Chapter 4

I felt like I was pushed and then a sensation of falling into a never ending hole. There was no light and my arms and legs kicked and flayed trying to stop my descent to hell. But the impact of landing on the living room floor woke me before I reached that destination. Disoriented, I looked up.

"Sally, are you okay?" Ron asked, the hand that shook my shoulder still extended.

My sleepy eyes focused, trying to send messages to my bewildered brain. I shook my head and blinked several times.

"Why were you sleeping on the couch? Is anything wrong?"

"I ... um ... I guess I fell asleep. What time is it?"

"It's 8:30. I came home to change but I gotta get back to the office. Are you okay? I'll stay if there's something wrong."

Rubbing my eyes I said, "No, nothing's wrong. Do what you have to do."

I trailed Ron upstairs but took a detour to Mike's room. Peeking in, I saw the messed up bed and his clothes on the floor where he left them. Then my eyes opened wide. I ran into the room and grabbed my robe, throwing it under Mike's bed. And then it hit me -- my son hadn't come home. Sulking, I went to my bedroom and plopped onto the bed, physically tired and emotionally drained. I watched in silence as my husband put on a fresh set of clothes, feeling a pang when he tossed his day-old white shirt onto the leather chair.

Leaning over me, Ron gave me a soft kiss on the lips. I almost pulled back knowing those same lips had been wrapped around our son's cock which spurted sperm into my mouth. The guilt was overbearing. Ron then left.

Turning onto my side, I bent my legs and then straightened them. Then I rolled onto my stomach only to flip onto my back. Grabbing the sides of the pillow, I pulled them up, sandwiching my head. I stared at the ceiling. I just couldn't get comfortable so I dragged out of bed and washed up and put on fresh clothing.

Sitting at the kitchen table sipping coffee, I looked up at the clock. It was 9:28. After what seemed like hours, I looked up again -- 9:31. Placing the cup down, I put my forearm on the table and rested my cheek on it.

The slamming door woke me. My head shot up and I bolted from the kitchen, almost crashing into Mike who was walking towards the stairs. We stood immobilized, still and silent, staring at each other.

"Where did you go?" I frantically asked.

"Johnny's house. I crashed there."

"Why did you run away?"

"I'm not a kid. I didn't run away."

"I'm sorry, that was the wrong term. Why did you leave?"

I moved closer to Mike, but he stepped back.

"I needed to get out of the house."

"I'm sorry." My tears flowed down my cheeks and I dropped to my knees cupping my face in my hands.

Mike hurried to me and knelt next to me, holding me in his arms. "Don't cry. I didn't mean to do it."

My head shot up. "Do what?"