Suddenly, he felt faint. Panting, he sat on his bed, and when he finally caught his breath, he took it out and unfolded it. It was now a single piece of cloth, since he had split it down an entire seam. He had ripped it the morning before he left for India. He had felt as mean as a hornet and had wanted her in an unhealthy way. Because of her, he was doing something dangerous. Because of her, he had forked over millions of dollars to redeem two people he didn’t give a shit about. And what was his thanks? She had chosen to live in Las Vegas instead of Reno, putting her children’s needs ahead of what he had wanted. Man, he was pissed. He wanted to hurt her in every way.

She complied, dropping to all fours without a whimper as he tore the dress off her body. But seeing her bent over, the bones of her spine sticking up through the thin skin of her back, and realizing what she had gone through in her life, knowing that he had been a big part of her misery, he felt his insides melt.

He took the dress, brought it to his nose, and inhaled deeply. She hadn’t washed it. It still smelled of her. It smelled of her perfume, her sweat, and their sex. It evoked a thousand images and a longing so deep and wide that he felt eviscerated—a gutted fish.

This wasn’t an interim.

She wasn’t ever coming back.

He held the dress to his cheek and collapsed backward onto the newly laundered bedding, staring at the ceiling, eyes wide and wet, his heart racing and broken. He didn’t move for a good while. Then, swallowing back lumps in his throat, he got up from the bed. He threw the duffel back into his closet, but took the dress downstairs to his office, folding it neatly and putting it in the drawer with his heroin kit.

Things you love but can’t have.

But as time crawled by, the rip in his heart grew bigger and bigger, until it turned into a gaping hole. And at that point, he knew he needed help. He’d take out the dress every day and smell it. And when he did that, he took out his kit. A small shot in his veins and he’d sit back, clutching her dress and letting the warmth wash over him.

He could see her face.

He could feel her touch.

He could hear her sexy, throaty voice.

Her breath on his neck … she would talk to him.

You wouldn’t like it here, baby. It’s all souls and no bodies. There’s no sex.

He’d smile and tell her, Where I’m going, there’s going to be lots of ass fucking by little red men with horns. Your ultimate revenge, angel.