Roman

4 - Why can't I forget her?

Roman

There’s nothing like emptying my dic.k inside a willing puss.y. Fuc.k it, then throw it out of my room. I don’t give a shi.t who’s on the end of my dic.k; any whor.e will do. But I don’t like fuckin.g the same whor.e twice.

Not that that seems to bother Sasha. I swear that bitc.h thinks I’m gonna make her my Old Lady. In fact, I know she does. I’ve heard her myself and the things she’s said to some of the other club whore.s about how I’m about to claim her. Any day now because I can’t keep my hands off her.

Not going to happen.

I can keep my hands off the bitc.h; she’s nothing special. It’s not like she’s the only slut I’m fuckin.g right now. I’ll fuc.k any bitc.h with a cunt between its legs. Always have and always will.

Judge me all you want; most do. I’m the clichéd biker when it comes to fuckin.g. It doesn’t make me a bad man. These whore.s know what they’re getting into with me. One and done. Well, most of the time. If I’m drunk and they come on to me, I’ll take them to bed, the closet, the bathroom, or wherever I feel like.

Love and claiming bitche.s ain’t in me. It was once, but that time has long since passed.

Maybe I shouldn’t let Sasha wake me up by sucking my dic.k dry. I shouldn’t get drunk and drag her to my room and fuc.k sixty shades of shi.t out of her, but she reminds me of Marley from the back, apart from Sasha’s taller. That’s the only way I fuc.k her, from behind. It’s the only way I fuc.k any whor.e these days.

Sasha has been with almost every guy in this place. She’s foul-mouthed, drinks like a man, and hits like one too.

Why on this earth would she ever think I’d want someone like her as my Old Lady?

Her puss.y ain’t even tight; it’s been stretched out by all those men.

Not that I’m opposed to a woman who knows how to handle her liquor and herself; that shi.t is hot. However, there’s taking care of yourself, and then there’s being a cunt. Sasha is a cunt and a half. I don’t want that bitc.h for anything but a fuckin.g cu.m dumpster. As vile as that may sound.

I had perfection, even if it was only for one night. God, Marley was beautiful.

How is it fair that I got just one night with her?

One night with the girl who changed me and the way I thought about women. I never wanted to claim one before. Too much puss.y for me to pleasure before then, but I wanted to claim that woman. I’d fallen for Marley, and I was willing to be everything she needed me to be because that’s what she did to me. Marley made me want to be a better man, but she left me in the middle of the damn night! Gone, and I’ve never been able to find her since.

I looked, trust me. I looked for Marley everywhere. I even went to her old cabin and stayed a couple of days, thinking maybe she’d go there, and I’d be able to tell her how I’d fallen for her, that I wanted to make her mine, take care of her, and protect her from all things evil in this world.

But Marley didn’t return.

I even bugged the hell out of Wrench for weeks, thinking he knew where she was. If he did, he’s a damn good actor and liar because he wouldn’t give anything up. Same with Elie, and I swear some of the others are keeping something from me. I swear to God above, if I find that out to be true, I’ll kill the lot of them!

After a couple of months, I gave up asking about Marley because I realized it was pointless. No one was going to tell me anything. It hurt to know my family would rather watch me go crazy searching for Marley and keep her secret. Jett told me to give Marley time because maybe she needed time to come to terms with what happened. He said if she loved me, she would come back to me.

I realized then that I had to face the fact that Marley didn’t want to be found. She’d already spent two years living like a recluse, hiding away from the world.

What made me think I could make her mine and bring her back to the real world?

I’ve tried to move on. Believe me, I have. However, the truth is, I’m just going through the motions of life, fuckin.g any willing woman, fighting, working, anything to forget her and the way she made me feel. Nothing makes sense to me anymore. I feel like I’m going crazy.

How can one little woman have invaded my life like this?

She isn’t even around, yet I see her every waking moment. Marley is always there; I see her no matter where I look. Every damn blonde reminds me of her.

I guess that’s why I prefer fuckin.g brunettes. Fuckin.g them means I don’t have to see Marley. However, as I said, there’s the odd blonde, like Sasha, that I fuc.k from behind so that I can pretend they’re Marley. I can punish them and pretend I’m punishing Marley for leaving me.

God, this fuckin.g s**t has to end. I can’t go on like this, and I can’t keep wishing I’ll see her one day, that she’ll realize we belong together and come home to me. I have to sort my fuckin.g head out once and for all.

How does any man do that when he can’t get through a day without thinking about the woman he wishes he could forget the way she’s forgotten him?

I’m turning into a bastard where women are concerned, and it’s all Marley’s fault. Not that I beat women because I don’t and never will. But I’m angry with her, and I’m taking it out on every woman I fuc.k.

I hate that about myself, but I can’t stop it. It’s like I have the devil inside of me, and even though I would never physically hurt a woman, I know I’m hurting their hearts. I’m losing myself in drink and women, and I don’t know how to stop myself.

No woman has ever gotten to me like this before. I haven’t been in love before, but I fuckin.g fell for Marley in a way I didn’t even know was possible, and it’s crushing me that I’ve lost her – lost her before I’d even made her mine.

I press my palms against the shower wall, my head hanging down, letting the hot water pound down on my back as I again allow thoughts of Marley to fill my head. She’s always inside my head, never far away to remind me that my heart is breaking over her.

I saw such a future for us. The house we’d live in, the day we got married – yeah, I went there – the kids we’d have. I didn’t give a shi.t that she was younger than me.

What the fuc.k is twelve years when you love someone?

I growl in frustration.

Why the fuc.k can’t I stop thinking about her?

When the hell will this shi.t get easier?

All I need to do is go back to being me before Marley. Easier said than done, but I have to do it. I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering where Marley is and if she’s okay out there. She chose to leave me and move on with her life, and now I need to do the same.