I'm not even going to try and explain my lack of updates. But just know that I've had a really tough time lately, and I hope to get back into the swing of things soon.

This is a dark fiction with mention of self harm and death.

xxxxxxx

Walking around the Sugarbaker home, one notices first the décor.

The lamps are ornate and beautiful. Tassels in gold and red hang from various fixtures. A small chandelier takes up residence in the center of the ceiling.

In the foyer, there are small yet meaningful pictures of a little boy running around the backyard, a tanned man holding up a fish next to his son, a beautiful woman holding the same boy's hand on his first day to school.

The staircase is impressive, wooden, winding, and shiny sleek. The walls flanking the staircase have pictures as well.

The man's pictures stay the same- he is ageless. Deceased. This is Hayden McIlroy, the first husband.

The boy, however, is clearly growing quickly, and his portraits morph from a blonde toddler into a scrawny preteen to a dashing senior in his cap and gown. This is the McIlroy boy, Payne.

And then there is the woman of the house. She barely shows her age, and the only indicator that time has passed is her slightly changing hairstyles and clothing choices. This is the Queen of the castle. The ideal Southern Belle. The Terminator. Julia Sugarbaker McIlroy. But she goes by her maiden name now.

The furniture is obviously expensive. They show their wear and tear of the years, and the sofa sitting in the middle of the room has a curious indention on the farthest end. This is Suzanne's seat, and she is Julia's only sister.

But unlike most houses, this one holds a business as well. The two desks on the bottom floor indicate as much. But that is the present, and our focus is the past.

The kitchenette looks more like an office break room than that of a house. On the countertop are a jar of peanut butter and a can of crackers, evidence of a late afternoon snack.

The evening sun floods the room with light, and the beams shoots out rays from the floor to ceiling windows on the westerly wall. Often Julia and Hayden sat here after a long day of chasing after their son. The atrium holds bittersweet memories for the mature woman. She can barely stand to look at it without tears threatening to sneak out of her hazel eyes.

But as the sun sets, so must lives. And so it was for Hayden, who died when Payne had only reached the tender age of fifteen. Like a glass shattered into a million pieces, so was Julia's heart.

Recovery is never easy, or quick, and it would take years for her soul to feel any sort of repair. At least, not until she'd met Reese. A lawyer with an attitude to match hers, she'd fallen in love before she'd had the chance to blink.

The master bedroom, which had just recently been redone, was bathed in a gentle blue hue as the last glimmers of sunlight bounced off the sea colored walls. The effect was calming, mesmerizing, just as was Reese's sailboat, The Atlanta Atlantic, had been. Being out on the waves made her feel alive again. She couldn't describe the sensation of sailing, but she knew that it was akin to flying, gliding, and soaring. Completely euphoric, completely mesmerizing.

On the dresser sits a miniature of the small boat, and beside it, a portrait of Reese and Julia sitting on the crystal shores of Southern Georgia. The photo was taken just weeks before Reese had died.

Julia, having been embarrassed at the fashion show by mooning Atlanta, had been wary of wearing any sort of skimpy outfit. The first week out on the boat, she had refused to take off her linen pants and a one-piece suit had covered her torso. She was mortified when Reese had woken her up Friday morning and held a navy blue bikini in his hand. She reluctantly put on the suit, but as more and more people on the beach began looking her way and after receiving several catcalls from men of all ages, she felt confident enough to snap a photo. This was the picture that now resided in her bedroom.

As she lay down in bed, a tear escaped her hazel eyes.

This house held too many memories.

She had married Hayden here. She had brought Payne home from the hospital and laid him in a crib beside her bed. She had made love to Reese for the first time here.

That ceiling above her bed now held painful memories of sleepless days and nights, endless grief and bitter tears. She couldn't sleep in that bed without wishing Reese was there- he was the one who had picked it out in the first place. When she walked around upstairs, she could hear the music of the past… hear Payne's little footsteps hitting the hardwood floor… hear Hayden call out, "Mrs. McIlroy! Your breakfast awaits!"… Hear Suzanne come bursting in after a fight with one of her husbands… Hear Reese open the door late at night after a long day at court and whisper, "Hey Sassy,"….

The past. That was what she needed escape from. Not a building, a bed, a ceiling… but her own painful past.

Hugging the pillow, she didn't dare hope for restful slumber. She just hoped sheer exhaustion would throw her into some dreamless plane that would last until morning.

Her frame, which looked best at around 120-130 pounds, had dropped down to a skeletal 116. Her hip bones showed through her business suits, and the shoulders of her jackets no longer fitted perfectly on her frame.

Her cheekbones, which were already quite pronounced, were even more so, and her face was beginning to look haunted.

Her hair was curly and unkempt. Unable to leave her house, she'd let it grow out. Her gray roots were in need of care.

The mature side of her knew that she had to pull it together and keep Sugarbaker's running- after all, it wasn't just her business- it was Mary Jo's, Charlene's, Suzanne's…

They had all been calling her non-stop since the funeral. For once, she was very thankful that no one had a key to the house. That way she knew no one could come barging in on her and make her start living. Not even Payne.

Her son knew how much his mother was hurting. It's hard for a heart to break twice. Truth be told, he was terrified that his mother would follow her beloved Reese to the grave. He'd begged his mother to go see a therapist, to take the pills (she had been given Xanax for the evenings and Adderall for the mornings), but the prescription remained unfilled at the pharmacy.

After the funeral, Julia had hopped into her black Buick and sped off, telling no one where she was headed.

Monette, a friend of Charlene's and a client of Sugarbaker's, ran a whore house on the northern side of Atlanta. Though opposed to her trade and her lack of feminist sympathies, Julia had known that she could take refuge in her white mansion.

Julia carefully walked up the stairs to the large plantation home. She was calm, in control- at least on the outside. Her inside was empty. Devoid of emotion. Julia was no longer there. What was left was a hollow shell of a woman. A fifty year old woman who had loved twice and had been left alone in this cruel, ugly world.

She knocked on the door three times.

Heels clicked from somewhere inside and the door swung open.

"Mrs. Sugarbaker what a sur-"

"Look, Monette. I'm not here for a conversation. I'm here to forget. Let me be one of your girls tonight. Please."

"Mrs. Sugarbaker, I can't-"

"Please," her resolve was cracking. "Please. Help me forget him."

Monette could see the desperation in the dark eyes.

"Fine. Up the stairs, first door on the left. There'll be something in the closet."

Julia nodded and went inside. She tried to keep her head held high as she climbed up the marble stairs. At the top of the floor, a blonde woman stood smoking a cigarette.

"Cig?" The woman asked, not even blinking, not caring that she'd never seen this woman in her life.

"Yes." Julia replied.

The blonde opened a silver case and handed her a Parliament. Julia put it in her mouth and leaned into the flame. She inhaled the acrid smoke, reminded of her days at art school when she'd sneak out back with the dark Italian men studying abroad at her college.

"Drink?"

Julia nodded again, and the woman disappeared behind a door. She returned with a flask. "It's Jack Daniels."

"Thanks."

"I'm Rose."

Julia almost said her name, but thought better of it. "I'm Martha."

The blonde gave a small, sad smile and went back into her room. Julia turned and took a deep drag as she opened the door to her assigned place.

The room was a good size. A king bed sat in the middle. The walls were a pale brown and the sheets were beige silk. She turned to the closet and opened the door. Inside was a black lace and silk robe as well as a box of condoms.

She stripped and placed her clothes on the hangers and slipped into the robe. Grabbing a few foil squares, she switched off the lights and crawled into bed.

Perhaps thirty minutes later… maybe an hour… the door creaked open and a tall man came into the room. Julia could make out his silhouette. Six feet perhaps? A thick head of hair (or a toupee, she couldn't tell).

"Hey," she rasped, her husky voice breaking the silence.

"Hey yourself," the man answered. His voice was not like Reese. It was deeper, softer, and not nearly as cocky.

"This is my first time," he whispered nervously. "I'm sorry if I-"

"My first time, too." Julia confessed, a small, wistful smile appeared.

She heard his shirt fall to the ground. She sat up and grabbed his arm. "Nervous?" She asked, running her long fingers down his arms. She felt herself grow aroused at the presence of hair.

"Yes," he breathed, leaning into her touch, moving his face so it was inches from hers. The moonlight shone on their faces, and their eyes met. She was shocked to see icy blue eyes peering into hers. She was also surprised by how clean this man was. His face was shaven, his hair was clearly styled and not cut. She wondered if Monette sent her this man on purpose, or perhaps she just kept good clients.

"Me too," she confessed. She smiled again and closed her eyes. He leaned in, closing the gap, and kissed her gently. It wasn't a man and a hooker. It was two terrified adults in need of release, of contact, of physical affection… two people who were absolutely petrified at the thought of being alone.

She breathed in and took note of his aftershave. Not like Reese's. Not like Anthony's. Not like Hayden's. Good, a new smell. She'd caught a whiff of it before… at the Country Club? Perhaps it was Cissie's husband Alan…

She broke the kiss. "I'm Vera."

"I'm David."

"Really?"

"No."

"Me either."

Their lips crashed together in mutual understanding. His hands went around Julia's back as her hands traveled down his chest towards his pants. Her back arched as she felt his erection growing stronger against her inner thigh, and her slender fingers worked furiously on his fly.

His hands came around front and untied her robe. They were soft. Not like Reese's hands that had been made rough from summers spent on the sea. He traced the gentle lines of her stomach, running his thumbs under her breasts where her ribs peeked out.

With the zipper down, she pushed his pants and underwear down together. She brought up her legs and used her toes to finish ridding him of his trousers.

She reached down and grabbed his manhood and gasped at its size.

Oh Lord, she thought. I'm gonna feel this in the morning.

David brought his hands up to cup her breasts and began pinching the nipples in time with their lips. His tongue sought entrance as her hand began stroking him up and down.

He broke the kiss and moved his lips to her nipple, letting his other hand drift down between her legs.

Nipping and pulling at her rosebud flesh, she arched her back higher and parted her legs. His other hand found her pearl instantly, and his strong fingers began making impossibly delicious circles and shapes on the bundle of nerves.

She felt herself growing wet, and she felt guilty for a moment.

But she couldn't afford that.

Blocking her feelings, she brought her hands up and pushed his shoulders down. Taking the hint, he released her breast and moved his mouth to the apex of her thighs. His moans filled the room as his tongue replaced his fingers, continuing the patterns of sheer pleasure. Her legs tightened and her toes curled, a blissful heat beginning deep in her core.

His finger pressed gently against her opening, massaging the tight flesh. He would push in little by little, rubbing the sides, making her grow wetter and wetter, desperate for the grand finale.

"David," she pleaded. The voice that called out was unrecognizable as her own.

He leaned up and braced his hands by her shoulders.

"Take me," he said. She closed her eyes and grabbed his erection, placing it at her waiting entrance.

"Okay," she whispered. Slowly but firmly, he began to slide in, stopping when Julia couldn't help but wince and bite her lip in discomfort.

He didn't ask if he should stop. He just watched and waited. He knew she needed it. She knew she needed it. She knew he needed it.

Finally he was completely in her, and she sighed out of fulfillment. But she couldn't stay still and she nodded her head and rocked her hips.

Needing nothing further, he pulled out halfway and pushed back in, hitting her innermost wall and making her moan.

Again, again, again, each time going deeper and harder than before. She hissed in pain and pleasure as her climax began taking over. She felt that tingling in her legs… the tightening of her walls… she couldn't breathe, she couldn't think… Release was so close…

She screamed out as her body convulsed, her legs bending up towards her chest and her back arching painfully off the bed. Her eyes were clenched shut and her fists strangled the sheets.

He rode her out for all she was worth, and when she was done, he pulled out and excused himself to the bathroom to finish.

Julia was thankful for this thoughtfulness. She had completely forgotten the condom.

She lay there on her back and let her hand touch her "pretty." She felt her wetness, and felt the bruises begin on her thin hips. She breathed in and out… deep cleansing breaths… and tried to regain her strength.

David returned after a few minutes and came around to Julia.

"Vera, thank you."

"Thank you."

"Who are you forgetting?" He asked quietly.

Julia brought herself up and wrapped the sheet around her. "My lover. My soulmate. My second chance."

David nodded.

"You?"

He looked out the window into the beams of the moon. "My wife and daughter. Drunk driver."

He got up and put back on his clothes in silence. Julia closed her eyes and brought her knees to her chest. The world was so unfair. So, so, unfair.

"Vera? Just try and survive. Live for someone else if you can't live for yourself."

She looked up, but he was already out the door, the latch clicking shut, leaving her completely and utterly alone.

Xxxxxxxx

No matter how many glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon she poured herself each night, she couldn't forget her night at Monette's.

She felt guilty, dirty… she felt like a slut. But she couldn't bring herself to regret it or wish it didn't happen. And that ate at her soul, too.

Julia felt weak and dizzy. Just sitting up in bed caused the room to spin and her heart to pound. She needed to eat. She was going to die if she didn't. But she just couldn't.

Moving to the bathroom, she opened the medicine cabinet and withdrew a box of matches. Striking one, she lit the candles in the middle of the counter.

There was a small chair at the far end of the large master bathroom. Reese would sit here in the morning and put on his socks and shoes. Julia would sit there when she had complicated little buckles on her heels.

She moved to the chair and sat down. Reaching underneath the seat, she grabbed a small black box. Inside sat a razor, leftover from the last box Hayden had purchased.

It was shiny, new. She had to throw away the last one. It had grown dull.

Picking it up, she rotated the objects in her fingers, letting the cool metal soothe her.

Julia lifted her leg and placed it on the edge of the bathtub. Pulling up her robe, she looked at the angry red lines on her upper thigh.

She looked up at the heavens and cursed God for taking Reese, for letting her hurt like this, for shattering her heart again and again and again….

Tears slipped out of her beautiful, sad eyes and she looked down at her shaking hands.

"Lord, give me strength," she cried softly, her hand falling onto her leg, reopening the cut on her leg. She sighed with release and smiled, her hand moving again, opening the second cut. Then a third. A fourth. A fifth.

The red liquid ran out of the fresh wounds and dripped onto the white tile below.

She placed the razor back and closed the lid.

Leaning back in her chair, she bathed in the blood and pain, and prayed that she wouldn't live another day.