Brisé (8 page)

A celebratory dinner was in order, and we ate dessert first. Another one of my dad’s traditions for special occasions. On every birthday we had cake at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It was never questioned, just the norm in our house. I am exhausted when we finally get home, and I notice a slight tension with Luke and his dad as we say goodnight.

“What’s that about?”

“Nothing. It’ll work itself out.” He tries to move around me to change in the bathroom and I grab a hold of his arm.

“Tell me.”

He lets out a frustrated breath, not making eye contact. I have a feeling this is going to be bad. “He noticed the change in our relationship, and he’s worried about me basically living here. Afraid we will fuck up our futures.”

“Are you worried?” I never want him to feel bound to me out of obligation. Yes, we have admitted we are in love, we always have been, and there has been a change in our relationship, but our friendship is still the foundation.

“You are my future, Phoebe.” He is so simple in his answers. But they convey everything to me. No hidden agenda, no games. Just says what he means and you can take it or leave it. I am taking this.

“You are my future, Luke.” I rise on my tiptoes; leaning into his neck, I place a small kiss at the base. I drag my tongue across after my lips are done, and I hear his sharp intake of breath. This is new to me, but natural at the same time. There’s no shyness in my moves, my intentions are very clear. I slowly unbutton his dress shirt, looking into his heated eyes; I don’t want to stop. He picks me up effortlessly and plops me on the bed. Quickly removing his shoes and socks, his hands return to his pants and he pauses, meeting my eyes.

“Are you sure?” Stupid boy.

“As my next breath,” I lean towards him and replace his hands with mine, letting him know how sure I am. I undo the button, lower the zipper, and then he’s standing before me naked. My man likes to go commando. Duly noted. I trail my fingertips over his cock, mesmerized by the strength and feel of it. He emits a low feral-like growl and my eyes snap to his. Never experiencing this before, I don’t know what to expect. He grabs my hand, halting its exploration and starts removing my clothing. One article at a time. Tortuously slow. By the time I am lying on my bed, bare, I’m a writhing mess. The throbbing in my clit is unbearable, I need something, but I don’t know what. He’s staring at me, his gaze heating my skin, consuming me, and I need him. I want to call out to him, but no words are needed. He slowly lowers himself over me, kissing me. His tongue enters my mouth, possessive and claiming. Not dueling with my tongue, but taming it, allowing me to follow him on this euphoric mating. I capture his bottom lip between my teeth and tug. He pulls back. “Damn it, Phoebe. I’m trying to remain in control.”

“I don’t want you in control. I don’t want to be in control. I want to feel; I want you to possess me, every inch of me,” he snaps. Clasping my nipple between his lips, he bites down, gently, then harder. I feel dampness on my thighs. His fingers move down my stomach, one circling my clit and the other entering me. I arch up to feel more, pull him deeper, and another growl comes from his chest. My hands begin to wander, sweeping over his chest, his stomach, and finally finding his dick. I encircle my hand around it, reveling in the feel of him and swipe my thumb over the head catching a drop of pre-cum. I bring my thumb to my mouth and suck it off. He quickly jumps off me, and reaches for his wallet to grab a condom. I watch him roll it over him and that sight alone almost makes me combust. He stalks back towards the bed covering my body with his. I feel his fingers enter me again, but this time there are two. I’m full but not full enough. I buck my hips, moving to the rhythm of his fingers, and the pressure in my lower abdomen builds. Luke angles his hips and slides his dick over my clit. I explode. That was the pinnacle I needed to reach my climax, and I ride it … wave after wave. Grabbing my hips and slowly entering me, I feel a sting, but I feel pleasure overwhelming me. I’m so full, and so filled with love.

Thrust after thrust, I near the edge again. I feel claimed, possessed, and cherished at the same time. His pace quickens and he slides his hand between our bodies focusing on my clit. I throw my head back, letting the overwhelming pleasure consume my body. Pleasure stabbing through me, rising and then breaking. I sob his name as my release overtakes me. I feel him swell inside of me and then still as he rumbles, “I love you, Phoebe.” His love is absolute, his voice domineering, and his words are a promise of tomorrow. There is no going back, only forward, and that’s what we do.

I become somewhat of a nympho over the next few weeks, attacking him every chance I get. I’m out of school for the summer, no decisions to be made until November. He is on summer break, opting not to take classes. I have gotten good at ripping condoms open and sheathing him in them. I like it hard and fast, soft and slow, but my favorite is in the shower, being taken from behind. I wake up one day and realize I’m actually living again. Not my old life, but a new one, and it is good.

Until it’s not.

Chapter 9

Luke

Making Phoebe mine was the best night of my life. She was determined, fearless, and hot as hell. It continues to get better, and as we are learning this new side of our relationship, it’s solidifying us as a couple. We’ve always had the friendship, respect, and familiarity . . . add in the sex, and we’re golden. Things still aren’t back to normal with her, but they probably never will be. With each day we’re developing a new normal, and it’s working for now. She still isn’t eating as much as I’d like, dropping weight she can’t afford to lose, but I have to let her figure things out on her own. Cope in her own way. I can’t force the acceptance stage of her grief; she has to come to terms with it on her own. Until she decides what she’s doing in November I will begin working with my dad. I took my real estate exam and passed, so starting next month, I will be a working man. Seems weird that I won’t spend every day with Phoebe, our new routine has easily become normal.

Today, we are going to Six Flags; it’s about an hour drive from our hometown of Winder. Just a carefree day, eating too much junk food, getting tossed upside down, and playing cheesy games. I want to see her eyes light up for more than a moment at a time, laugh with abandonment, and smile easily. My roller-coaster junkie should have a great day. She can barely contain her excitement, her anticipation building as to what she’ll ride first. I have one rule, no fucking wooden roller coasters. That shit is not natural, and I refuse. Who puts a steel cart, weighing thousands of pounds, plus the weight of passengers, and has it careening over wooden planks? I’m lying to myself, I would gladly sit on that damn steel trap of death and go careening to my untimely death if she asked me. But she won’t.

“Want to eat first?” I’m starving, and she didn’t eat before we left.

She shrugs at me. “Not really hungry right now. Go ahead, though. We can play games while your food settles then go on some rides.” I don’t like that plan; she needs food. I reluctantly lead her to the food vendors and order her a Sprite. Maybe her stomach needs to be settled and her appetite will come back. The day is passing with laughter; it’s been music to my ears. I notice her swaying back and forth in line when a beat catches her ear.

“Why haven’t you danced lately?” I haven’t said anything to her, but I have noticed. I notice everything about this girl.

“I’m scared. What if I can’t let it out? Or if I do and I forget the pain? Isn’t that like giving them up?”

“No, baby. That’s living through the pain, which is exactly what they wanted. Don’t you think your mom’s watching from above, begging you to dance? She loved watching you . . . you breathed life into her with your dancing. The pride on your dad’s face, it was indescribable. He was in awe of you. It was as if he couldn’t believe that was his daughter dancing. You bring out emotions and feelings in people when you perform. You don’t realize what you evoke in your dancing, it’s like we all want to leave there being a better person. It’s hard to explain, but it’s such an experience. Each time I watch you, that’s how I feel.” She crashes her lips into mine, slowly climbing up my body. I hear a voice clear behind us and meet the eyes of a very unimpressed young woman with her young son beside her.

“Let’s keep it PG, Twinkle.” I put her down and discreetly adjust myself, all while she’s laughing. Real laughter, a melody she creates on her own overtakes my body. I decide we’ve ridden enough rides and bend down so she can jump on my back. Piggyback out of the park, we’ll get to privacy sooner. I feel her put her small hands on my shoulders, then nothing. I don’t feel any weight on me, so I turn to ask her what the holdup is, but her face is pale, her eyes unfocused, and she’s swaying on her feet. I grab her and watch as her eyes close and she becomes unresponsive. My legs are shaking as I try to get her out of the crowd, yelling for anyone to get help. I’m pleading with her to open her damn eyes, my stomach rolls, and I fight to hang on, be present for her. I get her to a bench and help her lie down. At that moment, park officials run to us and immediately call a medical team. She’s breathing, so I concentrate on each inhale and exhale, watch for any signs of her opening her eyes. None come. They load her on a stretcher and take us to the front of the park where an ambulance is waiting. I follow it to the local Emergency Room, and there is a flurry of activity happening. I explain that I am her guardian; luckily I keep that handy little card in my wallet that I was given showing all the estate provisions and my guardianship. They still won’t let me in the room, only informing me she hasn’t woken up.

When the administrator comes out and tells me that they are transporting her to Scottish Rites in Atlanta due to some concern in her blood work, I almost crumble. Instead, I hurry to the hospital, making it in about twenty minutes. Pacing back and forth in the waiting area, they finally allow me back to see her. She’s still groggy, but at least I can see her blue eyes.

“What happened?”

She doesn’t remember.

“One second you were laughing and molesting me, the next you passed out. I couldn’t wake you up; I was so fucking scared.” I am pouring out words in rapid succession and still haven’t caught my breath. She has to be all right. “You should have eaten, it’s probably low blood sugar,” I tell her. Even though I speak those words, I don’t believe them. When her oncologist walks in, followed by another physician, I know my gut is right.

“Good afternoon, Phoebe.” I hate that he’s on a first name basis with her, but after treating her for thirteen years, it’s expected. Trying to study his face for any telltale sign as to why he’s here and watching Phoebe to make sure she stays stable, I almost miss the conversation taking place.

Dr. Marks explains the woman with him is Dr. Berl, from the Obstetrics department. “The blood work you had at the other hospital doesn’t look good, kiddo,” he tells her honestly. “We need to do a bone marrow biopsy to see where we stand and discuss treatment options, but first we have to deal with another issue at hand.”

He waits for one of us to ask, but neither of us formulates a sentence, let alone a clear thought. I immediately take her hand, hoping to reassure both of us. She beat this once before, surely she’s strong enough to survive a second time. We finally have our lives mapped out, we’re together, and our demons and tragedies are supposed to be behind us. That fucker continues, “You’re just over three weeks pregnant. There’s no easy way to say this, but I suggest a therapeutic abortion. Some of the drugs we need to give you are still in trial, and they can create a risk for the fetus.”

Her tears are silent, no outcry over the injustice of this. “Are you sure?” I ask.

“Yes.”

Her gasp is audible over the noise of the machines around the room monitoring her. I look at her and see a ghost of a smile on her face. “Luke, we are pregnant. I can’t believe it”

Ignoring her question and shock of the situation I turn back to her doctor. “How? We were safe, I made sure she was protected.” I’m thinking back, and we never had sex without protection. Maybe her pregnancy is making her blood work come out abnormal. “Is it possible that you’re wrong about the leukemia? Maybe it’s the pregnancy.”

He shakes his head at me. “Condoms aren’t one hundred percent effective. Abstinence is your only guarantee. Her white count is abnormal, along with her other symptoms; glands swollen, the pain she said she’s having.” I look at her. She’s never mentioned any pain to me.

“I’ve been sore. Weak feeling. I thought it was from everything else going on.” Her voice is timid, ashamed she didn’t voice her concerns either. When her eyes meet mine, determination comes over her face. She faces Dr. Marks, “I never thought of pregnancy. With everything else that was going on I blamed it on stress. I won’t have an abortion. We can hold off on any treatment until after the baby’s here.” I see she is reeling from this noise, and at any other time I would have shouted from the rooftops and celebrated with her, but now I am barely holding on. The air has been sucked from the room as we contemplate the entirety of what this means. I simultaneously got the news that elated and destroyed me.

He shakes his head. “That isn’t advisable. You know leukemia is aggressive. Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia doesn’t wait for you, it kills you if not treated.” He looks to me. “Can we talk outside?”

I let go of her hand, and before I can follow him out of the door, Phoebe calls, “Don’t do it, Luke.”

“Mr. Nichols, you’re her guardian. She isn’t eighteen, and I don’t take this situation lightly. I can lie out the facts for you. She is in for a long road, about six months of treatment, minimum. Hopefully, we caught it early enough. The fetus very well won’t survive, and in the middle of treatment, if she suffers a miscarriage, it will delay her regimen. That could kill her. A lot of drugs will be off limits to her due to the pregnancy.” I need to talk to her. I don’t know why though … it won’t change what will happen. I’ll do whatever it takes to save her.