Empty
It was long past dark when Lieutenant Horatio Caine unlocked his front door and trudged into his empty condominium. He turned on the living room lights, removed his black suit jacket and laid it on the back of the sofa. Then he sank into the leather cushions with a heavy sigh, where he remained until he caught himself beginning to doze.
Not having an appetite for dinner, he rose and went straight to his bathroom. As he did every night, he brushed his teeth and splashed several handfuls of cool water over his face, which he then dried with a plush hand towel. He slipped off his badge, holstered service weapon and identification card and placed them on the counter. He unbuttoned his black and white striped dress shirt and unbuckled his black slacks, allowing both finely made articles of clothing to fall to the floor. Standing in front of the mirror, he surveyed his reflection with critical eyes.
His body, being naturally slender since his youth, was still in decent shape, though years of dangerous work had taken their toll. The pale, delicate skin of his torso was splattered with not only freckles but also scars. Some of them were mementos of patrolling the rough streets of New York City, others from his days as part of the MDPD bomb squad. The most recent and unsightly additions were two jagged holes near his right hip, caused by the fragmented bullet that had ripped through his abdomen after being fired from Randy North's gun six months previously.
His handsome face was marred with wrinkles, deep lines of concern that spoke of a difficult life. His fiery red mane was thinning, his hairline receding ever so slightly each year. Despite the effects of age, he knew he had always been and still was an attractive man. Yet he could not help feeling like he had some fatal flaw. There had to be some reason he always ended up alone.
No matter how much he tried not to, he always found himself pondering over his failed relationships at the end of the day. By far the greatest loss of love he had suffered was the death of Marisol, from which he still had not fully recovered. But he had had a long history of heartbreak before then, starting when he was just a young man. Perhaps, despite all his knowledge and life experience, he was still naive. Perhaps he trusted too easily. Perhaps he made himself vulnerable and allowed women to hurt him.
He sighed again, knowing nothing would come of his brooding. The hour was already late and he was expected at work in advance the following morning. Taking one last look at himself, he slipped his silky blue boxer shorts off his trim hips. They joined the rest of his discarded suit, forgotten on the tile as he switched off the light and entered his bedroom.
He crawled beneath the covers and top sheet and lay on his back in the middle of the king size mattress. He only had one pillow now; there was little possibility he would be joined in bed anytime soon. Though he knew he needed a good night's sleep, he was restless. Soon enough, his mind returned to thoughts of romance, only this time they were far more carnal.
Closing his eyes, he imagined a woman kneeling above him, kissing his lips passionately. He did not bother to picture her face, but she was beautiful, with the type of voluptuous figure he desired. Her skin was soft and smooth, arousing him more with each minute that passed. As her mouth moved to his chest and onto his stomach, he let out a low, deep moan. He grasped his rapidly hardening manhood and began to stroke it, encouraging his fantasy to become more vivid.
The mystery woman mimicked his motions, only adding to his pleasure. He soon felt himself nearing climax. Mere seconds later, his seed exploded into his hand, causing him to groan loudly. He sank into the sheets, panting. It took him several minutes to return to reality.
Without bothering to clean himself up, he rolled onto his side. His body was satisfied but he was not. He was depressed but unable to cry. He was frustrated but not enough to shout or lash out physically. He balled his hands into fists and forced his eyes shut, though he knew he likely faced yet another restless night. He could not sleep when his bed, his home and his heart were empty.