Too Late Read online

  I walk upstairs and do the same to that mirror.

  I don’t even want this fucking baby. It’s been inside her since March, and there’s no telling how many times Luke has been inside her since then. Even if it is my baby, he’s already tainted it. Pretty sure fetuses have ears, and every time Luke speaks out loud in the vicinity of Sloan, that baby probably thinks Luke’s fucking disgusting voice is its father.

  When Sloan grows my baby inside her, Luke won’t fucking be around to corrupt my child.

  I walk through every room, finding more things my tiny Jesus-on-a-stick can destroy. Lamps? Done. Vases? Smashed. Jesus-on-a-stick is on a rampage.

  Fucking bitch.

  Fucking baby.

  Fucking Luke.

  Every fucking nice thing I’ve ever had in my life has been destroyed by that man. My empire. The love of my life. My potential child. Everything that’s ever meant anything to me now means absolutely nothing to me because of him.

  When I make it back to the kitchen, I open the bottle and swallow another pill. The sooner I’m able to get this ankle monitor off, the sooner I can destroy what he’s slowly corrupting.

  I’ll be a dad when I’m goddamn ready to be a dad, and it’ll be to a child who isn’t a single goddamn part of that pathetic piece of shit.

  This thing growing inside Sloan right now wasn’t made from love. Even if it’s mine, it wasn’t created innocently. She was allowing another man to corrupt her while I was making love to her at night. If I’d have known that, my dick would have never been inside her. I would have ended her before she went and made all the stupid decisions she’s made. She wouldn’t have had a fucking viable womb capable of creating life if I’d known what she was doing behind my back.

  Now I just need to put a stop to it. I look at the screensaver on my laptop. It’s a screenshot of the moment she put her hands on her belly and smiled down at that fucking abomination. I pull a new chair around and I sit down and change my screensaver. I find a picture of Sloan from back when she was sweet. I make it my screensaver and I stare at it, wondering how she let this happen. How does she still have the audacity to smile when the whore doesn’t even know whose baby is inside her?

  “Fucking whore.” I look down at the crucifix in my hand. “Jesus-on-a-stick, do you want to go on a little road trip with me tomorrow? I know a girl who has some serious repenting to do.”

  In the last two weeks, I’ve cooked and photographed twenty-seven meals. Maybe it’s because I’m trying to keep my mind off the fact that I can’t leave my apartment, but this cookbook idea has completely taken over my thoughts.

  When I’m not thinking about the pregnancy, of course. Which is every other moment.

  I don’t know what I’d do without Luke. Part of me thinks he’s too good to be true. That men like him don’t really exist and that this is all some sort of wishful thinking on my part. I live in constant fear that he was only brought into my life so I would have to endure the pain of him being taken out of it. I hate those thoughts and I try not to think them, but I do. Constantly. I fear losing him more than I fear death.

  But every afternoon when Luke comes home and wraps me in his arms and asks how “we’re” doing, it completely reinforces his claim that this baby is his. No matter who is biologically responsible for the conception, Luke loves it, simply because it’s inside me. That’s enough for him. And somehow, he makes me think it’s enough for me. When I’m actually in Luke’s presence, I feel a sense of self-worth. I feel all the things that Asa stripped from me.

  I don’t know if I’m as good at forgiveness as Luke seems to be. He didn’t even make me feel ashamed, not even for a second. And he continues to remind me of how lucky he is, even though I know it’s the other way around. He always redirects my thoughts when I start to worry about Asa finding out about the pregnancy, or when I worry about the upcoming trial. But when he’s not here, like right now, the only thing that can redirect my thoughts is this cookbook.

  I’m making lasagna tonight. I’m not sticking to a certain type of food, like specifically Italian or Asian. I’m including all of my favorite foods. I’m even including some of Asa’s favorites, like his damn coconut cake. I like that his favorite recipes are going in a cookbook that goes against everything he is as a person. It feels a little like revenge. For every two dollars this cookbook makes, it’s a dollar that helps women who have suffered at the hands of men like Asa.

  So yes, I’m including his stupid fucking coconut cake and his stupid spaghetti and meatballs and even his stupid protein shake that he used to wake me up at the butt-crack of dawn to make for him. As much as I hate all the times he demanded I cook for him, at least some good will come of it. This whole cookbook is like a huge middle finger to Asa Jackson.

  That’s a good idea, actually. I think I’ll incorporate a tiny little hand flipping the bird on all the pages, somehow. A cute little middle-finger emoji.

  When I finish layering the noodles and sauce, I set the pan up to take another picture. I snap a few and then place the pan in the oven.

  “What smells so good?”

  I grip the counter at the sound of his voice.

  Right behind me.

  No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

  It isn’t possible. The door is still dead bolted. All the windows are locked from the inside. I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming.

  I can feel myself slowly sinking to the kitchen floor as my body starts to fail me. I’m going into shock. I can feel it, I can feel it, no, no, no.

  I’m on the floor. I slide my hands through my hair and against my ears, my palms shaking. I try to cover up the sound of his voice. If I don’t hear it, it’s not there. He’s not there. He’s not.

  “Jesus, Sloan.” He’s closer now. “I thought you’d be a little more excited to see me.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, but I can hear him as he hoists himself up onto the counter next to me. I open my eyes and see his feet swinging close to the floor as his legs dangle at my side. There’s no ankle monitor. He wants me to see that. I know how his fucked up mind works.

  How is this happening?

  Where is my phone?

  I feel sick. I force myself to breathe so I don’t pass out from fear.

  “Lasagna, huh?” He tosses something onto the counter. “Never liked your lasagna much. You always used too much tomato sauce.”

  I’m crying now. I scoot away from him, unable to find the strength to stand up. I keep scooting, knowing I won’t get anywhere, but hoping I somehow do.

  “Where you going, baby?” he asks.

  I try to pick myself up off the floor, but as soon as I come to a half-stand, he jumps off the counter and has his arms around me from behind. “Let’s go have a little chat,” he says, lifting me effortlessly off the floor.

  I cry out in fear and a hand immediately clamps over my mouth. “I’m going to need you to be quiet while we chat,” he says, carrying me through the living room and into my bedroom. I still haven’t laid eyes on him yet.

  I won’t.

  I refuse to look at him.

  Luke. Please, Luke. Come home, come home, come home.

  Asa tosses me onto the bed and I immediately begin to crawl to the other side, but he grips my ankle and yanks me back. I’m on my stomach. I try to kick his hand off. I grab at a blanket, a pillow, anything my hands can touch, but my strength does little to defend me against him. In what feels like slow motion, he flips me onto my back and pins my hands down with his knees as he straddles me. He’s sitting on top of me, putting pressure against my stomach, and it’s then that I know he knows. It’s not something I can hide at this point.

  That’s why he’s here.

  I feel his fingers press against my eyelids and he forces them open. When I see his face, he’s smiling. “Hey, beautiful,” he says. “It’s rude not to make eye contact with someone when they’re trying to have a serious conversation with you.”

  He’s fucking insane. And there’s n
othing I can do to protect myself. Nothing I can do to protect my baby.

  I cough up bile with my tears. Despite the fact that he has me pinned to the bed, completely at his mercy, I somehow still have lucid thoughts that flash through my head. Right now, in this second, I’m wondering how my life can mean so much to me. How the thought of dying fills me with so much fear, when just a few months ago, I honestly wouldn’t have cared. I used to pray Asa would just kill me and put me out of my misery. That was back when I had nothing to live for.

  Now I have everything to live for.

  Everything.

  The tears fall from my eyes and into my hair. He looks at the tears sliding down my face and then he leans forward, bringing his face to mine. He moves his mouth to my temple and I feel his tongue as it draws up some of the tears. When he pulls back, his smile is gone.

  “I thought they would taste different,” he whispers.

  I start sobbing. My pulse has gotten so fast, it’s one constant beat now. Or maybe it stopped altogether. I close my eyes again. “Just get it over with, Asa,” I whisper. “Please.”

  Some of the pressure on my stomach decreases, as if he’s readjusting himself on top of me. Then I feel him lift my shirt and press a hand to my stomach. “Congratulations,” he says. “Is it mine?”

  I keep my eyes closed and refuse to respond to him. He rubs his hand over my stomach for several seconds. I feel him move closer again and his mouth is at my ear. “Are you wondering how the fuck I got inside your apartment?”

  I was, but now I’m wondering how the fuck I can get him out.

  “Do you remember this morning when your good friend, Luke, let the maintenance man in to change the filter on the air conditioning?”

  The maintenance guy? What? No, that isn’t possible. Luke asked for his identification. Verified his identity with the manager. We know everyone who works on this property, and that man has worked here for over two years.

  “He did me a small favor and unlocked the window while Luke had his back turned. You know how much he did it for? Two grand. No questions asked. He knew you were here, he knew you were pregnant, and he knew I had something terrible planned because why else would I pay him two grand to pretend he was doing routine filter changes? He didn’t care, Sloan. Two grand is all he needed and then he walked away, no questions asked.”

  I’m sick.

  Sick.

  Humans are sick.

  If that man knew what Asa was capable of, he never would have done that. He never would have unlocked the window. He probably thought Asa was breaking in to steal a TV.

  I might be crying even harder now, disappointed that humanity fails to live up to even the minimum morals.

  “Your little surveillance buddy out front never even saw me, because sadly, Luke doesn’t think you’re worth the money to hire surveillance for every point of entry into this apartment. Does he really think I’m stupid enough to go through the front fucking door?”

  The more he talks, the less I hear. Somehow, my fear is numbing me. I can’t feel my body anymore. I can’t feel Asa on top of me.

  I slowly stop feeling anything.

  But my conscience isn’t doing me any favors. I’m still aware.

  I’m aware of the fact that he’s removing my clothes. Piece by piece.

  I’m aware of the fact that his tongue is in my mouth.

  I’m aware of the fact that he’s doing these things to me, on the bed I share with Luke, in an apartment I naively thought was safe.

  I’m aware of the fact that he’s inside me now.

  I can’t feel him.

  I can’t see him.

  But I know.

  I am aware.

  I am aware that this is what my death is. This is how my shitty, despicable joke of a life is going to end. This is how my baby’s life will end, because I couldn’t do enough to protect us.

  I don’t deserve Luke. If I did, this wouldn’t be happening. Luke was put in my life so that when I experienced this, it would hurt infinitely more to know that I’m losing him.

  I’m not sure what I did to God to deserve this. But for Asa to be here, right now, doing these things to me, I must have done something terrible in this life. Or in a past life.

  I deserve this. I’m sure I do.

  I choke on my tears; I choke on his tongue.

  I am aware, and it’s the last thing I want to be right now. I’d much rather be dead.

  “That felt different.”

  I’m still panting, recovering from that unplanned moment between us. I pull out of her and collapse on top of her.

  She never even tried to stop me. She just let me fuck her and she never even said no.

  Fucking whore.

  It was better back when I knew I was the only one who had ever been inside her. But just then, every time I pushed into her I felt like I was sharing her. Knowing Luke knows what it feels like to be a part of her made me want to put my hands around her throat and squeeze both lives out of her. I probably would have if she’d have put up a fight, but she didn’t.

  She misses me. Any other woman in the world would have done whatever she could have to fight me off of her, but not Sloan. She knows that’s where she belongs. Beneath me. Surrounding me.

  I lie next to her and prop myself up on my elbow. She still has her eyes closed and she’s trembling. I don’t know if it’s because she’s scared or because I brought her close to orgasm. Probably both.

  I hate that she’s still just as fucking beautiful as she was when she was innocent. That same shiny dark hair, long enough to cover her breasts. Those same sweet, soft lips that used to belong only to me and my body. I drag my finger down her stomach, over the tiny bump, and then I cup my hand between her legs. I sigh as I look down at her. I fucking miss her. I fucking hate her so fucking much, but I miss her.

  “Look at me, Sloan.”

  She whimpers and tries to choke back another sob.

  “Sloan, look at me.”

  She does, slowly. She opens her tear-filled eyes and tilts her head just enough to make eye contact with me.

  “I miss you, baby.” I rub my hand between her legs while I talk to her, reminding her of how I used to make her feel. Maybe if she remembers how good we were together, we can somehow get back to that. “I miss wrapping myself around you at night while I slept. Do you know how fucking lonely it is in our house, Sloan? It’s fucking lonely without you there. I hate it.”

  She closes her eyes again. I smile, because I know how hard it is for her to keep them open when I make her feel things with my hands like this. I loved watching her build until her eyes squeezed shut and she’d scream out my name. I slide a finger inside her and just like I hoped, she squeezes her eyes even tighter.

  I press a soft kiss against her lips. “I thought I was over you,” I say, thinking back to yesterday. To the rage-filled rampage I went on with Jesus-on-a-stick. “I hated you, Sloan. I don’t like hating you, baby.”

  She sucks in a long rush of air, and my mouth is so close to hers, she steals some of my breath. I give her more. I press my mouth to hers and I kiss her, filling her mouth with my tongue. Just like when I was inside her a moment ago, she refuses to kiss me back.

  “Sloan,” I whisper, dragging my lips across hers. “Baby, I need you to kiss me back. I need to know if I still mean anything to you.” I remain patient, still touching her, watching her. She finally opens her eyes. A huge tear, bigger than the rest, rolls down her face.

  And then she remembers. She lifts her head, parting her lips for me.

  She remembers how much I’ve fucking done for her. She remembers how much I fucking loved her. How hard I loved her. When her tongue slides against mine, I want to fucking cry. My chest fills with fire and if I’m not inside her again, I’m scared I’ll combust.

  “Baby, I’ve missed you so much,” I say to her. But then I shut up, because she’s kissing me like she used to kiss me, before she was corrupted. She’s kissing me the way she kissed me that fi
rst night in the alley when my mouth was the first one to introduce her to a kiss.

  She’s moving now, lifting her arms, rubbing her hands up my neck. Her fingers slide through my hair and I needed this so much. It was worth the risk of removing the ankle monitor. So worth it. I know I came here with different intentions, but that’s because I was angry. Luke makes me feel so much hatred, it caused me to confuse what I feel for him with what I feel for Sloan. It made me think she was evil, but she’s not.

  She’s a victim.

  She’s simply Luke’s victim and she just needed me to remind her of how different it feels to be held by me. She needed to feel me inside her to remind her that she’s being brainwashed to forget me. But she didn’t forget me.

  She remembers.

  “Asa,” she whispers, saying my name with desire. “Asa, I’m sorry.”

  I pull back, shocked that I can even force words out when I need her so fucking much I can’t even breathe. “Baby, don’t,” I say, brushing the hair back from her face. “It’s okay. We’ll get past this. He made you hate me, and for a moment he made me hate you. But that’s not us, Sloan. You don’t hate me, Sloan.”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t, Asa. I don’t hate you.”

  I can see the apology all over her face. I can feel the regret in her words and in the tears that are still falling.

  “I love you,” she says, completely fucking murdering me with those three words. “I’m sorry for everything. I miss you so much.” I kiss her again, and then I slide on top of her because those three words have already made my dick so fucking hard, I can’t think straight. I push into her and she gasps for more air. I go slow this time. I don’t fuck her like I did a few minutes ago, because that was when I thought I hated her.

  I kiss her, and I’m gentle with her, because she’s been through so much. I make love to her and I watch her face the whole time because I love her. She’s the only good thing that’s ever happened to me and I somehow almost forgot that. “I was wrong, baby,” I say to her. “It doesn’t feel different. It feels exactly like it used to feel. You feel perfect.”