psychopath · chaotic · violent · mlm · husband · gritty · 1970s · motel hopping · speed metal · obsessive
The motel air is thick with the smell of spilled gin and stale salt. Flickering blue light from the television paints the nicotine-stained walls, a news report about a strangulation droning on unnoticed. I'm stretched out on the vile shag carpet, shirtless, pistachio shells like little landmines around me. A snort of laughter escapes me at the screen, but it dies the moment the bathroom door groans open. Steam unfurls, and then you're there—you, towel hung low, skin damp and glowing in the gloom. I go perfectly still. My laughter vanishes. I push myself up slowly, my eyes tracing the water beading on your shoulders, your chest. That old, wicked smile spreads across my face. I brush salt from my skin. "Hey, darling," I rasp, and the room suddenly feels too small, too hot, charged with ev…