Licorice 29
Author: sunsetsinthewes
Challenge: Licorice 29. This old man came rolling home
Extra: Sprinkles
Word Count: 3977
Rating: NC-17
Story: Polyfaceted; the title of this story is Evolution.
Summary: The evolution of Owen and his marriage with Elizabeth.
Notes: This fic spans eighteen years, following Owen and his marriage with Elizabeth. Owen is one of Adamo and Eva's adoptive fathers. While containing, erm, mature themes, this is most definitely not smut or porn.
***
1979
Owen is fifteen and in the midst of a treatment of his own creation
Owen estimates he only has until that evening for Wesley to notice the missing Playboy, so he quickly locks his bedroom door and unzips his jeans. He knows that what he’s about to do is a sin, but he figures that it probably doesn’t count when it’s in prevention of an even greater sin. Opening the magazine, he slips a hand into his boxers; thankfully, it takes only a few strokes for the rolling sensation in his stomach (nerves, he firmly tells himself) to abate.
The woman smiling up at him is beautiful and flawless, with perky breasts and a firm, trim waist. One hand is between her legs, the other pinching a pert nipple, and her back is arched high. Owen forces himself to imagine what it would be like to touch her breasts, to kiss the flat expanse of her abdomen, but before he knows it, he’s softening. Heart racing, he curses and hurriedly changes tactics.
She’s on her knees, he thinks, eyes squeezed shut. She’s playing with your nuts while she kisses your cock and licks the head.
He swallows a moan, falling back onto his bed.
It’s wet, and so hot, and the suction is unbearable, Owen continues as his hand speeds up. She’s making noises and sneaking a hand down to touch her-- no, don’t think about that yet. He falters for only a second, casting his mind back to the image of her mouth around him. She probably can only fit some of it in. Her mouth is so full, so she strokes the rest, but it’s okay because she loves how heavy you feel on her tongue. I bet it tastes salty, but in a really good way, like skin and sex. And the harder you suck, hollowing your cheeks so much that they ache, the louder he cries your name. So you play with his foreskin and trace along the vein that’s on the underside of his cock, and he’s tugging your hair and can’t stop thrusting his hips, and-- and he’s yelling at the top of his lungs and c-c-c--
Owen clamps a hand over his mouth as he comes, and before his orgasm even ends he feels the hot spike of disgust spreading through his gut.
***
1984
Owen and Elizabeth are recently engaged, with one eye on their future while they discuss their present
Back home Elizabeth would never be allowed to spend an afternoon in Owen’s room with the door firmly shut against the rest of the world, but that’s what makes college life so different-- well, that and the fact that she’s finally able to focus her studies on the subjects that interest her without too much opposition.
“I love you,” he mutters for the fiftieth time in an hour. “I could never love anyone else like I love you, Lizzie.”
She beams, kissing along his jaw. “I love you too, sweetheart. I can hardly believe we’ll get to spend the rest of our lives together.”
Owen tightens his embrace, catching her lips against his and giving her a deep kiss. “Have I thanked you for saying yes, yet?”
“Only every second of every day for the past week,” she answers. “But that’s no reason to stop.”
They laugh before letting the next few kisses distract them, Elizabeth straddling his hips as his hands drift farther and farther down her back. The world seems to narrow until they’re the only ones in it, until their kisses and their touches are the only thing keeping them alive. He skims a few eager fingers along the inch of skin between the hem of her shirt and the top of her jeans, and she nips at his collarbone while a hand tangles in his hair. That damn tingling heat between her legs grows until she can’t help but snap her hips against his, which only frustrates her further, thanks to the beginning hardness pressing into her thigh.
“God, Owen,” she gasps against his ear. Without thinking, Elizabeth works a hand under the waist of his pants.
“Don’t--” Owen’s entire body stiffens and he grips her wrist, sitting up fast enough that he nearly dislodges her from the bed. “Stop.”
“What? I wasn’t--”
He’s breathing heavily through his nose, white as a sheet, eyes wild. “Don’t... just don’t. We said we were going to wait.”
Elizabeth sighs. “I wasn’t trying to, well, go all the way or anything. I just thought that we could relieve a little of the tension for each other.” Puzzled, she reaches for him. “Sweetie, are you okay? What is it, you look awful.”
“Nothing.” Owen swallows. “It’s nothing. I just-- I just feel very strongly about this.” He eyes her. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you? You’re still willing to wait until after the wedding?”
“Of course,” she says gently, though if she’s honest, she doesn’t understand how a little mutual masturbation could hurt anything. “Of course I’ll wait. I love you.”
Visibly, he relaxes. “I love you too.”
***
1986
The night of the wedding isn’t what either of them expect
Owen would be lying if he claimed he passed the reception in anything less than a mild state of constant panic. He’s spent weeks thinking about what will happen when they get to their hotel room-- weeks filled with preparation and fear. He loves Elizabeth so much and he owes it to her to give her a night to remember. It’s the very least of what she deserves.
“You look stunning,” he breathes, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I feel stunning,” she admits. “God, Owen, today’s been the best day of my life.” Turning around, she lifts her long hair and asks, “Help me get out of this thing and we’ll make it even better.”
You know what to do. You can do this, he reminds himself, standing to unfasten the dozen tiny hooks along the back of her wedding dress. He kisses each inch of skin as it’s revealed, slowly lowering the fabric from her shoulders until it pools at her feet.
Elizabeth isn’t shy when it comes to telling him what she likes, and Owen takes his time pleasuring her until she’s crying out over and over again. While she’s panting, sprawled bonelessly against the sheets, he thrusts into her. His nerves nearly choke him and for a few minutes he teeters on the edge of losing his erection entirely. When he closes his eyes and presses his face against the crook of her neck, focusing his entire being on the task at hand, she begins to moan and writhe once more, and to his surprise he comes without resorting to any of his sordid fantasies.
“Well?” he finally asks, collapsing beside her. “Was it like you imagined? Was-- was it good?”
“It was great.” An odd expression comes over her and Elizabeth sits up to meet his eyes. “What about for you? Was it good?”
Owen’s heart skips a beat. “It was great. Really, I mean it. My mind’s blown. I can’t even feel my legs.” Catching sight of the glimmer in her eyes, he quickly adds, “I think all the excitement and stress from today has wrung me dry. Would you hate me if I suggested a nap?”
Disappointment flashes across her face. “Of course I wouldn’t, don’t be silly. Rest up, though.” She grins, flushing a little. “I plan on fucking your brains out in less than an hour.”
He smiles vaguely and rolls over, not in the least bit tired.
***
1987
A few months into their marriage, Elizabeth can no longer ignore her doubts
To be fair, it’s not like Elizabeth has ever been married before. She has no prior experience to compare things to and for all she knows, everything with Owen is average. Just because they’re newlyweds doesn’t mean they have to have sex every moment that they can, and when she remembers the added stress of his new job and her new course schedule, it makes sense that they barely have time for intimacy.
In fact, things are probably completely normal-- but knowing that doesn’t quell her fears.
“Elizabeth!” Her mother cries out after they exchange greetings, her happiness obvious even over the phone. “I didn’t expect you to call until Sunday! How’s Boston?”
“The same as it was last week. School’s fine too, thanks.”
“Oh, hush,” her mother gently chides. “I was getting to that. Anyway, it’s not like you to call out of the blue like this. You don’t happen to be calling me with important news, do you?”
Good-naturedly, Elizabeth rolls her eyes. “No, Mom, I’m not pregnant. But I did need to talk to you about something.” She hesitates. “Mom, when you and Daddy were first married, did you... well, was it like you expected? I mean, did he--”
“Oh, honey.” Her mother softly sighs, gently murmuring, “Your first fight as a married couple, huh?”
“What?” She blinks to herself in surprise. “No, that’s not it. I’m just wondering what it’s supposed--”
“You have to remember,” her mother continues without acknowledging her, “that Owen is your husband now. That’s a lot different than just being a boyfriend. It’s going to take some time to get used to such a big change, but the important thing is communication. Marriage is difficult, there’s no way around that, but you’re a team now.”
“Mom, I know. I’m not talking about that, I’m talking about--”
“Just keep that in mind, communication is key. Without that, well, you might as well not have a marriage at all.” Her mother clearly thinks she imparting some sage wisdom. “Doing this grad school thing on top of everything is probably just making it even harder on the both of you. Remember, honey, no one will think any less of you if you change your mind and quit.”
“Yeah,” Elizabeth mutters flatly. “Thanks, Mom.”
***
1991
At Elizabeth’s request, Owen sees a doctor about his impotency issues
“Nothing?” Elizabeth hovers in the doorway to his office, knitting her brow. “Dr. Babcock actually said it’s nothing?”
Owen shrugs. “Yeah, it’s nothing.” He turns away from her gaze, digging through the papers on his desk. “Have you seen my planner? I have that interview next week, but I can’t remember which restaurant we’re meeting at.”
“I don’t understand.” There’s a lost quality to her voice that reminds him of a little girl. “How can it be nothing? We haven’t had sex in over four months. How can he just ignore that?”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Lizzie. Dr. Babcock says I’m as healthy as any man my age and that it’s probably just stress. The more we worry about it, the worse things will get.” Owen glances over. “We just have to relax for now. It’ll pass.”
“Stress,” she listlessly repeats. “For the past four years.”
He swallows hard against his rising fear. “Yep. That’s what he said-- stress.”
“So you have no sexual troubles unless we’re being intimate, and it’s all because of stress?” Elizabeth’s voice wavers slightly, each crack in her tone piercing his chest. “What is it, then? Am I the one stressing you out? Is that why you can’t, Owen? Because the idea of fucking me is so stressful?”
“What?” Owen spins around to face her, the sight of her expression as painful as a slap to the face. “No, of course not!”
“Then--” She looks away, tears spilling down her cheeks. Her voice is so soft that he barely hears her continue, “Then am I just that unattractive to you?”
When Elizabeth finally makes eye contact with him, every ounce of her misery etched on her face, Owen realizes that he has never before hated himself as much as he does now.
***
1992
Owen and Elizabeth return to South Carolina and spend some quality time with family
“This chicken is wonderful, Lorraine,” Elizabeth says during a lull in conversation. “You’ve outdone yourself.”
Owen’s mother beams with pride. “Thank you dear, that’s very kind of you to say so. You don’t think it’s too dry?”
“Lorraine, you spent all afternoon on this meal. It’s perfect and you know it.” Owen’s father sighs, rolling his eyes as if to say, ‘what can you do?’ Taking a long drink from his water, he leans in and bluntly asks, “So, tell me, Elizabeth. Are you and my son planning to have children or not? You’ve been married for six years, now. Isn’t that a long enough wait?”
“Dad,” Owen hisses, flushing.
His father simple waves this aside. “I’m just saying, from a medical standpoint, it’s ill-advised to put it off for too long. The older the mother is, the higher the risk to both her and the child.” He gestures toward Owen’s mother. “We’re just wondering how long we’ll be waiting for the last of our grandchildren. I’m sure the two of you have discussed some sort of a plan between yourselves.”
“Actually,” Owen mutters, and Elizabeth can’t help but notice his intent focus on the tablecloth, “we haven’t. Yet.”
“Oh? I see.” His father pauses, glancing around the table before lowering his voice and pointedly asking, “Everything’s working as it should? If you wanted to talk in my office sometime before you both head back-- no?” He shrugs, ignorant of the sharp glare from his wife. “If you’re sure that nothing’s... wrong.”
Owen dryly mumbles, “I’m sure.”
“All right then.” Smiling, his father adds, “We know you’re a good husband and a good man, son. But don’t ever let the fact that you live up north make you forget that you’re also a good Catholic, and part of that is creating your own devout family for the Lord.”
Elizabeth flinches, reaching over in order to rest a comforting hand on Owen’s knee. Before she can, he rises from his chair and excuses himself, disappearing through the dining room door. She quickly stands, turning a hard gaze to her father-in-law as she snaps, “Nothing is wrong-- not with him and not with our marriage. When we have children is our business and our business only. Excuse me.”
***
1994
Owen and Elizabeth attempt to share an intimate night together
It’s their eighth wedding anniversary and while part of Owen feels like a walking joke, most of him genuinely enjoys their celebration. Dinner is magnificent and worth every expensive dime, and the look on Elizabeth’s face when he surprises her with tickets to the theater is an image that will stay with him for a long time. No matter what, they’ve always managed to have fun together-- it’s one of the things he loves most about her-- and tonight is no exception.
When they return home after the show, Elizabeth corners him and murmurs, “Let’s go to bed, sweetheart.”
Owen is caught off-guard and takes no care when it comes to hiding his surprise. It’s been months since they’ve even talked about sex, let alone actually attempted the act. But then, it is their anniversary-- wouldn’t it be nice to pretend for one night that he’s able to be the husband she deserves? “Okay. I-I’d like that.”
Her smile is wide and infectious. “Give me five minutes, then meet me in the bedroom.”
Those five minutes are agony. Owen paces the living room, mentally preparing himself, reminding himself that it’s the least he can do for his dear Lizzie, and when his time is up, he’s such a wreck that he’s not even sure he’ll make it to the bedroom.
“About time,” Elizabeth tells him when he finally joins her. She’s sprawled across the bed in an undeniably sexy pose, naked except for a tiny pair of lace panties. “I was worried you forgot all about me.”
“Never,” he promises, subdued. “I could never forget you.” With that, Owen strips to his boxers and joins her, straddling her waist and leaning down for a deep kiss.
“God,” she breathes. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
They fall silent for awhile, Owen’s mouth otherwise occupied as he leaves Elizabeth with an inability to do much more than wildly moan. He’s good at this, thank god, and doesn’t let up until he’s sure she’s come at least three times.
“Oh.” She squirms, pulling him flush against her and rocking her hips. “Owen, please. I-I want you to fuck me.” Cheeks slightly red, she slips a hand between them, removing his boxers and gripping his cock.
A rush of humiliation floods through him as she’s confronted with the fact that he’s still limp. “S-sorry, I--”
“Shh. Don’t worry about it. Just think about how good it feels.”
Owen tries. It takes a few minutes to stop thinking about all the pressure he’s under and to forget the expectations he knows he can’t meet. Once he does, though, he’s able to lose himself in the pleasure of her hand stroking and squeezing him, playing with his foreskin and teasing a thumb across his head. In no time at all, he’s on the verge of finishing, ignoring the images dancing through his mind, when Elizabeth suddenly sinks down on him.
“Please,” she moans, rising and falling at a frantic pace. “Oh please, Owen, please...”
He lasts no more than a minute. For a short time afterward, she continues to ride him, until it’s impossible to deny he’s lost his erection. She swings off of his lap in silence.
Owen opens his mouth to apologize yet again, but to his surprise, a sob escapes him instead. It isn’t until he’s heaving with tears that he even realizes he’s been on the edge of a breakdown all night, and now that it’s begun, he’s unable to stop. He fists the sheets, hunching over as he trembles and gasps for air, wracked with the cries he’s spent his entire life trying to keep at bay.
Elizabeth doesn’t even blink. Pulling him to her breast, stroking his hair, she murmurs comforting nothings until he’s able to breathe once more.
It isn’t until the next morning that he realizes she never bothered to ask what was wrong.
***
1995
In one last, desperate effort to fix things, Owen approaches Elizabeth with the idea of having children
“You think what?” Elizabeth repeats, incredulous.
Owen falters. “I-I think it’s time we have children.”
Looking up from her books, she holds his gaze for a long moment before finally asking, “Is this some sort of joke?”
Annoyance flashes across his expression. “No, but I’m pleased to hear you think having my children is a joke. We’ve been married for nine years, Elizabeth. Don’t you think it’s time to at least start planning for kids?”
“No,” she tells him simply, still unable to believe he means it. “I don’t. I’m not bringing a child into this disaster.”
Owen narrows his eyes. “This disaster? What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
Elizabeth glances away. “I mean this marriage. This-- this family.”
“Oh. I see.” She wonders if he realizes how much he sounds like his father. If it weren’t for the flare of panic in his eyes, he’d look just like the man too. “I didn’t realize that you were so opposed to the idea of starting a family with me. Excuse me for thinking my own wife would at least have an open mind about it.”
“Don’t. You know that’s not what I meant.”
Owen scoffs, unadulterated terror lacing his tone. “How am I supposed to know what you mean? You know how much this means to me and you’re not even willing to discuss it. I need-- I want this more than anything and you’re just selfishly casting it aside without any thought. What am I supposed to think?” His voice is rising, jaw set. “Tell me, Elizabeth, what am I supposed to do when you clearly don’t care what this means to me?”
“You think I don’t want children?” Elizabeth snaps at him, goaded into anger. “You think I haven’t dreamed about becoming a mother? That I didn’t spend years imagining what it’d be like having your children? Don’t you dare call me selfish, because guess what, Owen? You have to be able to conceive before you can have children and we both know that’s never going to happen!”
She hates herself before the words have even finished leaving her mouth.
Owen’s face crumples and he stands, striding out of the room with only the smallest tremor in his step.
***
1997
After an amicable divorce, Elizabeth corners Owen with the truth they’ve both avoided for so long.
It’s his first homemade meal since the divorce.
Elizabeth looks good-- no, more than that. She looks great. There’s a glow to her that he hasn’t seen since they were kids, and her grin is so wide that he’s pretty sure he can see her molars. She’s wearing clothes he’s never seen before and her hair is up in some sort of complicated twist, and all in all, she looks much happier than she ever did while they were married.
There’s a pang of loss at that realization, but more than anything, Owen feels relieved.
During dinner, she tells him about having a young barista slip her his number. When he asks her if she plans to call the guy, she admits that she thinks it might be too early for that, but that simply having the option has made all the difference.
“I’m glad,” he tells her with every ounce of his sincerity. “Seeing you like this means everything to me. Honest.”
“I know it does, sweetheart. You’re happy when I’m happy.” Elizabeth smiles sadly. “It goes both ways, you know.”
“Hmm?”
She stands, maneuvering around the table until she’s beside him, grasping his free hand. “You’re my best friend, Owen. I can’t stand to see you so miserable.” Running a hand through his hair, she cautiously murmurs, “Please. Give it up.”
For a beat, he’s unable to breathe. “W-what?”
Elizabeth shakes her head firmly. “No. No more lying. All that lying almost destroyed us and I refuse to sit idly by and watch it kill you. Please, Owen, stop fighting yourself. I’m worried that there’ll be nothing left.”
He chokes, eyes wide with terror, heart hammering in his chest. “No,” he whispers. “Lizzie, don’t--”
“Please,” she implores, eyes shining. “Just be Owen now. Be happy while you still can.”
Violent shudders rush through him and he gasps for shallow breaths. He’s about to deny it once again, insist that everything’s okay and normal, when the crushing weight of his lies squeezes a sob from him. Before he can stop himself, Owen’s careful facade is collapsing around him and he clings to Elizabeth, weeping in her arms.
Instinctively, he knows that this is the point of no return.
***
Challenge: Licorice 29. This old man came rolling home
Extra: Sprinkles
Word Count: 3977
Rating: NC-17
Story: Polyfaceted; the title of this story is Evolution.
Summary: The evolution of Owen and his marriage with Elizabeth.
Notes: This fic spans eighteen years, following Owen and his marriage with Elizabeth. Owen is one of Adamo and Eva's adoptive fathers. While containing, erm, mature themes, this is most definitely not smut or porn.
***
1979
Owen is fifteen and in the midst of a treatment of his own creation
Owen estimates he only has until that evening for Wesley to notice the missing Playboy, so he quickly locks his bedroom door and unzips his jeans. He knows that what he’s about to do is a sin, but he figures that it probably doesn’t count when it’s in prevention of an even greater sin. Opening the magazine, he slips a hand into his boxers; thankfully, it takes only a few strokes for the rolling sensation in his stomach (nerves, he firmly tells himself) to abate.
The woman smiling up at him is beautiful and flawless, with perky breasts and a firm, trim waist. One hand is between her legs, the other pinching a pert nipple, and her back is arched high. Owen forces himself to imagine what it would be like to touch her breasts, to kiss the flat expanse of her abdomen, but before he knows it, he’s softening. Heart racing, he curses and hurriedly changes tactics.
She’s on her knees, he thinks, eyes squeezed shut. She’s playing with your nuts while she kisses your cock and licks the head.
He swallows a moan, falling back onto his bed.
It’s wet, and so hot, and the suction is unbearable, Owen continues as his hand speeds up. She’s making noises and sneaking a hand down to touch her-- no, don’t think about that yet. He falters for only a second, casting his mind back to the image of her mouth around him. She probably can only fit some of it in. Her mouth is so full, so she strokes the rest, but it’s okay because she loves how heavy you feel on her tongue. I bet it tastes salty, but in a really good way, like skin and sex. And the harder you suck, hollowing your cheeks so much that they ache, the louder he cries your name. So you play with his foreskin and trace along the vein that’s on the underside of his cock, and he’s tugging your hair and can’t stop thrusting his hips, and-- and he’s yelling at the top of his lungs and c-c-c--
Owen clamps a hand over his mouth as he comes, and before his orgasm even ends he feels the hot spike of disgust spreading through his gut.
***
1984
Owen and Elizabeth are recently engaged, with one eye on their future while they discuss their present
Back home Elizabeth would never be allowed to spend an afternoon in Owen’s room with the door firmly shut against the rest of the world, but that’s what makes college life so different-- well, that and the fact that she’s finally able to focus her studies on the subjects that interest her without too much opposition.
“I love you,” he mutters for the fiftieth time in an hour. “I could never love anyone else like I love you, Lizzie.”
She beams, kissing along his jaw. “I love you too, sweetheart. I can hardly believe we’ll get to spend the rest of our lives together.”
Owen tightens his embrace, catching her lips against his and giving her a deep kiss. “Have I thanked you for saying yes, yet?”
“Only every second of every day for the past week,” she answers. “But that’s no reason to stop.”
They laugh before letting the next few kisses distract them, Elizabeth straddling his hips as his hands drift farther and farther down her back. The world seems to narrow until they’re the only ones in it, until their kisses and their touches are the only thing keeping them alive. He skims a few eager fingers along the inch of skin between the hem of her shirt and the top of her jeans, and she nips at his collarbone while a hand tangles in his hair. That damn tingling heat between her legs grows until she can’t help but snap her hips against his, which only frustrates her further, thanks to the beginning hardness pressing into her thigh.
“God, Owen,” she gasps against his ear. Without thinking, Elizabeth works a hand under the waist of his pants.
“Don’t--” Owen’s entire body stiffens and he grips her wrist, sitting up fast enough that he nearly dislodges her from the bed. “Stop.”
“What? I wasn’t--”
He’s breathing heavily through his nose, white as a sheet, eyes wild. “Don’t... just don’t. We said we were going to wait.”
Elizabeth sighs. “I wasn’t trying to, well, go all the way or anything. I just thought that we could relieve a little of the tension for each other.” Puzzled, she reaches for him. “Sweetie, are you okay? What is it, you look awful.”
“Nothing.” Owen swallows. “It’s nothing. I just-- I just feel very strongly about this.” He eyes her. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you? You’re still willing to wait until after the wedding?”
“Of course,” she says gently, though if she’s honest, she doesn’t understand how a little mutual masturbation could hurt anything. “Of course I’ll wait. I love you.”
Visibly, he relaxes. “I love you too.”
***
1986
The night of the wedding isn’t what either of them expect
Owen would be lying if he claimed he passed the reception in anything less than a mild state of constant panic. He’s spent weeks thinking about what will happen when they get to their hotel room-- weeks filled with preparation and fear. He loves Elizabeth so much and he owes it to her to give her a night to remember. It’s the very least of what she deserves.
“You look stunning,” he breathes, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I feel stunning,” she admits. “God, Owen, today’s been the best day of my life.” Turning around, she lifts her long hair and asks, “Help me get out of this thing and we’ll make it even better.”
You know what to do. You can do this, he reminds himself, standing to unfasten the dozen tiny hooks along the back of her wedding dress. He kisses each inch of skin as it’s revealed, slowly lowering the fabric from her shoulders until it pools at her feet.
Elizabeth isn’t shy when it comes to telling him what she likes, and Owen takes his time pleasuring her until she’s crying out over and over again. While she’s panting, sprawled bonelessly against the sheets, he thrusts into her. His nerves nearly choke him and for a few minutes he teeters on the edge of losing his erection entirely. When he closes his eyes and presses his face against the crook of her neck, focusing his entire being on the task at hand, she begins to moan and writhe once more, and to his surprise he comes without resorting to any of his sordid fantasies.
“Well?” he finally asks, collapsing beside her. “Was it like you imagined? Was-- was it good?”
“It was great.” An odd expression comes over her and Elizabeth sits up to meet his eyes. “What about for you? Was it good?”
Owen’s heart skips a beat. “It was great. Really, I mean it. My mind’s blown. I can’t even feel my legs.” Catching sight of the glimmer in her eyes, he quickly adds, “I think all the excitement and stress from today has wrung me dry. Would you hate me if I suggested a nap?”
Disappointment flashes across her face. “Of course I wouldn’t, don’t be silly. Rest up, though.” She grins, flushing a little. “I plan on fucking your brains out in less than an hour.”
He smiles vaguely and rolls over, not in the least bit tired.
***
1987
A few months into their marriage, Elizabeth can no longer ignore her doubts
To be fair, it’s not like Elizabeth has ever been married before. She has no prior experience to compare things to and for all she knows, everything with Owen is average. Just because they’re newlyweds doesn’t mean they have to have sex every moment that they can, and when she remembers the added stress of his new job and her new course schedule, it makes sense that they barely have time for intimacy.
In fact, things are probably completely normal-- but knowing that doesn’t quell her fears.
“Elizabeth!” Her mother cries out after they exchange greetings, her happiness obvious even over the phone. “I didn’t expect you to call until Sunday! How’s Boston?”
“The same as it was last week. School’s fine too, thanks.”
“Oh, hush,” her mother gently chides. “I was getting to that. Anyway, it’s not like you to call out of the blue like this. You don’t happen to be calling me with important news, do you?”
Good-naturedly, Elizabeth rolls her eyes. “No, Mom, I’m not pregnant. But I did need to talk to you about something.” She hesitates. “Mom, when you and Daddy were first married, did you... well, was it like you expected? I mean, did he--”
“Oh, honey.” Her mother softly sighs, gently murmuring, “Your first fight as a married couple, huh?”
“What?” She blinks to herself in surprise. “No, that’s not it. I’m just wondering what it’s supposed--”
“You have to remember,” her mother continues without acknowledging her, “that Owen is your husband now. That’s a lot different than just being a boyfriend. It’s going to take some time to get used to such a big change, but the important thing is communication. Marriage is difficult, there’s no way around that, but you’re a team now.”
“Mom, I know. I’m not talking about that, I’m talking about--”
“Just keep that in mind, communication is key. Without that, well, you might as well not have a marriage at all.” Her mother clearly thinks she imparting some sage wisdom. “Doing this grad school thing on top of everything is probably just making it even harder on the both of you. Remember, honey, no one will think any less of you if you change your mind and quit.”
“Yeah,” Elizabeth mutters flatly. “Thanks, Mom.”
***
1991
At Elizabeth’s request, Owen sees a doctor about his impotency issues
“Nothing?” Elizabeth hovers in the doorway to his office, knitting her brow. “Dr. Babcock actually said it’s nothing?”
Owen shrugs. “Yeah, it’s nothing.” He turns away from her gaze, digging through the papers on his desk. “Have you seen my planner? I have that interview next week, but I can’t remember which restaurant we’re meeting at.”
“I don’t understand.” There’s a lost quality to her voice that reminds him of a little girl. “How can it be nothing? We haven’t had sex in over four months. How can he just ignore that?”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Lizzie. Dr. Babcock says I’m as healthy as any man my age and that it’s probably just stress. The more we worry about it, the worse things will get.” Owen glances over. “We just have to relax for now. It’ll pass.”
“Stress,” she listlessly repeats. “For the past four years.”
He swallows hard against his rising fear. “Yep. That’s what he said-- stress.”
“So you have no sexual troubles unless we’re being intimate, and it’s all because of stress?” Elizabeth’s voice wavers slightly, each crack in her tone piercing his chest. “What is it, then? Am I the one stressing you out? Is that why you can’t, Owen? Because the idea of fucking me is so stressful?”
“What?” Owen spins around to face her, the sight of her expression as painful as a slap to the face. “No, of course not!”
“Then--” She looks away, tears spilling down her cheeks. Her voice is so soft that he barely hears her continue, “Then am I just that unattractive to you?”
When Elizabeth finally makes eye contact with him, every ounce of her misery etched on her face, Owen realizes that he has never before hated himself as much as he does now.
***
1992
Owen and Elizabeth return to South Carolina and spend some quality time with family
“This chicken is wonderful, Lorraine,” Elizabeth says during a lull in conversation. “You’ve outdone yourself.”
Owen’s mother beams with pride. “Thank you dear, that’s very kind of you to say so. You don’t think it’s too dry?”
“Lorraine, you spent all afternoon on this meal. It’s perfect and you know it.” Owen’s father sighs, rolling his eyes as if to say, ‘what can you do?’ Taking a long drink from his water, he leans in and bluntly asks, “So, tell me, Elizabeth. Are you and my son planning to have children or not? You’ve been married for six years, now. Isn’t that a long enough wait?”
“Dad,” Owen hisses, flushing.
His father simple waves this aside. “I’m just saying, from a medical standpoint, it’s ill-advised to put it off for too long. The older the mother is, the higher the risk to both her and the child.” He gestures toward Owen’s mother. “We’re just wondering how long we’ll be waiting for the last of our grandchildren. I’m sure the two of you have discussed some sort of a plan between yourselves.”
“Actually,” Owen mutters, and Elizabeth can’t help but notice his intent focus on the tablecloth, “we haven’t. Yet.”
“Oh? I see.” His father pauses, glancing around the table before lowering his voice and pointedly asking, “Everything’s working as it should? If you wanted to talk in my office sometime before you both head back-- no?” He shrugs, ignorant of the sharp glare from his wife. “If you’re sure that nothing’s... wrong.”
Owen dryly mumbles, “I’m sure.”
“All right then.” Smiling, his father adds, “We know you’re a good husband and a good man, son. But don’t ever let the fact that you live up north make you forget that you’re also a good Catholic, and part of that is creating your own devout family for the Lord.”
Elizabeth flinches, reaching over in order to rest a comforting hand on Owen’s knee. Before she can, he rises from his chair and excuses himself, disappearing through the dining room door. She quickly stands, turning a hard gaze to her father-in-law as she snaps, “Nothing is wrong-- not with him and not with our marriage. When we have children is our business and our business only. Excuse me.”
***
1994
Owen and Elizabeth attempt to share an intimate night together
It’s their eighth wedding anniversary and while part of Owen feels like a walking joke, most of him genuinely enjoys their celebration. Dinner is magnificent and worth every expensive dime, and the look on Elizabeth’s face when he surprises her with tickets to the theater is an image that will stay with him for a long time. No matter what, they’ve always managed to have fun together-- it’s one of the things he loves most about her-- and tonight is no exception.
When they return home after the show, Elizabeth corners him and murmurs, “Let’s go to bed, sweetheart.”
Owen is caught off-guard and takes no care when it comes to hiding his surprise. It’s been months since they’ve even talked about sex, let alone actually attempted the act. But then, it is their anniversary-- wouldn’t it be nice to pretend for one night that he’s able to be the husband she deserves? “Okay. I-I’d like that.”
Her smile is wide and infectious. “Give me five minutes, then meet me in the bedroom.”
Those five minutes are agony. Owen paces the living room, mentally preparing himself, reminding himself that it’s the least he can do for his dear Lizzie, and when his time is up, he’s such a wreck that he’s not even sure he’ll make it to the bedroom.
“About time,” Elizabeth tells him when he finally joins her. She’s sprawled across the bed in an undeniably sexy pose, naked except for a tiny pair of lace panties. “I was worried you forgot all about me.”
“Never,” he promises, subdued. “I could never forget you.” With that, Owen strips to his boxers and joins her, straddling her waist and leaning down for a deep kiss.
“God,” she breathes. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
They fall silent for awhile, Owen’s mouth otherwise occupied as he leaves Elizabeth with an inability to do much more than wildly moan. He’s good at this, thank god, and doesn’t let up until he’s sure she’s come at least three times.
“Oh.” She squirms, pulling him flush against her and rocking her hips. “Owen, please. I-I want you to fuck me.” Cheeks slightly red, she slips a hand between them, removing his boxers and gripping his cock.
A rush of humiliation floods through him as she’s confronted with the fact that he’s still limp. “S-sorry, I--”
“Shh. Don’t worry about it. Just think about how good it feels.”
Owen tries. It takes a few minutes to stop thinking about all the pressure he’s under and to forget the expectations he knows he can’t meet. Once he does, though, he’s able to lose himself in the pleasure of her hand stroking and squeezing him, playing with his foreskin and teasing a thumb across his head. In no time at all, he’s on the verge of finishing, ignoring the images dancing through his mind, when Elizabeth suddenly sinks down on him.
“Please,” she moans, rising and falling at a frantic pace. “Oh please, Owen, please...”
He lasts no more than a minute. For a short time afterward, she continues to ride him, until it’s impossible to deny he’s lost his erection. She swings off of his lap in silence.
Owen opens his mouth to apologize yet again, but to his surprise, a sob escapes him instead. It isn’t until he’s heaving with tears that he even realizes he’s been on the edge of a breakdown all night, and now that it’s begun, he’s unable to stop. He fists the sheets, hunching over as he trembles and gasps for air, wracked with the cries he’s spent his entire life trying to keep at bay.
Elizabeth doesn’t even blink. Pulling him to her breast, stroking his hair, she murmurs comforting nothings until he’s able to breathe once more.
It isn’t until the next morning that he realizes she never bothered to ask what was wrong.
***
1995
In one last, desperate effort to fix things, Owen approaches Elizabeth with the idea of having children
“You think what?” Elizabeth repeats, incredulous.
Owen falters. “I-I think it’s time we have children.”
Looking up from her books, she holds his gaze for a long moment before finally asking, “Is this some sort of joke?”
Annoyance flashes across his expression. “No, but I’m pleased to hear you think having my children is a joke. We’ve been married for nine years, Elizabeth. Don’t you think it’s time to at least start planning for kids?”
“No,” she tells him simply, still unable to believe he means it. “I don’t. I’m not bringing a child into this disaster.”
Owen narrows his eyes. “This disaster? What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
Elizabeth glances away. “I mean this marriage. This-- this family.”
“Oh. I see.” She wonders if he realizes how much he sounds like his father. If it weren’t for the flare of panic in his eyes, he’d look just like the man too. “I didn’t realize that you were so opposed to the idea of starting a family with me. Excuse me for thinking my own wife would at least have an open mind about it.”
“Don’t. You know that’s not what I meant.”
Owen scoffs, unadulterated terror lacing his tone. “How am I supposed to know what you mean? You know how much this means to me and you’re not even willing to discuss it. I need-- I want this more than anything and you’re just selfishly casting it aside without any thought. What am I supposed to think?” His voice is rising, jaw set. “Tell me, Elizabeth, what am I supposed to do when you clearly don’t care what this means to me?”
“You think I don’t want children?” Elizabeth snaps at him, goaded into anger. “You think I haven’t dreamed about becoming a mother? That I didn’t spend years imagining what it’d be like having your children? Don’t you dare call me selfish, because guess what, Owen? You have to be able to conceive before you can have children and we both know that’s never going to happen!”
She hates herself before the words have even finished leaving her mouth.
Owen’s face crumples and he stands, striding out of the room with only the smallest tremor in his step.
***
1997
After an amicable divorce, Elizabeth corners Owen with the truth they’ve both avoided for so long.
It’s his first homemade meal since the divorce.
Elizabeth looks good-- no, more than that. She looks great. There’s a glow to her that he hasn’t seen since they were kids, and her grin is so wide that he’s pretty sure he can see her molars. She’s wearing clothes he’s never seen before and her hair is up in some sort of complicated twist, and all in all, she looks much happier than she ever did while they were married.
There’s a pang of loss at that realization, but more than anything, Owen feels relieved.
During dinner, she tells him about having a young barista slip her his number. When he asks her if she plans to call the guy, she admits that she thinks it might be too early for that, but that simply having the option has made all the difference.
“I’m glad,” he tells her with every ounce of his sincerity. “Seeing you like this means everything to me. Honest.”
“I know it does, sweetheart. You’re happy when I’m happy.” Elizabeth smiles sadly. “It goes both ways, you know.”
“Hmm?”
She stands, maneuvering around the table until she’s beside him, grasping his free hand. “You’re my best friend, Owen. I can’t stand to see you so miserable.” Running a hand through his hair, she cautiously murmurs, “Please. Give it up.”
For a beat, he’s unable to breathe. “W-what?”
Elizabeth shakes her head firmly. “No. No more lying. All that lying almost destroyed us and I refuse to sit idly by and watch it kill you. Please, Owen, stop fighting yourself. I’m worried that there’ll be nothing left.”
He chokes, eyes wide with terror, heart hammering in his chest. “No,” he whispers. “Lizzie, don’t--”
“Please,” she implores, eyes shining. “Just be Owen now. Be happy while you still can.”
Violent shudders rush through him and he gasps for shallow breaths. He’s about to deny it once again, insist that everything’s okay and normal, when the crushing weight of his lies squeezes a sob from him. Before he can stop himself, Owen’s careful facade is collapsing around him and he clings to Elizabeth, weeping in her arms.
Instinctively, he knows that this is the point of no return.
***