La Vie en Rose {Life in Pink}

  Sliding off of the couch and onto the floor, he parted her thighs and kissed her warm skin. Lingering kisses trailed over her tender flesh and she gasped.

  He’d missed her taste. Longed for the heat of her body against his. After today’s treatment she’d be under the weather for a while so he wanted to make it count, wanted to remind her how beautiful she was.

  He nudged her back to the couch and turned so he could face her. She was nervous, but that was ridiculous. This was them. There was no reason to feel funny around him.

  He kissed her slowly, reminding her how wonderful they could make each other feel, and lost himself in her familiar body. She’d been through so much, he wanted to give her pure pleasure, make it all about her and remove any doubts she might have about his feelings. Nothing could detract from the attraction he had for this woman.

  Taking his time, he paid homage to every dip and curve he crossed, bringing her swiftly to a state of desire and need. Her release was quick and sharp. And once he had her at ease, her inhibitions blessedly disappeared.

  She pulled him to the couch, unlatched his belt and climbed on top of him. Something inside of him gave pause as he caught her hips at the last moment. “Wait.”

  “For what? I’m ready.”

  “We need a condom.” With everything else she’d been prescribed, they’d decided birth control would only complicate matters. Also, its effectiveness was questionable with all her other meds. However, while she was undergoing treatment, they couldn’t risk pregnancy.

  “Damn it! Do we have any?”

  He thought for a moment, hardly remembering the last time he’d bought some. “Don’t you?”

  “No!”

  “Maybe Rarity has some—”

  “What the hell would your sister be doing with condoms, Riley?”

  “Good point. Damn it!” He scooted out from under her and placed her on the couch. “Wait here.”

  She lounged against the cushions, in her Save Ferris T-shirt and monkey hat. No panties and one sock on her left foot. Seriously, the hottest chick he’d ever seen. He better have a freaking condom somewhere.

  Racing to the bedroom, he ripped open one drawer after another, making an absolute mess as he scrounged for a rubber.

  “Check my vanity!” she yelled.

  His pants slipped down his hips so he jacked them back up, but didn’t bother fastening the belt. “Vanity, vanity, vanity...” he mumbled, turning in circles until he spotted the vanity—same place it had always been since Emma moved into the loft. “Vanity!”

  He rummaged through each dainty drawer finding everything but a condom. “I’m not finding one!” His eyes burned as sweat collected at his brow.

  “What about the nightstand?”

  “Nightstand.” He ran to the small end table and dug through the drawer. “Nothing!”

  “Oh! What about that weird wooden box you won’t let anyone look in?”

  He stilled. His memory box? No. “Stop trying to get in my secret box!”

  “Well, if you ever want to get in mine you better find something!”

  “Shit,” he hissed. “Gotta get in her box. Gotta get in her box.” Scanning the room he spotted a small bag hanging in the closet and recognized it from when they first started dating. “Come to poppa.”

  He rushed to the bag and turned it inside out, fishing in every pocket he could find. Certain the purse was empty, he threw it and cursed. Just then, a small purple foil slid onto the carpet. Skies opened, angels sung, doves released from the heavens, and trumpets played. Diving to the ground, he snatched up the condom. “I got one!”

  “Yes!”

  Running out of the room, he raced down the hall and tripped as his pants fell to his ankles. “I’m okay!” He bounded to his feet.

  A smile spread across her face as she eased back and clapped. “Thank God.” She parted her thighs.

  He tore open the condom, fitted it to his erection, and the front door suddenly opened as a shrill scream rent the air. He pivoted, clapping his hands over his dick. “Get out, Rarity!”

  “Oh my, God!” His sister turned and came face to face with Emma’s bajingo. “What the fuck!” Her hands lifted in distress, covering her eyes. “I’m blind! My retinas! Why are you sitting like that?”

  Emma screamed, clamping her legs shut.

  “Stop looking at my girlfriend’s prizes!” he shouted over his shoulder as his sister barreled full speed into the wall, missing the door by a foot.

  Marla barked, not sure what the hell was happening. Rarity screamed again.

  “Get! Out!” he shouted and she turned, crashed into the door, opened it, and raced into the hall. The door slammed and he faced Emma. “Unbelievable.”

  She was hysterical. Her head fell back as she straight up cackled and hooted.

  “Oh, you’re gonna get it.” Adjusting the condom, he dove on top of her. “I thought we talked about laughing during sex.”

  “I’m sorry,” she cracked up.

  “That’s it.” Lifting her leg, he slid into her. Her laughter silenced abruptly as her eyes softened and her gaze found his.

  “I missed this,” she whispered, catching her breath.

  He leaned in and brushed his lips to hers, thrusting gently. Sweet heaven, he missed this too. “I missed you.”

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she rubbed a hand over his bald head. Pushing her hat away, he did the same. Pressing their foreheads together, they stared into one another’s eyes. It was nice to have this again.

  ****

  It was bad, worse than ever before. None of the other times hit her this hard and all Riley could do was sit back and pray for it to end. She was so beaten down, so tense with discomfort, he could barely touch her without adding to her agony.

  “Do you want more ice chips?” he whispered, sitting on the floor beside the couch where she trembled, silently tolerating the poison ripping her apart from the inside out. She wasn’t eating on account of how badly the heartburn had gotten.

  “No,” she rasped.

  Staring at the rain pelting the window, wishing there was something he could do, he bottled up the rage inside of him. So much anger borne of utter fear. It was like she had the flu but a thousand times worse. She liked the cool damp cloth on her head so he continued to hold it there.

  “Riley,” she whispered, her eyes barely open.

  He wished she had the strength to look at him. He always felt safe when her eyes were on him. “Yeah, cakes?”

  “Do you think I’m going to die?”

  His throat closed, every muscle in his body locking. “No,” he rasped. “Don’t say stuff like that, Emma.”

  She twitched and shivered. “My heart’s beating so fast.”

  “Try not to think about anything. Just breathe.”

  “Tell me a story,” she whispered, voice weak. There wasn’t much color in her lips and her nostrils were raw and pink from too many nosebleeds. “Tell me where the monkey hat came from.”

  His jaw tightened. It seemed a major process to unearth his voice and get it past the lump in his throat. “I stole it.”

  “What?” Her eyes showed as little slits, but then closed. It was enough to make him go on with the story.

  “I was in Central Park one day and there was a street festival going on. People were selling all sorts of junk. This little kid went up to a lady selling sock monkeys and hats.”

  She shivered again and he covered her with the blanket, but then she feebly pushed it off as if she were hot, so he lowered it and she sighed.

  He swallowed and shut his eyes, trying to remember the day clear enough to tell the story as vividly as possible, hopefully enough to distract her from the pain.

  “The kid tried on a hat and the lady flipped out, told him he had to buy it. He had no money and got upset when the lady just kept yelling at him, like she could get blood from a stone.”

  He dragged the damp cloth under her nose as he noticed a fresh trickle of blood. “I
was so pissed off at the way she talked to the little boy, when she wheeled her cart away I snatched a hat from the back.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched with the start of a smile she wasn’t strong enough to finish. “Did she see you?”

  His shoulders vibrated as the first breath of a laugh slipped past his lips. “Yeah. She threatened to call the constable over, so I bought the whole bag of hats and she shut up. Once I paid, I told her exactly what I thought about her manners.”

  He lost sight of his surroundings for a few seconds as he thought back to that day. “I’m so fucked up from my parents. People forget how impressionable kids can be. She didn’t want to hear that though. Some people are just mean and there isn’t enough time to figure out why.”

  Though she was lying very still, a slight smile curved her lips. Keeping her eyes closed, she whispered, “You gave that boy a hat, didn’t you?”

  “I gave all the kids hats that day. Central Park was infested with sock monkeys. I thought they were cool so I kept one for myself.”

  “You...” She went completely motionless.

  “Emma?” he touched her forehead, her fever was climbing and if it didn’t drop soon he was taking her to the ER.

  She moaned, her arms sliding over her stomach as she breathed through the pain. Once she got a handle on it, she slurred, “I... love you, Riley... because you... gave that boy a hat.”

  His molars locked as he scrutinized her, unsure if he should have let her convince him to leave her on the couch when everything in him demanded he take her to the hospital. “I love you too,” he whispered, kissing her cool lips. “Rest.”

  She was silent for a long time and he assumed she’d fallen asleep. The pattering of rain against the windows was the only sound, but then she whispered, “There’s so much...”

  He leaned close, barely hearing her words. “What, cakes?”

  Her chest lifted, the effort to speak taking her breath away. “Our list...” She licked her lips, her eyes still closed. “We have... so much to do.” Her hand opened and he gently touched her palm. “I’m not ready to die, Riley.”

  Moisture filled his eyes as his lips tightened. “You’re not gonna die, Em. Goonies never say die. We’ll get to the list.”

  But he wasn’t sure if that was true. So far, all they’d accomplished was taking a picture every day. Emma was big on documenting this year. Turning out of earshot he sniffled and wiped his tears on his shoulder without letting go of her fingers.

  “I want... to do all those things, Riley.”

  “Me too.”

  “Promise... we’ll do them.”

  He blinked as his vision blurred and his throat contracted. What if he couldn’t? There were so many things she had yet to do, but in her state they seemed impossible. “I promise,” he rasped.

  “Don’t wait too long.”

  He wouldn’t. The moment her strength returned he’d take her to the Empire State Building. And as soon as she felt well enough, they’d go skating in Rockefeller Center. He’d make all her wishes come true, the first chance he got—

  His attention returned to the window, a sudden thought coming to mind. Forcing the fear back, he stood on shaky legs. “Come with me,” he whispered, gently lifting her to his chest.

  Gathering the boo-boo blanket around her and making sure she was covered, he carefully maneuvered his way to the door. She moaned and he adjusted his hold. “I got you.”

  Her breathing leveled out as he left the loft. “You okay?”

  Her eyes remained closed. “Mm-hm.”

  Climbing the stairs, he held her close and pulled the blanket to her neck as he pushed through the door leading to the roof. He tucked her hat around her ears as the rain pelted his back.

  She sucked in a breath, but didn’t open her eyes. “It’s raining.”

  “Shh. Just rest.”

  Humming, he swayed, pressing his lips to her eyes. Voice shaking, he shivered in the chill, as he tried to think of any song. The warmth of her body burned through his clothes. It wasn’t The Cure or any other album from his collection that came to mind. Rather, it was the classic Stand By Me.

  He hummed the lyrics he couldn’t remember. His tears mixed with the rain, his voice cracking with each verse, especially the ones vowing he would not be afraid. He rocked, dancing slow enough not to wake her, but steady enough for it to count. It wasn’t the romantic dance in the rain either of them pictured when they made their list, but it was something. And right now, every bit of living counted.

  Her hand weakly curled into his shirt and he stilled, studying her face. The corners of her mouth turned up and he leaned close, afraid he’d miss her words under the steady tempo of raindrops hitting the roof.

  Her lips parted and she breathed, “You remembered.”

  Blinking hard, he tightened his arms. He’d never forget.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Emma lowered herself to the couch and caught her breath. Winded, blurry eyed, and incredibly dizzy—all for a bottle of water. That sickeningly sweet smell was back and her saliva burned like acid. So thirsty, but by the time she made it back to the couch she was too exhausted to twist the damn cap off the bottle of water. So she lay there.

  The toilet flushed. “Emma? Honey, are you all right?” her mom asked, seeing she’d moved. Her voice sounded so muffled, like she was talking under water, but it wasn’t her mom’s voice, just Emma’s ears.

  Waiting for the dizziness to slow, she calmed her breathing so the nausea would ease. Her hands and feet tingled and she was burning cold, somehow sweating yet shivering. Perhaps she was freezing hot.

  When they explained chemotherapy to her, she blended that information with everything she’d seen on television. That pretty anchorwoman that beat breast cancer made it look so classy, so achievable. It was hard to imagine her ever feeling this terrible, but Emma was sure the woman had her own moments of despair too. Right now, Emma doubted she’d ever find grace or class again.

  Life seemed to be rotting within her, which was exactly why she hadn’t been outside of her home or the hospital in weeks. She wanted to die with dignity, not where others could watch the inexplicable horror of what she’d become. Again, she wondered why this disease was painted pink—her once favorite color.

  Deep ruby stains marked the tissue in her fist as her nose ran. Red, not pink. Red because when she bled it was real, not some delicate act of femininity. She didn’t feel very pretty right now and she certainly didn’t feel like pretending.

  I’m going to die like this.

  There was nothing soft and rosy about her thoughts. Cancer was so deep and so personal, the actuality was murky, no way to explain such ugliness, but never would she define it as pink.

  Bubblegum and taffy shades of punch wrapped around billboards and people. From pink ballet slippers to magenta wigs, it just seemed too bright for the last forty-eight hours. It was a brilliant distraction, but one that made her sad, because putting on pink in a show of solidarity wasn’t enough to save her. It was only a color and she needed a cure.

  That party happening around the world with marches, runs, and parades...it was something Emma felt painfully excluded from. Disconnected, an outsider looking in from the ugly side of a pretty picture. She could barely walk, let alone dance or run. The pink had become so commonplace and so powerful it distracted people from the reality. She wanted the distraction too.

  Sometimes she hated not being able to smile through the fear. Her inability to put on a happy face and act as though everything would come up roses left her with a sense of inadequacy on top of everything else she was trying not to feel.

  I don’t want to smile anyway. I’m dying. I want to be fucking sad.

  The anger was getting to her today.

  Word was getting around that she was sick. She didn’t care. She wasn’t ashamed to have cancer. The text messages—yes, text messages—were very sympathetic—at first.

  “This is terrible.”

  “I’
m so sorry to hear...”

  But after a while, they stopped, not even a cricket chirp from her phone. And then, they gradually started again, people calling, feeling terrible they waited so long. It was all very considerate and overwhelming, but she didn’t want their apologies. She just wanted her life back.

  She hadn’t known so many people cared about her. However, the longer her health remained unpredictable, the more people’s condolences changed. There became an almost universal tone to every call she received. She was the patient so, clearly, she’d done something wrong, knew a little less than everyone else who still had their health and therefore thought they possessed a magic cure.

  “I have this book...”

  “Blueberries! Blueberries! And more blueberries!”

  “Pray.”

  “Try not to worry. Stress makes a breeding ground for cancer.” That one was a fucking joke. Like she could just turn off her emotions. Sure. Her life wasn’t anything to fret over.

  They were very kind suggestions, however, she was too exhausted to hold a book and lacked the vision to read. The thought of food, even the almighty blueberry, turned her stomach. And pray? She laughed. Every thought she had was a prayer. Didn’t they know that?

  All she had the strength to do was think, and even that she did inadequately, her mind sloshing around in a steady stew of confusion. But when she laid still, her loved ones moving quietly around her so she could rest, her mind always returned to the question that started everything. Why? What caused this to happen to her?

  She’d never done so little and known so much. Every waking second, there were thoughts, feelings, emotions, and fears about heavy things like life, relationships, and, above all, death. Maybe it was just her time.

  But what about Riley? Who would look out for him? And what about her parents and Rarity? It was infuriating, knowing she might die and her death did nothing to bring them closer to any answers. Tomorrow it could be them. Why did this happen to people? Maybe they didn’t need a cure as much as they needed to understand the cause.