show that we really don’t have to break up on February fifteenth?
The funny thing is that I don’t know why I hate it. It’s not like I need or even want a boyfriend right now. Boyfriends have never been a priority, and I still have another year of school. In fact, I should be studying for school right now but can only focus on Wilder. Final exams are coming up, and I’ve stayed at the library to study after I was done with my shift. I could study at my dining room table, but Wilder’s too tempting when I’m at home. Even if I’m not tempted by sex, my eyes still follow him around the apartment as he makes dinner or cleans the sink for me, watching his shoulders move or enjoying the slight, perpetual smile on his face. I like wondering what he’s smiling about, mostly because I like seeing him happy.
It's not just me. I feel his eyes on me when I sit and watch TV, looking away when I turn toward him. He still does nice things for me like folding my laundry when I’ve been gone all day, and we still kiss hello and goodbye. I can’t help but feel like we’re going through the motions, though.
We’ve had sex since what I refer to in my head as the Thanksgiving incident. It’s been different, though. Cold. It’s still good, and he pleases me every single time, sometimes working a long time and dropping to his knees mid-fuck to take care of me with his mouth, but we handle each other with emotional kid gloves. There’s no gazing into each other’s eyes as he moves above me like the first week we had sex. There are no whispered names, both of us being careful not to refer to each other as actual people we know during sex. Something about my outburst at Thanksgiving made us both realize we’re getting way too emotional with each other when our relationship is not end game. We’re like strangers going through the motions, and I hate it.
In fact, I’m tired of it.
“My work party is coming up. Will you still go with me?” I ask, trying to turn on the cheer in my voice.
Wilder turns to face me and stops drying the dish he has in his hand. He slings the dish towel over his shoulder and scowls. “Why wouldn’t I go?”
“You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed something’s changed between us.”
He sighs and places the dish in the correct cabinet, slowly stacking it neatly before turning to me. “Are you mad at me? Do you want me to leave?”
“No!” I shout. He startles and gives a small smile. “I don’t want you to leave. I like having you here.”
“I thought you were mad at me. There was something in your voice at your family dinner. Annoyance or something.” He picks up another wet dish from the drainer and circles the towel over it. “I mean, I’m sure Heather was pissing you off, and I know I can be a lot during cuffing season…”
My head jolts up from where I was looking at my feet. “What do you mean you know you can be a lot? How many cuffing partners have you had?”
His eyes widen like he’s a kid whose been caught stealing candy bars. Stomping over to him, air moves in and out of my nostrils like I’m a charging bull. “How many cuffing season partners have you had?” I ask, jabbing him in the chest with my index finger.
Wilder grabs my finger and pushes it down just as his cheeks redden. I’ve never seen him angry. He’s always been the picture of calm. If I didn’t know that he didn’t do drugs, I’d think he was stoned half the time.
This must be him angry. A red face. Clenched teeth. But his eyes have the slightest look of both shock that he let something slip and fear that I’m not sure what to do with. Is he scared because I’ll kick him out and he’ll have to stay with Gus? Is he scared I’ll break our contract?
“I’ve cuffed a couple of times before.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s none of your business. That’s between them and me.”
I step back from him, and his look changes in a second. His face relaxes, his shoulders slump, and he reaches for me. “Savannah, they don’t matter.”
Somehow, that hurts more. “Like I won’t matter to you after February, right? Like none of this will matter?” I ask, spinning around my kitchen, my arms out.
“It’s not like that.”
“Then tell me how it is!” I yell and cross my arms over my chest. I squeeze my mouth shut because the neighbors will call the police if I keep yelling.
He rubs his face and rolls his neck like I’m the most annoying nag on the planet. If I was annoyed with myself before, I hate myself now. “Honestly, I don’t know why it’s different with you. It just is. Isn’t that enough?”
“Is it enough that you say it’s different? No.”
“You don’t trust that I may actually like you more than them?”
Thoughts of sex with him roll through my head. The positions he’s taught me. The feel of an orgasm moving up my spine like I’ve never felt, even with my own hand. Did he do those things with them?
I pinch my nose and look down. “Why do I suddenly feel so cheap and used?”
He steps toward me, even as I take a step back. “Savannah…”
“No!” I say, holding up my hand to him. “I have finals next week, and I can’t think about this. Can you stay in the guest room tonight?”
