I wake to an empty bed. Stretch. Open my eyes to the light shining in through the window. And that makes me sad, because I’m remembering my brother. There won’t be any more sunrises for him. No more morning coffee. No more living. He’s dead. I buried him.
And it fucking hurts.
Guilt eats me up, swallows me like a hungry monster. I know that’s how his addiction treated him. He had no control. All he had was his next fix. His addiction was an unforgiving disease. I can’t help but wonder if there was something I could’ve done differently, a choice I should’ve made that would’ve kept him alive. I can’t think of one. He wanted to be fucked up. It suppressed his pain, took away the anger and hate he felt for my parents. He blamed them for his shitty life. He chose not to live. The only one who suffered was him. And me.
Fuck! I pull the pillow over my head, blocking out the sun, wishing I could block out the pain.
He fucked up his life all by himself. Sure, I could blame my parents, too. They weren’t great. In fact, they were the opposite of great. But at some point I have to take responsibility for my life. I choose to live, to survive. Up until a couple of months ago that meant fucking men for money. Somehow I hadn’t allowed that part of my life to take over. My brother needed to do that too. Only he never did. I can’t blame him. And I know I shouldn’t blame myself either.
I pull John’s pillow to my body. It smells like his soap and aftershave and I inhale deeply, wishing he were here, wishing his mouth would cover mine and our tongues would entwine as well as our bodies. Then I could forget for a while. I could be engulfed in pleasure instead of the fucking all-consuming pain.
John is back at work. Filming is proceeding as scheduled. Scarlett is doing all her own scenes. It turns out she didn’t like the way everyone raved about the scene John and I did together. She believes she can do better. Highly unlikely, but I’m happy she’s decided to give it a shot. Shining in front of the cameras isn’t my thing. It’s John’s. And I’m cool with that. He’s good at it.
I’m meeting him on set today after I stop in at the office. The other partners in Zane’s production company were skeptical of me and my role in the company at first, but we’ve come to an understanding. They’ve seen I have a knack for it. This job is exciting—much more exciting than prostitution.
Three days after Zane left I went to the police station and picked up the money and all of the paperwork regarding Zane’s house, his production company, and my brother’s information. The officer who returned everything to me seemed shocked at the turnaround time.
I’d taken the million-dollar check to the bank and opened an account, then was informed it would be two weeks before I could access it because they needed to make sure the check cleared.
Cruze says I can stay with him as long as I like. It’s been fun living in the hotel. Cruze is a good lover. A good man. It’s obvious he has feelings for me.
I’m still not sure how I feel about him. I mean, I like him, sure. But between my brother dying and Zane leaving, my emotions are all over the place.
I get up, go to the bathroom, and turn on the water in the shower. After I pee I get in, allowing the hot water to beat against my head and shoulders. It’s relaxing, but it’s when I’m alone like this that thoughts of Zane pull at my heart.
He’d called me while I was at the gravesite. “We’re meant to be together. Our bodies. Our hearts. Our souls. You know that.”
Did I?
The last time we were together fills me up with desire. It makes my pussy wet. I can’t help but groan. I fucking want him. I want him to slide his huge cock inside me. I want to come undone around him. But it isn’t possible. He’s gone. He left and I’m with Cruze now.
I sense things aren’t right with Cadence. Last night
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