Staying in (Carrie single path)

Carrie felt your slender frame tremble against her. She couldn't abandon you. She gently rocked you against her. She'd leave in half an hour.

***

She woke up groggily at 5 a.m. before realizing in horror she'd fallen asleep. She looked at her phone. A single text from John seven hours earlier:

Daddy: Please ... where are you ... please.

Carrie got into her Prius, a sinking feeling in her stomach. She drove through the empty stretches of New Mexico and Texas, fearing the worst. Her arrival confirmed it.

There was an empty bottle of whiskey downstairs on the kitchen island. And she could hear moaning from upstairs. Dread mounting, she climbed up. There was a half empty bottle of whiskey on the nightstand. And there were two skanks in the bed. Wendy, the older barkeep from Heartbreaker's, was spit shining John's balls while a nameless blonde, a pale imitation of Carrie, bounced on his cock.

"No, John, no..." Carrie whimpered. John looked up weakly.

"You didn't come home," John said, as if that excused it. But he didn't stop, as he came bareback into the skank. Carrie turned and walked out, furious. It was over. She felt broken. But she promised herself one thing: the next bull would be on her terms.