Raw and Broken Ch. 03

I thought of how sculpted he always looked without his shirt on. How long it had been since I'd seen his bare abs. An addendum to our agreement had been to be abstinent. To work on rebuilding our relationship beyond the sex. Nine months seemed like a lifetime, and it made me groan inwardly. Especially when I realized it would only get harder as I got bigger over that same period of time.

My eyes dropped to my husband's ass, currently cloaked in a pair of khaki shorts. I'd forgotten already what it felt like to grip him there while he made love to me. To actually have endearing sexual relations. Fucked? Yes. That was a week ago. Made love? It had been months. I stifled a whimper and turned my attention back to Becca.

Lunch was fresh crab at an Irish pub. Then we critiqued the sand castle art from a recent competition, which lightened the mood. After we browsed in the souvenir shops, we stopped to watch the sun set.

Overall, it was a relaxing day. Yet, I felt exhausted. Overwhelmed with emotions.

Once we returned to the house, I said I'd had too much sun and retired to my room. Drake gave me a soft kiss on the forehead, his hands gently cupping my shoulders. He said he was flying to California Sunday morning. He hated to leave so soon, but he felt better now that we had the foundations of a plan. And he'd be back by the end of the week.

I lay in bed with the evening breeze blowing across my face. I could not wrap my mind around the fact that this was my life now. I had thought everything was perfect when I was dating Drake. Getting married wasn't supposed to change that except to maybe make it even better. How wrong I'd been. Before I fell asleep, I vowed that we would talk more. It may have prevented all of this.

Sunday was overcast, which was fitting for the end of the weekend. As Drake's rental car drove off into the morning light and we waved goodbye, Malcolm turned to me. "I'm proud of you, Daphne. You can do this."

My bottom lip trembled, my voice hoarse as I spoke. "But what if after all we do, he doesn't—"

"Shh." Becca gave me a sideways hug. "Have faith, Daphne. Have faith."

###

Even though Drake was gone, I decided to get a head start on talking to a professional. Malcolm and Becca gave up their appointment on Monday afternoon so I could meet with their psychiatrist. I insisted Becca go with me for the first visit. While she stayed in the waiting room, just knowing she was there helped to calm my nerves.

She had already filled me in on details of her experience with the doctor. How I shouldn't feel pressured to open up right away, and to not feel nervous if the doctor was quiet herself. I took her words to heart.

Although I had planned to just share the generalities of my relationship—that I'd married a guy my best male friend had introduced me to, he'd cheated on me just before our wedding, and he'd unknowingly become best buds with an abusive ex-boyfriend of mine—I found myself needing to explain in great detail the moment the doctor asked me if I was jealous of Becca because she had married the guy I considered my savior.

When I said the thought had never occurred to me, the doctor asked if I was suppressing my feelings. That maybe I wanted the life that Becca had, so I was acting out just to be around Malcolm. Was this really the unobtrusive doctor that Becca had seen?

I couldn't stop the words that poured from my mouth. How dare she claim I was pretending! I was forever grateful for all that Malcolm had done for me during those turbulent times after Jimmy. For helping me see that I didn't need a man to complete me but it was okay to want a man beside me. And ultimately, for introducing me to Drake. To Becca. Not to mention for encouraging me to not give up on my husband.

I was breathing hard by the end of the session, my heart spilled out like the potpourri scattered in the decorative tray on the coffee table between us. I'd not left one detail out since meeting Jimmy to drugging Drake so I could fly across the country. All of the anger in me at being accused of playing the victim slowly turned into confusion as I saw the smile on the doctor's face.

As Becca drove me back to her house, I chewed on the doctor's parting words. She was proud of me for standing up for myself. For not letting her belittle me. And for ultimately knowing what was wrong with my relationship and wanting to try to fix it, even if it wasn't successful.

When Becca asked how the session went, I just told her it was fine. The doctor seemed nice, and I'd made another appointment. Then I turned and stared out the window, smiling to myself.

###

Drake returned Friday with his plan in action. He was able to get a good deal on the smallest beach house—the same one the group of older couples I had seen on the beach had rented—but it wouldn't be available until after the weekend. So that meant he was spending the next few days with us.

He'd also arranged to work from home—the marketing job, not the porno film consulting, which he'd also cut ties with—and would fly back to California occasionally if needed. He explained that his job mostly consisted of doing research and attending meetings, both of which could be accomplished online. However, his temporary relocation had given his new boss the necessary leverage to proceed with a possible expansion project on the East Coast. So Drake was afforded the task to start networking and see what the company's options were.

I informed him of the regular appointments to see the psychologist twice a week, both individually and as a couple. And we agreed to have meals together with Malcolm and Becca every night for awhile until we were comfortable eating with just the two of us. It would be awkward being married yet separated, but it was a necessary evil for the time being.

All four of us spent our first Saturday as East Coasters—however short-term that was for Drake and I—on the beach, enjoying the end of summer. That night, Malcolm disappeared with my husband out to the porch to grill the meat while Becca and I made the rest of dinner. She took the knife away from me, though, when she saw my hand shaking and told me to stir the garlic and butter in the pan instead of chopping the vegetables.

I watched Drake through the kitchen window. Wishing he'd turn around and catch me while also wanting to secretly soak in the vision of him. More than once, I found myself rubbing my belly. Fighting back tears as I wondered if the three of us would ever be here in the future, happily visiting Malcolm and Becca.

I lay awake that night knowing my husband was just down the hall. Despite our agreement to abstain from sex—and the constant reminders in my head of what he'd done—I missed him madly. My submissive side ached for him, wanted to go to him and kneel before him. To accept his apology so we could be together, as if that was the only thing preventing us from being whole again. And surprisingly, a small part of me silently willed him to search me out, to beg again for my forgiveness.

Neither happened.

Come Monday morning, he moved into the rental house. Although it was just a few hundred feet across the blacktop, it was as if he was thousands of miles away again. And I felt a strange loneliness creep in. Just like I had the first two weeks I was out here. I'd wanted distance from Drake, yet as soon as I got it, I was miserable. But I knew I would survive.

August turned into September. Malcolm was teaching at his new job. Becca kept busy writing. Drake managed his project from his laptop for the most part. And I slipped into my old role of housekeeper.

Cleaning gave me a sense of purpose as well as a way to repay Malcolm and Becca for their hospitality. Becca reminded me not to over do it in my condition. Malcolm said more than once that I was spoiling them and the house had never looked so good. He also said I shouldn't do such a fine job or his wife was going to want to hire a maid after I was gone. It was both a compliment and a reminder that this was not a permanent arrangement. Sooner or later, I would either be back with Drake or off on my own.

The evenings were mostly spent on the porch taking turns listening to each other. Doctor's orders. Malcolm and Becca gave us our space, but they were always nearby as our silent chaperones.

Drake and I seemed to talk more than we ever had. We mostly discussed our pasts. He explained his experiences as a Dominant prior to meeting me. I admitted what Jimmy had done both that night at dinner and back when I had been dating him. We'd had a good cry together after that conversation.

We also shared our hopes for the future. Our dreams. Our baby.

He admitted more than once that he was scared about being a father. One night, I said that I agreed, I was scared for him, too, which made him chuckle. I'd missed that sound, and I told him as much. His smile warmed me inside as the sun set and a cool breeze blew in off the water. He tucked my hair behind my ear, staring into my eyes. I tried to read in his own expression what he was thinking, but he sat back and changed the topic.

It was the first intimate—yet non-sexual—moment we'd shared in weeks. A reminder that there was more to us than carnal desire. I saw it as a sign that we were definitely moving in the right direction.

My morning sickness was completely gone by October. I was also starting to show. Becca thought it was a great opportunity to go shopping. I agreed to buy some maternity clothes, but I put my foot down on getting anything for the baby. The more I bought now, the more I would eventually have to pack up and move later.

The longer I stayed with Malcolm and Becca, the more I realized I wanted to return home. The problem was, that word seemed foreign to me. I felt displaced. Those who I now considered my family were no longer in Chicago, the place I swore would always be where I would return to no matter where life took me. And I hadn't felt completely comfortable in California.

So where did I belong? And did I still belong with Drake? Our sessions with the psychologist always went well, and we were making great strides in repairing what I though may have been broken forever. But it was still too soon to tell if we were completely salvageable. Becca said to have faith. I was sticking with keeping my expectations low.

###

It was the first week of November when fate intervened again.

Drake had flown back to California for a big meeting Monday morning to present his findings on the possible expansion, and he would be gone all week. I had a counseling session on Tuesday and was feeling a little lightheaded when I got out of the car back at the house. I was used to my sister-in-law pampering me, so I didn't argue when Becca led me upstairs to my room on the second floor and helped me into bed. She shut the blinds and tucked the blankets around me before closing the door and casting the room into welcoming darkness.

I dreamt I was floating on a raft in a calm pool. The sun was warm on my face, my fingers dangling in the cool water. Suddenly, Drake was standing beside me. He was smiling down at me, and I felt him trickle water up my leg, giving me goosebumps.

I held my breath as his hand inched upwards, his wet fingers smoothing over my flat stomach. Brushing the underside of my breast in the bikini top. Reaching up to caress my cheek.

I turned into his touch. Felt his hand guiding mine beneath the skimpy bottoms of my bathing suit. Between my legs where I was hot and wet.

The dream faded away, and in a partial daze, I realized I was stroking myself through my shorts. I had touched myself quite frequently since my relocation to the East Coast, usually as a result of a dream. I missed the touch of my husband. The extreme intimacy we'd shared. I didn't think twice about achieving orgasm while we were apart. While we'd agreed Drake and I wouldn't have sex for now, it was never mentioned that we would abstain when we were alone, too. I wondered if Drake thought of me. If he masturbated as well.

I maneuvered so I could unzip my shorts and slide my hand into my panties. Biting my lower lip to muffle the noises eager to escape, I stroked my fingers through my pussy, trying to remember the dream. Thinking about how turned on I seemed to have gotten this time. My hand felt so wet. There was a slight discomfort in my back, but I adjusted and spread my legs wider, willing myself to reach climax.

Once the convulsions ceased and my muscles relaxed, I groaned, feeling the need to pee. And clean myself up. I must have squirted. I'd never been able to do that on my own, although Drake was able to coax it out of me at times. I felt I'd reached a milestone. I couldn't wait to tell him this weekend...to find out what he would say when I admitted what I'd been doing in his absence.

I padded across the shadow-laden room and stepped into the hallway. It was brighter out there, reminding me that it was still daylight. I stumbled a little, not fully recovered from my nap or orgasm.

I put my right hand out to catch myself against the wall. Then I blinked at the red marks I left behind. I glanced down and saw the dark streak on my leg. I stumbled again and fell to the floor, holding my red-stained fingertips before my face. My vision blurred, my mouth went dry.

It took several tries before I could hear myself speak. It started very soft, and I was hyperventilating by the time I was screaming Becca's name. Calling out like a child who'd had a nightmare or was sick and was trying to wake her mother in the middle of the night.

There were footsteps. Then Becca screamed as well. She yelled out to Malcolm. Her hand gripped mine, and I rested my head against her chest, closing my eyes.

We sat in the hall while I heard Malcolm call an ambulance. I mumbled something about ruining their carpet. Becca just held me until the paramedics arrived, shushing me. Rocking me back and forth. Whispering words of comfort. But they did little to quell the feelings inside that something was horribly wrong. This was way more than the spotting the obstetrician said I may have.

As I was loaded onto a stretcher, I recalled seeing Becca in that same position almost a year ago after our collaring ceremony. We'd thought she'd had a heart attack. It had just been anxiety. I tried to convince myself that my situation wasn't as bad as it seemed.

Becca climbed up to sit beside me in the ambulance. Malcolm was standing with one of the EMTs. I overheard him talking with someone, presumably Drake.

"You need to get back here. Now. I think Daphne had a miscarriage."

His words made me cry harder. I wasn't overreacting. This wasn't a panic attack.

When he ended his call, Malcolm reached into the ambulance and gently squeezed my foot. "You're going to be okay, Daphne. Drake is on his way. Just hang in there."

The sounds of the sirens as we took off helped drown out the little voice in my head. I knew it must be wrong. But I couldn't help thinking I may have just lost the one thing that was preventing Drake from leaving me forever.

~ H