I still make him worried
Dora’s pov
The next morning, the sun rose bright and cool, as if it knew about the passion we’d shared the night before. I lay on my stomach, naked, the quilt barely covering my hips and chest. My hair spilled over my back, moving softly with the breeze. A small moan escaped my lips as the cool air made me shiver, my eyes fluttering open for just a second.
Even though my eyes felt heavy, my other senses were wide awake. I could hear birds singing outside. I could smell him, that strong, familiar scent that always made my heart race. My skin tingled, and my heart beat faster, as if it knew he was close. Then it hit me. My mind caught up, and I remembered everything. The heat, the passion, the way we’d come together last night. But also the truth: this was the same man who wanted to leave me. The same man who had walked away without telling me why.
How? When? Why? I scolded myself in my head, but I couldn’t ignore the warm, happy feeling inside me. For the first time in so long, I felt... whole. Complete. Why did I feel like I was falling in love all over again?
My body ached, but it was a good ache. The kind that reminded me of how alive I felt. I opened my eyes, but the sunlight was too bright, forcing me to shut them again. In that quick moment, though, I saw him, Austin. He stood by the window, his strong back turned to me, wearing only his pants. I couldn’t see his face or guess what he was thinking.
I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and slowly sat up, pulling the quilt around me. It felt silly to cover myself now. After last night, he’d seen every part of me.
“I see you’re still the same whore you were back then.”
His words shattered the quiet peace I’d been holding onto. My breath caught in my throat. He didn’t mean that, did he? I stared at his back, hoping I’d heard wrong. But his next words crushed me.
“A desperate woman like you, who sleeps with her ex-husband, probably sleeps with any man.” He turned to face me, his eyes cold and hard.
My world fell apart. His words hurt more than anything, and I couldn’t stop the tears streaming down my face. My chest heaved as I struggled to breathe, his harsh stare making me feel like I was choking. I held the quilt tighter, as if it could protect me from the shame.
He walked toward me, slow and steady, his eyes locked on mine. “I was right to divorce you,” he said, his voice cold.
When he reached me, he wiped my tears with his thumb, but there was no kindness in his touch. Only a smirk. “How much do you charge for a night?” he asked, his voice full of disgust.
“Oh, now you can’t talk? Last night, you were screaming my name like a slut, enjoying every bit of pleasure I gave you. I never knew you were such a hungry little kitten.”
His words hit me like a slap. I quickly lowered my gaze, unable to bear the disgust in his eyes. My hands clutched the quilt tighter, and I crawled back, trying to put distance between us. But his words weren’t the worst part, it was the way he looked at me. His stare cut deeper than any insult.
Austin leaned over to the bedside drawer and pulled something out. “Here,” he said, his voice cold. “Take an extra 200 bucks for the sake of our old times.” He grabbed my hand roughly and shoved the money into my palm.
Something inside me broke. I was panting, my trembling hands gripping the quilt like it was the only thing holding me together. I swallowed the lump in my throat, staring at the money in my hand. After everything he’d done, after he’d tricked me into that abortion, I’d promised myself I’d never cry in front of him again. But this? This shattered me. My body shook, and my eyes felt hollow, like all the life had been drained out of me.
“I’m sorry for everything,” I whispered, my voice cracking.
“Do I look like I care about your apology?” he snapped. “I’m going to the bathroom, and I don’t want to see your face when I come back. Get out. Now.”
I flinched. To stop myself from sobbing, I bit down on my lip and curled deeper into the bed. Without a second glance at my broken form, Austin turned and walked into the bathroom.
The moment the door slammed shut, I heard him storm over to the sink. He’d been holding back his anger, but now it exploded. The sound of his fist hitting the mirror over and over echoed through the room.
“Shit! Dammit!” he snarled.
I could almost hear his thoughts, even through the door. How could I lose control? How could I make love to her after everything she’s done? Why do her tears make my chest hurt? Why do I feel guilty seeing her like this?
But then his anger flared again. She can act like a slut when I’m not around, but when I call her one, she acts hurt? What a hypocrite. His mind raced, remembering how seductive I’d looked last night, and how that other man had been looking at me. It had driven him mad.
Only he knows how he held himself back, seeing me lying there in his bed, wrapped in nothing but a quilt. My skin, marked with his hickeys, seemed to taunt him, daring him to take me again. It took all his self-control to hide how much he still wanted me, even as he hurled insults at me. He wasn’t really angry at me, he was mad at himself for letting me still have this hold over him. And he took it all out on me. Little did he know, his words broke me into pieces.
I heard him open the shower faucet, the cold water rushing down as he tried to calm his fury. My mind raced, imagining his hands moving over his body, remembering the way he’d touched me. He knew he’d gone too far, that he shouldn’t have lashed out at me. But his pride wouldn’t let him admit it. The memory of my trembling lips and the marks he’d left on my neck seemed to haunt him, even as it made the possessive part of him smirk in satisfaction.
Once his anger faded, he thought about apologizing, if his ego would let him. At the very least, he planned to drop me home since the place was far from the city. But when he stepped out of the bathroom, the room was empty. His eyes darted around until they landed on a note on the bedside drawer. He rushed to it, grabbing it quickly.
“You did the right thing by divorcing a whore.”
A small spot on the note caught his attention, a tear stain.
Panic set in. He grabbed the first clothes he could find and bolted out of the house, a sinking feeling in his chest. Something wasn’t right. Something terrible was about to happen.
“Fuck, fuck!” he growled, seeing the corridor empty. I wasn’t carrying my phone or my dress, the same dress that could make any man’s head turn. The apartment was on the outskirts of the city, with no transportation nearby. He raced down the stairs and sprinted toward the parking lot.
“Fuck, Dora,” he muttered to himself, starting the car. “After all these months of staying away from you, you still make me worry.”
To make things worse, it started pouring rain. As he drove out of the main gate, he spotted a small figure walking in the distance. Relief fell on him, it was me.
“Thank God,” he whispered.
But his relief didn’t last long. A car pulled up beside me, and in the next second, I was gone.
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