by Young, Luke
Scooping her up by her rear, I lift her off the counter and take half a step back before I begin thrusting my hips again. She wraps her arms around me tighter, lifting herself higher before plunging her hips down then back up again and again in a steady rhythm. The muscles in my legs and arms ache from supporting her, but no way will I stop. I hear soft sounds escaping from her lips and feel her warm breath on my neck as the heat between us builds.
"Oh, God," I mutter as I move faster and faster, using my hands to push her hips further out from my body before pulling her hard against me. Suddenly my orgasm is upon me and I explode inside her, my mouth wide open as I let loose with a barely audible groan.
I stumble back a step, dizzied from the combination of my overexertion and alcohol overindulgence. I steady myself and I'm still hard inside of her so I go back to work, thrusting and lifting her over me. Nina lets out a noise that almost sounds like a whimper.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
"Uh-huh," she replies.
"Did you come?"
Her body suddenly feels lifeless against mine as if she's only holding on to keep from falling. I stop moving my hips and wait for her reply.
"No," she whispers.
"Do you want to..." I stop mid-sentence when I hear the unmistakable sound of her fighting back tears. I feel her legs release their grip around me and I lift her off my erection and she places her feet on the floor.
"Sorry." She turns from me then hurries down the hall, slipping into the powder room and closing the door.
"Shit." Standing dejected, I close my eyes and run my hands over my face. I pull my shorts back up and look around the room in confusion as I consider my next move. After a moment, I move slowly down the hall. "Nina?" Standing outside the closed door, I lean in to listen. I hear soft sobs and sniffling and rest my head on the door. After a few seconds the sobs grow louder sobs and sighing I whisper to myself, "Fuck."
I knock once. "Nina, are you okay?"
"I think you should go," she says in-between sniffles.
I'm crushed. My heart sinks and my pulse quickens as the realization of yet another stupid mistake washes over me. Cringing, I begin, "Hey, uh, do we need to talk ab—" I think better of this and only say, "I'm sorry," before heading to the front door.
Chapter 10
I return home and use the key I grabbed off Nina's counter to get inside. Tip-toeing into the house, I discover Emily sleeping on the great room sofa and stand there for a moment watching her softly breathe in and out. My thoughts are swirling— part of me wants to wake her up and just hold her, beg her to reconsider, while the rest of me wants to run away and never look back. Considering what I just did with Nina, the rest of me wins out. Suddenly it hits me, or at least I'm willing to finally admit it. All these years I was just coasting through life on autopilot— groggily doing just enough to get by. No wonder Emily gave up on us, I gave up on me a long, long time ago. It may seem like she can be a total bitch on occasion, but ninety percent of that is my fault. She was all I had left in this world and if there were ever any chance of reconciliation, it's certainly all gone now.
I quietly make my way upstairs to the bedroom and close the door. It's after four and I figure I should take a shower and get out of the house as quickly as I can before Emily wakes. Stepping before the mirror in the bathroom, I look at my reflection shaking my head in disgust. "You're such an ass. It's not enough that you fuck up your own life you've got to take other people down with you."
I strip off my clothes and climb in the shower playing the night over in my head. I just asked a woman I barely know to give up her life and take off to Key West with me. What the hell was I thinking? She should have thrown me out right then. Shit. I can't take this anymore. I hate my life. I've hated it for a long, long time. I just don't want to do it anymore— I don't see the point. I know what I have to do and I'm going to do it today, but I need to confirm one thing first. I can't leave her with this financial mess.
After getting dressed, I make my way downstairs into my office and close the door. I open the file drawer and pull out the folder labeled Life Insurance and pull out the policy. Scanning the index, I find the suicide clause is on page six.
Suicide: We will limit the proceeds we pay under this policy if the insured commits suicide, while sane or insane:
1. within 2 years from the Date of issue; and
2. after 2 years from the Date of issue, but within 2 years from the effective date of the last reinstatement of this policy.
They've got to be fucking kidding me, right. I mean, I'm no lawyer, but if I read this correctly, I'm welcome to kill myself at any time and any way I choose as long as I don't do it within that two-year period and Emily gets a big check. I'm safely inside the window where the policy will pay, but I still need to make it look like an accident. I don’t want my mother having to live with the knowledge that I made this choice and I don't want Emily dealing with that either. Better they both think it was just an unfortunate event, but if somehow the investigators do figure out the truth, knowing that Emily's financial problems would still be resolved makes this much easier to justify to myself. Sighing, I close my eyes— it's sad that I've gotten to this point and it's even sadder being worth more dead than alive.
I really don't want to admit it, but I've been planning this day for the better part of ten years. I'm numb and oddly calm as I straighten the papers on my desk, pulling out a few unpaid bills and placing them where Emily will easily find them. Having sex with my neighbor was never part of the plan, but even if she is regretting it and I feel like an ass for doing it, it was still an amazing last memory.
There is nothing left for me to do at home since I can't leave a note for obvious reasons. I need to wrap up a few things at work because I don't want to leave a mess for Greg. He's always been good to me.
Driving to work one day about five years ago I watched as a young woman pulled her car out in front of me as I was making a right turn. Behind me was a huge truck riding on my tail that she must not have seen, although I don't know how she could have missed it. Maybe she thought the truck was turning right with me, but he didn't. The truck slammed into her driver's side door and she died instantly. Maybe she wanted it that way, or maybe she was working the late shift at her job and in her exhaustion made a little mistake that cost her her life. Either way, after I witnessed that event, the car crash became my chosen exit strategy. Everything else seems either too messy, too painful or two difficult to pull off making it look like an accident. Dozens of people make mistakes behind the wheel every day and don't walk away.
I've had my location picked out for a long time and it's perfect. A lightly traveled road with a big thick-trunked old tree sitting just before a sharp turn. Leading to the tree is a long straightaway with a fifty mile per hour speed limit— it's an accident waiting to happen. It's good that I need to go to work first before I put my plan in action for two reasons— one, I need to be traveling eastbound, as I do on my drive home, or the logistics just don't work for that location and two, and in some ways more importantly, there's nothing like a few hours at the office to solidify my determination. If I have any lingering doubt at all about doing this, my wonderful yet unfulfilling job will squash those away.
After returning the policy to the file drawer, I sneak past the still sleeping Emily, collect the keys to the office and head out the door. Midway to the office the sun is just beginning to rise behind me and I spot my big tree as I race past it making the sharp right turn.
Arriving behind my desk at just after six, I'm easily the first one on my floor. I scan through my email inbox, rolling my eyes and grinning at the inconsequential bullshit that I'm not going to have to address. There are however a number of things I don't want to leave behind. I'm mostly a miserable bastard, but I do have a few redeeming qualities and I refuse to leave my coworkers with a giant pile of unfinished work.
Scanning my to do list, I identify the important items I wanted to document and knock the
m out one by one. Just past eight, I've completed those tasks and move on to a few other items I need to finish. Thirty minutes later the office buzzes with activity although no one stops by to see me. Even Greg rushes by, giving me only a nod before he slips into his office and closes the door. At just past noon, I straighten all the papers on my desk, log off my computer and grab my keys and phone.
I poke my head into Greg's office and say, "Sorry for the late notice, but I need to take the rest of the day."
"Everything okay?"
"Oh, yeah, it's just, um, some stuff at the house."
Boss of the decade, Greg smiles like only he can when you drop a bomb like this at the last minute. "No problem and if you need tomorrow off too, that's fine."
Correction, he's actually boss of the century, so I shake my head and hold back a laugh.
"What?" He asks.
"It's, uh, nothing. You’re the best."
Standing in his doorway, I take a deep breath and glance at the chair I sat in when he interviewed me more than fifteen years ago. I curl my lip, suddenly nostalgic even though I've pretty much hated every minute I've been trapped in this building. I know life and your job for that matter are both pretty much what you make them to be, but I've never actually figured out what that really means. I suppose being happy is pretty easy if you're not a miserable prick, but sadly, I'm a miserable prick or so I keep telling myself.
I step into the office and move next to his desk. "Hey, um, I don't think I ever properly thanked you for giving me a chance here."
He chuckles. "What are you talking about?"
"I mean, you took a chance on me. I was working at that job I hated after getting fired from the other place. I was really in a bad frame of mind and you gave me a job when even I didn't believe in myself."
"Sit down." He gives me an odd look, rises up, closes the door and returns to his desk. "What's going on?"
"Besides getting a divorce... nothing."
"Did you try to get in touch with that girl from college?"
I shrug. "I sent a message to her sister, but haven't heard back yet."
"You'll find someone else. I know it."
"Yeah, I think I will." I give him a serious look. "So I just wanted to say thanks."
Narrowing his eyes, he pauses a moment to look me over. "Well, I should thank you more, because you are doing a great job."
"Really? I mean, sorry... I appreciate that." After cleaning my throat, I ask, "How are you?"
"Couldn't be better." He smiles.
"Man." I shake my head, smiling. "I really, really, need to take a little of whatever it is that you are on."
"You've got to enjoy what you can."
"Sounds like good advice."
Standing, I extend my hand to him and we shake.
He says, "See you tomorrow."
"Sure." I turn away before my emotions can get the best of me.
Chapter 11
I climb into the car and pull out of the parking lot— I'm not nervous or sweating and I'm driving home like it's just other normal day. It's beyond bizarre, but this is me, what can I say. In twenty five minutes it will all be over— the sadness, the disappointment, the missed opportunities— and I guess I'll actually find out what people have been wondering about forever. What happens after...
I probably should have had a last meal, but I can't think of a decent restaurant to go to. There isn't one that's hasn't let me down at least once. Pulling out the first Counting Crows CD, I slide it into the player and wait for the ridiculously long delay before the first cut starts. Their classic Round Here finally begins and I'm listening to my favorite band of the last two decades. I can't remember the last time I listened to it, but it must have been more than a year. I saw them in concert at a little college in Pennsylvania about five years ago and I'm not as big a fan of their recent music, but I do like their first four records. The concert was great, but my interest in the band has fallen off like my interest in most things recently.
I skip ahead to Mr. Jones, one of their biggest hits, and by the time it's over I'm about fifteen minutes out. Jumping ahead to my favorite song on the CD, I listen to Rain King then Sullivan Street and close it out with A Murder of One. I'm not sure what the hell that song is really about, but I suppose the title is pretty fitting for what's about to happen— or should I say, what I'm about to make happen.
Less than a mile from the tree, I unbuckle my seatbelt. The last thing I want is to be on life support for some absurd about of time. I hit the top of the hill and in the distance I see the red roof of the church and directly in front of it my tree. I step on the gas— fifty four, fifty eight, sixty five... I press it to the floor. Seventy one, seventy eight, eighty four... I'm staring directly at the thick trunk.
Suddenly a minivan catches my eye approaching around the sharp turn ahead. I hear a horn beep then a motorcycle appears from nowhere flying around the van and into my lane headed right for me. Cringing, I hit the brakes, the motorcyclist pulls sharply back over, cutting off the minivan, which swerves then gets caught on the soft shoulder of the country road as it passes me. Watching in the rearview mirror, I see that the minivan driver overcorrects, cutting back to the left and the vehicle ends up on two wheels before bouncing back down on all four tires. I hear screeching, then lose sight of the van as I round the bend to the left. A loud crashing sound causes me to slam on the brakes. I turn fully back, struggling to peer out my tiny rear window. Smoke appears from under the van, but I can't see anything more.
Pushing the door open, I climb out of the car for a better look. The van has hit a tree, not my tree, but another of equal impressiveness. Smoke billows inside the vehicle and I take off running for it. When I reach the car, I see a man in the driver's seat, cut and bloody but conscious. In the passenger seat a woman, probably his wife, and behind them a child seat facing toward the back of the van. The woman's airbag has deployed, but not the man's. I try to open the driver's door, but it won't move. That side of the van looks to have taken the brunt of the impact and at least eighteen inches of metal are crunched all the way to the wheel well. The front tire sits at an unnatural angle with the hub cap split in two. The driver's side window is rolled down about an inch and I move close to it. "Are you okay?"
"My wife," the man mutters before resting his bloody head on the steering wheel.
Rushing to the other side, I pull open the passenger door, fight past the escaping smoke and deflating airbag as I reach for the woman's seatbelt. Holding my breath, I squint and after successfully releasing the belt, I lean the woman forward until her head is resting on my shoulder. I hear a baby crying and wrap my arms around the woman and pull her out of the vehicle. Lifting her higher, I try to get a better hold of her more than one hundred pounds as I shuffle away and place her safely on the grass.
Turning back to the crash site, I see black smoke now and flames under the back of the van. I bolt back to the side door and pull on the handle, but nothing happens. I climb through the passenger door, making the mistake of not holding my breath and inhale a thick mouthful of smoke. Coughing, I press my body between the seats while the heat inside is almost unbearable. The child's cries grow louder.
"Get her out, please," the man calls out.
"Is there only one?" I scream.
"Yes, my daughter."
Fighting through the thick smoke, I first attempt to pull the car seat up, but it only moves an inch or so. Sadly, I have no experience with kids or car seats or any of this, although it makes sense that it would be attached in some way. I'm running purely on instinct. I smell the horrid odor of burning plastic and plunge my hand over the seat feeling around the child until I find the strap. Moving my hand lower, I fumble around until I find the buckle. I fool with it for what seems like forever, still holding my breath and fighting to see it through the smoke. Discovering the button, I press it, then lift the straps over the child's head and pull her out of the seat.
With my eyes watering, I turn my head toward th
e daylight, take a desperate breath and then cough violently. I push off with my elbows, cradling the child in my arms and my head smashes into the windshield. I shriek in pain then drop my foot out of the car to the grass and take off toward the woman. When I reach her, she's coughing now and semi-conscious.
I kneel down beside her. "Are you okay?"
Opening her eyes barely, she pleads, "My baby?"
"She's here." I place the child into her arms and hear the sounds of sirens in the distance. The child coughs then starts to cry. The woman holds her tight.
Rushing back inside the smoke filled car, I unbuckle the man's belt then reach past him to open the driver's side door. It won't budge. Grabbing him by the arm, I pull toward the passenger side and he yells out in agony.
"My leg... it's stuck."
I reach down his pant leg with my head smashed into the steering wheel and feel something hot and wet. He cries out once again and I push my hand further feeling cold steel. Taking hold of his knee I pull up and he shrieks in pain.
"Are they okay?" He asks.
"Yes, they're fine." I lower my head and take a quick breath, then cough out the poison smoke. The heat is now pouring from the back of the van. It's almost overwhelming. Reaching past him, I try the window and with one press it lowers all the way. The smoke clears a bit and I see the man's face.
"I'm getting you out!" Springing out the door, I run to the other side and try the handle to the driver's door while pulling on the door frame. It still won't move.
"Get away from here," the man says.
Smoke fills the car once again hiding the man's face. I feel the heat from under the van on my feet and ankles. The man grabs my arm. My eyes focus on the tattoo on his wrist of what looks like a bracelet of interconnected stars.