He fondled me, grasping hard at my soft flesh.  I’d be bruised in the morning, but he wasn’t done.

He kissed me savagely, thrusting his tongue down my throat.  I nearly gagged, the taste of alcohol was so strong on his breath.  He pawed at me and plundered my mouth, none of his normal finesse present.  It was as though he’d totally forgotten his own strength.

Tristan was gone tonight.  Before me was a stranger.

I wasn’t sure what to do, but I knew I couldn’t continue to let him touch me, not like this.

He popped another button off my dress, and then another.  I’d felt daring when I’d put it on, and hadn’t worn a bra.  What a mistake that had been.  I’d be topless before long.

He bent down, sucking from my neck down to my chest, biting a sensitive nipple hard enough to make me whimper.

“Like that, do you?” he mumbled against my skin.

I tried to push him off, but of course it was no use.  He could handle grown men like rag dolls, and I was certainly no match.  I’d taken for granted how much he kept that brutal strength in check for me with every touch, but he wasn’t keeping it in check now.  I moaned in pain as he again grabbed me too hard.

One of his stranger hands snaked down my body, and I scrabbled to keep it away from his goal, but it was in vain.

He pushed one huge finger inside of me, and I cried out in dismay.

I was noticeably dry, and so it hurt, but the dryness had one small saving grace; it seemed to take him out of his strange spell.

He reared back, staring at me.  “What, you don’t want this?”

I shook my head emphatically.  “No, no, no,” I whispered in a chant.

“Then what the fuck did you come here for?” he roared, backing away from me.

“To talk.”

“So you’re telling me no?”

“At the moment I am.  I can’t handle you like this.”

“Oh, you can’t?  You think you’re the only piece of ass around here?”  He lurched away.

I quickly stood and tried to right my clothes.  Tristan had disappeared around the corner, and I wasn’t at all sad about it.  I needed to get away from him and fast, and stay away until he was himself again.

He came back while I was still standing propped against the counter, holding the front of my dress together and wondering what on earth I was going to do.  I couldn’t stand the thought of just leaving with nothing settled, and I felt too shaken to walk across the room, let alone drive home.

He was holding the picture of the two of us on our wedding day, the one that hung above his bed

He thrust it at me.

I took it, using it to cover my top half.

“Take it.  I don’t want to look at it anymore.  It obviously didn’t mean a damn thing to you, anyway.”  He stumbled away.

Dean startled a yelp out of me when he spoke to me closely from behind.  “Come here, Danika, come have a seat on the couch.  I cleared a spot for you.”  His tone was uncharacteristically gentle, which I didn’t trust, but I followed him into the living room.  I did need to sit down.

I sat down on the vacated couch, clutching our wedding photo in front of me, and staring off into space.  I was shaking, head to toe.

Dean crouched down in front of me, his brow furrowed, as though he was concerned.  Who was this man?  Another stranger.  “Let me get you some juice.  I think it will help.  You look like you’re in shock.  You could use a little sugar, I think.”

I nodded, feeling too numb to even try to figure out why he was acting this way.  His words were noticeably slurred, so I knew he was drunk, but I’d seen him drunk plenty of times, and he’d never been this nice.

He left just as Tristan came into the room, two groupies in tow.  I knew that they were groupies by the trashy way they were dressed, and the vacant look in both of their eyes.

I shook my head slowly, just wanting the night to end.

“Look how easy I replaced you!” he shouted.  He was so drunk that he was swaying in place.  He threw an arm around each woman.  “Twice!”

I blinked back tears.  “What is wrong with you?” I asked him, my voice trembling.

“What’s wrong with me?  What’s wrong with me?!  Did you forget?  You divorced me.”

Dean came back into the room, not saying a word, just setting a glass of orange juice down in front of me on the coffee table.  He shot me one swift, drunkenly sympathetic smile before he disappeared away again.

I would remember the round shape of the glass, the exact shade of orange that juice was.  I’d remember that that glass was full nearly to the brim.

“Oh, is that who you want?” Tristan shouted, his malevolent gaze swinging to Dean’s retreating back.  “Wouldn’t that be fucking precious, you and douchebag Dean.”

I took a long drink from that memorable glass of orange juice, feeling almost too weak to lift it to my mouth.  It tasted bad, a touch bitter, but I attributed that to the bad taste already in my mouth.

He lifted his arms, and shooed the groupies towards the hallway.  “Go wait in my room, replacements.  I’ll be right there.”

They went, and I took another long drink.  It was hard to even look at him just then, but I did it.

Our drama, or Dean, had cleared this room completely.  It was the closest I thought we’d get to being alone.

I looked up at him and whispered quietly, “I’m pregnant.”

He blinked, just blinked, and didn’t say a word, just staring at me.  I had no idea if he heard me.

“How could you do that, Danika?  How could you just send Jerry here with those divorce papers without even giving me a chance to talk to you?”

“I sent Jerry with those papers and a letter.  I told you I’d meet with you, if you wanted to try to work things out.  Didn’t you read the letter?  All you had to do was go to rehab, Tristan, but instead you just signed those papers.  We both made this mess.  You can’t put it all on me.”

He threw his arms in the air, the muscles in his chest and stomach working with the motion.  That had set him off.  “A letter?  Bullshit!  There was no fucking letter!”

I shook my head, again and again.  Was he just so out of it that he didn’t remember?

“There was,” I whispered, feeling woozy suddenly.  I shook my head, but that just made the feeling worse.

Carefully, I set the orange juice down.

I would remember that it was half-full exactly as I studied it.  I didn’t touch it again.

Something was wrong with me.

“Tristan, I don’t feel well.  I don’t think I’m okay to drive.  I need to lie down.”

“Dean, will you fucking take her home?” he shouted.  He pointed at me, his mouth shaped into a snarl.   “You divorced me.  Did you forget?”  he said, yet again.  “You got yourself stranded?  Not my problem.”

I just kept shaking my head.

Tristan turned to the wall, punched it three times, leaving a gaping hole, then stumbled from the room.

Tears seeped slowly from my eyes as I lay back against couch and let my lids drift slowly closed.  I just couldn’t keep them open for another second.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

DANIKA

I started slightly as I felt a hand on my arm.

“Come on, Danika.  I’ll take you home.”

It was Dean’s voice, and I opened my eyes, but I didn’t quite process what he said.

He helped me sit up, and then stand, and then I was leaning on him as he led me out of the apartment.  I blinked, trying to clear the strange cloud that had come over my mind.

“What’s going on?” I mumbled, struggling not to let my eyes close again.

“I’m just giving you a ride.  Shh, now, you’ll be home in no time, and you can talk to Tristan in the morning, or whenever he sobers up.  He’s a maniac tonight.”

He supported most of my weight as we made our way very slowly, very carefully, down the steps.

“Why are you being so nice tonight?” I asked him, letting my eyes fall closed after he’d helped me, very gently, into the passenger seat of his car.