by A. L. Wood
I make up some bullshit lie about having trouble completing my work. He questions why I’m in in the lab, and tells me to just go home.
Aggravated, I clean up, put everything away, and leave. I wasn't scheduled to come in today, but I will, and I’ll make sure I’m earlier than everyone else so I can get him alone.
***
Realizing that I left my cell phone behind in the lab I have no other choice but to go back and collect it. Before leaving I decide to shower, maybe I can get a few hours in at The Coop tonight. After I shower, toss my hair into a bun, throw on my favorite pair of skinny jeans, pair it with a violet V-neck, and toss my jacket on.
Arriving at the lab, I make sure to check for anyone else in the building besides Marshall. I find the janitor and patiently wait until he moves on before approaching Dr. Jackson.
He’s bent over at the waist, his forearms on the counter peering over my work.
The work I lied about having an issue with.
Shit.
“Hey, Dr. Marshall,” I say, interrupting his scrutinizing eyes on my labs.
He calls me out on my work, knowing that I didn't need his help, and I decide to confess the truth.
“It was easy, honestly. I didn't need your help with it, I just needed you here.”
He looks almost shocked, because I admitted it and he isn't feeling me or because I admitted it and he is. Hopefully, the latter.
“What, why?”
Aggravated that he wouldn't admit to knowing why I lied, I allow my annoyance to get the best of me. “You just don't see it or you're not trying very hard to see it!” I exclaim before walking away.
Apparently, my plan is futile. Maybe I was wrong and he doesn't see me that way. Maybe he doesn't reciprocate the attraction.
I hear him utter my name, followed by telling me that he's married and that he can't do this.
He does feel the attraction. If he didn't, he wouldn't feel the need to explain that he's married or that he can't go through with it.
I stop in my tracks, turn back around facing him, and slowly step closer. “Oh, but, Marshall—”
“Dr. Jackson,” he cuts me off. “Look, Maggie, I’ve seen this happen to colleagues before and nothing good ever comes out of this. I get it, you're lonely, and we spend time together in a lab. Maybe it's because I’m older and have an appealing demeanor or persona. I know that sometimes students confuse infatuations or crushes with their professors but this cannot happen.”
I listen to him, hesitating on what to say.
This crush isn't some high school infatuation, nor is it because he's older or I’m lonely or any of that other bullshit.
I’m just drawn to him, the attraction consumes me, and I want to act on it.
Need to act on it.
Instead of arguing with him, I’ll play his game.
“You're right, I’m sorry. We have to keep it professional. Whatever you say, I’ll do.” I grin wickedly, my mouth saying the right words but my thoughts taking a different direction.
I step closer to him, wrapping his shirt into my fist as I pull him to me. “Let the professionalism begin,” I whisper in his ear, followed by a kiss on his cheek, and then I walk out of the room.
Sometimes, I question my own actions. Normally, I’m a timid and shy person, but he brings out this fiercely confident person and it overtakes me.
I have to make him mine.
I leave the lab and go back to my dorm room. I make a quick phone call to Sam seeing if he needs any extra hands tonight as I now have free time. He doesn't, so I decide to call it a night early.
***
After tossing and turning for the umpteenth time, I grab my laptop off my writing desk and lay it down in bed beside me since I don't have a television yet but I do have a Netflix account.
I begin playing my latest television show binge Person of Interest. It's about this insane computer that can spit out information about people who are going to die preventable deaths. These two guys stop those deaths, and normally, it's not something I'd be interested in, but the one actor, Jim Caviezel, his voice always soothes me and puts me to sleep.
Not tonight, though. Four shows later, and I can't stop thinking about Marshall.
His chocolate-brown eyes, the way that they stare at me intensely. His full lips that are begging to be kissed, his muscular body that I would love to see without clothes on.
Moisture builds between my legs as I think about him. I close my laptop, silencing my room.
Kicking the blankets off, I lay flat on my back picturing Marshall above me.
What would he do?
Maybe he’d start slow, stroking my face with his fingertips from my ear to my jaw, lightly touching my lips.
I follow the pattern with my fingers. Slowly stroking from my jaw to my ear and back again then I make my way to my lips.
My tongue meets my finger; I gently lick it as I would his fingertip. Swirling my tongue around the pad of my finger, imagining it was his, I take my finger into my mouth, wetting it in preparation for what's to come.
My free hand cups one breast through my shirt. I tease myself, first rubbing one nipple through my clothing then the other until they’re rock hard.
My pussy is drenched just thinking that it could be him—Marshall, touching me in this way.
I take off my clothes quickly, needing release.
Needing for my body to be free from the confines of material.
I slide my hand down my body, from my lips to my breasts. Pinching my nipples lightly, making them pebble. I glide my hand over my waist to the smooth mound of my pussy.
I slide my fingers to my clit, feeling the wetness that's already gathered there. My already swollen clit ignites.
I imagine Marshall rubbing my clit with his fingers in a circular motion. I fantasize that his fingers enter me, not mine.
His.
Somewhere along the line of my imagination, he becomes real.
Marshall rises above me, his head bowing down to my breast. He takes a nipple into his mouth, lightly nipping then swirling his tongue around and around like he wants to my clit.
His head moves to the other breast, doing the same before he moves his body back down south.
He teases and kisses me everywhere, and it feels like he’s all over my body. I’m tingling everywhere he’s touching and it’s as if I could burst at any moment. I’m so entranced, I don’t notice he’s gotten closer towards my pussy. I gasp in surprise when I feel two fingers plunge into my pussy, while one finger is rubbing vigorously at my clit. Both movements going in flow with one another building the plateau that I need.
My orgasm slowly rises as I become wetter.
I imagine that Marshall's fingers are his hard cock instead, that it's him thrusting into me roughly. His cock pounding into me hard, reaching depths I have never felt.
I imagine that it's Marshall fucking me, and I orgasm.
It starts off lightly, a dull buzz floating within me but ends intensely, like the electricity of lightning running through my veins.
And then he disappears.
I open my eyes, gasping for air and he's gone.
Because it hasn't happened ... yet.
***
My alarm sounds obnoxiously, pulling me from a deep slumber. I don’t even recall falling asleep last night. Thoughts of Marshall kept me awake for a while.
Thoughts of Jake kept me awake long after.
I don’t even know who I am anymore.
Jake did this to me. I want to be the epitome of strength and great character; I want who I was back but I feel like an empty shell of who I once was.
Before, I wouldn't be fantasizing over a taken man. I was happy. I had love in my heart.
Now I feel emotionless.
I'm frozen.
Numb.
Broken.
I am lost.
I’m a professional when it comes to masking the emptiness inside. No one sees how much pain I’m in. They don’t wan
t to see the truth of how ugly things have gotten. How ugly I’ve become. All they see is the happy me, but there are times where all I want to do is crawl away and disappear… forever.
Marshall makes me feel warm. His presence seems to pull me away from the dark recesses of my mind. He keeps the thoughts of Jake away. That kind of warm protection is hard to resist. But at same time, I don’t want to get addicted to the heat and get lost even more. It would crush me.
Maybe I can take his warmth a few times then leave and never look back once my internship is completed.
I don’t want to interfere with his life.
I don’t want him to interfere with mine.
I just want to be found.
I want to find me again.
I hear three car doors slam shut, six feet pitter-pattering to the front door of the house. I’m lying on the couch in the living room, thinking about where to go from here.
“Dad, wake up, mass is over.” I feel Ryan nudge me before I see him. Josh follows soon after, pouncing on top of me.
“Marshall, we need to talk,” I hear from Denise as she drops her stuff off in the kitchen.
“Okay, I'll be right there.” I get up from the couch and make my way to the kitchen—the boys have already run upstairs to their room. “So how was Mass? Did it get the boys excited?”
“Yes, Marshall, it was, you would know if you had come with us to Mass more often. And—”
I cut her off immediately, “Damn it, Denise! You know I am not Catholic, I was Baptist when you met me. I am still Baptist that hasn't changed. I was Baptist when we had sex, Baptist when we had Ryan, and guess what? Baptist when we got married.”
Quickly, she responds with, “Then why don't you go to church anymore? You haven't gone in months; I know have you even gone this year.”
“Denise, that isn't fair, it's different for you. You always take the boys to Mass. On top of that, you never let me take them to my church. They’ve not once stepped foot in mine yet I’ve never fought or complained about that. It hurts when I go alone knowing my sons aren’t allowed to be there. Or that you won’t come, not even one time. Fuck, we got married in your church. Every time I do attend mine I can feel everyone’s eyes cast down in judgement because they’re all aware that I have a family and they never attend with me. I’m your husband, I’ve compromised time and time again. Coming home from Mass and throwing a fit all because I didn’t attend is childish. You didn’t want me to attend. You never want me to go anywhere with you and the boys as a family. I’m so over this.”
“Boo-freakin-hoo,” Denise sarcastically replies. “I'm not the man. I'm not the alpha male. I don't get to make all the fucking calls in the marriage. I didn't get to stay with the Hornets. I didn't get to stay in the NBA. Cry me a river. That's all I hear out of you these days, Marshall, and it’s getting old.”
“Denise, you’re not even trying to look at it from my side. You’re being petty right now. You talk about all of the things I do wrong, how I have to be stuck in the past with my career and that’s what’s hindering our future, but it seems like it’s you that’s always fucking bringing it up. Not me. You say you love me, then you do shit like this. You blew up on me yesterday for no reason as well.” A silent pause starts between us, but I hold eye contact. I am not backing down on this. “How many twenty year olds would have stepped up and been the boyfriend I was? Or better yet, the father I have been while maintaining basketball and school?”
She snaps back, “I would have made you if you didn't do it willingly, and better yet, what do you want, a medal for not being a douche and abandoning your own creation?”
There is nothing I can say to solve this argument. She’s going to keep seeing it one way while I see it another.
I am so fucking over this.
So I walk out. I exit the kitchen to the living room to go up upstairs to see the boys, as I'm sure they just heard their parents fighting, to find them in their bedroom. I hear Denise behind me say, “I spoke to Father Wallace today. He suggested we start marriage counseling.”
I was frozen in my tracks; I don’t bother to turn around. I am so beyond pissed, I know if I turn around and look at her, I won’t be able to control the look of disgust, “What in the fuck are you talking about? I am not going to counseling, Denise. Southern men, Christian men don't need counseling, especially marriage counseling. I have been loving to you, our boys, and our marriage. I have never strayed from that. We don’t need counseling, nor do we need any kind of help from anyone outside our marriage. We are fine, we're just hitting a rough patch but we'll get through it.”
Denise begins to cry a little. My body automatically turning around to face her, I immediately see the tears and her head is down then with a broken voice as if her pride and confidence just took a complete back seat, she looks up at me. “Then why last night when you slept on the couch could I hear you? You were murmuring some woman’s name. I came down to see you and you were asleep murmuring a woman’s name, and then you came, Marshall, and it wasn't my name. Is that why you decided to touch me the other night? Is that what had you so aroused? Was it another woman you were fantasizing about? Just tell me!”
I could confess to her that I honestly don’t know. I’m not sure if my renewed interest in our sex life has anything to do with Maggie, and part of me hates it.
The other part … likes it.
“It isn't like that. I admit things have been hard between us—” I place my hand on her jaw, directing her face to look me in the eyes so that she can see that I care “—but I would never cheat on you. Yes, I have noticed that I’ve been attracted to another woman but I wouldn’t have acted on it. It’s just that you’ve been so distant. I’m not saying this is all your fault, it’s both of us. You have to see that. I don’t feel appreciated here. We’ve both been failing each other. I don’t want to be with anyone else but I’m going to be honest, I’ve thought about it because of how our marriage has been.”
There, I told her.
“That's great, Marshall. Just fucking wonderful, because no matter how bad things have gotten between us, I have never, ever questioned my love for you or my attraction to you. For me, it has always been you and you’re going to give me what I deserve. You will give me what you promised in our vows!”
She shoves me as she cries, hitting my chest with a closed fist as I try to pull her to me. She pushes me away then leaves swiftly upstairs where I hear her slam our bedroom door.
That went well. I close my eyes tightly. Why in the hell Marshall did you have to tell her that you looked at or had been attracted to another woman? I am fucking idiot.
I stand over the sink for a minute thinking about everything. My thoughts begin to drown me. They’re a complete spiral cluster. I can't separate anything that happened, but one thing sticks out. She mentioned that I murmured a woman's name.
A cold chill sweeps down my spine, realizing how much that must have hurt Denise to overhear. I couldn’t imagine her pain.
I go into my study as I always do to clear my head. Looking out into the yard from my window, I begin to focus on—no, analyze every bit of my yard. Hoping that by doing so my heart won’t be beating so erratically and just maybe Denise will have calmed down when I’m done.
My dad always told me country life was way the to be, big yards and great landscaping. The grass so green and trees so peaceful. My study has one of the best views in the house. I can see the solid black and brown of the tree bark right before branches sprouted, filled with lush green leaves. Flowers that Denise and I had planted surround the trees. Just seeing those flowers brings back wonderful memories of when we first bought this house.
Peaceful memories.
I lie on the couch in my study just thinking about Denise and me doing our own landscaping. The thoughts consume me, and I get lost in them for a little while. I come to when I hear noise from outside my door.
I hear faint talking coming from the kitchen, so I get up to see what’s going on.
When I walk into the kitchen, I find that Denise has gone ahead with supper without me. Dirty dishes fill the sink and the kids have just excused themselves to their bedrooms. There are not pots or pans with food, everything has been eaten. She excluded me on purpose.
I look at her, still sitting at our empty dining room table. She sighs, then begins to stand from her chair. Ignoring me, she walks out of the room into the living room.
Her anger just makes the pit of my stomach tighten. So much that I decide against eating. My appetite has been suppressed by her ignoring me. Choosing to give her more time to deal with this situation inside her head before confronting her, I go to our bedroom. A shower sounds relaxing, just what I need. As I open our bedroom door, I discover that Denise has taken scissors to our bedroom sheets and not just one set it looks like.
Anger is one of the strongest emotions that I feel right now. My cheeks flush, and I grit my teeth to keep my lips closed so that I’m not tempted to let off a series of swear words that the boys could over hear.
To anyone else, this would just look silly, spiteful, and childish.
It was.
It was also an attempt to hurt me.
You see, Denise has this thing of treating herself to a new set of luxury Egyptian sheets once a year. On our anniversary. In the mess of cut up material, I see two packed suitcases beside our bed with a note placed on top. I grab the note and begin to read.
Marshall,
I think it is time that we separate. I can’t say if this is indefinite, or temporary. I just know that we need time apart. I know we loved each other and maybe we still do in a sense, but you haven't been fully present in this marriage for years and neither have I. I need some space to think about what I want and what’s best for the boys. I think you need this time too to think about what you want as well. Please don't make this ugly in front of the boys. Stay at whatever hotel you need to; you just can't stay here. If you agree to try marriage counseling, we can talk about you moving back in. I'm sorry.