by Swati MH
“You wondered earlier why I don’t already have a boyfriend. Well, it’s because I need as much as I give. I want more than just a casual night. I’m afraid to fall for pickup lines or meet someone at a bar and then end up in their bed the same night. I need someone dependable, who will be there today, tomorrow, and the days after that, no matter how hard the journey. Can you honestly tell me you’re that person?”
He doesn’t respond but I see his jaw tick as if he’s fighting an internal battle.
“I didn’t think so.” I get up, picking up my purse before turning toward him again. “I had a great time surfing with you this morning, and then tonight when we uh . . . with the . . ..” I motion to the couch as I feel the flush on my skin spread to my neck. “Thank you for buying my favorite candy and chips,” I stammer, trying to come up with sensible words. “It was really sweet of you. But let me make this easy so you don’t have to let me down like I’m sure you’ve had to with the hundreds of women in your past. You owe me nothing. So, let’s move forward like nothing happened.”
“Cassie--”
“Or better yet, let’s just go back to being strangers because I don’t think I know how to be just friends with you anymore.” My bottom lip trembles slightly with my words but I turn toward the door before he can see me. God, I’m a mess.
My hand is on the doorknob when he finally speaks, frozen to his spot on the couch. “Who did this to you?”
My eyes well at the sincerity in his question or maybe at the pity for my own situation. “Life. Life did this to me.”
And with that, I leave Vik’s place, barreling down the stairs before he can hear the sob escape my chest.
15
Vik
What just happened?
I sit on the couch, shell-shocked, trying to process the past hour.
I thought we were having a good time. I thought she wanted this as much as I did. Her lust-filled screams indicated as much.
So where did it all go wrong?
Feeling like I’ve been hit by a speeding train, I drag myself off the couch and into my bed after brushing my teeth. I set my alarm for the next morning, hoping to get a run in before heading to the hospital. But sleep is the last thing on my mind. For the next hour, I toss and turn, thinking about Cassie. Her silky, soft skin under me. Her hands in my hair, begging me for more. The way her entire body buckled when she reached the peak. I’ve seen it in other women, of course, but I’ve never been desperate for more. I’ve never wanted more than one night with any of them.
So why do I feel different with Cassie? Why do I hate that she left, telling me I’ll never have her again? Is it because the tables have turned, and instead of me breaking it off with her after one night, it was Cassie who let me go? Shouldn’t I be relieved that she let me off the hook so I can continue with my one-night rule?
A faint hum from the bar downstairs travels in through the window as I imagine bar-goers walking in and out. One of the fellows in the program had texted me earlier asking if I wanted to join a few of them at the bar, but I responded by saying I was tired. Surprisingly, nothing about going to a loud bar to pick up women sounded appealing. Given a choice between having even the slightest possibility of Cassie coming over versus pursuing meaningless sex, I had picked Cassie. And even if she hadn’t shown up, I wouldn’t have regretted not going.
That should have been my first clue that something wasn’t right with me. Something had changed, but I can’t put my finger on what exactly.
I should make an appointment with my therapist.
As if trying to rub away the constriction weighing heavily in the middle of my chest, my hand moves on its own accord. Just the thought of doing what she asked--pretending tonight never happened--has me feeling like my airways are too small for me to exhale.
For the better part of the past few weeks, she’s made a home in my thoughts. With every encounter and every exchange, I crave more of her. All of her. From her sassy words thrown at me like live grenades to her soft laugh, as warm as her skin. From the way she selflessly thinks about others to the way she’s devoted to her job. From the way she maintains an appearance of control to the way she lost it under my hands. I love it all. I want it all.
Again and again.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Just the thought that I would crave someone so much should be setting alarm bells off in my head. When was the last time I wanted someone to spend the night? To wake up to? To feast on again in the morning?
Years.
She left nothing to interpretation when she said she didn’t consider me dependable. That I wouldn’t be there for her today or tomorrow. And maybe she’s right to think that. I certainly haven’t made an effort to change that view of myself with anyone. But fuck, it stung like a thousand bees gunning for my heart when she’d said it. Why did I want her to believe that for her, it was different--that I was different? Could I change that much after just one night . . . after just a few hours?
Pondering the last question behind my closed lids, I realize that no, it’s not the night that changed me, it was the experience. The encounters I’ve had with Cassie so far, even the short time I’ve spent with her, have slowly drawn me to a place I didn’t think I’d ever find again.
But Cassie made it clear that she wants nothing to do with me from here on out. That I was a simple lapse in judgment. A mistake. It’s not just those words that sear my skin, it’s also the thought of not spending time with her again. That’s what hurts the most--the fact that I pushed her so far outside the bounds of her comfort level that she no longer wants to see me.
Maybe it’s for the best. I’ll be starting a new job in New York in six weeks, and tonight will just become a distant memory.
Pulling a pillow over my head, I growl into it, suppressing an outright scream. “Fuck!”
Even if I could wipe tonight completely from my memory, I wouldn’t. No, her sweet taste isn’t just going to cloud my head for tonight--it’s permanently etched into my brain.
Picking up my phone off the nightstand, I scroll through the last messages I sent to her. My address and the picture of the gummy worms bag, unopened. Should I text her again? But what would I say? She made it clear she doesn’t want to hear from me, though my brain seems to be having a hard time deciphering the request.
After typing and retyping three different messages, I settle for the last one. I can’t act like nothing happened between us tonight because something did happen, and I’m not going to apologize for it. We were both there and I know you loved every moment of it, just like I did. I’ll try to respect your decision to not be friends and give you your space, but just know that it’s not what I want. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.
I watch the blue bubble appear in my messages to confirm she’s received it and my heart rate picks up in panic. Maybe I said too much. Maybe I didn’t say enough. Dammit, what is she doing to my confidence? I’ve never felt so apprehensive before!
I want to call her. Find her. Kiss her. Hold her. Gah!
But I promised to respect her wishes. Technically, I said I’d try. So, as much as I want to, I can’t physically make her change her mind and hear everything she hasn’t given me a chance to say. I can’t force her to see me for what I’ve never shown her.
“Maybe this is all for the best,” I verbalize out loud this time. In just a few weeks, I’ll be back to the same lifestyle that’s kept me company all these years--finding someone to warm my bed for a few hours. It’s the only lifestyle that works for me anyway. It ensures that I don’t get attached to the wrong person, only to find out she was never as invested as I was.
I throw my phone back onto the nightstand. I’ve survived my whole life without Cassie in it, what’s another forty to fifty more years?
16
Cassie
Yikes, Taurus! Drama may be lurking in the shadows as Venus enters Capricorn and brings up feelings of jealousy, creating tension between your heart and
your mind.
Two weeks seem short in the expanse of a year or a lifetime, but two weeks are excruciatingly long when you wake up every day with a knot the size of a boulder in your stomach. Like a vital organ is under duress.
The same thought crosses my mind as I walk onto the NICU floor this morning--will I run into Vik today? I’m weary of every hallway and every open patient room I pass, as if he’ll jump out and demand an explanation from me.
But for the past two weeks, he’s done nothing of the sort, nor have I run into him. In fact, after the last text message I received from him where he said he’d respect my wishes, he’s turned into a ghost. Which is exactly what I’d asked from him. So why does it hurt that that’s all it took--some harsh truths thrown at his face--to get him to forget about me? I became exactly what I was afraid of--another notch in his belt, and I even made it easy for him when I left. The message he sent was probably just to wipe away any residue on his conscience.
Not that the devil even has a conscience.
I should have moved on. I should have forgotten about Vik, purged him from my system like an indigestible meal. So why haven’t I? He’s going to be on the other side of the country in a month, which should have been enough to clear my head of him. I was certainly resolute--at least on the night I left his apartment--about my decision to forget that it ever happened. So why do I go to sleep and wake up every day seeing his face, hearing his voice in my ear, and feeling like I’ve made a mistake?
Why can’t I shake off the thoughts of his fingers and tongue on me, inside me, wrecking me for anyone else? He made my body feel like it was flying and drowning at the same time.
Major and I have talked on the phone a bit, but I’ve been making excuses about hanging out again. After the last date with him--which abruptly ended with me at another man’s apartment--I just haven’t had any desire to see him again.
In fact, the more I’ve thought about the past two dates with Major, the more reluctant I’ve been to go on another. His severe mannerisms, along with the way I saw him treat others, had me cringing. It was as if he required the entire world to bend to his needs because he felt himself to be more important. While he was someone who had a high sense of accountability and expected the same from others, he lacked the warmth and kindness that I needed--that maybe I’d seen in someone else.
Someone who was now a stranger to me.
Becca scrutinizes me as I walk into the nurses’ station, her distaste obvious on her face as if I’m chewed-up gum on the side of a desk. “You look different today.”
Yes, I look like I don’t want to be fucked with today. Take a hint.
But instead of verbalizing my thoughts, I let her bait me. “Different, how?”
She glowers at me in pure disdain, as if my mere presence could elicit a gag from her. What is her problem? “Nevermind. You look the same. As always.” She goes back to her screen, leaving me frantically searching my mind for a retort but failing.
Such a bitch.
I’m in the middle of looking through new patient charts when I hear a familiar pop of gum to my right. Becca is obviously trying, and succeeding, to get my attention, so I turn around exasperatedly. “What?” The back of my jaw grinds, sending a throb to my temple.
“What?” Pop. “I didn’t say anything.”
“No, but you want to. And if you don’t, then please stop popping your disgusting piece of gum. Not only is it super unprofessional, but it’s also distracting.”
She giggles. “Looks like someone’s heard the rumor about my date and has her grandma panties in a tangle.”
I squint, trying to recall which underwear I’m wearing today. “I know this is really hard for you to believe, but I couldn’t care less about your date.”
One of the other nurses walks into the station to grab some papers before stepping back out. Across from the nurses’ station, I see Lynn walk into a patient’s room. Part of me wants to get away from Becca and pull Lynn into the nurses’ lounge so I can tell her about everything.
I haven’t told anyone, not even Avni, about my night with Vik. I’m positive I could tell Avni and she would understand, but I still haven’t come to terms with my emotions yet. The last time Avni and I talked about Vik, she knew I was attracted to him. She even told me to explore the chemistry I had with him. But what would she say if she knew I’d slept with him? Avni and I had never been those girls. We weren’t prudes or anything, but sex meant more to us than just a means to an end.
What would she say if I told her I had sex with her cousin and then told him never to talk to me again? Would I be putting her in an awkward situation where she’d have to take sides between Vik and me? Whether she admits it or not, she’s protective of Vik and as my best friend, she wouldn’t want to see me get hurt, either. So every time I get the nerve to tell her, I talk myself out of it.
But I’m exhausted from carrying this around with me. I need my best friend. I need to be able to confide in her and tell her how things ended with Vik so she isn’t caught off guard in case he ever brings it up with her. So far, I don’t think he has because she would have called me first thing to chew me out about keeping it from her.
Making up my mind, I resolve to tell her during my break--if I have privacy in the lounge. I know it’ll be a longer conversation than just my twenty-minute break, but I can’t keep this all bottled in any longer. I feel like a shaken soda can, ready to burst.
“Hmm. I thought maybe you would, seeing as I’m going on a date with your friend from Ortho.” Becca continues to rabidly chew her gum while glaring at her screen.
I need to get my ears checked.
Almost like a mechanical glitch, every movement in my body stills momentarily, frozen in a time warp, before jumping back to life. “Excuse me?”
“The surgeon. From Orthopedics.” Now facing me, Becca enunciates each word as if I’m slow. “The one who saved your ass with that patient under your care.”
A fire starts so fast and strong in my belly that I almost jump off my seat. Vik asked Becca out on a date? Of all the fucking people in this hospital, he asked Becca, the nurse bully from hell? Did he actually plow his way through every other willing participant?
Say something!
My mind is working both at a million miles an hour and at the speed of a slug. I try to string together some sort of response, but I’ve forgotten which language I speak. What the hell is happening to me? Have all my senses decided to fail at once?
She must see the murderous stare I’m giving her and the fact that I haven’t exhaled in more than a minute because she studies me with pitying doe-like eyes. “Oh, you poor thing! You’ve lost all your color.” She tilts her head, pretending to examine me. “Sweetie, you don’t even put on makeup, so now you’re blending in with those scrubs,” she tsks.
“Screw you, Becca,” I bite back, surprised at the way I’m able to keep my voice low given the rage kindling inside me. I want to scream at her, roaring out a lot more than a mere ‘screw you,’ but patient families are always lingering around the floor, and the last thing I want is to be seen as unprofessional. Becca isn’t worth my time or my reputation with my patients and co-workers.
“Well, I’m off to see my next patient!” She gets up as if she hasn’t heard me. “I’m going to see if I can clock out just a tad early so I’ll have time to shave all my girly bits and get ready for tonight.”
I sit there--blood boiling, ears burning, mind buzzing--watching her waddle down the hall and into a patient’s room. I need to talk to someone. Someone who will understand how pissed I am. Someone who will guide me to do the right thing because right now, all I can think about is doing all the wrong ones.
“Hey! Are you on break?” Avni asks as soon as she picks up the phone. Thankfully, she doesn’t work weekends so she’s easier to get hold of.
I try to figure out what my voice should sound like. Should I sound the way I’m feeling--shitty, angry, hurt--or should I force enthusiasm and then work into
the conversation I have in mind? I go for the latter. “Hey! Yeah, luckily I have the lounge to myself for now.”
“Oh, okay. I was actually just about to text you but then decided I’d rather talk to you about it on the phone instead.”
Shit. He told her. God, this is exactly the opposite of what I need right now. “Listen, I can explain. I was just waiting for the right time, and then I thought it would put you in an awkward position . . ..”
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
Oh. “Uh . . . what are you talking about?”
“Let me text you. Stay on the phone with me.” There’s rattling on the other end of the line before she comes back. “Did you get it?”
Removing the phone from my ear, I click on the new message from her. It’s . . . it’s a fuzzy, dark, black and white picture--one that I’m extremely familiar with. Something I come across not only daily at work, but have sitting in my nightstand drawer. “Oh my God!” My hand moves to cover my mouth, my mood going from morose to ecstatic in the matter of a second. “Oh my God! Avni! Holy shit, are you serious?”
“Yes! I was going to tell you before I went to the doctor this morning because I’ve been feeling tired lately and my boobs are all tender, so I had a suspicion. And sure enough, he asked me to go get an ultrasound and confirmed it!” she squeals on the phone as my eyes fill, threatening to spill. I want to hug my friend and jump up and down in place with her, squealing. “Cassie! We’re pregnant!”