EroticReverie

Emmeline - One month later

I blocked Kase's number two days after coming home from the hospital. He'd left at least a dozen voice mails, begging me to call him, to let him know I was okay. I couldn't take the worry in his voice, hearing someone care for me that much when I didn't deserve it. 

Since the hospital stay, I've not had anymore severe injuries at the hands of my husband. But my face still stings from the slap I was given before he left earlier today. When I'd dared to ask where he was going when he told me he'd be back in a few days. 

I'd been a good wife , the best I could be. Let him pinch at my stomach and arms, working out more when he told me I was putting on weight again. Eating less , and not eating at all around him to show him how committed I was to pleasing him. Hating myself for letting him control everything about me, for letting myself be treated like less than fucking dirt by a man I once thought loved me. 

I sucked his cock when told, spread my legs at night and in the morning for him, prepared his coffee, his dinner, cleaned his house. Earning myself harsh words, and being called a lazy worthless cunt when he'd run his finger along a surface I missed, collecting dust on his fingertip. 

Each day I felt more and more alone, wishing I was strong enough, wondering where the girl went that I was in high school. I'd had more self esteem then than I did now. There was nobody in my life that would support my decision if I left Henry. Nobody. My mother calls every other day to remind me of how good I have it, to not fuck up my marriage. Sighing when she can tell im holding back tears. Calling me dramatic and ungrateful for the life I have. 

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I wallow in my self pity for the first few days after Henry leaves, laying around, being the lazy worthless cunt my husband thinks I am , crying into every fucking thousand dollar throw pillow on our couch as I watch streaming sites of sappy romantic shows and movies, that show me the fairytale I'll never have. 

On day three of my reprieve from my monster of a husband, I pull up Facebook, that I never really ever use, and scroll through. I swallow a lump in my throat as I see a reminder for an event that I let Kase put into my phone at the hospital. One of his art showings. I turn my phone off, fall to the side, grab a pillow and sob some more. 

I can't go. I can't go. I tell myself as I stand in front of the mirror. A wine colored satin slip dress hanging on my disgusting frame. I hated the loss of my curves, I hated the way my breast bone protruded and appeared bony. My stomach rumbling with hunger as I place a hand at my chest. Pressing the fabric tighter to my frame, I almost cry at how skinny I am, knowing I'm becoming unhealthy, but...this is what my husband wants. What my mother tells me I have to be for him. 

I can't go. I can't go. I tell myself, as I shake my head, my lips stained a dark crimson to match my dress, my makeup done. A thin diamond necklace decorating my throat and tiny diamonds in my ears , my hair swept up in an up do , my legs looking like two pale sticks in the heels I've chosen. I think about opting for a different dress, to hide my legs. The fabric hitting just long enough to cover my knobby knees. I pull on a lace shrug to mask the fading bruises on my upper arms from where Henry had grabbed me the other day, shaking me and throwing me against the wall. 

I flinch as I think about him spitting on me as I cried and I shut my eyes tight, trying to forget, to convince myself I should have cooked something better for dinner, or done an extra mile on the treadmill. Anything that would have made me better for him. 

I can't go. I tell myself, grabbing my purse, ignoring what my mind is telling me. I shouldn't go. Henry could find out. I shouldn't go, because visiting other men's art galleries isn't what good wives do. I can't go. Because I'm dying to see him. I can't go, because I miss a man that isn't my husband. I can't go, because it's selfish. To Henry. To Kase. I can't go because all I want is for someone to look at me with anything other than disdain and loathing, for his eyes to make me feel more than as worthless and pathetic as I am. 

I can't go. But I do.

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The gallery is packed, and there's a loud hum of voices and laughter, smiles, and serious glances at portraits that hang on the wall. I smile politely as I pass strangers and walk further in. The entire gallery is Kase's work. I can tell from the photographs that hang, spaced generously, allowing crowds to gather and admire each one. Some I notice from the last showing, and some I havent seen before, even while browsing his website. Something I allowed myself to do this past month when I needed something to make me hate myself a little less. 

I'm not sure where he is, or if he's even here, but my eyes water, just being surrounded by his talent. As if his aura is there and the warmth of his eyes is wrapping me up and I choke on the ball in my throat, willing myself not to cry. I shouldn't be here. Yet my heels move along the tiles, clicking quietly under the voices that fill the gallery. I take a deep breath, stopping at the picture he found me at that night at the gallery, where Henry was showing off his amateur photography, of skinny women with large fake round breasts, thinking that changing a photo from color to black and white somehow made it classy or more beautiful than it actually was. 

Not Kase's photos though. Most of his models were nude, covered strategically in some poses, but each of them, full bodied, soft natural curves, and eyes that held a soul, and not just a vapid emptiness like Henry's models. 

I take my time, admiring each photo, walking slowly behind the small crowds and groups gathered at each photo, pointing our different attributes of Kase's work. How he captures this or that, the contrast, the shapes in the photographs, the story within the photo. 

I let my eyes search the room once in awhile. Knowing it's highly likely he might not even be here tonight. Last night was the opening. That I  promised I'd attend when he sat beside my bedside at the hospital. Maybe the fact he might not be here is why I'd allowed myself to come. Telling myself if he wasn't here, then I wasn't meant to see him again. 

I thank the waiter that holds out a tray of champagne flutes and take one. Sipping as I move to the next photograph. Walking through the gallery, it gets progressively darker, the lights dimmer and dimmer, spot lights shown on the artwork, illuminating photographs that apparently are meant to be viewed this way, to create a deeper feeling for the viewer. 

When I turn my head to the back wall, I almost drop my champagne flute. A larger than life portrait, of two bodies facing one another, it's only the silhouette of our bodies and my body is the only one in his photographs that is hidden by shadows. I feel my heart stop as I think about that night. Naked in front of him, staring into his eyes, feeling seen for the first time in forever as he let his cameras snap photos of us at random as we stood still just staring at each other.  My body is so skinny, so ugly, yet  his photograph makes me feel beautiful. The slope of my breasts, my nipples pointing towards his shadow, my lashes fanned upward as I look up at him. He's altered the photo to make sure neither of our faces or bodies is truly seen from the contrast he's added to it. 

A chill runs down my spine and I can feel him, my eyes closing a moment and I hope I'm just imagining the electricity that fills a room when he's in it. 

"You came." his voice is soft and blows the tiny loose tendril of hairs at the back of my neck. My breath hitches and I don't dare to turn my head, to look at him, praying he'll walk away and leave me here in my misery. 

"Emmy" he whispers my nickname and I bite my lips together, my eyes shutting tight.

"Don't" I whisper on a soft plea. But his hand grabs my arm so gently through my lace shrug as he turns me. 

I still don't open my eyes, shaking my head slightly, tears squeezing from my shut eyes.

"Emmy" he whispers and lifts his hands to my face and he gently tilts my chin up. 

"Look at me." he says gently. 

"I can't" I say my voice cracking. 

I was such a fucking mess, and here I was throwing myself back into Kase's life selfishly, going silent on him for a month after he'd sat at my bedside. 

"then why did you come?" he asks, his thumb stroking my cheeks and my lower lip wobbles and I tilt my chin back down shaking my head. 

"I dont know" I say, trying not to cry out loud, trying to keep my voice even. 

"I haven't stopped thinking about you." he says and I let out a soft whimper. 

"You should" I say, my voice cracking. "You shouldn't think about me" 

"Are you okay?" he whispers, leaning in, pressing his lips to my forehead right at my hair line and I shake my head. 

"No" I answer honestly, because I was too weak to lie and he takes me right into arms, wrapping me tight and I collapse into him, burying my face against his dress shirt. 

"Come with me" he whispers and without protest I follow Kase through the gallery, and up a set of stairs as he gently holds his hand at my back and we walk up to the second floor which is blocked off and empty. 

When we're at the top of the stairs and a few steps are taken, to keep us from view of anyone that may come up the stairs.

Kase takes his hands sliding them to my shoulders and pushing my lace shrug off my shoulders and it falls to the floor. His lips tighten as his eyes go to my arms. I dont stop him from taking my one arm, gently holding it in both hands as he inspects me. 

"Emmy" he sighs as his eyes silently count each bruise.

"Please don't lecture me right now" I beg. Not because I didnt want him to care, but because I couldnt take it right now. Being made to feel more stupid that I already did. I knew I was in a bad situation, that I had been, knew I needed to leave, and knew...that I just couldnt. So being lectured was pointless.

I close my eyes as he leans down, pressing his lips to one of the darker bruises on my arms. Then a lighter one. My lips trembling as Kase makes sure to kiss each visible bruise or finger print left by my husbands cruel hands. 

Then he takes my other arm, doing the exact same.

"Kase, please" I beg, his tender lips were too much. It was as if someone being this sweet and soft hurt more than the hands that left the marks on my skin. I couldn't handle his gentleness. 

"Shhh" he hushes me softly, kissing my shoulder, moving the strap and covering my shoulder with soft kisses all the way to the nape of my neck. 

I inhale deeply and exhale shakily as his hand trails feather light down my arm, as his other gently rests on my bony hip and he kisses my collar bone, one side to the other, and I let out a shaky exhale and moan when his tongue stops and dips into the hollow spot of my throat.

"Kase" I breathe , barely able to speak. 

"I regret not doing this when I took that photo of us" he whispers. 

"I regret not showing you how you deserve to be touched Emmy" he says quietly and everything hurts, most of all my heart and I his hand lifts behind my neck and he kisses up the other side of my neck softly, his hand on my hip, slipping up to my waist. 

"I regret letting you out of my sight that night at your engagement party....I should have have stolen you away that very moment Emmy" he says and I let out a tiny whimper as his soft lips brush below my ear.

"and at the hospital...I should have taken you with me..." he says and his hand slides higher up my torso and I swallow.

"where is he right now?" he asks. 

"I...don't know...." I say my breath shaky.

"he's...out of town...business" I exhale as he hums against my ear.

"come home with me tonight...stay with me." he whispers.

"Let me take care of you" he says and his hand slips behind my back instead of up over my breast and he pulls me to his body.

"I can't" I answer shakily.

"You came here tonight for a reason Emmy" he whispers. 

"you missed me...so come home with me...let me kiss you everywhere he never has.."

"Kase" I pant, my nipples tight, my core aching, and my skin burning everywhere he's kissed it. 

"If you dont want me to ...I wont....but come home with my anyways....stay the night...just so I can know you're safe" he whispers.

"that's all I want....to know you're safe Emmy" he says and I feel a tear slip down my cheek, and he must sense it, his mouth lifts and his lips catch it at my jaw, and he kisses softly up the trail of my tear. 

"I'll stop kissing you.....and touching you if you want me to..."

"no" I say quickly, shaking my head. A soft smile and a nod from Kase. 

"alright...so come home with me...let me do this right Emmy..." he says and kisses back down my neck. 

"Let me lay you down and show you how a man is supposed to treat a woman....worship her..." he whispers and kisses my collar bone again and I let out a tortured tiny moan. 

"Kase...I can't" I whisper.

"But you will Emmy, because you know you're dying for me to take care of you.....it's why you came here...to me." he whispers against my skin. 

"Tell me I'm wrong, that you didn't come here for me tonight Emmy, that you didnt come here to have me want you just like I always have" he whispers, and his tongue licks the hollow of my throat again and he groans ever so slightly. 

"Tell me I'm wrong Emmy" he whispers and lifts his face, and holds mine, bringing his mouth to mine, so close and my lips burn from the nearness of his soft mouth as he breathes his next words.

"I'm never letting him touch you again." he whispers and I close my eyes. 

"Kase" I make one last attempt at a protest he knows is false and Kase Gibson silences his name on my lips and brings his mouth to mine.