Work Text:
I
The distant trees outside of the window waved in the wind. They were blurs to her, focusing on the bubbles of rain that hit the glass. Some stayed, some ran down and caught others with it. The sound was quiet. Usually, he’d be coming home by now. Right around 3:40 PM when his AM meetings were finished but not this time. There were beeps of horns and it echoed throughout the room. She attempted focusing on the rain drops that fell down, but it only caused her tears.
Rain was their favorite moments. He would light the fire place and she would await him on their suede couch, excited to watch a movie. The idea that all Sugar Daddies and Sugar Babies did was have sex were utterly wrong. Yes, of course, they had sex, but that wasn’t the only thing. He spoiled her, even without money. Just at the end of a hard day, they would cuddle up in front of the fireplace and talk. Talk about anything.
But now, when it was raining, and he would have been home already, he was dead. Dead. No, this was not your usual case of Sugar Babies kill their Daddy so that they can have all the money- no. Not at all. He died in a car accident. On the way home to her. The funeral had happened today. She wore all black and she even spoke. Sunglasses hid her teary eyes and when she sat back down, she was crying. Not making a sound, but crying. Having to put a rose into his casket killed her the most. He was forty-five and looked so young. No wrinkle lines and not a single gray hair.
Standing up from her chair that faced the window, she grabbed the white curtains and closed the window with them immediately. Whipping around, the woman stormed over to the wooden table near the ending of the large living room connecting into the hallway. A bottle of Dom Perignon in her right hand, shoving the bottle in her own mouth and chugging. Her other hand grabbed the table, nails digging into the real wood. Anything to numb the aching pain.
The alcohol got her drunk fast, since she was never one to handle her drinks. The rich could never handle their drinks as well poor that existed in classes lower than them. With a hiccup, the woman stumbles to down to their bathroom. The pearly bathroom had so many things in it. His cologne and his deodorant, money left over the marble counter, her makeup… She finds herself choking up again. Tears are streaming down her face and she cries out for him. Slamming the bottle down onto the counter next to her, hands sprawling out on the counter and facing her reflection.
Blonde hair tousled. Gray eyes bloodshot. Lips parted open slightly from breathing hard. Authentic pearl necklace on her neck. Black dress that went over the shoulders, fitting like a mermaid dress. Her eyes go out of focus from her poor reflection, to the bath. The white bathtub that fit the both of them. She grabs the champagne, just a little bit of it left. Stumbling over her own feet with the bottle in hand, the woman sits on her feet, the dress bending to her sitting down.
The memories that came from this bathtub caused her to stare in thought for a moment. She would give him massages in here, they had many fun times in this bathtub… Where she would come out from her walk-in closet in the connected room, showing him as he laid in a bubble bath. Twirling around and humming as he watched her with love. Some people have said that he was with her simply for the beauty she held. Some people claimed that she was with him for the money. A twenty year age gap but she was an adult and held herself to higher standards than what most men her age could provide. He was perfect. He was like a god, coming down to the Earth and allowing her to even be in her presence.
Her wrist turned and the champagne was poured. Clear bubbly liquid that when it hit the bathtub, made a certain sound. Similar to the noise when you poured water out. Her eyes followed the trail intensely, watching it hit the tub and run to the drain. It gave her a certain thrill to watch money be poured down the drain even if it was so wasteful. He would have freaked out if he caught her resting her head on the side of the bathtub and watching expensive champagne be wasted.
Soon the train came to an end and she scowled at the bottle. How dare it? She was nowhere near done watching money be wasted like that. Letting go of the bottle, the glass made connection with the tub and shattered on impact. It caused her to jump back and away as glass shards hit the tub. She peered into the tub, hands holding the side like a little kid holding the side of his mother's side to look at a stranger.
Standing up, she walked away from the mess. Her spirit was slightly lifted almost. From causing disorder in the household, she felt… slightly better. Walking into the next room, the connected room, she flicked on the lights. Soft yellow lights that were bright made some dresses dazzle in the light. Slowly, she walked through the exhibit of money, hands running along different textures of clothing. He bought her most of these clothes, if not all. He took time out of his day for her and now he is always out of her day-
Anger filled her body quickly, grabbing onto the shirt. Black shirt from Balenciaga that had the logo branded across the chest was thrown to the floor and stepped over as if it became the rug. Next was the Versace black lace bodysuit, thrown behind her and landing near the other shirt. The tan trenchcoat from Prada tossed aside like trash. The silk top from Gucci with strawberries as the print was tossed aside- she never liked that one anyway by itself.
After her throwing clothes everywhere, she stood in the middle of it all. Money, but in different form, laid all around her. Tempting her to step all over them. But, this was a memory of him. She could never, she would never want to destroy something of his that he bought her. Her mind, already torn out and exhausted, was torn. She began crying again, picking up a robe that she threw on the ground. Crying into it, wiping her nose and tears with it. Nothing that the washing machine and dryer couldn’t fix.
Throwing the robe down on the floor, she dragged her feet through the room and exited through the bathroom. She stood alone in the hallway, and unless if she got an escort of some sort, she would always be alone in this hallway. But, it wasn’t like that before- hell, they played tag in this hallways. Playful lovers. She truly believed that there would be no one else who could love her quite like he did.
Similar to the movements of a sloth, she finds herself going to their bedroom. So many memories were in here and his scent hit her straight in the face, as if smacking her. She chokes up on her tears, falling into the bed. She cries. Loudly. Wailing into the sheets, knowing that nobody but herself would comfort her because she didn’t talk to other people. Who needed other people when you had someone that you love? That you care for? The answer is; when you’re in love and you’re in a great relationship for five years, you don’t need anybody but that person. That’s just how love is. Torturous and horrible, but so amazing and pleasuring for the mental, physical and spiritual state of mind.
She climbed into the bed, the soft white comforter holding her captive. The baby was on his side of the bed, crying into his pillow. Inhaling his scent for perhaps some of the last times and finding herself relishing every moment of him. The good and the bad. He was amazing to her and anyone that spoke badly about him was on her list of enemies. She had many enemies. Tears hit her once more and she tried calming herself down by breathing techniques. It was hard, even harder when she was still clinging to his pillow and rocking with it. She slowly let go and rolled over to her side of the bed. Flowery and sweet smelling, similar to candy almost.
Her scent calmed her down because she wasn’t addicted to herself as she was with him. She would bend over backwards for him, do whatever he asked of her… Her eyes are tired from all the crying that has happened. The comforting blankets enclose her almost, sinking her into the soft memory foam bed. Her face is buried into her pillow, still in that mermaid black dress.
fin.