two Toms

Two Toms lived inside him, and both of them were clawing at him from different angles.

The husband — the man who had known Sarah in the other life, who had kissed her forehead in the kitchen light, who had felt her fall asleep in the crook of his arm. That Tom burned with loss, with the rage of being cut out, of seeing another man take the place that had been his.

But then there was this Tom — eighteen, skin still taut with youth, blood hot with hunger and reckless fire. His Sarah wasn’t just the woman he loved; she was his mother. That fact didn’t weaken his desire — it sharpened it, twisted it, made it unbearable. Every memory this Tom had — her laugh in the kitchen, her voice scolding, her perfume as she leaned past him to grab a plate — all of it bound up in the same flood of obsession.

He felt both halves like storm fronts colliding in his chest, so intense it almost doubled him over. He gripped the coin tight until his knuckles went white, until he thought he might crush it into dust.

And then he let go.

Not yet. He couldn’t wish them back. Not yet. Because the pull of this life was stronger, the ache of this Tom’s feelings impossibly raw, sweet, terrible. The hunger that burned in the eighteen-year-old’s chest had no equal. To erase it now would be to erase the sharpest, most alive thing he’d ever felt.

He sat up, dragging his palms over his face, breathing hard until the fire dulled into something manageable. He **** himself to his feet, straightening his shirt, trying to look like someone who masturbated in his parent's closet.

A car horn honked outside. Muffled voices called his name. Teammates.

Right. The game. Friday night. This Tom’s life pulling at him again.

He shoved the coin back into his pocket, the weight of it reassuring, heavy with promise. Then he strode out of Sarah’s room, leaving the scent of her perfume behind, leaving the bed still indented with her shape.

By the time he opened the front door, his face was smooth, his body controlled. Just another teenager heading out with his friends. But inside, the storm raged on, and every thought of Sarah — his wife, his mother — was a spark ready to ignite it again.