beating her cancer and of the frightening aloneness I see in my future if she’s not here isn’t bearable. I shudder slightly at that bleak landscape. The emotions of the day overwhelm me and tears start running down my nose. I duck my head because I’ve never been one of those girls who look tragic and delicate while crying.
Vainly I don’t want Ian to see me like this, and I burrow my face against his chest. The cotton of his shirt smells like sun and heat. Against my hip, I feel an insistent pressure which surprises me but makes me feel welcome. I’d like to stay in this position, curled up and hiding from it all, but he tips my head back and wipes away my tears.
“I want you to know that I’m not hard because you’re crying but because any normal man would have this reaction if you sat on his lap for more than a second.”
This makes me burst out into laughter which is, I suppose, what he intended. He stands up, ensuring that I’m stable and orders me to walk him to the door. At the doorway, he leans down and lightly brushes his lips against mine, leaving me wanting so much more.
“I want you, bunny, and I’ll have you. This will be the last night you cry alone.”
With those words, the door closes behind him. He’s right about one thing: I cry into my pillow for a long time. I’m not certain about the exact source of my tears. It could be my mom, but it’s more than that. The emotion is almost…relief.
That night I dream of Ian again. He’s in his Batman costume and he flies into my bedroom, cape swirling behind him. This time I’m not a bunny. I’m me but I’m still quivering. With fear? Anticipation? I can’t tell. His gloved hands are at his utility belt. “I want you,” he says, and I spread my legs like a wanton.
The belt, the cape, the clothes are all magically dropped away and then he’s on top of me. His hands are palming my breasts and his mouth is leaving a heated wet trail down the side of my neck. If this is fear, I want to be afraid all of my life.
I hook my legs around his hips to draw his hardness down against me, but he’s immovable. All I feel are light caresses from his hand and his tongue and his lips. The need for more pressure, for the hard thrust of his cock against me, builds until I wake up gasping for relief. But Ian is nowhere to be found. It’s me and the sheets and the cool morning air. I roll over onto my stomach, close my eyes and see if I can recapture the fantasy—but it’s gone. I slide a hand between my legs and rub myself to a small release.
Chapter 12
S UNDAY M OM AND I PUTTER AROUND the house. She doesn’t bring up Ian and I make inane chatter about how cute I thought the sea lions were. On Monday, we quietly prepare for the chemo trip. We’ll need to be outside for the bus in about twenty minutes. The blender whirls, mixing up the banana, strawberries, and protein powder that will be Mom’s breakfast. We’ve learned through trial and error that this is about the most that she can handle before her drip. Too much food and she’s violently ill. Too little and she’s weak and ill. Always ill, but Dr. Chen agreed that the protein powder and fruit in a drinkable form was our best option.
“I wish you wouldn’t take the morning off to sit with me,” my mom says as I hand her a hard plastic drink container full of her breakfast.
“I earn more today than any day of the week,” I say, my sound muffled as I pull a long sleeve shirt over my head.
“Because you’re riding at night, and that’s very dangerous.”
“Even if you didn’t have treatment, I’d still take this route.” Kissing her lightly on the cheek, I ignore her further protestations and pack up my supplies. Because I’ll be riding in the evening and it will get chilly, I make sure I have long biking pants and a wind-breaker.
“Because of the money,” she says with some disgust. The treatment, the illness, our circumstances, the whole situation is eroding our patience. I
Vainly I don’t want Ian to see me like this, and I burrow my face against his chest. The cotton of his shirt smells like sun and heat. Against my hip, I feel an insistent pressure which surprises me but makes me feel welcome. I’d like to stay in this position, curled up and hiding from it all, but he tips my head back and wipes away my tears.
“I want you to know that I’m not hard because you’re crying but because any normal man would have this reaction if you sat on his lap for more than a second.”
This makes me burst out into laughter which is, I suppose, what he intended. He stands up, ensuring that I’m stable and orders me to walk him to the door. At the doorway, he leans down and lightly brushes his lips against mine, leaving me wanting so much more.
“I want you, bunny, and I’ll have you. This will be the last night you cry alone.”
With those words, the door closes behind him. He’s right about one thing: I cry into my pillow for a long time. I’m not certain about the exact source of my tears. It could be my mom, but it’s more than that. The emotion is almost…relief.
That night I dream of Ian again. He’s in his Batman costume and he flies into my bedroom, cape swirling behind him. This time I’m not a bunny. I’m me but I’m still quivering. With fear? Anticipation? I can’t tell. His gloved hands are at his utility belt. “I want you,” he says, and I spread my legs like a wanton.
The belt, the cape, the clothes are all magically dropped away and then he’s on top of me. His hands are palming my breasts and his mouth is leaving a heated wet trail down the side of my neck. If this is fear, I want to be afraid all of my life.
I hook my legs around his hips to draw his hardness down against me, but he’s immovable. All I feel are light caresses from his hand and his tongue and his lips. The need for more pressure, for the hard thrust of his cock against me, builds until I wake up gasping for relief. But Ian is nowhere to be found. It’s me and the sheets and the cool morning air. I roll over onto my stomach, close my eyes and see if I can recapture the fantasy—but it’s gone. I slide a hand between my legs and rub myself to a small release.
Chapter 12
S UNDAY M OM AND I PUTTER AROUND the house. She doesn’t bring up Ian and I make inane chatter about how cute I thought the sea lions were. On Monday, we quietly prepare for the chemo trip. We’ll need to be outside for the bus in about twenty minutes. The blender whirls, mixing up the banana, strawberries, and protein powder that will be Mom’s breakfast. We’ve learned through trial and error that this is about the most that she can handle before her drip. Too much food and she’s violently ill. Too little and she’s weak and ill. Always ill, but Dr. Chen agreed that the protein powder and fruit in a drinkable form was our best option.
“I wish you wouldn’t take the morning off to sit with me,” my mom says as I hand her a hard plastic drink container full of her breakfast.
“I earn more today than any day of the week,” I say, my sound muffled as I pull a long sleeve shirt over my head.
“Because you’re riding at night, and that’s very dangerous.”
“Even if you didn’t have treatment, I’d still take this route.” Kissing her lightly on the cheek, I ignore her further protestations and pack up my supplies. Because I’ll be riding in the evening and it will get chilly, I make sure I have long biking pants and a wind-breaker.
“Because of the money,” she says with some disgust. The treatment, the illness, our circumstances, the whole situation is eroding our patience. I
Similar Books
