Racing Into the Night Finale

Chapter 6 - Final - Metamorphosis

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My hands were wringing themselves of their own accord under her stare. I couldn't hold her gaze. I had laid bare the full extent of my actions in that torrid year for Rachael to examine. All at the same time, her eyes were mystifyingly hard with both rage and sadness. She'd been mad at me before, but this was different. In her eyes was disappointment of the final degree.

I wanted to reach out to her, and...what? Take it back? Ask her to put it all aside and we could just be my Rachael and I, her Jonathan again? Like I even could. I sighed when I couldn't take it any longer. My Rachael. She hadn't been that in months. Longer.

"Well." Her voice came to me like it was coming from above the surface of the water, and I was lurking below. "That's...really...." She pursed his lips together. "I have no words."

"I didn't think you would," I managed to squeak out.

She tilted her head to examine me further, like a mouse in a maze. "And...do you regret any of it? Sorry--just curious."

It was in that moment that I felt a distant urge to prostrate before her, throw myself at her feet and beg for the second chance I didn't deserve. In a short, desperate and feverish moment I imagined us, and our Bailey, sitting on the couch on a Friday evening. We were watching Bailey's shows, singing along to the same stupid fucking Disney songs that she always insisted we sang with her. We were tired. We were happy. Everything was still normal.

For a long, terrible second, the image of us in our domestic normalcy lingered in my head. Then it shuddered out of existence.

"Of course I do," I said finally. "I regret hurting you. Hurting Bailey. Ruining us." I swallowed. "But...truth will out, Rach. I don't...I don't deserve you."

Her frown was frigid. "No. And you only had to destroy your family to find out."

"...yeah." My fingers knotted themselves into loose balls. Rachael nodded, and reached into her purse. She produced a cut-out piece of paper with writing on it. Rachael Loev--and my breath caught at the sight of her unmarried name--Markham, ON L3X 0X0. 905-XXX-XXXX. "What...?" I started to say.

"My new address," he explained. Her new address...five hours away. "If you want to touch base again, this is where you can find me. You could even see Bailey again. If she'll let you."

"What d'you mean, if she'll let me?" The image of our daughter, my daughter, so heartbreakingly like her mother, drifted up in my mind. To imagine her pushing me away felt like a dull, churning pain in my gut. "Rachael...Bailey, I can't not see--"

"I don't want to hear it," she cut me off. "This is what you are, right? A fucking cheater? What need do you have for a wife, or a daughter? A family? You made that part clear--"

"Rachael, I didn't want to give up Bailey."

"You made that part clear when you destroyed what we had, and now you're showing up here to tell me you regret what you did? So long after the fact?" Nothing would come out of my mouth to defend me. I watched my life shatter again for the second time. She has divorce papers in her hands, she's taking Bailey, it's really over--those were the only thoughts going through my head. "I wanted to be nice about it, Jon," she was saying, "but just knowing you did all that--planned all that--not once, but over a full year? That fucking hurts."

Rachael held my stare with such painful magnetism, I couldn't tear myself away. Miniscule tears welled up at the corners of her eyes, and I knew she hated that. She brushed them clear, as if they were pinpricks that stung and humiliated.

"We can...discuss the custody situation at a later date." She said it quietly, no longer looking at me. "We can discuss everything at a later date. For now, I've had enough."

"Sure, I get it," I muttered, like a dope. She nodded, and she slid the card closer to me. "Rachael...I'm sorry." I had nothing else left to say but the obvious. She had turned away from me, eyes vivid and beautiful with her rage.

She stood up, smoothing out the folds in her skirt. "Maybe one day I'll accept your apology, Jonathan." Her voice came across hollowly, but demure. "For now...you stay safe out there. I know I will."

I stared at her card, at her curling writing. And I kept on staring at it until I heard her walk away. The dull clacking of her high heel shoes disappeared as the door to the café opened and shut, swallowed by the sounds of the city that was no longer hers.

For what felt like hours I sat at that table, watching my half-drunk coffee cool down. At some point I'd stuffed the card in my wallet, even paid the bill. Still, I sat there, trying to absorb the fragments of what my life was now. Rachael had made up her mind. She had taken our Bailey and left for Ottawa, hours away. We'd discuss the custody situation, but it already seemed grim. She was five hours away now, far away from the home we had together.

It was hers to forget, to throw into the fire, if she wanted. That much, I owed her. Rain started to hit the city by the time I sorted through my thoughts enough to look out the window. It was a brief drive home. If I got wet, so be it.

When I got back home, there was the emptiness of the space, still newly-ripped apart that greeted me. A living room that didn't look lived in at all. A gaping void where the dining area once was, taken by Rachael to her new home. Not a single one of Bailey's things.... I left the lights off.

The TV served as background noise while I sat at my laptop, inattentively starting the grim job of sorting through the assets I had. I had a strong feeling Rachael would tear me apart in the settlement. Would she do it gladly? Or would she still feel some sort of regret? This had been our home for the last seven years; we'd seen Bailey live a thus-far huge fraction of her life in this home. I took a long look around, committing it to memory. God knew I could never afford this on my own afterwards.

My phone buzzed underneath me. I didn't care who it was. Minutes passed and it buzzed again, so I chanced an irritated look.

Aaron Rodriguez

Aaron Rodriguez (12:59): hey Jon. am I free to come over?

(13:08) please?

Jonathan Aguinaldo (13:10): No.

(13:24) Actually fine. Come by.

Within the hour, Aaron was at my front door and for once...I looked at him in the dreary, rainy light of March, and all I saw was a sopping mess. He looked just as lost as I was. Unkempt hair and dishevelled clothes that looked wrinkled, already slept-in. When he smiled at me the same way he had for the last year, I felt nothing. None of the exciting spark in me that made me feel like a teenager. Verbally, I didn't really acknowledge his presence. I let him in with a nod, and in he stepped.

We were sitting in the living room, me at the long couch where we'd first fucked, and him at the far end, close to the TV. He sat, hunched over, his hands in a wad, and for once he had nothing smart or seductive to say. Just stared at the rug. It was a while before he spoke at all.

"Nitya..." he began; "Nitya handed me the divorce papers today."

I wish I could say I was surprised, but there'd been no doubt she and Rachael had coordinated it. "Yeah," I said simply. "Rachael, too." Aaron just nodded at that.

"She's uh...she's taking the kids," he said like he was far, far away. "I've got till the end of the week to move. I...I can see them every other weekend, though." He rubbed his hands together.

"Do they wanna see you, though?" And the look he gave me was full of unabashed hurt. Good, I thought. I don't get my daughter, and you don't get yours. It was a dark thought. A hurt, evil thought. But it felt so...good.

Aaron let out something between a sigh, a groan and a laugh. "I dunno," he mumbled. "Fuck. They're just kids. Pia just started high school. Alia's taking it hard...." He shoved his face into his hands. "Jon...we fucked up. We're bad men. Right?"

"Right." The room was so quiet.

"We...we didn't mean for it to get like this...right?"

I put my chin in my hand, considering him. The hatred I felt. The empathy that tamped that hatred down. The lust I couldn't shake off, still, despite seeing him in this sorry state. My stomach hurt. "Would you believe yourself if you said you didn't mean it?" I asked him. "Did Nitya?"

A deflated look. "No. She didn't. I...guess I wouldn't either."

"I thought so. Rachael didn't." Memories of our trysts were burned into my mind now. "Aaron...it doesn't matter what we thought we were doing. All that matters is that we did wrong, we did what we did, and now, because of it, our lives are--are ruined."

The silence was thunder in my ears. "Do you regret...any of it?" I wanted to laugh in spite of myself. Just like Rachael had asked.

"Do I regret fucking up my entire life?" I shot back at him. "Take a guess, Mr. Rodriguez."

He nodded, hung his head, his silver-touched hair a mess in its uncombed state. For a ponderous moment, he just looked around, meeting my eyes just once. He smiled a sad little smile and stood up. As if to leave.

And yet.... I stood up with him, casting a deep shadow across the floor. He gave me a curious look. "It was good sex though," I told him, mumbling; my voice felt like it was beside me, outside of my body. "Best I've had in years. Maybe that's the fucked up part."

"Yeah," he muttered, and I remembered his admission to me, the day we...were caught. What he really felt about us. "The same for me too." He held out his hand at an odd angle from himself. Like it'd break off; a broken branch in a storm.

'I wish you were my boyfriend. My husband--' His words came back to me like ghouls' reaching claws in the night.

I felt that familiar quiver in my stomach, and I wasn't strong enough to push away this time. Tentatively I crossed the room to him, to put my hand on his shoulder. His eyes looked up at me in tender surprise, and got slightly glassy. His face.... I didn't know what I was doing. Maybe I never deserved to know. True happiness, at this point, felt far out of my reach.

And yet his shoulder, that I knew the creases of well by now, felt warm, in my hand. I had held him in his moments of arousal, in our earth-shaking mutual orgasms, and now, the uneasy haze that covered our futures. Inside, I felt warm, dizzy, and full, to the point of my head throbbing.

We stood there in the grey shadow of my home for far too long. Neither of us moved; neither of us wanted to shatter the silence that wrapped us in its embrace. Aaron pressed his face into my chest; his hair came up to my lips. I fought back the urge to kiss the top of his head like I'd done countless times before. He looped one arm around my back like he'd float away if he didn't. And with his other hand, he began palming my package. My throat went dry and tight.

'We shouldn't,' I thought one moment.

'But we already did,' followed soon after that.

I was a totem underneath Aaron's searching hands. I wondered distantly what he found; a failed husband? A father cast adrift in the seas? Someone who satisfied him regularly? All I knew was that he didn't find the old Jonathan Aguinaldo, who craved him as desert craves rain, because that version of me was dead. Who I was now was anybody's guess. My limbs went numb, but predictably, my cock stood to attention.

Aaron's breaths grew insistent. "Jonathan," he groaned. "I need you. Please, let me...."

I raised my arms, allowing him to pull my shirt off me. Then my pants. My underwear. I stood before him, a naked mass of flesh. All 6'4" and 298 pounds of me; what he truly desired over the wife he'd built, then shattered, a life with. He hefted my cock in his hands, rough and desperate. Blearily, I noticed the raw hunger in his eyes.

It just had to be me.

Wordlessly, I let him lead us over to the couch, where first I'd fucked him. Aaron had me sit while he stripped for me. His movements were slow, deliberate. Sexy, if not stilted now. I couldn't deny that it was still hot, the way he presented himself to me. But when I thought about touching him, my veins felt like ice. I couldn't do it. Not like this.

His shirt came off; he hadn't showered. The smell of his musk and his apartment rolled off of him. The smell I knew so well. His brown-red cock came into my view, twitching like a fish hook. He was leaking.

"Can I...?" he rasped, his eyes half-lidded with lust.

"Yeah," I replied. There was no need to ask. I didn't care anymore. My cock stiffened further at the sight of him, for after all of this, I still wanted Aaron. If only for this. I gripped my shaft, squeezing a bead of my precum out of me. He smeared it against my cock head, and my body shook with forced pleasure.

"Oh, Jonathan..." he murmured. And he descended on my hole. His beard tickled me somewhat.

Aaron ate me out for, honestly, too long. The sensation was middling; the hairs of his beard raked against my hole to only slight effect. And after a while, the feeling plateaued. I could only get so worked up. Part of me wondered if he wanted to draw it out for as long as possible. Maybe he sensed finality. Dreaded it.

I know I did.

I patted him on the shoulder when my thoughts became too itchy to bear. "Just fuck me," I muttered flatly. Aaron looked curiously into my face, no seductive expression this time. I nodded at him.

Still, he lined his cock up against my hole, and sank in. I sighed and shuddered with the sensation. The way his cock arced upwards into me created a pressure against my prostate, filling me, like it intended to start digging me out. Trying to find what was buried beneath.

Aaron fucked me like he was going to disappear if he stopped. He held my huge legs in his arms up to his sides, his cock plunging into my hole. His groans deepened as he sunk in, trying to find more of my insides to fuck into. Like he hadn't already laid me bare before. My body thundered with his movements; my head jerked and hit the back of the couch as he went.

He put his hands on my tits, squeezing; my nipples seemed to spark at the touch of his rough palms. Fuck. Aaron's sweat dripped off his face and fell onto my body; clear streams ran down the sides of my thick form. All the while, I took his cock, my hands spread to either side of me, unengaged. He reached down to lick the sweat off my neck. Then he came in to kiss me, and only met my cheek.

He returned to ramming me missionary-style, holding my legs up. My lower back stretched with the effort, and honestly, it was getting tiring. "Are you close?" I asked him. For a second, he tore himself away from his lust-driven pounding, just staring at me with a confused look. Like I told a stupid joke.

"...yeah," he said, and when he resumed his fucking, I knew it to be true. After having spent a year with him in the city's darkest places, I knew the motions of his body. His thrusts into my hole became shallower, his hips twitched irregularly. He was close to cumming. Any second now, he'd press his hands down into my chest like he was kneading dough. He was bracing himself against the sensation. His orgasms were always intense, and he would plunge into my hips with surprising force.

"Jonathan," he breathed out, his voice a growl. "I'm close. Can you look at me?" But, panting, I kept my eyes clear of his stare. I stared at the far wall, empty. "Jonathan?" He sounded desperate. "I'm going to--Jonathan, please." His hands travelled down around my belly, like he was trying to scoop me up. He surprised me by folding right over my body, fucking me faster and deeper.

I was actually taken aback by the force of his desperation. He was pounding me like he would lose everything. "Jonathan. Jonathan." He did that thing where he repeated words in a senseless chain, right at the apex of the tipping point. "Aaaaghhh--Jonathan, please. I love you...."

At that moment...something in me snapped.

Aaron stiffened as he lost it, breeding me with his load. He held me against himself, panting raggedly into my body. I felt his cock dance inside me, slicked with all manner of fluid. Time was a soupy mess as Aaron slipped out of me, and back onto the couch. I was content to just roll over, but he was faster. His orgasm hadn't weakened him at all. And he dove mouth first onto my cock, pinning my hips to the seat. A grumble escaped me, but I thought I deserved to cum too.

He wanted to suck my cock so bad? I'd give it to him. I pressed his head down into my pubes, inhaling roughly as I held him there. He shouted around my cock, but all it did was cause a pleasurable vibration against my shaft. "Yeah. Good bitch." My vision was darkening.

I eased up for a second, letting him come up for air. Strings of his spit pulled away from my pubes and danced in the grey light of my living room. He pulled his puffy, slutty lips off of my cockhead; his eyes were flinty with betrayal.

My stomach lurched with an unidentifiable emotion. And I shoved him back down.

He groaned as his head sailed down my cock again, lips first. The slickness was exciting, making my body shake. I took a look down at him, and he was a mess. A spit-stained, sweat-soaked mess. His eyes were watery with a delirious mixture of lust and pain while he devoured my cock.

I turned his chin to make him look at me while he swallowed the tool that he loved so much. Like I was outside of my own body, I slapped his cheek where my cock head was poking right against.

"Aaaghh, Jonathan," he groaned at the sensation. He sounded both angry and turned on, and his husky voice made my taint twitch. My orgasm was approaching, and it wouldn't have been better anywhere right now than his ruined, slutty face. I pushed his head back down onto me. He gagged. It was music to my ears.

When I felt myself about to shoot, I pulled him off and allowed him his precious few breaths of air. I stood, and he went to follow--but I pushed him back down against the couch. With a force I had never wielded before, I stood on my couch, my cock like a club leading the way to his face. With both feet planted into the fabric on either side of him, I jacked myself off against his mouth.

My balls danced against his bearded chin. Underneath me, Aaron was groaning, his lustful, furious glower peeking up at me from beneath my shaking thighs.

"You want that cum, bitch?" growled my voice from somewhere deep inside me. He just moaned, his eyes still flinty. I slapped him again, harder this time. And that made him moan, moan like the bitch he was. "Respond when I ask you something, slut."

"Yes, Jonathan!" he cried out, his hands dragging against my thighs. "I want your cum! Please!" He was pressing hard enough to leave marks. Thirsty bitch. I jacked myself off faster, my voice rumbling like some kind of creature while my balls tingled and filled in their sack.

I felt it starting, and my strokes became shorter, focused on the head of my fat brown dick. All hope for control was abandoned. I grabbed a fistful of Aaron's hair, an evil desire spreading inside me at the sight of his head lolling about in my grip. Like he was a doll. A toy, for my pleasure.

"Good bitch," I said through my teeth. "Take your daddy's fucking cum. You fucked me, but you're just an object for my pleasure. You get that, bitch?" I didn't know what I was saying; all I knew was it felt fucking incredible. He groaned, gurgled, lost in the depths of the feeling. "Respond when I ask you something!"

"Yes, I do!" His voice was hoarse, and not his own.

"You love me, don't you?" I growled.

Some unknown feeling touched down in his eyes; they went wide. Baleful, green, vulnerable. At the same time, my orgasm hit me like a battering ram. The sounds, the sensations--they were all too much. I think I heard him start to say something but I pulled his head back, and his open mouth gaped at the head of my dick.

My cum burst out of me, splattering hot and white, down into his throat; all over his face. His eyes rolled back in his head at the feeling. An animal roar escaped me as I came; my eyes pressed near shut. I just kept on cumming, decorating his face with my load. He stank of sex. Spit, sweat, and cum nearly completely covered him, obscuring little more than his gaping mouth. How he just choked.