Indisputable (9 page)

I’m being ridiculous for caring, but I can’t help
feeling a little protective of her after the display of vulnerability she
showed me yesterday.  Clearly this girl is sorting through some shit, and
it’d probably be wise of me to leave it alone.  I have enough on my plate
without getting sucked into whatever mess she’s in.  But I never claimed
to be a smart man.  

Tomorrow, I’ll try out Mr. Stephenson’s advice and not
be such a prick when she pushes my buttons.  Maybe then I can talk her
into opening up to me.  Maybe then I can learn a little bit more about the
girl with the haunted look in her eyes.

Tatum

After Mrs. Marsden passed, I called the nurse down
while Finn called David.  Kelsey had already headed home since she was
venturing into a 24 hours shift, promising to return after a little
sleep.  Finn and I prepared Monica for family and the funeral home, while
the staff nurse made arrangements to have her body picked up and
transported. 

I thought I would be filled with much more sorrow than
I am, but after witnessing her death, I can’t help but feel peaceful. 
Whatever Monica saw in those final moments was enough to erase her fear and put
a smile on her face.  I think I just might believe in angels after all.

“You okay?” Finn asks, grabbing my hand as we leave
the Marsden family alone to grieve.  He gives it one gentle squeeze,
before releasing it. 

“Yeah, I think I am,” I reply quietly, still lost in
my swirling thoughts about death and the afterlife.

“I know you were close to her.  She really
enjoyed you, you know.”

I smile over at Finn as we stand quietly in the
kitchen.  His shaggy blond hair is messy from working an overnight shift,
and his light green eyes are sporting tired rings around the bottom.  His
looks and his build, at least six feet of lean, hard muscle, make it hard to
believe he works as a CNA.  Don’t get me wrong, I love having his strength
around here when we do transfers, but he looks like he just stepped off an
Abercrombie shopping bag. 

“I know.  I enjoyed her too.  I’m going to
miss her.”

“Was she your first?”

I nod my head slightly.  Death is much harder
when you have a relationship with the person.  She wasn’t even my family,
and yet, I feel an immense sense of loss. 

“You’ll be alright.”  He pats me on the shoulder,
before walking into the office to clock out.  “See you soon?”

“Yeah, Finn.  Thanks for staying with me. 
See you.”

It’s after 8 a.m. when I finally leave the home and
drive back to my apartment.  School is out of the question today, as I
just want to curl up in bed and unwind.  My body is drained, both
physically and emotionally, and I need a hard reset.  After a quick
shower, I slide into some sweats and a t-shirt before crawling into bed,
intending to rest as long as possible.  It doesn’t take long before I’m
drifting off into a solid sleep.

When I roll over from my dreamless slumber, the clock
on my dresser reads half past two.  I extract myself from the mass of
blankets and pad into the bathroom to pee before heading to the kitchen for a
snack.  With a PB&J in hand, I plop down on my bed to see what’s on
MTV at this time of day. 

I don’t have to work today, and I’m grateful. 
The head nurse gave me pay for sticking around last night and found someone to
cover my shift.  She said she was impressed with my dedication to Mrs.
Marsden and wanted to reward me with a good day of sleep after I stayed there
all night.  It’s nice to feel appreciated for once; although, I was more
than glad to stay without the pay.   

As I eat my snack, I’m having trouble focusing on the
mindless reality TV in front of me.  My mind is replaying those final
moments: the scared look in her eye, the squeeze of her hand, the deep,
rattling breath.  And the peaceful look that overcame her right before her
final exhale.  As settling as it is, I’m also terrified.  My thoughts
are overcome with death.  I wonder if my mom saw anything as she had lain
there, the drugs overwhelming her system, waiting for her own demise. 
Fuck!  I need a distraction. 

I call the one person I know will be here, no
questions asked.  Wyatt.

Not even twenty minutes pass before he knocks on my
door, surprised I called him in the middle of the afternoon.  He also had
the day off today, and sounded eager to come by.  I had told myself
yesterday I wasn’t going to call him this week, but I need this.  I need
to find some way to unwind, or I’m going to drive myself crazy.  This is
the only way I know how. 

He sits down beside me on the couch, but I can’t wait
any longer.  I need this now. 

“Come here, Wyatt.”  Crooking my finger at him, I
reach forward to take his shoulders in my hands, pulling him towards me. 
He comes easily, like I knew he would, pressing me down until I’m lying on my
back, and he’s propped up above me.  “No talking this time,” I tell him,
before pulling his mouth down to mine. 

He smirks at me before claiming my mouth with
his.  Wyatt knows how to kiss, his smooth lips moving gently against mine,
his tongue slipping out to trace my full lower lip.  I open my mouth
readily, greedily, and slide my tongue out to meet his.  He tastes of
peppermint and tobacco, but I don’t mind.  The combination is
overwhelming, but I’m used to it. 

We don’t waste any time removing each other’s
clothing.  His hands come up to slide my tee over my head, his eyes
roaming my now bare chest.  He brings both of his hands to my breasts,
kneading and massaging my flesh before dipping his head to pull one hardened
nipple into his mouth.  I can’t contain the moan that rides out on my
exhale.  Wyatt brings his hand down my stomach, slipping it beneath the
waistband of my sweats.  He rubs his fingers in slow circles on my core
through my lace underwear, my clit throbbing beneath his skilled touch.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he groans, before slipping my
underwear to the side and gliding two fingers effortlessly inside me.

“Wyatt, ah God,” I cry out, the intense rush of
pleasure taking me off guard.  He uses his other hand to work my pants and
underwear off my hips, shimmying them down my legs where I use my feet to
wiggle them off.  I spread my legs wider, giving him unquestionable
access, my hips working into his hand, trying to reach the core of my
desire. 

His mouth comes back down on my breasts, one and then
the other.  He alternates licking and softly pinching my rosy nipples with
his mouth, each touch sending a zing of pleasure down to where his fingers are
working rhythmically.  Wyatt lifts his mouth from my breast, taking my
lips with his, giving my upper lip a sharp nip. 

“Oh baby, you like that?  Should I make you come
like this?”  His words send a hot rush through me.  My body is
buzzing, but it’s not enough.  The pleasure is good, but I need
more.  On the cusp of my mind are the thoughts of the past couple of days,
and I try to will them away.  I need more.  I need Wyatt to rob me of
the ability to think and leave behind only the ability to feel.  To erase
the anxiety and fear and thoughtful questions swirling within the dark
depths.   

But he’s not enough.  He’s never enough. 
He’s like lidocaine when I need a shot of morphine. 

“No, wait.  I need you to fuck me.”

He groans, his fingers not missing a beat. 
Taking that as a yes, I reach down and unzip his fly, sliding his pants down
just enough to free his hard cock. 

“Condom?” I ask on my next breath.  Wyatt circles
my clit with his thumb and I close my eyes, moaning his name.  I’m awash
with sensation, pleasure.  From his hands, his mouth, his body pressing
into mine. 

“Front pocket,” he grunts around his own breathy
moan.  I reach into his jeans, finding the condom and sliding it down the
length of him.  He doesn’t miss a beat as he removes his fingers and
thrusts himself inside of me.

“Oh God,” I cry out, the pleasure branching out from
that sweet spot deep inside of me, reaching to the tips of my toes.  He
stills, holding himself completely inside me, giving me a moment to
adjust.  But I don’t want him to wait, I don’t want him to stop.  I
need to feel this, to forget everything else so I rock my hips forcefully
against his, trying to take him deeper inside me.  Trying to make him
move.  Trying to help me forget.   

“Again.” I demand, and he does, pulling out the entire
length before slamming himself back inside of me, hitting that sweet spot again. 
“Fuck Wyatt, again.  Harder.”

“Oh yeah,” he grinds out between thrusts, pushing my
body further and further towards the edge.  I can feel my orgasm building,
my toes tingling as my legs begin to flex and tighten around his hips.  I
start trembling from head to toe as he pushes on, pounding into me harder and
faster.

“Keep going, please,” I beg, my orgasm so close I’m
panting with each word.  I clench the tight muscles in his back, his
shoulders rippling with the effort to hold himself up and drive into me
relentlessly.  I can feel him trembling, a light sheen of sweat coating
his body as he slides against me over and over again.  He dips his head to
pull my nipple into his mouth, scraping his teeth lightly against my sensitive
flesh.

“I need you to let go.  I can’t hold on much
longer,” he fires at me, and his words spur me on.  My body bows, rising
off the couch as I tip over the precipice, my eyes slamming closed from the
intense pleasure.  My body rides the waves of its own accord, my hips
bucking beneath his as Wyatt finds his own release, pumping rhythmically into
me.  And for a moment, I am lost. 

Although, it is fleeting. 

We lie together on my couch, slick with sweat as our
breathing begins to return to normal.  Wyatt pulls himself out of me, and
crosses the room into my bathroom without a word.  I sit up and pull my
clothing back on before he gets back, curious about his quiet demeanor, yet at
the same time receding within my own walls.   

When he returns, he dresses and sits down beside me, tossing
his arm around my shoulders and begins drawing light circles against my
arm.  We sit silently together. 

“Is something wrong?” I ask, after he’s been quiet
much longer than usual.  He’s usually one to get done and leave a few
minutes later.  I can’t remember a time he’s lingered around like this.

He keeps drawing circles on my arm, and I give him a
moment, knowing he heard my question. 

“Do you ever think about turning this into something
more?”

Damn.  I so don’t need this right now.  A
bitchy reply tries to claw out of my throat but I swallow it down.  I
don’t need to hurt his feelings but he deserves the truth.  We always said
if the lines started to blur, everything would stop.  And this is
seriously crossing the line of casual sex.  “Honestly?  No.  I
don’t think we could ever be more.”

“Why not?” he demands, turning his body to face
me.  “We get along, we’re great together, and the sex is amazing. 
What more is there?”

“There’s a lot more, actually.  You and I, we’re
different people.  We want different things out of life.  In the
whole time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you as more than what we are now.”

“And what’s that?” he questions, “A convenient
fuck?” 

I can’t ignore the look of hurt on his face. 
‘Well yeah,’ I want to say, but I don’t.  It’s not my intention to hurt
him, but I thought we were clear on what we are.   

“You and I both know this has just been a
distraction—for both of us.  You have your shit going on, and I have
mine.  This life isn’t it for me.  I have plans to leave here, and I
know you don’t.”  He looks at me with frustration and hurt written all
over his attractive features.

“So what?  If you leave, then we’d be done. 
It’s that easy.  Why won’t you try?”

“What’s the point?” My own frustration is fueling my
emotions, and I’m exhausted; I want him gone.  “If we only plan to stay
together until I leave, what’s the point of being together at all?  I’m
sorry, Wyatt.  You’re a great guy, but I just can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”  He asks, leaning forward to
brush his fingers across my cheek.  I pull back from the contact.

“Won’t,” I respond coldly, frustrated with his
game.  His ice blue eyes take on a new fire I’ve never seen in them
before.

“Who else are you fucking?” he spits at me, his hands
gripping my thighs.

“What?” I sputter back, incredulous at the
implication.  “Nobody but you, but that wouldn’t matter anyway since I’m
not dating you!”  The loose control I held over my inner bitch snaps. 
Nobody talks to me like that.

He squeezes my legs tighter, and I’m certain I’ll have
bruises tomorrow, but I sit still, knowing the flames are burning down. 
He’s going to go; I can see the resolution on his face, his eyes now like
glowing embers.

“You’re just enjoying being a little slut too much to
be tied down with me.”  His words have me jumping out of my seat and
backing away. 

“Get the fuck out,” I command, willing myself not to
cry.  He stands up, jamming his arms into his coat.  Thank God, he’s leaving. 
“And don’t ever come back.  This is over,” I add.  He gives me one
last glowing sneer before he yanks my door open.

“We’ll see about that,” he mutters before slamming the
door loudly behind him.

Physically exhausted and emotionally drained, I feel
worse now than I did earlier.  Dragging my heavy, tired body to my bed, I
pull the comforter over my head, burrowing down with no intention of coming out
tomorrow either. 

It’s after noon when I wake up the following day and
finally decide to drag my ass out of bed.  Still smelling like Wyatt and
sex, I start the shower to wake myself up.  I spend an unusually long
amount of time soaking in the hot water, relishing in the relaxing effect it
has on my muscles.  Spending so much time lying in bed the past two days
has my body tense and stiff, and this is the closest thing to a massage I’ll
ever get.