by Eros, Marata
The Token
Volume Six
Copyright © 2014 Marata Eros
Kindle Edition
http://marataeroseroticaauthor.blogspot.com/
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. 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 recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to a legitimate retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedication:
Gemma
“Love sears the heart immortal
The embers burnt down to the token which remains ....”
Music that inspired me:
Primavera
Ludovico Einaudi
~ 1 ~
I watch Kiki spin the wheel. Pools of light and shadow illuminate her face, large hoops glittering from her lobes as she rattles on.
“I say sue his dumb ass—god!” She bangs her hand on the steering column and winces.
I hide my smile badly.
“What?” she yells into the confines of the Fiat. “You’ve got to nail his ass to the wall.”
“No,” I say softly.
“Faren...”
Kiki turns into the entrance for the underground parking at the Millennium and swipes her card through the code slot. It pings, the auto arm lifts and she zips underneath. Parking near the elevators, she turns to look at me. The florescent lights turn her face a sickly yellow.
“You lived with a false diagnosis for over a month!”
I jerk my shoulders in irritation. “It's wrong. But, I think what it was is a gift in disguise.”
Her brows cinch. “Come again? Ah—no!”
“Yes, it is. I mean...” I look into her eyes, cast in shadow. “How many people recognize how precious life is? We hear it all the time, but they're just words people say without truly realizing the meaning.”
I turn away and stare at the rows of cars. I place my hand over my heart, the beat of it inside my chest thrills me. I know that I'll live, that I have life—that I'm giving life.
I move my gaze back to hers. “That knowledge allows me to forgive. I don't want to spend one second wasting it on hate and vengeance. It's not about what's right and wrong here, but the chance I've been given.”
Kiki blows a piece of hair out of her face, crossing her arms in a huff. “I still want to flog somebody.”
I laugh. “Okay, you can be pissed.”
“Well, I am.”
“Okay.” I touch her arm. “Let's look at the good junk.”
“You be the optimist while I look for someone's ass to kick.”
I ignore her anger. Kiki needs to compartmentalize stuff that hurts; it's how she's survived.
I love her.
“I don't have to tell my mom I'm dying,” I say.
She nods. “Ya got me there.”
“I get to live to see my child. Raise peanut. It doesn't get any better than that.”
Kiki's lips twitch. “Well, now that you're off death row...”
I laugh. Her comment lacks any kind of tact or sensitivity, which somehow makes it better.
“You'll have to figure out your own accommodations. I'm not taking this auntie care very seriously. Give me the munchkin when said munchkin is fed, watered, bathed, and has a clean diaper. Ah-huh.”
I grin. “Sounds a little conditional.”
“Damn straight!” Kiki looks at me from under her eyelashes. “I'm not ready for a screaming tornado of barf and poop!”
Nice visual.
“That's okay. I know your limits.”
Kiki sits up on her knees and leans across the gearshift, hugging me so tightly I can't breathe.
“I was so scared, Faren.”
I pat her back.
“I know.”
She releases me.
“Y'know, if I swung for the other team, you'd flat out do it for me.”
I hold her hand, loving the way she tries to ease my emotional roller coaster with humor that veils terror.
“You just haven't found the man who does it for you.”
Her expression bleeds into the beginnings of sadness. “Like your Mick?”
I don't say anything for a breath of heartbeats.
My answer is awful.
It's brutally honest. “Yes.”
*
I sleep all night. No nausea, no headaches.
Sadness and joy mingle in a paradox inside me.
When I open my eyes, dawn breaks through my window like prisms of promise. The first kiss of daybreak is almost colorless, a white almost-light that bathes my room in ethereal smoke. Dust motes swirl lazily in the rays that seep and deepen.
I stay in bed, listening to my heart beat. When I was little, I always thought the sound was a man walking in the snow. Now I know what that proof of life really means.
Hope.
Tomorrow will come, then the next day. And the next.
It's what I want to do with it that will matter in the end.
I turn my head at the soft knock at my door.
“Come in.”
Kiki strolls in, a backpack with sparkles hiked up on one shoulder. “Gotta take off.”
We look at each other and I see her struggle to fight tears. “It's weird not to have to be brave anymore,” she says.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“It's like someone turned on the tear faucet and it's a leaking nightmare.” She huffs. “And where's that foxy plumber to come fix it?” She laughs.
I do too.
“Yeah.” I frown, thinking how neglectful I've been about the details of her life. “How much time left for school?”
“Just two months until graduation, baby.”
I feel my lips curl. “Right, then it's more school.”
Kiki nods. “I like the torture. Closet masochist.”
I feel my eyebrow rise.
“Okay,” she admits, “maybe not so closet. I like to give and receive.” She says and winks.
Kiki's told me about her activities. They sound dangerous. But everyone has an outlet, and as long as it's consensual...
“Don't give me that look. You might like a little tie-down once in a while.”
“Not with... no,” I say.
“Oh right, you're all bun-in-the-oven.”
I laugh. “God, Kiki, it's not just that. I've had one partner...”
“The goddamned dodo bird.” She sulks.
I say nothing, clenching my hands as I stare at them. I take my isometric handgrip off the small nightstand and work my bad hand.
Kiki's eyes go to my deft, rhythmic cycling through the strengthening routine. “Hey,” she calls softly.
I raise my head.
“I can be mad at him. He had some ho with her dangling tits in his office about half a second after he tossed your pregnant ass out. I'm thinking he's a bird.”
“Birds are nice,” I say, thinning my lips to keep from smiling.
“Uh—they shit all over everything and carry a plethora of disease.”
I bust up, grinning.
“Nice.”
She waits. Finally, Kiki raises her cell. “Text me anytime.”
“I will. But right now, I need to get my rear in gear and get to
the clinic.”
“And tonight we visit Tannin?”
“Yes.”
“Things are looking up, girl.”
I smile without tears.
“Yes, they are.”
Neither one of us mentions that Mick will have to know that I'm going to live.
Not that it matters.
He didn't want me.
~ 2 ~
I softly shut the door behind me and Sue is standing there.
Her arms are folded underneath her ample bosom, and a scowl is plastered across her face.
“What's going on, Faren?”
My eyes dart around the four corners of the long corridor that leads from the reception desk to the three doors that house our facilities. No escape.
“You don't have the flu,” she states.
Our gazes lock.
I shake my head. “No.”
She waits and I exhale in frustration.
“I guess I need to come out with it.”
Her eyebrow cocks, and her hands fist on her hips. “We have fifteen minutes before your first patient.”
My teeth sink into my trembling lower lip, but I manage to spit out, “I think it'll take longer than that.”
Her face fills with concern. “Come here and sit down, honey.”
I think of the owner counting on me to do my job. “Grambley...”
“Grambley, shambley,” Sue clucks. “We need to get you up to snuff. If a good chat-and-bawl session is the way to do it”—she spreads her hands from her wide hips—“that's what it's going to be.”
“What do you know?” I ask.
Sue looks at me, and I duck my head at her expression. Her finger lifts my chin, and I bite my lip. “I see a young woman who has needed to shoulder too much, too soon. Who has worked hard, had tragedy and takes too much upon herself.”
My shoulders round. “I—I'm pregnant,” I blurt.
Sue smirks. “I figured. I'm not a dull tool in the shed, you know.”
I fluster. “I didn't say that you were...”
“I know you didn't. But I have children. I was young once.” She watches my face and chuckles. “Don't look so surprised.”
I am, but I try to hide it. I feel shame at the level of my self-absorption.
I begin to speak. Slowly at first, then gaining momentum.
I talk past when my first patient arrives, and Sue holds up a finger and excuses herself.
She comes back and says, “Ten minutes.”
I finish in eight.
Sue rolls her lip into her teeth and palms her chin. “So this McKenna is the father? And he has everything at his disposal... but when he found out you were terminal...” She shakes her head. “But you're not—god, a person could go insane with this. It's almost like walking through a funhouse full of mirrors.”
I nod. That is my life.
“I think he was trying to take it back, to reach out. See if I—if we could talk.”
Susan's face scrunches up. “Well, that man would have to make a helluva apology to make up for that chasm of a faux pas.”
I agree. I'm not sure if I want him.
At least, that's what I convince myself of. I've never been adept at self-delusion.
Sue squeezes my shoulder. “Thank you for telling me. I want to be there for you. I heard about the assault charge, that was later dropped.” At my nod, she continues, “And your mom's miracle.”
We smile.
“And Mr. Bunce's perfect ending.”
I feel my frown but there's relief mixed in.
She says, “Don't you dare feel guilty that awful man is gone from this earth. It's a better place with his absence.”
I can't argue that.
She takes my left hand and turns up my palm. We stare at what Ronnie did to me four years ago.
“He didn't deserve to live another day.”
I nod, but I wonder if I get to play God. If there's a price for what I've done.
*
My hand presses into my back, and I arch, stretching like a cat in the sun. Every kink pops, and I sigh with pleasure. It's been a strenuous day of cracking the whip on reluctant patients and nibbling at food I'm already sick of just to keep the nausea at bay.
I smile at Sue as I leave, and she lifts her huge smartphone. I lift my iPhone in return. We've exchanged numbers. She wants to be my support.
It's funny in a non-humorous way how people keep slipping through the cracks in my defenses.
I'm finally learning to accept help. I keep thinking I can do it all. When really, it's been my pride all along that holds me back.
I walk down the broad steps into sun that spears through the pewter clouds like steel wool. All around me, the Fuji cherry trees have burst, and sprigs of cotton candy float on the ends of densely covered branches. A light drizzle falls as I move toward my car. My dampening scrubs cling to me lightly.
I notice the man then.
He reminds me very much of Thorn. But—he's not.
Ronnie is gone, but my paranoia remains. I slip into my car and take my lip gloss from my purse. I shiver once out of the rain and inside my cold vehicle. I adjust the mirror and pretend to put on the slug slime.
I'm really looking at him.
He appears to be talking into his hand.
Time to go.
I start the engine but before I take off I remove my cell from my scrub pocket.
My finger hovers over Mick's name.
I feel my pulse beat in my ears, the roar of blood is a river of noise. It carries my trepidation like shed debris, choking the waters of my mind.
My fingertip moves between send and delete contact.
I choose the one that feels like closure and slip my cell back into my pocket.
I look in the mirror, and the mystery hulk is gone.
I shake off the disquiet and drive to Kiki's house. A long shower and a visit with my mom sounds great.
I forget all about the stranger in my mirror.
*
I eat strawberry Jell-O with sliced bananas, mechanically chewing as I cruise baby clothes at Nordstrom's online. I almost don't notice the light flash on for my webcam.
I hit the side of the laptop, and it turns off. Stupid thing. My Mac has been acting up for the last couple of weeks, and I haven't had the time or interest to worry about a malfunctioning webcam. I turn on my playlist and leave the computer on the dresser.
I walk to the closet and pull out my jeans and a new shirt. I run my hands over the pretty maternity top Kiki got for me, and I smile before putting it back. When I get a belly, it'll be cute. Right now, I've actually lost weight from my involuntary Jell-O and fruit diet. I pull out a snug long-sleeved tee in bright orange and a cream cami and walk to the bed, tossing off my work clothes. I sway a little to the music, remembering the only good part about poles—the dancing.
I flex my bad hand and pick up my hand grip. I tear through my reps and put the grip down on the nightstand. My hand trembles from the exertion. It took almost three weeks for my hand to get better after quitting poles. Even using my wrist and forearm wasn't enough to offset the physical challenge.
I shimmy my hips into all-lace tangerine boy shorts, put on the matching demi-cup bra, and squeeze myself into the whole shebang. I twirl in front of Kiki's built-in mirrors and decide I don't look too bad.
Knowing I'm going to live has something to do with it. My face has lost that perpetual pinched-with-worry look.
I smile and see the bloom of pregnancy casting its glow.
Maybe I can be happy without Mick.
Maybe living is enough.
*
“That's great, Mom!” I clap as she takes a sip of water unassisted.
She smiles. “I'm... I know it's silly, but just nourishing myself is a boon.”
“Of course it is.” I have no trouble seeing the truth in her words.
My patients are all impacted and hopeless to varying degrees when they come through my doors. Tannin Mitchell may be my
mother, but she's still as human as anyone else. Maybe more.
“So when do you escape?” I ask.
I watch the whites of her eyes as she rolls them into her head. “I have at least another month here, then I move to the semi-permanent facility for walkers.”
I think momentarily of that show, The Walking Dead, and shiver like a goose walked over my grave.
Mom laughs. “What's that face for?”
“Oh nothing... just something you said.”
“Huh.” Mom's nose scrunches. “Anyway, it's lighter assistance. Of course, your Mick says—”
“—he's not mine,” I interject quickly.
She inclines her head, disbelief thick in the gesture. “Mick mentioned that I'll still have my personal physician, therapist, and nurse 24/7.”
The silence is loud between us.
“Listen, Faren—”
“Don't,” I say, holding up a palm.
“I won't be silenced.”
I glare at Mom. I know she's fallen for Mick's charms.
“I know,” she says.
What? She knows what? My bad hand twitches and I clench it in a loose fist.
“I know that you're dying.” Her eyes are serious. Sad. Resolute. Brave for me.
Oh god.
I shake my head.
Her chin lifts. “I refuse the diagnosis.”
I feel my surprise before I can say anything. “Mom—”
She slowly raises a palm. “Hear me out.”
My mouth snaps shut.
“I did not wake up from this misery for my only child to be taken. I've spoken to Mick, and he says... He says that he didn't think things through, that he said some unkind words.”
That's the understatement of the year.
“He says there's an explanation for the naked girl in his office.”
I laugh out loud. I can't help it—it bursts out of me like a boil filled with pus.
“No.” I wag my finger. “First, there is not an explanation for Tonka Tits.”
Mom frowns at my name for the slut-with-melons.
I lift my shoulders without expounding. “Second, he let me walk out of his condo with my clothes on inside out and backward. I was crying so hard I couldn't see. While being pregnant with his child.”