Days turned into weeks, and slowly, they turned into months. I was nearly back to normal, with a lot of hissy fits and drug induced blackouts or panic attacks in between; the hissy fits were from how long it was taking me to recover, and the drug abuse was because Kyle still wouldn’t quit being in porn, and the award he’d gotten was a constant reminder of it. I didn’t say anything about it, because I know he was all pleased with himself for winning it.
Me and Kyle, we were okay. At least, I thought we were, anyway. I’ve sort of been doubting that lately. See, he got this package from a “number one fan” of his. Which is creepy enough as it is, but y’know, how did they get our address? Surely the only way this fan could’ve gotten our address is if Kyle had given it to someone. And if he’d given it out, what did that mean for me?
I may or may not have been a little more heavy handed with my drug use after they arrived. I’m not sure that Kyle actually thought anything of it, but all I could think about was what if he was cheating on me?
I was on a comedown when I asked him kinda moodily who they were from. Well, I demanded to know who they were from.
He shrugged. "Whoever my number one fan is, I guess," he said.
"It's creepy,” I said grumpily as he kissed my forehead.
"Don't think anything of it, gorgeous. It's probably some guy on the other side of the country that spends more time jacking off in his basement than plotting kidnap or anything," he told me, but that didn’t do anything to calm me down. If anything it creeped me out more.
"How did they get our address?"
"Maybe they called Graham or something.” I was amazed by how little he cared. I gritted my teeth, threatening to kill Graham. If I happened to find the creep that was sending my husband stuff and just happened to accidentally put a bullet in his brain too, then all the better. Kyle tried to calm me down as I looked for my gun. I can’t remember where I’d put it now. I’d not needed it in so long that I’d genuinely forgotten where I’d hidden it.
Kyle wrapped his arms around my waist, hugging me from behind and kissing my neck.
“Chill, gorgeous,” he said.
“S’creepy,” I said, not really calming down at all. He kissed my neck some more, and I turned around, wrapping my limbs around him. Still half high, I figured I’d give him the benefit of the doubt, for now at least. He cuddled me as I bit down on his shoulder. “You’re mine,” I told him, my voice more sulky than angry now.
He let out a chuckle, “Always,” he agreed, kissing me as I clung onto him. I kissed back, sort of latching onto his shoulder with my teeth as he ran his hand through my hair. He didn’t seem to mind and I stayed attached to him for the rest of the night, sharing a joint to try and stop the comedown I was having from killing me.
I returned to normal a few days after my little episode, though I did admittedly make sure I knew where my gun was after that. If that freak sent any more stuff to my husband, I’d blow his head off. Kyle was mine, regardless of what he did for a living.
Things changed a little bit after that, though. Kyle was coming home from work with random gifts for me, totally out of the blue. I did my best not to be suspicious of them all, but I ended up giving him more sex anyway, just in case he was getting ideas of sleeping around with someone else. He seemed to enjoy it, and thought it was because he was being romantic. I let him think that, making sure to make his favourites for dinner more often. He even checked a couple times to make sure I was okay because I cook like a mad person. He pecked my cheek, telling me he was just making sure. I told him I was fine, that I was just glad we were back to normal.
It was maybe a month after that gift from Kyle’s fan when the buzzer went off. I answered, and went down to go sign for a delivery. I hadn’t been expecting one, but I wondered if maybe Kyle had bought me another of his little gifts. It wasn’t. It was a bunch of expensive looking flowers and a gift wrapped box with a card.
I trudged back up to the apartment with it all, not sure exactly what was running through my head. All I could think of was that Kyle wasn’t just leaving the apartment for work, if you know what I mean. I dumped it on the sofa, ripping the little card out of the bouquet, reading it aloud.
“Love from your number one fan,” I gritted my teeth. Kyle was arching an eyebrow a little. He looked at it and held his arms out for me. I just... I didn’t know what to believe. I certainly didn’t believe it was just a fan anymore. I shuffled away from him, feeling angry tears pricking at my eyes. "You're cheating on me, aren't you?” I did my best not to let the tears blur my vision. It didn’t really work, but at least I wasn’t blubbering like a little baby. “You keep coming home with all those gifts to keep me quiet when you're fucking off with someone else."
“What? No,” he said, looking all innocently at me.
“Who is it?” I demanded.
"Gorgeous, I'm not cheating on you, I don't know who it is," he said.
“I don’t believe you,” I half shouted.
“Rayn, please.” I ignored him, shuffling into the bedroom to get a couple things, trying to ignore him as he followed me in, insisting he wasn’t cheating on me. I pulled my gun out from under the bed and picked up a couple pairs of boxers. I’d stay at the drug den. It was a fully functioning apartment... sort of. “Rayn,” he said, trying to get his arms around me. I slipped out of his reach, pointing the gun at him. I knew I’d never actually shoot him, but I didn’t want him anywhere near me right then. He was a total cunt, but I still loved him.
“Get away from me,” I warned him, but he didn’t seem to care.
“Rayn, please listen to me,” he said as I backed away from him out of the bedroom. He followed again, grabbing my arm as I made a break for the front door. I yelled at him to let go. He didn’t. "Listen to me. I'm not cheating on you. I wouldn't cheat on you.” I didn’t believe him. How could I when all the evidence I had was against him? I felt those fucking stupid tears coming back as he pleaded with me to believe him. I tried to shake him off. He let go, this sad look on his face. That was the last I saw of him as I slipped out of the front door, running as fast as my feet would take me. How? How could he do that to me?