REGRET
by
Jean-Luc Cheri
AMAZON EDITION
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Eradygm Publishing on Amazon
Regret
Copyright © 2013 by Eradygm Publishing
Amazon Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Note: This story contains sexually explicit material, and is intended only for persons over the age of 18. By downloading and opening this document, you are stating that you are of legal age to access and view this work of fiction. All of the characters involved in the sexual situations in this story are intended to be 18 years of age or older, whether they are explicitly described as such or not.
Book description:
A paranormal erotic romance (short story).
Michelle is a nurse with a special patient – an old woman at the end of her life with a story to tell. It’s a tale of love and devotion, but also loss and heartbreak. What Michelle doesn’t realize is that she’s about to become part of this story, and may be the key to erasing a lifetime of regret.
Contains graphic descriptions of sex. Adults only.
7,286 words, or 30 standard pages, in length. (Not including supplementary material)
Regret
The old woman lying in the bed seemed so tiny and fragile, as if age had shrunk her body. But her light blue eyes were alert as she looked up at the doctor, who was reading her chart with a concerned expression. I stood by, ready to assist with anything they needed.
His concern faded as he looked up from the paper and focused on his patient, switching over to his bedside manner mode. He smiled gently. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Davenport?”
“Tired,” she replied with a soft voice.
“You get your rest then. Nurse Michelle here will make sure you’re comfortable. I’ll check back in the morning to see how you’re doing.”
“Thank you, Dr. Easton.”
He turned and left. I gave Mrs. Davenport a smile and said, “I’ll be right back,” then hurried after the doctor.
“Dr. Easton,” I said, as I entered the hallway, stopping him. He turned around.
“How are you this evening, Michelle?” the twinkle in his eyes letting me know he hadn’t forgotten the night he had spent in my apartment a month ago following the retirement dinner for Dr. Peters.
“I’m fine, Paul. How is she? Really?”
“Mrs. Davenport?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head and sighed. “Her body is worn out. The only thing we can do is make her final hours comfortable.”
“Hours?”
“I’ll be surprised if she survives the night.”
I sighed. “She’s such a lovely woman.”
He gave me a soft smile. “That’s what I love about you, Michelle. Such compassion.”
“Makes me think I’m in the wrong profession, being around dying people all the time.”
He shook his head. “No, you’re in the perfect profession. These people need someone like you around. Mrs. Davenport has no family. You’re the only one who cares enough to talk to her.”
“Thanks. I guess I need some encouragement now and then.”
He smiled and his eyes dropped to my chest, where my full breasts were pushing out my scrubs. “Any time you want me to stop by your apartment and encourage you, just let me know.”
I smiled back. “I just might take you up on that.”
“I hope you do. I enjoyed my sleepover.”
“How’d you like to sleep over again on Friday?”
He pointed a finger at me. “You’re on. But only if I can take you to dinner first.”
“I’ll be looking forward to it.”
“Not as much as I will. Bye, Michelle.” He turned and walked off.
I checked the clock. Things were quiet on the floor and there was an hour left before my shift was over for the night. I knew just how I wanted to spend it.
“Can I get you anything, Mrs. Davenport?”
“I’m thirsty. And please call me Sophie.”
“Sure, Sophie.” I took her glass to the sink and refilled it, then offered her the straw. She feebly lifted her head to take a long sip, then let it fall back to the pillow.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Anything else? Another pillow? Something you’d like to watch on television?”
“No thank you.”
I pulled up her visitor’s chair, which I had never seen anyone sitting in during the three weeks she had been here, and took a seat.
“Anything you want to talk about?” I asked.
“Oh,” she said with a slight smile,” I don’t want to bore you with my life.”
“Trust me, you won’t be boring me. I love hearing stories. Please?”
She stared at the ceiling for a long moment, and I was beginning to wonder if her mind had drifted off, when she said, “Did I tell you I used to be a nurse in this very hospital?”
I looked at her in surprise. “You were a nurse? Here at St. Sebastian’s?”
She nodded. “It was, oh, just around seventy years ago. Yes, that’s right, I was twenty at the time. We started younger back then, with the war going on and all. All the nurses with any kind of experience were overseas with the boys, so us young girls stepped in to take their places at home. We did a lot of learning on the job.”
“That’s amazing. I’m twenty-six, and couldn’t imagine being a nurse so young.”
“I figured if the boys my age were old enough to fight and die, then I was old enough to help out any way I could.”
“We all owe your generation so much.”
She seemed to think of something, then looked at me. “What’s the date today?”
“June 18th.”
“Oh my.”
“What is it?”
“Oh my, with everything going on with my health, I forgot all about it.”
“About what?”
“It’s my anniversary.”
I stared at her. “Today?”
“Yes, Johnny and I were married 70 years ago today.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“Yes, the happiest day of my life.”
“Was it a large church ceremony?”
“Oh no, we didn’t have time for that. Got married at the courthouse a few blocks from here. He was shipping out that night, going to join the Army overseas. We loved each other so much, and we wanted to be wed before he left.”
“You were married when you were twenty?”
“Yes, and he was only eighteen. Oh, a more handsome boy you’d never meet. Took my breath away every time I saw him.” She stared off into space, as if he was standing at the foot of the bed.
“That’s so young.”
“Yes, but like I said, those were different times. He wanted to sign up earlier, but his mother was dead-set against it, and wouldn’t sign the papers. So he had to wait until he was eighteen to join without her permission.”
“So he shipped out on your wedding night?”
“Yes. The hardest goodbye I ever had to give.”
“I bet you were so happy when he came back home.”
She stared off again, and after a moment a single tear rolled down her cheek.
“Mrs. Davenport? I’m sorry if I said anything wrong.”
“Could you get my purse for me?”
&n
bsp; “Sure.” I stood and went to the closet that held her few personal possessions. Finding her small clutch, I brought it to her.
She took it in her thin and graceful fingers and undid the clasp, then reached into a side pocket. When she pulled her hand out, she was holding a folded piece of yellowed newsprint.
She held it out to me. “My Johnny.”
I took it from her and opened it carefully. I read the words, my heart breaking.
LOCAL TEEN KILLED IN ACTION
July 27, 1943
John Davenport, 18, of Bridgeport, was killed in action near the town of Vendome, France. His unit was scouting the Vache Bleue (Blue Cow) bicycle factory, when it was hit by a German air strike. All 16 of his fellow soldiers died along with him.
John is survived by his wife, Sophie, and his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Davenport, and a sister, Maureen Davenport, all of Bridgeport.
I stared at the picture accompanying the article. She hadn’t been exaggerating. He was beautiful, dressed sharply in a military uniform. Full, dark hair with a strong jawline and straight nose, he could have been a GQ model if he were alive today. His dark eyes looked out from the photograph, towards a future he would never have.
I felt my own tears brimming. “I’m so sorry.”
“Isn’t he handsome?”
“He’s beautiful.”
“The only man I’ll ever love. I’ve never even looked at another since the day we’d met.”
“You’ve never remarried?”
“Never. Never been tempted either. No one could be what Johnny was to me.”
“That is so romantic.”
“That’s why I’m not afraid of what’s coming. I can see the look in the doctor’s eyes, even though he won’t say it. But it’s all right. My time without Johnny is coming to an end, and I’m going to be with him again. Very soon.” Her tears were running down her face, dripping off onto the sheets.
I reached out and took hold of her hand. It was cool and boney.
“I only have one regret,” she said.
“What’s that?”
She paused, as if she didn’t want to remember the details. “As I said, we were married on the day he left. It was during my lunch hour from the hospital, and afterwards, I had to hurry back to work. He had to take the train out to Charlesburg, where he was catching a bus to join his unit. I told him to wait for me, and we would take the train together after my shift. Despite the fact he was leaving, I was so happy, now that his name was also mine.”
“You couldn’t take off work?”
“No, I may have lost my job if I did. But he was waiting for me in the subway station, and we caught the last train out. It was so late, we had it all to ourselves.”
“Sounds romantic.”
“It was. We kissed, and he held me in his strong arms, and I wanted the moment to last forever.”
“At least you had that time with him.”
“Yes. And then he asked me…” Her voice faltered, and she had to pause for a moment. “He asked me, that since we were alone, and we had a long train ride, if we could… if we could… be together.”
I stared at her. “On the train?”
“I wanted him so much. And we had never… I mean, I was still a… And I really wanted to, I really did. So much, it was painful.”
“But you didn’t?”
“No. A little part of me whispered into my ear, telling me to wait until he got back. That would give him more motivation to return to me safely. I loved him so much, and I would do anything to keep him safe, even deny myself the pleasure that I desperately needed. So I refused, telling him we had our whole lives ahead of us for that kind of thing.”
I remained silent as she paused.
“And I believed I had done the right thing, up until the day just over a month later when the two soldiers appeared at the hospital with the telegram, and my world came crashing down. At that moment, I wished I had shared that with him. I wished we had spent our last few moments together making love. Because I knew at that moment, I would never know what it felt like, because no other man could be what my Johnny meant to me.”
My tears flowed freely now, dripping down onto my scrubs as I held tightly to her hand. We sat silently for a few minutes, both lost in thought.
Finally, she squeezed my hand and sighed. “Seventy years is a long time to regret. Hopefully, when we’re together again, I’ll be able to make up for my mistake.”
I smiled softly. “Yes, hopefully.”
“I’m getting tired.”
“You’d better get some sleep then. I have to leave anyway. My shift is over.”
“Thank you for staying with me.”
“My pleasure, Mrs. Davenport.”
“Sophie.”
“I’m sorry. Sophie.”
“Michelle?” She was beginning to drift off.
“Yes, Sophie?”
“He likes you.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Easton. I can tell by the way he looks at you when you aren’t paying attention.”
I smiled. “Really?”
“Yes. I have a feeling about you two.”
“I think he’s special. I’m not sure if he feels the same.”
“Trust me, my dear. He looks at you the same way Johnny used to look at me. So don’t be allowing any regrets into your life.”
I smiled wide. “I won’t, Sophie. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” And then she drifted off, her breath thin and even. I leaned over and gave her a kiss on the forehead, and had to wipe off one of my tears that had fallen onto her cheek. Brushing her thin, gray hair with my fingers, I whispered, “Goodbye, Sophie.”
* * *
I left the hospital and felt the cool air of the night clear my head. I thought about how much the world had changed in seventy years, and how much it had stayed the same. People were still falling in love and going off to war, breaking hearts and ruining lives. I also thought about Sophie’s long life, loving a man who had died so long ago. Was it all just a waste, and could she have found happiness with someone else?
Part of my mind refused to believe that, and considered the possibility that what Sophie had done with her life served some greater purpose that none of us could understand. But another part understood that here she was, probably living her last few hours of her life, and what did she have to show for it other than a wonderfully romantic story? Was it worth that?
I arrived at the subway station and reached into my pocket to retrieve my fare card, but pulled out something else instead. It was Sophie’s newspaper clipping. Damn, I must have put it in my pocket by accident. I considered for a moment going back and giving it to her, but realized she was probably asleep, and would be so until morning. That was if she made it through the night. No, I would just take it home with me and return it to her tomorrow. Hopefully.
I started down the steps to the subway station, thinking about Sophie doing the same thing seventy years ago this very night. Rushing to meet her new husband, looking forward to spending the rest of her life with him, as soon as they got past this temporary roadblock of war. Not knowing the roadblock would span the rest of her life.
Halfway down a sense of dizziness came over me, and I had to stop and grip the railing, closing my eyes as the world seemed to spin around me. Then it stopped and I opened my eyes, regaining my balance. Damn, I had to stop working these long shifts. I could have fallen down the steps and broken my neck. I vowed to myself to cut back on hours. I started back down again.
But after a few steps I stopped again, staring at a poster on the wall. It was vintage from World War Two, featuring a woman in a red bandana and blue work shirt, rolling up her sleeve. Above her were the words, “We can do it!”
I stared at it as I began walking down again, when I came to another poster and stopped again. This one featured a WWII pilot with the words, “Keep us flying!” above, and “Buy War Bonds,” below.
I stared at the two posters. Was there
some kind of retro art show going on I hadn’t heard of? It was odd, considering the story I had just heard, and a shiver went through me. I started down the steps again.
When I arrived at the bottom, I reached into my pocket for my fare card again, but this time my pocket was empty. Glancing downward, I realized my blue nurse’s scrubs were gone. My eyes opened wide and I stared down at myself for a long moment, my mind unable to process the reality of what my eyes were seeing.
I was wearing a long, white nurse’s dress, which came down to just below my knees. There was a large, red medical cross in the middle of my chest, and my legs were covered in white stockings. Completing the ensemble were white, low-heeled shoes, made of leather, not the Nike sneakers I had been wearing a few seconds earlier.
I couldn’t move, and I wondered if I was dreaming. Or maybe it was some hallucination brought on by the combination of my fatigue, and Sophie’s story.
I ran my hands down the cloth, testing its reality. It felt just like it should – starched and crisp. My hands moved to my hair, and I felt something attached to my head. After a few seconds, I realized it was an old-fashioned nurse’s hat, stuck to my hair with pins.
What was going on here?
I ran my hands down my body again, and realized something more disturbing than the odd clothes I was wearing. I cupped my breasts as my breath caught in my throat. What had formally been a set of C-cups had now been reduced to As. I felt my small breasts through the dress and heavy bra, and realized I must be going crazy. It was the only explanation.
“Sophie, is that you?”
My head snapped up and I looked in the direction of the voice. It was coming from around a corner, but I could hear the footsteps approaching.
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