“Riley,” she hissed, as his hand dipped behind the waistband of her pants. “Your sister’s here.”
“She’s leaving.” His fingers slid into her panties as he eyed her. “Just be cool.”
Paranoid, she pulled the blanket up to her chest so his hand was less noticeable. His fingers brushed her sex and she sucked in a breath as he lowered his hand and slid his touch between her folds.
Rarity came back out of her room and disappeared in the bathroom. Emma’s face burned as his finger slid inside of her. She stared wide-eyed at the TV, her mind totally focused on his touch and their roommate’s whereabouts.
Glancing to her right, she smirked. He appeared totally captivated by Carrie Bradshaw’s drama. Rarity returned and shifted a bag over her shoulder. “I’m outta here. Behave, children.”
“See ya.”
“Bye.” Neither of them took their eyes off the television.
The door closed and she exhaled, slouching into the couch. He turned and kissed her, a mischievous grin on his lips. “Dirty girl, letting me finger you with others in the room.” He rolled on top of her, his touch sinking deeper.
“The other is your sister, pervert. I can’t believe you did that.”
His unabashed smile widened. “She’d do the same thing in my shoes. Besides, you promised a whole bunch of goodness last night then passed out on me—snoring with your mouth open, I might add. Totally not the picture you painted at the bar.”
The blanket fell to the floor and she giggled. “Sorry.”
Removing his hand, he pulled her pants and panties down her hips and shifted to his knees. “I’m collecting.”
“Oh, are you?” she teased.
“Yup.” He nudged her knees apart and placed a kiss low on her belly.
As his mouth traveled lower she eased back and sighed. “Is this what I promised?” It seemed like a win for her.
He didn’t answer, too distracted with what he was doing so she shut her eyes and let him go—not one to leave an outstanding debt unpaid. He was so attentive to her every response, touching her in all the right places until she was cresting a wave of pure ecstasy and gripping his hair between her thighs.
Her eyes closed on a wash of color, blanking her mind of anything beyond the pleasure. Free. She was so free in those fleeting moments, yet he was right there with her.
Her chest rose and fell with each labored breath as he rested his cheek on her thigh. His nearness didn’t faze her and there was no call to cover her bare parts. With Riley she never felt so much exposed, as she did unveiled. He loved looking at her and she loved that no shyness separated them when it came to intimacy. Their lovemaking was so open, shameless, and unlike any past reference.
As she came down, he dragged his fingers over her thigh, allowing her time to savor each aftershock. She sighed. “If I’d known that was what I promised I would have paid up this morning.”
He chuckled and lifted his head, hair mussed from her fingers and a self-satisfied smirk on his lips. “You’re not off the hook yet. I want you.”
“I’m yours.” She rolled to her stomach and he stripped in record time.
Rising behind her, his palm swatted her ass. “Love your little bubble butt,” he teased, the crinkly hair on his thighs brushing the backs of her legs. His palms slid over her hips as their bodies aligned. His grip flexed as he hummed in pleasure, sliding into her.
Her inhalation faded to a moan as he filled her in one sure stroke. His fingers dug into her flesh as he thrust. Gasps broke the silence, a gentle pulse of noise that filled her with pure delight.
It was an escape they both needed, a connection she’d craved that mended parts of her soul she couldn’t patch on her own. Despite his pace, there was an intrinsic sense of closeness, something hidden in his touch. The way the pads of his fingers glided over her skin, how the backs of his nails delicately traced the line of her spine almost reverently. He was always so careful with her, yet reckless in a calculated way. That was Riley, carefully careless and singularly adding up to everything she wanted in a man.
As he came, his hold flexed, sliding up her body and pulling her down to rest in his embrace as he shivered. Those were her favorite moments of making love, the little flashes of trust when he vulnerably fell into his own pleasure and snuggled her close as if the sex was just the prelude and the real bonding came in all that followed.
He kissed her ear and hummed a satisfied male groan. “I love being inside you as we come down.”
As if he’d read her mind, she curled into him, their bodies still connected. “I love it too.”
“Can you reach the blanket?”
Stretching her arm, she pulled it onto the couch and he adjusted it over their legs as he snuggled into her back, sandwiching himself between her body and the couch cushions.
A sense of peace held them, suspended in time. She didn’t want to think about the future. She only wanted to enjoy the now—the this.
Her lashes lowered as his fingers ghosted over her arm, drawing patterns and putting her in a dreamlike state. Nothing encroached on the moment. It was solely theirs, and she reveled in the beauty of how two people, so different, could complement each other so exactly.
****
Entering the loft, Emma unhooked Marla’s leash and the dog bolted to Riley, knocking him over as he searched the couch for something. Affectionately tousling the dog’s ears, he got in her face. “What did you do with my shoe, Marla? I have to go to work.”
Marla slobbered a kiss over his chin and panted, unfazed by his dilemma. Riley returned to his search as Emma kicked off her shoes and unbuttoned her coat.
Like a stormy sky overpowering the light of dawn, the most ordinary day suddenly turned into something inconceivable. Her phone rang and they both stilled, staring at her purse ringing on the counter. Without identifying the caller, she knew it was the doctor.
Skin racing from cool to clammy, her stomach dropped to the soles of her feet as her gaze found his and their illusion of peace was shattered. Riley stood and dropped his shoe. Even Marla seemed to settle. Reality had returned.
“Do you want me to get it?” he offered, voice devoid of emotion.
Shaking her head, she forced her feet to move. Stepping to the counter, she lifted her phone out of her purse, the tiny vibrations of each ring shaking her to the core. Swallowing tightly, she brought the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
“Hi. Is this Emma?”
“Yes.” Her voice was hollow, much like her stomach.
“Emma, this is Dr. Lindsay. Is this a good time?”
She sent Riley a stiff nod as she shifted closer to a chair, no longer trusting her legs to hold her. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Well, we have the results of your biopsy and the tumors tested positive...”
Her gaze locked with Riley’s and his brow lowered, his mouth tightening as comprehension registered in his eyes. Her vision blurred. Horrible knots tightened in her chest as the doctor went on using unfamiliar words. Her hand trembled as she choked back a sob.
“Do you have a surgeon chosen yet?”
Her brain, trapped in a web of confusion, processed his question in slow motion. She swallowed again. “I have a referral.”
“Good. Have you considered the likelihood of chemotherapy prior to the various options of lumpectomies?”
From the start, she’d told every doctor that if the lump proved cancerous she wanted to have it removed. But that was before it was real. This was suddenly so real.
Goose bumps traveled up her legs, chilling even the breath in her lungs. Her bravery shifted into cold fear. She couldn’t handle this. Why had she thought she could?
Words like chemotherapy didn’t belong in her vocabulary, yet here she was, being asked if she’d considered such treatment before having the lumps in her breast removed. No, she hadn’t considered it. Despite all her thinking and the long weeks of waiting passed in deep reflection, she never truly considered she’d be on the losing side of
the statistics.
Breath uneven, she forced herself to talk. “What exactly are the options for getting it removed?” Just get them out of me. Oh God...
“When you have your consultation with the surgeon he’ll go over everything in more detail, but a mastectomy removes the entire breast while a lumpectomy conserves the breast and only removes the tumors and the tissue surrounding them.”
She couldn’t breathe. “Do I have to decide that now?”
“Of course not, but you’ll want to move quickly and schedule the surgery as soon as possible, whichever you decide.”
Her heart beat erratically in her chest. It hurt—her poor damaged chest hurt. “Is one more effective?” Chills traveled to her arms as her entire body trembled.
“It all depends on the patient. A lumpectomy followed by radiation can be as effective as a mastectomy, however, there’s always a threat of the cancer returning.”
Cancer. The word exploded in her head, reverberating with a physical sting that left her weak.
“Radiation may still be necessary after surgery, but that depends on how the cancer reacts to the chemotherapy and procedure. Our first step is preventing the cancer from traveling.”
So chemo was unavoidable. As was surgery, be it a simple procedure or a major augmentation. This wasn’t happening.
“For some women it offers peace of mind to remove the breast all together. There have been incredible advances in reconstructive surgery...”
She couldn’t listen anymore. She had questions, but lacked the courage to ask them. So. Many. Questions. At the top of the list...Why?
Dr. Lindsay continued, but she could no longer make sense of his words. She’d been so strong, so patient at all her appointments thus far, certain she could handle whatever this was. It was just a series of hurdles to jump. But now, she wasn’t in an office or surrounded by a bunch of strangers in a waiting room. She was home and she was freaking out.
Words like lymph nodes and pathology reports and other things she didn’t want to hear made it hard not to cover her ears and scream. Her entire body shook uncontrollably as the tightness inside of her twisted, constricting her lungs, locking her muscles, and making it impossible to do more than barely breathe.
No!
Was this because she hadn’t appreciated her body? Thought it flawed and ugly in spots? Was that why it was betraying her? Regret swamped her in the wake of countless apologies to herself. She didn’t want to die.
Bile rose in her throat. Am I going to die? How much time do I have left?
The doctor made his goodbye and she somehow thanked him. Thanked him.
Her arm lowered, the weight of the phone slipping away. Her mouth opened as the muscles in her face collapsed and she wailed so hard, from a place so deep inside of her, the cry didn’t make a sound.
Riley’s arms grabbed hold of her and squeezed, catching her before she collapsed to the floor, holding her together, but even he wasn’t strong enough. She was broken—possibly dying—and nothing could make it stop.
Lowering their bodies to the ground, he squeezed her tight and rocked. Her voice came, wrenched from the depths of her soul, bellowing out of her in nonsense. The worst of her agony was her regret, her life possibly cut down before she’d had the chance to truly live. There were no words for such realizations, only pain that came rushing out in the form of tears. Every diluted idea of control was stripped away as she shattered into a million pieces.
Riley caught her hand as she clawed at her skin, lost in hysteria. This wasn’t happening to her. How had her body betrayed her so? Everything she knew felt foreign and she was trapped inside, yet suffering from the outside looking in. It was too much for her mind to bear and in a silent breath the world went quiet, the last of her defenses kicking in and shutting all the fear and hurt away.
He lifted her off the floor, his voice a distant whisper but he never stopped reassuring that somehow they’d get through this. He placed her someplace soft, but she wasn’t sure where. Didn’t care. He couldn’t take her out of this body.
Trapped.
“Shh...shhh...shh...” The tears in his voice gutted her.
He rocked her, holding her so tight, as if the movement could stop her from falling apart. But everything was slipping away.
Her throat burned as she sucked in breath after breath. Not enough. Pulling her hair, her pretty hair that would likely fall out, she silently wept. Why? Why was this happening to her? Why did such a horrible thing exist?
His hands brushed over her head as if she were a child. Out of nowhere, her entire world lost its balance and fell down a rabbit hole, spiraling through infinite darkness. She had no idea how much longer she’d have to fall before she reached the end. Up was down and solid ground was a thing of the past. Nothing could save her from this fall.
Dear God, the thought of telling her parents...
Heaving sob after forceful sob, she cried harder than she’d ever cried before. It was a brutal and painful exorcism she never saw coming. Every weakness she’d kept hidden behind her stoic façade was now exposed in glaring light. She was petrified and lacked the strength to pretend to be anything else.
This was her first scar. Plenty would follow, but like beauty and grace, all things physical would fade. But not this. This moment of raw agony would always stay raised a little bit higher than the rest of her soul. Her first scar, borne of a diagnosis delivered over the fucking phone!
Silence came in doses. Her shivers interrupted his whispered words she sensed but couldn’t hear. She blinked, unclear of the time, uncaring of anything happening outside of that moment. Her turbulent thoughts were too chaotic. There was nothing beyond the fear of the unknown and the absolute terror of the little knowledge she had. Cancer.
Down, down, down she fell, losing sight of everything that came before and unclear of what lay ahead. The world never seemed as dark as it did in those fleeting moments that somehow wouldn’t end.
Reality blurred, blending objects of their home with visions of an unpredictable future. Her mind, forced to go where her traitorous body led, pitched into a terrifying place she didn’t know.
She wanted it to be over before it began, but what if the conclusion was truly the end? And with the last of her hope, she wept a bit more, knowing her world was forever changed...the day she earned her first scar.
****
When she was a little girl her mother always made sick days nice. She’d spread the boo-boo blanket on the couch and bring down the pillows from her bedroom. Using one of the tables kept in the corner, she’d set out cough drops, tissues, a glass of orange juice, and the remote. Emma would sleep in between episodes of bad 80’s sitcoms.
She’d always milked that sort of care to the last drop, claiming she was sick a day longer than she actually was. Emma never minded being sick. Staying home from school was a vacation, a coddled escape from childhood responsibility that made her feel special and loved.
Cancer was different.
It didn’t matter that she was still in shock or had yet to accept reality. Cancer moved at its own pace. It didn’t respect age or race or social status. It didn’t care that she had a life or hobbies or a job. It was single-mindedly the most evil enemy she’d ever faced. Being that there was no rest for the wicked, she couldn’t rest until she beat it, knowing full well if she didn’t kill the cancer it would surely kill her.
Plain and simple, she wanted to live.
In a blur she moved from one doctor appointment to the next, having more tests done than she’d ever imagined possible. PET scans, MRIs, Echocardiograms, uncountable screenings of blood work, her body was given to science the moment she consented to putting her fate in her doctors’ hands. A pincushion for those who knew what came next, she was poked, prodded, prepped, and placed in one strange machine after another.
There was no evading the necessity of the attention cancer demanded. Even at home, her phone steadily rang with news and reminders of upcoming appointments.
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Everything was urgent. Everything needed her absolute attention. And everything took an incredible amount of time. She wanted to live, but her existence was suddenly a revolving door of exams and procedures, not resembling her previous life at all. This was life with cancer.
As Emma watched the days go by like an outsider looking in, her world was colored in pink. So many shades, so many versions, so many untied dreams wrapped up in a silly little bow.
Why the color sometimes irritated her, she hadn’t a clue. Perhaps it bothered her because pink was merely the offspring of red and she still wanted to be bold. Or maybe she hated the association because pink had always been her favorite color and it now represented the ugliest time of her life.
Blush over a bruise, her life was no longer a story, but a picture book others viewed as pages and pages painted in rose. It was as though everything she’d ever done, every trait she’d ever owned, was washed away by something as delicate as pink. She resented how easily her life fit into a color coded category, how neatly her world became tied up in bows.
She didn’t want to be a soft pastel memory people wore in a race, no longer blonde, no longer a thirty-six C, nothing more than a pale color in a sea of ribbons racing toward a cure that was too late to save her. She wasn’t ready to fade into pink. But the more that delicate color spilled into her world the less the old Emma seemed to exist.
Perhaps she was still in denial.
Her trips to the oncology office were never pleasant. Rather than look around the waiting room at the various women in the process of losing their hair, she buried her nose in a magazine. She could empathize, but it broke a bit of her every time she came face to face with a woman a few steps ahead in her treatment.
Riley was adapting faster than her, but he wasn’t the one suffering every prick and poke either. She couldn’t fault him though. He’d been incredible, adjusting his schedule to drive her to appointments and helping her with the ungodly amount of paperwork. Knowing he was coming off of night shift and surviving on only a few hours sleep, she insisted he rest when he could and they soon developed a reputation for hogging the corners of waiting rooms.