Work Text
This didn’t start until after they ran away. Los Angeles in the rearview mirror and a mystery ahead. Two days passed before, much like Sam, panic strangled Sally. Was this a mistake? Was she throwing away her dreams, however unattainable they might be? Or, in light of becoming the viral Entitled Cunt Girl, was it time to settle for reality?Sally didn’t know. And she didn’t ask Barry. About their future, a plan. Stifling her nerves by scratching at the Prius’ seat until stuffing stuck out like a mime in a Broadway musical. With his big hands on the wheel and skittish, exhausted eyes scanning the road for signs of police and pursuit, Barry didn’t notice the hole in the interior. Or the hole growing in Sally’s heart. A gaping maw that threatened to swallow her sanity if they didn’t stop soon.Utah, Wisconsin, and now, Oklahoma. Over a year of hopping from one emptiness to another. Wigs and sunglasses and baseball caps. Shielding their identities from nobodies. At first, Sally thought it was fun. Maybe even a little sexy. Adapting to a new character every few hundred miles. Stretching her acting muscles to the breaking point as she tried to inhabit Barry’s vision.But Barry’s sight seemed blurred. While his face healed, his mind fractured. Enemies materializing around every corner. Only to evaporate when he squinted. Or made the mistake of telling Sally. Yes, Sally. The love of his life, who not six months ago kicked him to the curb. Sometimes, late at night with an abyss of country before them, Barry wondered if she was even real. Often reaching across the center console while she slept to trickle fingers through her blonde hair. Just checking. Just in case.But in this trailer, partially furnished and blank, a painting the artist can’t quite finish, Barry believes Sally is here. Because the Sally of his dreams would never scowl at him like that.“What the fuck are we doing here, Barry?” She throws up her hands, stomping around in a tight circle. Which might be cute if she weren’t so angry. Pointing at the window, fury bares her teeth and bugs her eyes. And for a moment Barry has time to think: Damn, she’s talented. What a waste. “Look out there. Look! Nothing, fucking nothing,” Whether Sally emphasizes these syllables because of her theatrical training, or simply because she’s that pissed off, Barry doesn’t know. But he does know enough to keep his mouth shut while she shouts, “What are we supposed to do here? How are we supposed to live, Barry?”“Clark.”Halting in the middle of her rageful circuit, Sally blinks. “...What?”“My name is Clark, remember? We need to keep up our alter egos, even when we’re alone, so we don’t fuck up in public. I’m Clark,” Barry adjusts his glasses, flicking feeble fingers in Sally’s direction. “And you’re Emily.”Emily. Oh how Sally wishes she could kill that lazy, miserable bitch. Snatch the wine bottle from her hand and crash it over her head. Snap off every one of those tacky, fake blue nails. Cactus What You Preach. That’s the color’s name. Seriously. What asshole came up with that? Perhaps it’s not the nail polish, but how it reminds Sally of Barry’s newfound ‘faith.’ Nose in a Bible, slogging through some full of shit preacher every Sunday morning. And worst of all, quoting scripture.
The Lord is our shepherd. He will lead us in paths of righteousness.
Do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.
If we believe, we will receive whatever we ask for in faith.
But Sally didn’t need to receive the Lord. She needed Barry. And if he didn’t fuck her soon, her right hand wouldn’t be good for anything. So after a sparse holiday meal of microwavable pot pies, and a necklace from Amazon guaranteed to turn her skin green, Sally downed the last of a bottle of Chardonnay and meandered towards their room. “I’m going to bed. Merry fucking Christmas, Clark.”But room spinning and splayed atop the sheets, Sally shifted when Barry plunked down on the mattress. “Hey Sally? Are you asleep, honey?”Even in her drunken stupor, Sally’s ears perked up. Because since they put down roots in this barren field, Barry never, never called her Sally. “Yeah?”“Um…” Cleaning his glasses with his flannel, Barry took his time wiping. But betrayed by his trembling hands, they fell to the floor. “Shit.”Sally half sat up, peering at Barry through the dimness. “What’s wrong?”From under the bed, Barry retrieved a box. Sloppily wrapped in newspaper like the rest of their gifts. “I got you something else.” Eyes fastened to the wall, he nudged the box towards Sally. “I–I don’t know if you’ll like it. But I just thought…”Sally scooted closer, carefully peeling back a corner while she eyed Barry. In all their years together, he never acted like this. Stiff. Scared. Voice shrinking and shoulders hunching with each passing minute. Tearing the paper away, Sally removed the lid. A tiny gasp. Sneaking out as she revealed a pile of leather strips and…“Is this…?” She turned on the light for a better look. Yes. A strap on. Complete with a slender dildo. Barry nodded and cleared his throat. “Yeah, I, um…” False, jittering laughter creaked past his lips. “It’s–it’s just a joke. Forget about it.” Barry bonked his head, a little harder than necessary. Glassy giggles spilling over the floor. “I just thought it would be funny, I’m an idiot.”But Sally ceased the crazed laughter by touching his arm. “Honey, don’t. If this is what you want,” She lifted the strap on, belts and metal jangling. “That’s okay. We can try it.”“Really?” Barry whispered, frightened of her answer, of rejection.Caressing his stubbled jaw, Sally nodded. “Of course, baby. I just want to make you feel good. And if this will help, I want to give it a shot.”So that Holy Night, face down and eyes cloaked by his forearm, Barry bent before Sally. Fingers probing, rubbing the small of his back. Sally teaching herself to thrust and conquer. That first time, Barry only managed half the dildo’s length. Cum spraying over the sheets and sob masquerading as a moan, he reached back. Hand groping in the moonlight and repeating, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”After cleaning up, Sally cradled Barry in her arms. Long frame knotted into a ball and weeping. As the hours ticked towards dawn, Sally worried. Did something happen to Barry in prison? Is that why he made this request now? But she tucked these questions away as she tucked his face between her breasts. Regardless of how Barry lied and misled her in the past, people were allowed to have a few secrets.Cried out, Barry lifted his head. Eyes puffy and red. “Hey, Sally?”“Yes, Boo Bar?”A sniff. Barry’s voice warbling as he took her hand. “Would you be my wife?”Sally’s mouth dropped, a black hole in the universe of their intimacy. “What? Really?”“Yeah,” Sketching an invisible band over her fourth finger, Barry’s crooked smile rose like the sun. “Will you marry me?”Looking back, maybe she should have said no. Even then, what did Barry have to offer? Their basic ceremony. A far cry from the wedding of Sally’s dreams. No officiant, no guests. Just two people trading rings under a long-dead tree. Agreeing, with circlets of metal and words gone on the wind, to be bound forever.Over the next months, Barry’s faith blossomed while their love dwindled. He noticed Sally’s depression, her drinking. How she shuffles through the house in a dirty bathrobe, stench of liquor trailing after her like a forlorn child. And Barry tried, he really did. To feather the nest. Hanging artwork to make their double wide a home. Buying Sally whatever clothes or accessories she wants, hoping that she’ll feel beautiful. But ultimately, these are trinkets. Useless. Cheap.. Because Barry knew, if Sally couldn’t shed her skin to be someone else, she was nothing.So he suggested getting a job. “You’ll be Emily. You can make her whoever you want. It’ll be fun!”Right. Because slinging greasy fries and sass to a handful of hicks is a riot. Ass pinched each time she swung by the booths. Scalp itching under a black wig. Idiotic Oklahoman drawl twanging over an orchestra of agonized country music and tornado warnings. Yeah. The role of a lifetime.But if honest with herself, Sally does like the escape of Emily. Sure, Emily’s life is shitty. And as she becomes bolder and steals from the register, turns out she’s shitty, too. But some days, Sally forgets who she is. The murder of the biker, her flight from Hollywood, and the hitman in her bed. All vanishing under the Tulsa sun. And in these brief, merciful seconds, she can finally, finally breathe.Plus, they need the income. As much as he wants to provide, Barry can’t work. Not in the traditional sense, anyway, unless they want to get caught. But some days, he disappears. Coming back with haunted eyes and full pockets. And when that happens, like a boogeyman neither acknowledge, the box comes out from under the bed.Like tonight. Dead on her feet after a 12 hour shift, Sally arrives home. Reeking of cigarettes and gin. She knows she shouldn’t drive drunk. But playing fast and loose with mortality is her specialty. And Barry’s, too, for that matter. Stumbling up the stairs and inside, she kicks off her shoes. Planning to collapse into bed. Until she sees Barry. Naked. Box at his side. Demons crowding his shoulders. “Sally?”“Yeah?” Part of her tingles at the sight. But the rest of her growls, eager to rest after a long day of hands on her ass and tips shoved into her bra. But try as she might, regardless of what Barry does, coercing her into church or imprisoning her in a wasteland, she still wants him. His hands, his body. Strong and shattered and all hers.Without looking up, Barry taps the box. “Could you…?”Something in his voice dissolves her irritation. Soft. Nasal. Tortured. So, feigning sobriety, Sally strolls to the bed, teal nails scoring over his scalp. “Of course, baby. Whatever you need.”With a solemn nod, Barry lies back. Knees up, pillow under his little ass, and eyes on the ceiling. When this process began, he buried his face. Shame leaking out of his pores, his dick, as Sally stood behind. But once they established a routine, Barry wanted to see her face. Needed it. All of Sally’s beauty and talent and resentment raining down from above. While Barry gets into position, Sally strips. Maybe it’s the extra few pounds she gained lately, or maybe it’s just what happens to married couples, but she swears Barry doesn’t look at her like he used to. No more hunger in his sea blue gaze or hands that swim over her curves. No. Instead, Barry treats their sex life like a duty. Just another thing to check off his to do list.That is, aside from these nights. Now, when Sally shrugs off her clothes and replaces them with the strap on, Barry stares. Eyes a churning ocean while he churns his dick and licks his lips as if he can’t wait to taste her glory. And his look, that look which says she’s gorgeous and sexy and everything he could ever want, inspires a new character for Sally. Miss Emily.“Mmm, yeah, baby. Play with that big, beautiful cock for me.” Smirking and shimmying towards the bed, Sally cups her hands over Barry’s knees. Sliding them down, down, his thick thighs until her fingers frame his erection. Close, but not touching. Not yet. Barry jerks faster. Hopelessly trying to lure her towards his stiffening erection. “Yes, Miss Emily. Oh fuck…yes. Please, touch me. Fuck me.”“Why should I?” Sally scowls, straightening up with hands on her hips. “Looks like you’re doing just fine on your own. It’s not my job to get you off, is it?” Leaning forward, her palms ski over his plush belly, his firm chest. Dildo barely grazing his knuckles as Barry beats his dick. Smack! Sally’s hand whips across his cheek, stinging beneath the scruff. “Answer me, bitch!”“No, no, Miss Emily.” A whine. Long and high and needy while Barry raises his hips in futile petition. “It’s not your job. But please, please, I want it. I want you so bad.”Snatching the thinning hair at the crown of his head, Sally drags Barry to her face. Spit flying. Pupils pinpoints of rancor. “No! I won’t! It’s my turn. If you want me to get you off, you need to get on your knees. Show me what you’re good for, you fucking whore!”“Yes, Miss Emily. Oh fuck, yes. Yes!” Getting off the bed, Barry’s foot snags in the sheets and he tumbles to the floor. “Shit, sorry. Hang on. Okay, okay, I’m ready.”Suppressing a chuckle, Sally struts over. Dildo sweeping across his mouth. “Open up, slut.” Unraveling the carpet of his tongue, Barry waits. Patient. Servile. Until Sally tilts her hips and crams the dildo into his throat. “Mmm, yeah. You’re so fucking pretty with my dick in your mouth. Suck me, pretty boy. Suck me!”And Barry does. Kneeling, stunning. Dick heavy and forgotten between his flexing thighs. Lips fuschia and cheekbones sculpted, he swallows and swallows and swallows. Snaking a hand under the harness, a thumb expertly locates Sally’s clit. Swirling in time with his bobbing head. Fingers bunched in his silver-streaked curls, Sally rocks into his hoovering mouth. Each spin of his thumb over her hardened nub morphing into shrieks. “Barry! Oh fuck, yes, suck me, pretty boy. I love your mouth. You suck me so good. Don’t stop!”Barry twists his wrist and two fingers wriggle into Sally’s pulsating pussy. Groan bursting from her chest, Sally’s legs quiver and her pelvis strikes. Knocking the back of Barry’s skull against the bed and pummeling his esophagus. Choking and coughing, Barry’s eyes brim. But with Sally erupting above, he can’t take it any longer. Yanking his cock, he mewls around the dildo. Drool dripping to his chest hair and precum sparkling on the carpet.“Fuck! Clark! Yes, yes! Suck me, pretty boy. Make me cum in your slutty mouth. Now, now!”For Sally, this is more than foreplay. It’s revenge. Not that Barry ever took advantage of her sexually, but for everything else. Ruining her reputation. Smothering her aspirations. And above all, binding her to his lunacy. This place, this house, this life. All Barry. Barry, Barry, Barry. The man who once worshiped her as a goddess and now forces her to be a housewife. The man who fled prison, just to cage her in a pointless existence. The man who will pay for his crimes.So fists forming in his salt and pepper locks, Sally crushes his head against the mattress. Smack, smacking into his mouth and deaf to his gurgling. “Yes, fuck! Fuck, Clark, suck that dick. Take it, you stupid bitch. Suck me!”Why these words titillate Barry, he isn’t sure. Is it because of all the decades wasted under Fuches’ thumb? Is it because, even then, he believed he deserved to be treated like garbage? Who knows. Either way, as Sally pelts him with insults, Barry must tear his fingers from his dick, lest he cum and incur her wrath even further.As the leather thong of the harness mashes against his nose, Barry’s eyes streaming and square chin drenched in saliva, he remembers one of Cousineau’s lessons: Loud, fast, and keep going. All 5’5’’ of Sally towers over him, humping and pulling hair and screaming. A freight train of lust determined to mow him down. Usually when she screams–about the trailer, her job, Barry’s foolishness–he only half listens. Partially to convince himself they’re a happily married couple, and partially because Barry knows there is no solution. He can’t bring Sally back to Hollywood, can’t repair the rips in the fabric of her dreams. But on the floor with a silicone dick tapping his uvula, he can do this. Suck and serve and surrender. One small, selfless act to make his Sally, his star, shine.So, as their mentor and tormentor Gene insisted, Barry keeps going. Ignoring the moist click in the back of his throat and sticking out his tongue while Sally hammers the dildo home. With his sizable hand working inside and out, Barry feels Sally. Pussy a bear trap around his fingers that will never let him leave. Shrieks escalate, ample hips knocking him back and back, until Sally huddles over his head and convulses. “Fuck! Barry, yes. Yes! I’m cumming. Oh fuck, I’m cumming in your mouth. Fuck!”Usually when their roles were reversed, Barry rolled off her promptly, always complaining about his recent weight gain and concerned she might get squished. But draped over his face like an old stage curtain, Sally can’t bring herself to care. Doubled up, gulping air through their comforter, one foot keeps her ass aloft, Barry’s head pinned while spasms spiral from her pussy to her flinching limbs. Flopping onto her side, the dildo pops from Barry’s lips. Half wheezing, half coughing, he rewards the purple head of his cock with a conciliatory squeeze and crumples to the carpet. Throat raw, lips swollen, dick neglected. And yet, a smile brightens his face.“Get. Up. You. Bitch.” Sally huffs, standing on jellied limbs. “I want to fuck that pretty, tight ass of yours. Come on.”Before Barry can compose himself, delicate fingers become talons over his scalp. Hauling him up, up, and throwing him on the sheets. “Spread ‘em, pretty boy,” Not waiting for an exhausted Barry to respond, Sally grabs his knees and wrenches his shapely legs apart. “I wanna fuck that tight little ass of yours.”“Yes, Miss Emily. Oh fuck, yes,” Barry blathers, folding a pillow under his back. With Sally above, all hazel eyes and hair of unyielding gold, he tilts up his ass. Hole magnetized to the dildo. Open. Ready. “Fuck me. Please, please, fuck me.”“Is this what you want?” Striking forward, Sally drives every last inch into Barry’s knit muscle. Stretched without pretext and filled by fury. Eyes rolling back and sturdy jaw agape, Barry’s nails gouge the sheets. Part of Barry knows he’s supposed to play along. Be Clark. The man of God who used to dance with the Devil. But mind as skewered as his ass, he can do no more than whimper. Thin and reedy and precious. “...Oh–oh fuck! Sally!”Before Barry comes back to earth, a petite hand ricochets off his face like a stray bullet. “What the fuck did you just call me, bitch?”Even with all her stage combat lessons, nothing prepares Sally for this. Five fingers burnt into Barry’s flesh, bitterness barely blocked by his beard. Cheek crimson and eyes leaking as if he made the mistake of eating a peanut. But Sally wants to punish. To hurt. Because a simple slap is nothing compared to this Oklahoman hell.A feeble, “Sorry. I meant Emily. Miss Emily, I’m sorry,” dribbles from Barry’s lips. Only to be answered by a snarl. “Oh, you’re sorry? You’re sorry?!” Fingers around his throat, with a merciless thrust, Sally closes the pincer. Tight. Tighter. Tightest. Barry’s face flushes, mouth flapping in silence. Sirens blare in his brain. Hundreds of internal soldiers rushing through the battlefield of his body, seeking oxygen. Relief.Pulse under her thumb, Sally’s nails carve into the whiskered skin of his neck. Remembering the biker. Flattened by a malevolent stranger until he stole her breath and her innocence. Could she really kill Barry if it came to that? Before the biker, she never thought herself capable of murder. Of pulverizing another human, until their skull was no more than a broken vase of wilted flowers and blood. But she did it. Her. Sally Jane Reed. And if she’s learned anything from Barry, it’s that whether you take one life or a thousand, you’re still damned.But her grip relents. Barry drinks air like a recently surfaced diver. And with Sally’s fingers relocating to his turgid cock, he prepares for the bends.“Is this what you want? Huh? Huh, Clark?” Hips snapping, Sally’s thumb revolves over the engorged head of his dick. Every inhale a gasp and every exhale a moan, Barry’s hands claw at the bed. Hands which held guns and Fate. Now condemned to scramble for denied ecstasy. Sally watches. Though they’ve done this half a dozen times, she never tires of the image. Barry’s chest bellowing. The jiggle of his belly. How every tendon in his neck stands out, ropy and urgent. But above all, his voice. How Barry crumbles. Shrieks and screeches and saying, “Yes, yes, yes! Fuck me, Miss Emily. Fuck me hard!”“What, like this?” Propping his ankles over her shoulders, Sally bows, squashing her own hand between their bodies. Propelling forward until every last millimeter of the dildo disappears into Barry’s hole. Face to face. Smelling the beer on his breath and the agony on his skin. “You want me to fuck that pretty little ass hard, don’t you, slut?”Much like that afternoon months ago, Barry whispers, “I do.”Standing outside under a lightning-severed tree, Sally couldn’t say it. The idea of committing not just her life, but her heart, to this monster of a man was beyond her limits. But from his flannel pocket, Barry retrieved a piece of paper. Clearing his throat to read.“Um…I thought I should write a little something. You know, vows.” Glasses glued to the page, at first Sally thought he hadn’t memorized the words. But as his speech splintered and his eyes gleamed, she understood: Barry didn’t trust himself not to cry.“Sally Reed. My Sally. When my life was nothing and I’d given up looking for happiness, I found you. Before that, I was in a really bad place. Depressed and scared. And pretty close to giving up. Even though you yelled at me right away,” Barry looked up with a brief smirk. “I knew, as soon as I saw you rehearsing on those stairs, you would be someone special to me. And you were. You are. You’re the woman who invited me to Residuals even though I was an intruder. You’re the woman who trusted me with her talent and ambition. And,” Pausing to entwine their fingers, Barry’s lips quivered. “You’re the woman who taught me how to feel. How to be human. And if I have one prayer, it’s that I hope you’ll stay. That you’ll let me try to repay you every day for the rest of our lives. Because without you, I’d still be wandering around in the dark.”So now, as it did then, something inside Sally softens. Clearing the curlicues from his sweaty forehead, Sally takes in Barry. The beauty, the buried goodness, which occasionally glimmers like an agate at the bottom of a stream. And capturing his lips, Sally weaves their tongues together, as she wove their futures. Accepting Barry and his ring.Parting from their kiss, though her eyes still glow, the rabid revenge evaporates. Instead, Sally rises, lips snaking along Barry’s calve and honoring his cock with a generous jerk. “Mmm…yes. I love fucking my good little slut. You’re so fucking pretty. Do you wanna cum for Miss Emily? Hmm? Would that make you feel good, baby?”Barry emits a weak, “Uh huh.” Pelvis confused as he fretfully attempts to hump her fist and coax the dildo ever deeper. “Yes. Yes, oh…oh fuck, please. Please let me cum, Miss Emily.”It’s the tenor of his pleas that sink into Sally’s spirit. Usually she despises Barry’s voice. The arrogant, condescending way he recites scripture and his needling questions. Don’t you think you’ve had enough?But like this, his broad body balanced on a blade between desire and destruction, all pretense is gone. And he’s just Barry. Her husband. Her lover. Her captor. And, as she massages his shaft and pounds his ass, Barry is her whore. And though dizzied by her ruthless penetration and careful charming of his cock, a verse runs through Barry’s head unbidden.
For the wife does not have authority over her own body, but the husband does. Likewise the husband does not have authority over his own body, but the wife does. Do not deprive one another, except perhaps by agreement for a limited time, that you may devote yourselves to prayer; but then come together again, so that Satan may not tempt you because of your lack of self-control.
Is Barry tempted? Is Satan to blame for his unique tastes in the bedroom? If so, maybe his dad and Fuches were demons. Luring Barry towards pain and violence and power. Controlling him like a puppet until Barry lost not just his soul, but his self-worth. And convincing Barry he was good for nothing without a glock in his hand or a mark at the end of his scope. Transforming him into a tool, rather than a person.But Sally, Sally is different. Sure, she can be harsh. For instance, right now her fingers glove around his balls, firm and tugging and brutal. And outside this room, she’s called him far worse than ‘bitch’ or ‘slut.’ Decrying his intelligence, his abilities. But even with these sharp edges, Barry knows that inside, a kind, patient Sally exists. One who heats up chicken soup when he’s sick and who suffers a waitress’ yoke for the sake of their safety. So while Sally revs into a perky storm above, Barry turns his back on his father and Fuches and the past. Prepared to worship his fair-haired idol.If there’s one time Sally doesn’t mind Barry calling out to God, it’s now. “Oh my God, Sally, Sally, I’m gonna cum!” spouting from his throat like so many obsolete lessons.
Charm is deceitful and beauty is passing, But a woman who fears the Lord, she shall be praised.
The woman said, ‘The serpent deceived me, and I ate.’
And worst of all, Wives, submit to your husbands.Not a fucking chance.While Sally pummels Barry’s hole and juices his cock, she belts out, “Take it, you fucking stupid bitch!” kicking Barry into the land of milk and honey.Cum dawns over Sally’s knuckles like the first day of the Lord’s creation. Anointing Barry’s tummy, his built pecs, with glistening dew. A single prayer leaving his lips. “...Sally.”“Mmm, that’s right, pretty boy. Fucking cum for me. Does that feel good? Is that what my little slut wanted?”A stringy, “Yes,” Barry extending an unsteady hand towards her face. “Oh yes, so fucking good. Thank you.” “Don’t thank me yet.” Sally’s hips slow, but do not stop. Thumb grooved into Barry’s frenulum, she crouches, angling the dildo directly into his prostate. Fed up with her life in this devoid place, Sally a.k.a. Emily takes out her frustrations on Barry’s ass. Knocking grunts out of his chest and pulling his dick without apology. “Cum for me. Again! Now! Cum for me, you fucking whore!”Every muscle, every thought, straining. Barry a trigger about to click. Hanging on his knees, he crunches forward. Bold brows stitched and breath whistling through his rounded teeth. “Oh fuck. Fuck! Sally, I–I can’t! It’s too much. Fuck!”Barry has ascended to this insanity before. Those three sleepless days after killing Chris, the massacre at the monastery, and that harrowing moment in Jim Moss’ living room when a SWAT team materialized from the shadows. But this, with his ankles locked behind Sally’s head and his prostate throbbing under every paralyzing stroke, might outstrip them all. Blindly pawing for Sally, Barry locates her fingers. Squeezing, holding, and pleading for a pardon. “Sally, Sally! Oh fuck, it hurts. Please. Please, don’t stop. Fuck me. Give it to me. I need it, I need it, I need it. I need you. Fuck. Fuck!”Springing apart like a jack in the box, Barry cries out a final, “Sally!” An earthquake scattering through his limbs and igniting the volcano of his cock. Creamy globules of cum drizzle onto his belly. A sacrifice to the god of their love.Ensconced but still, Sally jams a hand under the harness. Fiddling her clit rapid and rough. “Barry! Barry! Barry!” she bleats, fingers in her mouth to taste his offering. “Fuck, Barry!”Sally deflates, just another small weight to add to his conscience. Arms depleted, Barry envelops her in a loose hug. Kissing her forehead and uttering, “I love you.”A beat spins out. Barry wonders, will she say it this time? Lately, the best he got was an over the shoulder ‘love ya’ as she headed out to the diner. But Sally raises her face. Eyes like the forest and just as mysterious. “I love you, too, Barry.”“Really?”“Yeah.”For a while they lay like a collection of twigs. Good for warmth, but useless if left to rot. Gingerly removing the dildo, Sally snuggles in the divot of his chest. Painting her fingers through the black swaths of hair. Until she interrupts the quiet. “Did something happen today?”Even with his energy absent, at this question, Barry manages to tense. “Yeah, um…I–I saw my brother at the store.”“Brother?” Sally sits up, blinking. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”“Two,” Sighing, Barry brings her back into their embrace. Another minute of solace. If only one. “And a little sister. I haven’t seen him for over twenty years. He was older, went into the Marines just like my dad right after highschool.”Floored by this revelation, Sally cards her fingers through Barry’s damp curls. “What happened when you saw him?”Barry’s giggle, usually the epitome of glee, now creeps out shrouded and dry. “He didn’t recognize me. There I was, less than five feet away, and he had no idea who I was.”Kissing Barry’s gray-streaked chin, she hugs him. Hard. Infusing her arms with all the things she can’t say.Hiding his face in the crook of her neck, Barry’s breath hitches. Vast shoulders shaking and soaking Sally’s skin with woe.Sally holds Barry. Lets him cry until he’s drained and cold and still.“I’m sorry, Boo Bar.”A sniff. “It’s okay. Thanks, hun.”After covering Barry with half the sheet, Sally leaves for the bathroom. Takes her time cleaning up. Giving Barry space to become Clark again.When she returns, Barry is in bed. Wearing his undershirt and boxer briefs with the Bible propped on his belly paunch. For months now, this is their routine. Barry reading while Sally tosses back enough wine to court sleep.But instead of selecting a fresh bottle, she gently touches Barry’s wrist. “Honey? I need to tell you something.”This is it, Barry thinks before he can even lower the Good Book. For ages, he held his breath. After each move to a new nowhere, each shitty shift at the diner, waiting for Sally to drop the bomb. She’s leaving. I pushed her too far.So ticking up his glasses, Barry prays. For the strength to withstand her absence. For just one more moment with his beloved. “...Yeah?”“Well, I went to the gas station the other day, and,” Sally rifles through the bedside drawer and instead of toys for their erotic escapades, reveals a white stick bearing a plus sign. “I’m pregnant.”Aside from a twitch in his left eye, Barry says nothing. Then gradually, the news illuminates his face. Lopsided joy without compare. “Really?” A baby? A family? After roaming the earth alone and forsaken, he never believed this could be possible. But here they are. Third act on the horizon and auditioning to be parents. “Yes.”And, for once, Sally delves into her memory. Calling up a verse she learned in Sunday school as she takes Barry’s hand.“The Lord your God has multiplied you, and look,” Sally traces under his smile, a wonky constellation of hope. “Today you are as numerous as the stars of heaven.”