Thirty Days: Part Two

by Belle Brooks

  “No running away. No regrets. No hurt.”

  “None.” My mouth sucks at his neck, causing him to groan. “I want this,” I whisper in his ear as he lays us on the bed.

  “You still look sexy as fuck in this shirt.” He tugs at the hem, causing it to become tighter across my breasts.

  Changing direction, Marcus begins rolling my shirt past my navel. His tongue swirls below it, and I pant loudly as he continues to roll the fabric until it sits tight across the top of my chest. Through the material of the lace green bra I’m wearing, Marcus nips at my nipples, which harden in response.

  “These belong to me,” he groans until the lace sits wet against my skin.

  Crossing my legs above his naked arse, I press my heels in, causing his pelvis to drop down. “I need you,” I whisper.

  The corners of his lips arch as his eyes widen with his gaze. He thrusts his groin against my shorts, causing my toes to curl and my breaths to quicken.

  “This. You want this.” His words are laced with desire.

  “Yes.”

  “My fucking pleasure,” he says softly into my ear before biting at the lobe gently.

  Flashbacks

  As the early morning passes, I haven’t had one ounce of sleep. My eyes beg for me to close them. The screen of my phone lights up when I press the button located on the side. The digital blue numbers in the top right hand corner read 3:53 a.m. Although dawn won’t be far away, and I’m as exhausted as a shift worker on back to back night duty, I feel content. I haven’t felt as relaxed as I do right now. Maybe I’ve never felt this content in my entire life…or have I?

  The volume of pleasure I enjoyed in one night is the likely reason for my current state, and with this thought I’m alerted to Marcus nibbling away at the tip of my shoulder. Can this man ever get enough of me? From his soft gnawing, I’d say not. My eyes burn something fierce as I lower the phone from the bed.

  “I have to sleep, baby,” I mumble through lips that barely move.

  “Sweet dreams, Abigail.” His hand tucks securely around me, and as I cease fighting to remain awake, I’m finally awarded the sleep I need.

  ***

  “Abi, can you see me?” Sammy looked so young when she popped out from behind a camera lens.

  “Of course I can,” I reply, not looking her way at all.

  “Well, I’m over here.” She snapped her fingers before whistling, trying to get my attention.

  “Yeah. Over there.”

  “What the heck are you doing? What are you looking at?”

  “Do you see that guy over there?” I was mesmerised.

  Her arm brushed mine as we looked the short distance towards the adjacent football field. “Which one? There are like ten of them.”

  “That one.” My finger was outstretched in his direction, homing in on only him. For the life of me, I couldn’t look away.

  “Be specific, will ya?”

  “Tall, dark hair, he’s in the Bronco’s jersey.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “I don’t know…I have this feeling I know him.”

  “Well, you don’t,” she snapped for the second time before tugging at my arm.

  “I swear, I do.”

  “Abigail, we have to go now.” Sammy’s eyes made contact with mine. Her face had paled and her eyes bugged from her head.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. We’ll use a different location to take these portfolio shots. Those guys are only going to ruin it kicking that football around.”

  “Sammy, they won’t. They aren’t even that close.”

  “Abigail, I’m going.” She stomped over to the camera. She looked distraught as she grabbed the camera and stand. Why was she acting like this?

  Turning my head to glance over the top of my shoulder, the mystery man smiled towards me as he raised his hand and offered a wave. I instinctively waved back. His smile was contagious, and I could feel my mouth smiling.

  “Abigail, we need to go. Mike will be meeting us for lunch soon.”

  “Okay,” I muttered, not wanting to look away again.

  “Bye,” he mouthed.

  “Bye, Marcus,” I mouthed back.

  ***

  Leaping from the mattress like heated flames were licking at my skin, I hit the floor heavily. Holy crap. It was more than three times. Marcus may have moved away like Grady claimed, but he never really stayed away from me for too long.

  Marcus snores lightly. I’m surprised I haven’t woken him with my sudden disappearance from his limp embrace. His face looks pure as a soft sound emanates from his closed mouth. I need a stiff drink, like freaking now. My heart fills with a flutter, or is it skipping beats? I can’t be sure.

  In my birthday suit I open the small fridge door and retrieve a jug of water and a chilled glass from the shelf. I want to remember, I really do, but there’s a part of me that is frightened to experience the depths of our love.

  After gulping down three refills of H2O, I leave the jug and the glass in the kitchenette and slip back under the sheet. I’m surprised by the sense of belonging I experience when I’m in this bed beside Marcus. Maybe we were always meant to be and fighting our future will only cause a delay in what will eventually be the outcome. With this last thought, my heavy eyes close once more.

  ***

  The hallway was grey wood planked, but my ballet slippers didn’t make a sound as I walked. The blue door was partly open. The news I just received led my morning into a serious turn for the better. Carmel, my colleague and newest friend, called my name before offloading six sentences only taking one breath. She was entirely too blubbery for that hour.

  “What do you think?” She finally took a breath.

  “Sounds good,” I answered, even though I had no idea what she said.

  “Really? You think that’s good?”

  “Well…I think that it’s—” No appropriate words entered my mind, so I decided to stop talking mid-sentence.

  She snapped. Her sudden crankiness was obvious as she began rambling even more.

  “I changed my mind. I think it is crappy.”

  “Exactly.” Her tight face relaxed.

  The sound of a clearing throat had both our heads flicking in the direction it came from.

  “Good morning, can you help me, please?” Flecks of milky brown swirling into dark chocolate stared at me as I glanced into his eyes, which threatened to level me almost to the ground.

  “Sure.” Carmel’s cheeks flushed when I turned my attention back to her.

  I feared mine had, too.

  “I need to find Mr. Kraller’s room.” His expression was intense when I looked at him once more.

  “Follow this corridor and then turn left, third door on the right.” At least Carmel could speak, because I sure as hell couldn’t.

  “Great.” His intensity softened, replaced by pliability.

  Taking two steps around me, he began to swagger in his tailored suit down the corridor. I wanted to scream stop but held my tongue. He must have read my mind because he stopped dead. “Sorry, one more thing.” He turned.

  “Yes.” Carmel’s throat cracked.

  “Miss McMillian, Principal Segar said you might be interested in having a solicitor speak with your students. If so, here is my card.” He rushed the short distance.

  My quaking hand took the slim cardboard from his, briefly brushing his fingertips. I couldn’t speak. There were no words as my eyes settled to my diamond engagement ring shining like a well wrapped present.

  “Have a good day.” He looked at me sheepishly, which was strange.

  I scanned the card for his name. “You too, Marcus Klein.”

  ***

  Beads of moisture collect on my forehead before running over my open eyes. He was everywhere.

  Time stands still. It could have been minutes or hours that passed as I lie here with pores that leak sweat from sudden panic. My mind keeps skipping back to everything Marcus. Memory after memory forces
its way to the here and now—a short film stored in wait for this very day. Our love was crazy full-on and ripe for the picking…sweet, juicy, and succulently delicious.

  “Abi, what’s wrong?” Marcus’ eyes are open instantly. His dark browns travel the length of my body before they slowly rebound back to my own eyes.

  “It was more than three times.” I bite down hard on my lip and close my eyes.

  “You’re remembering, aren’t you?”

  A perfectly formed teardrop forces its way past my lashes and trickles down my cheek.

  “It’s good, Abigail, let it come. Don’t turn the channel over now. Just lie back and enjoy the show. It’s beautiful.” His fingers slide between mine, his grip firm and supportive.

  Losing it all

  “There’s something you’re not telling me,” I say calmly, looking over tall grass-covered dunes to the sea that looks like glass.

  Marcus doesn’t divert his eyes from the view. He just stares in admiration. The late afternoon sun strikes its rays across the crystal caps as sedative ripples rhythmically move towards the shore. The smell of brittle coral and brackish dances in my senses. Peaceful.

  We sit on a single bench that’s perched on a hill, overlooking the beach. We’re close, yet not touching—two people lost and trying to find their way back home, together.

  “What have you remembered?” he finally speaks with his eyes still stuck to the horizon.

  “So much.” My tone is softly sweet. “The Melbourne Cup for starters, our trip to Hawaii. Turns out I have been to Sydney before. We flew out from there.”

  His head turns. Two darkened and mesmerising eyes look deep within me as a pleased smile touches his lips. “You looked smoking hot in that blue bikini on that white sand.” His smile becomes contagious as it jumps to my mouth.

  “You came to my school when I was teaching. You already knew before I told you at the bar.”

  He grins.

  “The football field not far from the university, you were wearing a Bronco’s jersey. The car park, when I spilt the milk and the path at the university when I tripped…”

  “And so many more—”

  “I know.” I pause. “Dad’s accident and the hospital, I was so frightened. You were controlled.”

  He nods.

  “I remember having my sister, Lucy. We really did get on well…also how well you and Sammy got along.”

  “She’s pretty fun for a fiery redhead. The Lucy and Abigail show, now you two were very entertaining. The drama queen team as you often referred to yourselves when you were up to no good. Sisters from the first day. You fought, you cried, you laughed a lot.”

  “We really did. I remember that label. Lucy had shirts made for us. Hot pink with gold sparkling writing on the back. ‘The Drama Queen Team’.”

  “She did.”

  We both laugh half-heartedly.

  “Mum welcomed you into our family and let you in without a second thought. I think you saved us both.”

  “It was you who saved me, Abigail.”

  “No, I didn’t, you never let your grief out after your sister died. You wouldn’t let your tears free. I think that was because of me. I stopped your grief.”

  “Someone had to be strong. Had to stop the walls crumbling away from life. I grieved, I did. I just had a reason to keep going and that reason was you.”

  “You didn’t have to, Marcus.”

  “But I did. You were forever mine and I let you down. I really tried, Abigail.”

  “Marcus, it wasn’t your fault. My fall from the cliff was just an accident. I remember the wounded scream of my name from your lips.” My fingers press to my quivering lips.

  “Do you remember everything?”

  “I think so.” I keep the engagement to myself for fear of breaking his heart.

  “Something important is missing. I heard Mum, Marcus, at Mar-Mar’s. I saw the exchange you two had and that quiet glance you gave her. I knew immediately that the direction of the conversation was about to change. You said, ‘No stone left unturned’.”

  Marcus drops his head as his elbows press into his thighs. His cargo pants bunch from the force. “Abigail, remember when I told you that I wish you could have our past back, but that I wish you didn’t have to remember it all?”

  “Yes.” My answer is almost inaudible.

  “I meant it. What you are asking me to tell you is going to really hurt. I don’t think that I can.”

  I bite my nail as my heart quickens its pace.

  Marcus raises his head unhurriedly before he turns his body to face mine. Our knees touch before he takes my hands in his and rubs his thumbs across their backs, tracing around my knuckles.

  “Just say it,” I whisper fearfully.

  “Abi, I’m so sorry,” he breathes, liquid pools between his eyelids turning his eyes into reflective glass, and the pain etched on his face causes stress lines to appear. “Twelve weeks before your fall we found out that you...” He swallows hard, trying to push tension from his vocal cords.

  “Marcus, please.”

  “Abigail, when you fell you were pregnant.”

  “What?” I screech.

  “Her life ended that day.”

  “No. No. No,” I chant, gripping at my chest that stabs intensely just before a searing upsurge flips the pit of my stomach. “We were having a baby, our baby.”

  He nods as water drips from eyes filled with a world of sadness.

  My legs shake as I leap onto feet that feel unsteady. I rip my remaining hand from his and begin to run, stumbling down the dune, landing on my side. A sharp stabbing sensation constricts my lungs.

  “Abigail, no, stop.” These words are spoken faintly as my toes sink into soft sand and the ocean creeps closer with each step I take.

  Falling onto my stomach, warm sun baked water laps over my body as I inhale water on a howl. I cough to dispel it from my throat, trying to breathe.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he cries out in a mighty roar as he pulls me to his chest and kisses my head repeatedly. “I fucked it all up. I didn’t mean to. I take all the guilt, Abigail. You did nothing wrong. You were caring for her like the perfect mother. You took your vitamins, you talked to her, you ate everything she wanted you to and spewed it back up only to eat for her again…she just wasn’t meant for this Earth.” The deep sounds of his desperate cry by my ear have my own tears intensifying.

  We didn’t just lose each other. We lost our child.

  ***

  Soaked, heartbroken and all cried out, we sit stunned in the cane lounge by each other’s side. I guess I have been the one spared so much, while Marcus was left to continue living with a loss so excruciating it would break even the strongest. But he held strong, he held brave, he believed…and unlike me, he never gave up. He never labelled his life cursed. Life threw me deep into a wretched pile of shit, and I crashed and burned. Life did the same to Marcus, but he persevered and kept on swimming, preventing himself from ever drowning from his pain.

  What a pathetic excuse for a human being I am. Shit. I need to get out of my own head and fast.

  “Do you want to see her?”

  “How? She died,” I spit.

  “I have a photo.”

  “Of her dead? No, I can’t see that.”

  “Abigail, it’s an ultrasound picture. She was too tiny to see after they—”

  “Say it. Ripped her from my body because I killed her.” The tears return.

  “You didn’t. Don’t say that.”

  “How do you even know she was a girl? Did we plan to have a baby? Hell, I was a baby myself. Why would we have made such a decision so young? Did she get a name or is she just a Jane Doe? Did she have a funeral? Did I go?”

  “Abigail. I’ll tell you everything, just give me a chance.”

  “Okay,” I sob.

  “I knew she was a girl because the surgeon told me. We did not plan to have a baby. It was an accident. At first you were pretty scared and shell-shocke
d, but it didn’t take too long for you to come around. And yes, I named her—”

  “You chose her name?”

  “Well, we chose it. You said at the twelve-week scan that if it was a boy you wanted to call him Jethro and if it was a girl you wanted to call her Ilish, so I named her Ilish Abigail Klein.”

  “After Mar-Mar and me.”

  “Yes. I never saw her after she was delivered. You were only sixteen weeks when you had your accident. We didn’t have a funeral because until twenty weeks a baby is not registered as a life.”

  A sudden flash of three pictures enters my mind—Buderim Lawns Cemetery, the tree just before you take the footbridge, and a gold plaque nailed to it.

  “She has a plaque.”

  “Yes.” Marcus’ brows furrow. “How could you possibly know that?”

  “I’ve seen it.”

  “What does it say? Can you remember?”

  I shake my head as I close my eyes and try hard to remember.

  “Abigail. Open your eyes.”

  I do.

  Marcus slips his hand into his pocket and removes a black leather wallet. Pulling the gold latch open, he removes what looks to be a piece paper.

  “This is Ilish.”

  It’s a sonogram image, a small body with a rather large head. She looks strange, almost alien like, but really pretty.

  “This is her?”

  “Yes, see, at the top it has your name and the date.”

  “Three days before I fell.”

  “Yes, this was the last ultrasound we had. It has her heartbeat at the time.”

  “One hundred and sixty-eight.”

  “Yes. The doctor said that a baby’s heart beats faster than adults’.”

  “Oh.”

  “Now turn it over.”

  Slowly, I flip the silky photo-like paper over and on the back it says, I. A. Klein. Loved. Cherished. Lost. A star twinkling forever in our eyes.

  “That’s what you put.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “They are your words, Abigail.”

  “How?”

  “At your father’s funeral you said, ‘Fletcher McMillian, my father. Loved. Cherished. Lost. A star twinkling forever in my eyes’.”

  “Marcus, could you be any more perfect?”