Mark looks at his watch. It's half past 4am and he is still wide awake. His mind is a cluttered mix of patterns and images. He realizes he is still in love with Catherine but perhaps he is also deluded to expect that whatever he shared with her is logical and acceptable in every one's terms. He badly wants to move on with his life, with her in it. Certainly there are days when he can not help feel that he's just a piece of meat. Although he completely understands and respects Catherine's duties, each passing day makes him feel more and more vulnerable, weak.
In a few hours it will be Saturday morning. Saturdays are Catherine "days", they can spend a couple more hours for themselves. He reached a resolve that they need to have a discussion and impose on her to make a life decision. His thoughts wander as he thinks of her, he thinks of her smell, her taste, her touch; and he feels himself stir. He wishes she didn't have that suffocating hold on him. She makes it too easy to satisfy him, his wildest and most raw worldly fantasies and desires. He gets annoyingly stiff. He gets out of bed, walks to his bathroom and jerks off in the shower. He curses himself as he does, but his desire for her is too strong. He reasons with himself that he can really get prettier women, and single, desirable and wanting him; and yet here he is, a grown mature man ... he finally explodes. Feeling a little light-headedness, he goes back to bed. The minute his head touches the pillow, he snores.
Mark looks at her sweaty body on him and said, "It's alright Catherine, it didn't look like you needed any help from me."
She sat up abruptly, scowled at him and said, "Well are we in a sour mood today" then gently, she reaches out to touch the morning stubble on his face; "You always liked surprises Marky, I though you would like that."
Without any warning, Mark this time, pushes Catherine down on her back, grabs her legs and spreads it, V-shaped, with both hands on each of her ankles, he lifts her up and brusquely rams into her.
Catherine squeals but he started getting rough, and gruff, his eyes looked glassy. He continued pumping and drilling her that Catherine nervously tried to kick herself away, but his hands clutched at her tighter, harsher.
She whimpered, "Mark, please -you're hurting me."
He looked cold and detached, he closed his eyes, his muscles tensed and then he growled, like a wild bear snarling at his prey, and he let go and yet kept on pumping, callously draining himself in her.
Finally his eyes open, she was sobbing like a little girl, and he spoke, more like, he barked; "Let's talk."
Still in tears, Catherine managed to say, "That felt like an assault Mark, I never thought -"
Mark rudely cuts her, and in a roaring voice said; "You never thought what? That I had it in me to behave like a bastard? To be an ass? What do you fucking want from me huh? What do you want from me?" He stands and puts on his boxers. He sees Catherine's coat on the floor and he imagined she came to his place wearing nothing but her coat. She comes to my place with one goal. She was asking for it. Mark muses to himself. He picks up the coat and places this on the bed.
"Put something on, we can't have a decent conversation with you romping around butt naked in my house," and Marks moves to his bathroom.
TO BE CONTINUED