The Token 5 (New Adult Dark Romance)

by Eros, Marata

  Kiki's chin drops to her chest, and I see her shoulders shake.

  I stand and come around to the other side of the tiny kitchen table to comfort her. I hold Kiki as she cries. My tears have dried up for the moment.

  She cries for us both.

  ~ 9 ~

  Tuesday

  I sit back and press my forehead to the commode rim. Gross—but the coolness offers some relief.

  Morning sickness is bullshit.

  It's all day-feel-like-shitness.

  Mick blew me out of the water by dumping me, then I start puking my guts up the next day. A one-two sucker punch.

  A gentle rapping sounds on the other side of the door.

  Sue.

  “Faren, are you okay?”

  Just peachy. “Ah... give me a sec.”

  It doesn't matter that I'm sick. Sick and pregnant. Terminally ill.

  Terminally heartbroken.

  “I'll be right out, Sue.”

  A pause. “Just letting you know your two o'clock is waiting.”

  Work must go on. A job I loved is now something to endure. It's been an unnerving day of patients, throwing up, and heartsickness that takes my breath away.

  I stand, my hand going to my flat belly. A shaky breath rattles out of me.

  I remind myself I still have joy.

  I'll see Mom today and tell her about the baby. There is no way I can tell her about my illness.

  She's so happy to be awake. So relieved our mutual tormenter is dead.

  My mind conjures up Tagger. I shudder. The fingers of my bad hand convulse on my belly, naturally protecting the new life growing there.

  I rinse out my mouth, and my hunger rises like a phoenix. A gnaw begins in my belly, and I struggle to think of anything that sounds good.

  Oranges and ice water appeals.

  I glance at the commode and my stomach does a hot, slick roil.

  God.

  I walk out of the restroom, jerk the patient file out of the slot, and cruise through the door to the slave station while smiling at Brice.

  Probably looks like a grimace.

  It's his last session, and like Humpty Dumpty's men, I feel as though I've put him back together again.

  “Wow, Miss Mitchell,” Brice exclaims, a boy's face in a man's body. “You look like shit.”

  I scowl at his truth.

  “I mean—crap.”

  I set down his patient file. “You know I'll work you harder today because you noticed and commented.” I feel my eyebrow pop. “Where's your filter?”

  Brice gives a sheepish head-dip. “I guess it's on vacation.”

  I snort. “Must be a long one...”

  He grins.

  I grin back.

  I'll survive the day.

  *

  Wednesday

  Kiki: Hey doll, whatzup?

  Me: Nothing, just puking up all my food and torturing patients.

  Kiki: Perfect. Want to come over tonight and I'll cook u supper?

  I feel a grin slip into place.

  Me: Ah... don't I live with u for the moment? Until I figure out my apartment....

  Kiki: Lol—yeah, but I thought ud dig the invite anyway.

  Kiki uses anything as an excuse to check up on me. I love her.

  Me: Well, yes, thank you. ☺ I'll be there.... ?

  Kiki: Late; I've got poles but have a break around 10-ish.

  The p-word elicits a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that has nothing to do with the pregnancy. I stare at my cell for a second then tap out my response.

  Me: Okay, I'll be there.

  Kiki: U know it!!! ♥

  I swipe my cell, and the screen turns black.

  Slipping it into my scrub pocket, I stack patient files and bring them to Sue. Her silent eyes hold questions I'm not ready to answer.

  Any way I respond, I'll sound like a dumb ass.

  “'Night, Sue.”

  She clicks them once on the counter. “Goodnight, Faren.”

  To her credit, she hasn’t asked about Mick, Ronnie Bunce's death, or all the other media circus bullshit that's been surrounding me lately.

  But Sue has noticed my bathroom worship. If I'm not squatting in the bathroom and barfing, I'm nibbling crackers and sipping ginger ale, hoping I can keep down a crumb of anything.

  I guess it's good Mick doesn't want me. Who wants someone who has to use the bathroom for nothing but expulsion?

  I walk out of the clinic and tilt my face to the dying sun. The sky runs blood red with ribbons of tangerine and gold, bathing my face in warmth. Soon it will be spring. Seattle is holding its breath for the next season; I can taste it.

  I soak in the moment, then face reality.

  I need to visit my mom, then go to Kiki's.

  I didn't cry when I came home from work yesterday and my things were packed and stacked in front of her door. Courtesy of Mick's minions.

  Instead, I did some pre-Lamaze breathing and ignored a tenant who missed her code-entry swipe while staring at an odd young woman who appeared to be hyperventilating.

  Sighing, I chug down the stairs, car keys in hand. The noises of the city fill my ears, lulling me into that familiar comfort.

  “Faren.”

  A thrill courses down my body like an electrical current.

  I turn, and there Mick stands.

  He’s resplendent in a handsome deep chocolate suit. A terra-cotta-colored silk button-down perfectly accentuates his deep auburn hair. Cufflinks with the darkest royal blue sapphires glitter from his wrists.

  The sun slants into the space between us, lighting him like a living six-foot-three flame.

  I realize I'm staring and bite my lip, looking down.

  My clogs have small scuffs from work. I analyze each one while I pray for composure.

  “How are you?”

  My head snaps up and the thread of restraint unravels. “What do you care?”

  The words come out harsh, raw. That's all I have.

  The wounds he gave me don't heal but fester.

  Mick jams his hands in his pockets, dipping his head. “I didn't want this.”

  What the fuck is this?

  I laugh like a seal barking. “Right...” I feel my eyebrows lift, and I cock my hip. “Me either.”

  Effing duh.

  He grimaces. “I'm sorry, that didn't come out right...”

  I put up my palm. “Save it, Mick. I don't want to waste my time.”

  A memory of him flexing above me as he's buried inside me rises like the tide in my mind. I close my eyes as it washes over me.

  I'm drowning.

  When I open them, he's closer, jaw clenched. He raises his hand, and I flinch.

  He freezes. “I would never hurt you.”

  I nod. I didn't mean it—just habit. Killing Ronnie Bunce is fresh. What he's done to me is at the surface of my mind.

  He cups my jaw, and I step out of a touch I want so badly my soul starves for it like food.

  I hear a flash pop, and we turn to look. A reporter gives us a thumbs up, and Mick growls, spinning toward him.

  He bashes the camera to the ground. Plastic shards fly across the cement sidewalk like black missiles.

  “Give us some goddamned space,” he snaps.

  I don't wait but turn and walk away.

  Like he did with me.

  I don't know what he'll think when I just disappear.

  I'm not waiting to find out.

  *

  I groan, and Kiki giggles. “I think,” she says, “that you need to concentrate on being purely tactile right now.”

  The blindfold slides around and I try to peek.

  Kiki slaps my hand.

  “Ow, you bitch,” I reply with a laugh.

  “Open your pie hole.”

  I obediently open my mouth, and she pops a wiggling mess inside. But it's cool and pure.

  “What is it?”

  “Not until you have every bite.”

  I eat forever, and my s
tomach stays silent. No palace revolt.

  Yet.

  I lift the blindfold and look at the container.

  “Oooh—Jello?”

  “Don't diss it, baby. This is breakfast, lunch, and supper, right?”

  I reluctantly nod. True.

  I've already lost three pounds in the same amount of days.

  “It's not like your skinny ass needed to take any pudge pounds off.”

  I touch her arm. “Thank you.”

  Kiki turns away, shrugging. “No biggie.”

  I watch her busy herself in the tiny kitchen, her stripper's dress giving me a show.

  I'm unmoved. I know what goes into that job, and none of it is titillating, romantic, or otherwise.

  It's a mess, and it attracts desperate girls at a despicable cost.

  Every bit of her glitters—from her eye shadow, to the mandatory stockings, to the pointy heels that click against her travertine flooring.

  My chin falls into my hand. Then my elbow slides on the glass table as I let my head fall into the crook of my arm. My eyes find the sea outside the huge windows, and I grow still at its beautiful apathy.

  “Hey.” Kiki's close.

  “Yeah?”

  The waves churn—deep and gray, moving ceaselessly. Immune to whatever happens, the ocean lives.

  Her hand strokes my head. “Have you told Tannin?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You're not telling her about... y'know.”

  “No,” I say in soft confirmation. “Just about peanut.”

  I swear I can feel her smile.

  “Peanut?”

  I nod under her palm.

  “I like it,” she says.

  I do too.

  Our silence is broken by the doorbell.

  I remain where I am.

  “Who the hell?” Kiki's hand leaves me and I feel bereft without it.

  I need to get a handle on myself. I'm such a needy sucker all of the sudden.

  Hormones R Us.

  Eight more months.

  I can do anything for that amount of time. I can live that long—I know I can.

  I have to.

  “Oh, hi!” Kiki lets someone in.

  “Hey, Faren.”

  Thorn.

  I don't know if I'm ready for his condemnation.

  Because it's bros before hos. I don't have a side for him to take. I'm just the girl who broke Mick's heart and lied about everything.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Get your ass up and stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

  Kiki groans. My head comes off my arms, and I swivel to meet Thorn's stare.

  He's like a silent dark mountain of muscle.

  Anger rears up. “No offense, but fuck off.”

  I hardly ever use the F-word, and Kiki gasps behind Thorn's broad shoulder.

  He leans down into my face. “Don't you dare give up. Don't give up on Mick.”

  Kiki moves closer, dwarfed by his massiveness.

  I lean right back. “He gave up on me!” Tears spring to attention, and I shake, my left hand bouncing like a Mexican jumping bean.

  Thorn laughs and shakes his head.

  “Ah, we didn't get the comedy memo, Thorn.” Kiki crosses her arms.

  He shrugs. “My boy—he's all kinds of torn up. And sometimes that's what it takes.”

  I swipe my tears away. “Well I'm more shook up.”

  Thorn swings his heavy arm, indicating the ceiling. “Nah, Mick's sidelined. Can't eat, can't sleep... ten shades of fucked up.”

  Really? I shrug. “Yeah? Why? He dumped me.” I jab my finger into my chest. My lip trembles, and I bite it.

  “He told me you're dying, that you're having his bambino.” Thorn inclines his head.

  “Okay?” I ask, irritation blooming through every pore.

  So?

  “He loves you.”

  I stare at Thorn.

  I shake my head. “Not enough.”

  His smile is wide and genuine. “Now that's where you're wrong.”

  He leans down and speaks quietly in my ear.

  It's not sweet nothings.

  It’s a nefarious plan.

  ~ 10 ~

  Doctor Ludwig squirts cold clear gel on my stomach, and I cringe from the iciness. I hold in the pee from the full bladder he insisted I have.

  Sympathy lines his face. “I know, it's awful at first.”

  The sonogram lights up, and there's nothing but black and white fog.

  Then a shadow so small I can hardly see it appears in the smog of my womb.

  I look at Ludwig, and his eyes crinkle at the corners.

  “Can't detect the heartbeat yet. Too soon.”

  He runs the wand over my skin, and it heats. Finally. Just as it becomes warm enough to bear, it's over, and he wipes down my stomach.

  My bladder screams for release and I pop up.

  The machine kicks out a photo and he blows on it, handing it to me.

  My throat tightens and my eyes burn. It really is a peanut.

  I forget my need to pee.

  I open my mouth to ask my burning question and he says, “I don't know.”

  “How'd you know what I was going to ask?”

  “Everyone wants to know if it's a boy or girl.” Like, elementary my dear Watson.

  “You can use the restroom now.”

  But my mind is elsewhere. I smile at the picture of my future child.

  Mine and Mick's.

  *

  I visit the restroom on my way out, my new favorite place and whistle a tune.

  I don't have Mick, though Thorn's plan is a good one. I don't have to trap Mick. I'm pregnant and won't live long enough to be more than a blip on his screen.

  Thorn swears that if Mick doesn't spend my final months with me, he'll regret it.

  After all, Rose McKenna left him with a wicked case of survivor's guilt.

  His feelings don't make a ton of sense.

  At seventeen, there was nothing he could have done. Thorn did what he could, and he still paid an unfair price.

  The problem is—I don't want Mick to be with me out of guilt.

  For the first time, I'll chase him.

  Because of love. There's no denying it. I love him, and that’s all.

  Thorn promised me it was the last thing I could do to ease Mick when I'm no longer here.

  And maybe it'll ease me.

  Thorn has a sensitive streak. It's wide enough to accommodate mainly Mick. I don't try to talk myself into believing that Thorn gives a tin shit about me. He’s worried over Mick.

  I pause on the steps of Ludwig's swank downtown complex and scroll through my messages. As I do, Mick should be receiving the image I carry in my pocket of our child via my matter-of-fact media text. No words, just the pic.

  He can think whatever he wants.

  I feel like ass, but I managed to change into my come-hither clothes before I left the doctor’s.

  I look at my texts, scrolling until I get to Thorn's message with the address.

  I read the address again. Mick's offices are right where Thorn said they would be, within kissing distance of Ludwig's. For all I know, Mick owns the entire city block.

  I remember Mick's offer of lunch in New York City. It's too surreal for words. What would it be like to go out of state for lunch? I laugh out loud, unconcerned about how crazy I look, laughing at nothing.

  I pause at the stoplight, waiting for the white hand.

  The orangey-red one blinks its angry rhythm.

  The white hand appears, and I cross, a partial jog causing a spring in my step. A hot dog vendor's wares steal across the air and tickle my nose.

  My stomach lurches at the rich, greasy smell.

  A woman with exotic perfume strides by, her high heels mimicking mine.

  It stirs my nausea like witch's brew. I cover my mouth and nose with my bad hand, hopping up on the curb and racing for the skyscraper that has McKenna Enterprises emblazoned across the front in e
legant script. They're deeply embossed and black, solid copper piping making them stand out in subtle opulence. I briefly note the neon tubing in the crevice of each letter for nighttime.

  I rip open the door and take a sucking breath in relief.

  City smells don't greet me inside.

  It's ultra-modern: glass, quartz, and an eternity fountain.

  It smells blissfully like nothing.

  Green plants swarm up the corners, begging to be a jungle. A pretty receptionist sees me and smiles.

  I know I look good. I have on the outfit Kiki and Thorn insisted I wear.

  It’s the one I wore for Mick in the revolving restaurant of our first date. Meant to trigger nostalgia, provoke feelings.

  Beads tickle my upper thighs as I move toward the sign that indicates where the elevators are located. Thorn told me to surprise him.

  I'm not making polite noises of inquiry. The societal cues are no longer important.

  The receptionist frowns.

  Stripper wear is probably not normal attire here.

  Or maybe it is. The Black Rose is owned by Mick.

  I flutter my fingers at her in a feigned wave of confidence. Coached by Thorn, I act as if I'm expected.

  “You're here to see…?” She seems a little frantic, as if she might charge around the desk and tackle me if I inch closer to the elevator.

  I say what Thorn told me to say. “Audition.”

  She looks momentarily perplexed but nods. “All right.”

  She slowly sits down, and I move to the elevator, feeling expert in my high heels.

  I feel her eyes on my back.

  Inside the elevator that parted as I neared it, I push the 40th floor button and the elevator moves like grease through a goose. No lurching in this place.

  I close my eyes, feeling weightless.

  Feeling hope.

  This is the last good thing I can do in this life.

  No regrets for either of us. If it works out, everyone wins. Thorn told me he knows Mick will cave if I show up and remind him of what he's missing.

  “You're that drop of water that's not the mirage in his desert,” Thorn said.

  The elevator stops with a small sway and chime, and my eyes open. The doors whisk open, and I move into an open hallway.