Mister West by R.J. Lewis (animal farm read .TXT) 📕

it all you want, but all it does is create an even bigger shitstorm.

The space…the space between us is so big now, it just feels awkward all the time.

Days bleed together, and I itch to see Aidan again, but he’s holding off. His strength is waning. He won’t keep his hands off me if we see each other again. I know this because I feel the same way as well.

It doesn’t stop him from talking to me. From saying things to me that make me tremble in my seat with mad lust.

A.W.: I just want to taste you, Ivy Montcalm.

A.W: I want to know what your come tastes like. I want to know the noises you make while I fuck you. I want to watch you swallow my cock, staring into my eyes like the beautiful seductress that you are.

A.W.: I want you. All of you. Inside and out.

He only speaks like this when he’s feeling weak. Otherwise, he’s resolute and friendly, but I won’t lie. There’s pleasure in reading these lines.

I’m walking home from work, bundled up in my grey coat and red plaid scarf. The weather’s changing. Autumn is here in full force. My boots step over the fallen leaves carpeting the sidewalk. It’s too pretty not to appreciate.

As I approach my building, I hear, “Babe!”

I look up. Derek’s standing out front of the building and he’s not in his work clothes. He’s wearing jeans and a dark sweater, and his hair is done up. For the first time in forever, he looks…happy. Well, as happy as one can look after his huge weight loss and gaunt face. Alcohol is killing him.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, approaching him. I’m a little on guard because of how tense it’s been. Talking to him feels weird.

His eyes light up. “I got us a table. I bet you didn’t think I’d remember.”

My lips part to ask him what he’s talking about, and then I see it. The flowers in his hand, the chocolate box in the other. I shut my eyes briefly, realization trickling in.

“It’s…October 5th.”

Our wedding anniversary.

Shit.

“Yeah,” he says. “I got us a table at that Italian place you love so much.”

I shake my head. “Derek…”

“It’s a classy joint, so get dressed –”

“Derek,” I cut in, again, looking pleadingly at him. “I don’t want to go out tonight.”

He pauses for a moment, quickly thinking, and then he’s nodding. “Okay, we can order in and celebrate.”

“I don’t want to celebrate, either.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

I move aside so people can pass us on the sidewalk. We’re standing out front of our apartment building. I have to talk to him, but it shouldn’t be out here.

“Let’s go inside,” I tell him.

He doesn’t move, though. He stands there, eyes searching mine. The happiness is all gone. Now he’s troubled.

“I got you flowers,” he says quietly. “Take them, Ivy.”

I look at the flowers and then back at him. With a sigh, I begin to reach over to grab them, when he softly adds, “We will make this work, I promise.”

I pause midway and then take a step back, shaking my head. “Derek, nothing has changed for me.”

“It was a stupid conversation.”

“It wasn’t.”

“It’s been weeks and you haven’t repeated it –”

“Because you never let me talk.”

“You didn’t mean what you said.”

“But I did.” I cross my arms as a gust of cold wind slams into me.

“End this separation bullshit and we’ll start over again right now, today, on our anniversary.”

“I can’t do that.”

The silence returns. I’m looking down at the sidewalk, unable to muster the courage to look him in the eye as I add, “It’s not working, Derek.”

“What isn’t?”

“You know what. Us. This marriage. We were…we were so young and…”

“I’ll stop the drinking.”

I shake my head, trying not to let his pained voice get to me. “No, no, Derek, it’s not even about that anymore. It’s…”

“The cheating?” His voice breaks. “I told you I’m sorry. I asked you what I had to do to fix things, Ivy. I hate myself for doing it. I hate myself, but…I felt so alone. You weren’t even looking at me after Isabella passed –”

“Don’t say her name,” I cut in, begging. “Please. Don’t.”

“I felt so lonely. I still do. Why do you think I’ve been gone every night? I’m dying inside, Ivy. I’m so alone, it hurts, and nothing I do is fixing this feeling.”

I feel choked up. I swallow hard, finally looking at him. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I’m sorry for all the wrong things I’ve done to you –”

“Don’t give me the sorry speech right before a break-up –”

“It’s not working anymore, Derek –”

“We’ll go back to a time where it did work. If it worked once, it’ll work again –”

“We never worked!” I try not to raise my voice, but I can’t help the frustration I feel. “We were sixteen when we got together! I didn’t know myself. I didn’t even know you! We aren’t who we used to be –”

“We’ll learn each other again.”

“I don’t want to! The want is gone!”

“What do you want then?”

“I want a…” I pause, breathing heavy now. “I want a di–”

“You say that word and you can’t take it back!”

“I’m not going to take it back! It’s what I want.”

“Why does the answer have to be divorce?” he shouts suddenly, growing angry. “You came back because you wanted to give us a chance!”

“I came back because my mother didn’t want me under her roof anymore,” I correct him, fuming now. “I came back because work was going to let me go for such a long absence and I was running out of money. I came back because the lease is in my name and I can’t shirk out of that contract by pulling a disappearing act. I came back because I have friends here – I have Ana. I knew, deep down, this was over between us, but I was scared, Derek, scared of hurting you, scared of moving past this comfortable familiarity between us, but that familiarity is