Withering Rose

            The rain was coming down heavy, the torrential rainstorm leaving the streets flooded and undrivable for those with tiny compact cars. I watch from my third story apartment window, my laptop in my lap, the story I began writing weeks ago left untouched. That’s the thing about writer’s block; you have this quick, unexpected inspiration for a story. Then, once you start, your mind battles with you, it goes blank, ideas dry out. I’ve been needing something to kickstart the creative part of my mind. Lately, with my marriage starting to fail, the distance that has started to come between us, has put me in a depressive empty mood.             I had married young, a clear mistake that I had agreed to when I was fresh out of high school. Our two-year marriage has quickly become a puddle of muck. Disgusting, dirty muck. While I have been wanting to fix whatever has gone wrong between us, it is one sided. There hasn’t been any effort on his part. Deep down, I know he is cheating on me. All those long nights at work, staying late when I know there is no reason for him to. His business has been crumbling, falling apart slowly for the past few years. He is significantly older than me, there is a ten-year difference between us. I had kept him a secret until I was eighteen; when we met, I was seventeen and working as a waitress at one of the high-ranking restaurants. That was the best way to make decent money as a teenager, the tips I would bring home would be about five hundred dollars a night. A majority of it went into my savings for college, that was always my plan: college.             Our first interaction with each other wasn’t that great, it had been a busy night and the restaurant was shorthanded. I was weaving in and out of tables, trying to take orders and hand out trays of food. Of course one of those snobby rich girls from my school was there, she was sitting at the table to the left of him, and when I walked by she stuck her foot out tripping me and the food that I was bring over to another table landed squarely on his lap. Thankfully, he wasn’t angry at me, but her. He had witnessed the whole thing, and when my manager came out and told me to give him all the tips I had made that night to cover all the food that had been wasted, he had stood up for me and my manager to change the girl who had intentionally caused the disaster. Little did I know that the man I had accidently spilt all the food on was the CEO of The Human Restoration Corporation, a company that spent its time helping the homeless rebuild their lives by providing them with small homes that don’t require p*****t until their sixth month of having a stable job. He has a lot of respect from many people in the city that I live in, therefore when he requests someone to do something, they typically do it without question.             That night he had stayed until my shift was over, then he took me for coffee at the local coffee shop that was open all hours. I didn’t really have to be home considering my mother worked a lot of hours at the hospital. She knew I was responsible, so there was no curfew set for me. At the coffee shop, we talked for a couple of hours. I didn’t think I could like someone so easily, he was charming, had a beautiful smile and had amazing aspirations. He seemed pretty impressed with my plans and didn’t shy away when I told him I was only seventeen.             After that night, he made regular trips to the restaurant and even made a note of my schedule. After each shift, it was tradition to go to the coffee shop to talk. He seemed so interested in me, my personality amazed him. I was so young, but my soul was old and down to earth. He didn’t kiss me until six months after we met, and I had never felt so lit on fire. It was like fireworks has been lit up all over my body. The feeling was addicting, something that I craved. When I graduated college, I got accepted to some of the best colleges, I even had scholarships that would have covered all of tuition for my first two years. But he paid it all, without even asking me, which I was not happy about. Most people would have been grateful for it, and don’t get me wrong I was, but it felt wrong. We fought about it, and I didn’t talk to him for a few days. I never felt so emotionally drained, I felt so broken because I thought that was it and he was going to leave me. But he showed up to my front door and took me to dinner. We talked about it, and I expressed how I felt, and he understood. He was the same way when he had graduated from high school. He told me he didn’t want me to struggle the way that he had.             Now, here I am, twenty-years-old, a loveless marriage and a bachelor’s degree in literature. I graduated at the top of my class, and he was proud of me at the time, I just don’t know what happened to us. I could write a novel about this s**t. I look at my phone and the time reads 1:59 am. I sign and a lone tear trickles down my face. What happened to us?             Suddenly, I hear the front door unlock, and I know its him. I quickly wipe away the evidence. I close my laptop, and leave the room to greet him, but not in the way I usually do. I watch as he sets his briefcase by the front door and he loosens his tie. Usually, I just grab his things and put them away for him. But tonight, is different. I walk up to him and I hug him, his body goes rigid, his muscles tense. I almost expect him to shove me off. “I’m sorry for anything that I have done wrong,” I tell him, “If you would like me to move out, I will be out tomorrow.”             His body relaxes and his arms go around me, I feel my eyes start to water, my reserve melting away, and the tears start to pour out. He rubs little circle on my back, and I feel him slightly start shaking and I know he’s crying, too. “I don’t want you to leave,” he says, “but we should talk, and you can decide if you want to.”             I pull back and look at him questioningly, he motions towards the couch and we go and sit down. He pauses before he tells me what he needs to say. He tells me that his father’s debt has been passed to him, the gambling debt that he racked up over forty years. He tells me that his father was murdered by the men who he had owed millions to due to the lack of p*****t. He tells me that he has kept me at a distance to protect me, that he can’t be touched without the media being drawn in, it would be too much publicity. That my life has been threatened by these people because they know that by killing me, my husband will be broken and vulnerable. “Tyler,” I whisper, my voice cracking, “you could have told me sooner. Did you forget who I am? I am an international bestselling author; don’t you think my death would bring unwanted attention as well? Just because these idiots think I’m some nobody, doesn’t mean I am. You know that better than anyone.”             My husband laughs a little, he turns towards me and kisses me long and deep. A moan escapes my mouth, relief from knowing the truth overwhelms me. I climb onto his lap, straddling him. His arms automatically wrap around my waist and he pulls me closer, the friction from his quick erection making me gasp. His arms slide down my back and he grips my ass hard, and my n*****s harden from my excitement. He picks me up and brings me into the bedroom, he throws me onto the bed and I squeal. He climbs on top of me and kisses me hard. The urge to have him in me is strong and I need him, I need him now. I rip his shirt open and the buttons pop off and fly in different directions.             Tyler chuckles, amused, “That was my favorite shirt.” “That’s too bad, I guess I’ll have to get you a new one,” I reply. He pulls off my shorts and underwear in one swift movement, before he can unbuckle his belt, I beat him to it. Once his pants are down, I throw my shirt off, and he throws his boxers on the ground. I grab his erection firmly in my hand and I love the way his eyes flutter closed and he groans. I smile and take him fully into my mouth, my eyes watch him. His eyes fly open and his hand grabs the back of my head. I take him to the back of my throat and he holds me there for a few seconds. “f**k!” He moans. “Yes, baby, god that’s so good.” I start sucking up and down his shaft, and he uses his hand to make the motion faster. Then, he pulls me back and reaches for my throat. He pushes me back onto the bed, and he positions himself at my entrance and he watched my face as he slams into me. I cry out from the sensation that I have been craving for months. From the lack of s*x we’ve had, the feelings almost feels foreign. He fills and stretches me, the pain and pleasure almost makes me bust right then. He pulls out slowly and slams back into me, and my hands fly up to his back, I dig my nails into his skin pulling him closer. “Tell me what you want baby,” he hisses in my ear. “More,” I whimper. “More what, baby?” “Please, faster!” I moan. He continues the slow pleasurable assault, when he knows I can’t take it anymore, he quickens his pace and each hard thrust brings me closer and closer to my tipping point. “Come for me, baby,” he moans in my ear. I clench at his words, spilling over, my nails dig deeper into his back as I cry out his name, at the sound of my cry he reaches his release and his lips crash to mine. Then, his body relaxes into mine. After a few minutes, he slowly pulls out of me and get up. He picks me up and takes me to the large bathroom. The only thoughts in my head was that we needed this, we needed each other, the reassurance that he still loved me and his reassurance that I wasn’t going to slip through his fingers and disappear on him.