Them (her Book 3)

by Portia Moore

  “Katie can go fuck herself,” Blue snaps. “Or that other guy, I don’t give a fuck. Look man, you can’t just show up on my doorstep demanding things. I already said what I had to say.”

  I almost punch him. I want to. But something in me tells me to calm down, that I’m not going to get anywhere like this. I’m definitely not going to find Megan if I keep alienating the only person who knows where she is.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, reining in my temper. “Look, I just want to know that she’s okay. Something…anything about what’s happening. I’m hearing a lot of things, but I just need to make sure she’s alright. Whatever’s going on, I…I still love her.”

  I see Blue’s face soften just a fraction. “Look Kam, Megan is dealing with a lot. She’s not…in town right now. She’s found out some things about her family, and some things about herself that she has to deal with and figure out how she wants to move forward. I know where she is, and she’s safe, but she’s asked me not to tell you. If you love her, then you need to respect that, alright man? You gotta trust her.”

  Like you trusted Katie? I want to say, but I don’t. I just nod, swallowing hard. “Thanks for telling me that much,” I say quietly. “This has been hard on me. I just want to know what’s happening.”

  “She’s alright, and that’s the most important part,” Blue says resolutely. “She’s working to get things back on track so she can tell you what’s happened, and get back to you. But you gotta give her space.”

  All I hear is that she’s trying to get back to me. I thank Blue and retreat to my truck, my heart hammering in my chest. She’s safe. She still loves me. I feel the first spark of hope that I’ve felt in days.

  And then, as if in answer to that, my phone rings—and when I look down, it’s Megan.

  I answer, my fingers shaking as I hit the screen.

  “Megan?” I answer it breathlessly, waiting to hear her voice for the first time in what feels like ages.

  “It’s me,” she says hesitantly, and I’m immediately flooded with happiness at the sound of her voice. I hadn’t realized how much I missed it until exactly that moment. I start to talk in a rush, suddenly very afraid she’ll hang up.

  “Megan, please come back. I don’t know what happened and I don’t need to know, just please, please come back. I’ve never missed someone so much. I love you Megan. We can talk things out, you can tell me as much or as little as you want to, but please come back to me. I need you, Megan.”

  She doesn’t answer for a moment, as my heart hammers in my chest. “Kam,” she says gently. “Kam…there’s something wrong with me. Really, really wrong. I’m trying to get help, but until I can do that…”

  Something clicks in my brain. I can fix this. I can help her. I have all the tools I need at my disposal—money, family influence, anything. If it’s a disease, a medical problem, anything…I can help her fix that.

  I just have to convince her of it.

  “Megan, we’ll get you the best help there is. Money’s no object, you know that! Whatever’s wrong, we’ll get you the best doctors, the best medicines, the best care. Whatever’s happening we can work through it together. We can get through anything, as long as we’re together. I love you so much, Megan, I’m not going to just let you go. I’m going to fight for you, for this…for us…”

  I hear her take a deep, shaky breath. But at least she’s still talking to me. “Please, Kam, just give me some time. I’m going to see a doctor soon. I’ll know more then, and then I’ll talk to you more about what’s going on. Just please give me some time to figure this out, and for God’s sake, stop harassing Blue…”

  My heart starts to pound again. Harassing Blue? I don’t give a shit about bothering Blue. If I didn’t she probably wouldn’t be talking to me right now. I’ve just been trying to find the woman I love—her! Wouldn’t she do the same? And what the hell is she talking about is wrong with her? “Megan, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on! Christ, do you have something terminal? Is it cancer? Are you dying? Megan, if you’re dying, you’ve got to tell me.”

  “I’m not dying.” She pauses, and I can hear her let out a sigh on the other end of the phone as she thinks about how to explain it to me. My fingers tighten around the phone. “I think I have some kind of psychological disorder that might explain what’s been happening to me for a long time. But I don’t want to base my decisions off of a self-diagnosis. I want to be properly diagnosed, by a psychiatrist, and start treatment for it. And I don’t want to drag you through all of that. It’s going to be exhausting and stressful and right now I don’t have any answers, just the vague hope of some answers. I need to figure this out before we figure anything out. Can you understand that?”

  I think of the documents in the file, the psychiatric records. I think of my father, suggesting she might have bipolar, or schizophrenia. I think of Alana’s photo, and the criminal records. And I realize that I don’t care about any of it. I just want to help the woman I love. I just want to be with her.

  “Just tell me where you are, Megan. I’ll come to you and I’ll help you through all of this. I just want to be by your side. I want to support you. I love you. Please let me help.”

  She’s quiet for so long that I think she might have hung up. And then she speaks, and every word is like a knife through my heart. Her voice is so calm, so sure, as if she’s made up her mind about everything already.

  Without me.

  “Kam, you’re helping with your family’s business already. And you have school. You have responsibilities at home that have nothing to do with me, and I can’t get in the way of that. It’s not right, and it isn’t healthy for us. As soon as I know something for certain, something concrete that I can tell you, I’ll contact you and let you know everything that I can.” She pauses and I hold the phone tighter, knowing she’s going to hang up any minute.

  “I love you, Kam,” she whispers, and I close my eyes. She says she loves me. But the sentiment feels far away in that moment, just like she is. “I do, I promise that I do. I’m just not the normal girl that you need right now. I can’t be what you need until I understand what’s happening to me, and I don’t want to hold you back. I want you to be free to have the life you want, with or without me.”

  “You are the life that I want,” I whisper into the phone. She’s breaking my heart. I didn’t think she would ever be the one to do this, but I guess I didn’t know as much as I thought I did, after all.

  “I know. But I can’t be right now.”

  The phone goes dead, and I sit there in my truck for a long time, staring at it. Wondering how things went from perfect to a disaster in such a short span of time.

  15

  Alana

  It’s been two months since the night I talked to Dexter and told Blue the truth. I’ve been avoiding both of them since their calls and texts, and Dexter’s official letters, but tomorrow I’m going to meet with both of them.

  I’ve been doing okay, considerably balancing it all. I’ve been keeping Megan at bay but it’s getting harder and harder. I’ve never been in control this long consistently and it’s taken a toll. I have splitting migraines every day that I have to pretend don’t happen because Ian will ask questions, want me to go to the doctor, or worry. When he’s not around I’m terribly sad, and I’m not used to this feeling but it makes sense, because I know I can’t keep this up much longer.

  We leave for our official honeymoon in three days: a three-week cross-country road trip. I have a plan. I’m going to tell him that I got a gig, a singing gig with a band that will make me have to travel sporadically that will explain my absences when I have to be gone. When I meet with Blue and Dexter I’m going to get them to help me put it all together. When I’m Megan, it’ll be like I’m away on a trip. I’ll be gone for as long as it takes for her to disappear, and then I’ll come back to Ian. He’ll know, and understand what’s happening, and he’ll wait for me. It can work. I know it will. I might have to lie to them and make it seem
like I’m open to treatment and will tell Ian eventually.

  It’s not a complete lie. I am going to tell him one day but not now, not anytime soon.

  I wait on pins and needles for Ian to come home tonight, because I think this could work. The bricks of stress that’s been weighing down on me seem easier to carry.

  I turn everything over in my head, sitting cross-legged on our bed in one of Ian’s oversized white t-shirts, until I hear the door open and hear him call out: “Babe!”

  I hurry to the doorway, folding my arms nervously over my stomach and smiling sexily at him as he drops his bag by the door and walks towards me, his eyes skimming over me hungrily. “It’s official, I’m unemployed,” I tell him, and I see his eyes make their way back up my body, landing on my face as I smile at him. He doesn’t know that I quit weeks ago. I was not only sick of it but it gave me excuses, reasons to be gone when I felt her coming on. But now I need good news to prime him for what I’ll tell him about my new music career. Ian will be ecstatic for me. I know he’s not going to like the times I’m gone, but he’ll support me. He loves me. I know that more than anything I ever have.

  “I take it you’re happy,” I say huskily, meeting his eyes. Another good thing in all of this is that he’s going to pursue his photography now that I’ve quit. Once we’re back from our honeymoon he’s got an internship shadowing a friend of a friend who has some leverage in the Chicago photography scene. It’s a start, and I know that’s going to be enough to get him off of the ground. He’s crazy talented, and once the world sees his work everything is going to change for him. And I can’t wait until it does.

  “Happy’s not the word,” he says dully, looking at me with a heat in his eyes that makes me shiver deliciously. “I’m about to show you how much,” he promises. I bite my lower lip in the way that I know turns him on, turning to walk away from him towards the kitchen. I make sure to put a sway in my hips, the t-shirt riding up to the curve of my ass as I walk away. I can practically feel his eyes burning into my backside.

  He catches up to me by the kitchen table and grabs my elbow, turning me to pull me up against him as his fingers slide under the edge of the shirt, up my thigh and between my legs. He immediately discovers that I’m not wearing any panties, and I see his eyes darken with lust as his fingers dip between my lips, teasing me there, where I’m already getting wet for him.

  “No underwear?” he asks, his head tilting to the side as he eyes me, his fingers never stopping.

  “It’s not a problem, is it?” I return, teasing him as I grin. My hips arch forward, the pleasure from his fingers rippling over my skin.

  “Big problem.” He reaches for my hand and presses it against the front of his jeans, right on top of his dick. It’s thick and hard already, straining through his pants, and I bite my lower lip again.

  “I should fix that then, huh?” My voice is a soft, husky purr as I push him gently towards the nearest kitchen chair and grasp his shoulder, urging him to sit down as I unzip him with my other hand, reaching deftly in and pulling his dick out. It throbs in my hand, hard and eager, and I kneel down in front of him, my eyes rolling up to meet his as I put my lips over the tip and then slide down slowly, moaning as my mouth envelops him. I slide my tongue up and down the shaft, coming up to swirl it around the tip, and as I suck him I reach between my legs, letting him see me play with myself as I bob my head up and down, taking every inch of him down my throat as I suck harder, moaning with the pleasure of it. I love going down on him, seeing the expression on his face as I hit all the spots I know he likes, seeing the muscles in his thighs shake as I take him all the way into my throat and then slide back up, my tongue tracing every inch of him. He pulses in my mouth, filling me there the same way he does when he fucks me, and I see him grip the sides of the chair, struggling not to thrust too hard into my mouth as I go all the way down and back up again, the head of him swelling between my lips as I feel him get closer to the edge.

  It doesn’t take long. He sees me spread my legs a little wider, roll two fingers over my clit, and as my eyes meet his he lets out a long groan, his dick going rock-hard in my mouth, throbbing as he spills between my lips, and I swallow every bit of it, keeping my gaze fixed on his the entire time. He’s wide-eyed, groaning with pleasure as I keep going, lips and tongue working until every last bit of his orgasm is gone, and then I stand up, grinning with satisfaction as I straddle him on top of the chair, bending to kiss and suck at the side of his neck. It won’t take much to get him going again, and I know exactly the best way to accomplish it.

  He’s ready to take charge though, like always. I fight him sometimes, just because I’m stubborn, but I actually love it. I love that he’s not submissive, that he’ll take me any way he likes, that I’m undeniably his. He picks me up and lays me back on the table, spreading my legs apart firmly, and I moan as he bends down between my thighs, his tongue sliding inside of me, over me, all around my clit as his lips fasten there, sucking and licking in the way he knows I like best. My legs start to shake a minute in, my fingers clawing at his shoulders as he slides two of his into me, pressing against the spot that will send me over the edge as his tongue lashes over my clit, his mouth urging me on.

  “Ian, oh my god!” I moan, my thighs tightening around his head as I thrash on the table, the pleasure so immense that I wonder if it’s possible to actually die from it. I feel as if I’m coming apart. “I-I’m about to come!” I cry out, and he doubles his efforts, fingers and lips and tongue all going faster as he hits exactly the right spots. I see stars as my back arches, hips grinding against his face as the orgasm washes over me, and I grip the side of the table, trying to hang onto anything for dear life.

  And then, just as the orgasm hits me, I feel him thrust into me, holding my legs apart as he slides inside of me. I shriek, the sensation intensifying my orgasm to the point that I’m dizzy with it. I clench around him, squeezing him and pulling him deeper into me, and he thrusts hard, fucking me until the table squeaks and shakes beneath us. We might break it, but I couldn’t care less. I’m soaking wet, aching with need and throbbing with waves of pleasure, and he’s harder than I’ve ever felt him, despite the fact that he came less than five minutes ago. I never imagined sex could be like this.

  “This is mine,” he growls, slowing his pace so that he thrusts into me and draws back out in long, slow strokes.

  “All yours, baby,” I whisper, squeezing around him and feeling myself flutter against the rigid length of him. The table shakes beneath us as he thrusts in again, hard and solid, and I dig my nails into his shoulder, whimpering in his ear as he pries them loose and pins my hands over my head, his hips still thrusting against me as his body stretches the length of mine. I’m about to come again, my body shivering with the beginnings of it, and I can feel that he’s close too. He’s starting to move more erratically, his breathing turning to gasps and groans that tell me he’s near the point of no return.

  “I love you,” he groans, thrusting harder. I’m about to remind him to pull out—something he forgot to do when we were in the cave in Mexico—when he whispers into my ear: “Have my baby.”

  “Ian!” I gasp, but it’s too late to ask or talk about anything, because with one more solid thrust of him deep inside of me, my orgasm rocks through my body, making all of me shudder and writhe beneath him as I twist in his grasp, and a second later as I’m still shuddering around him I feel him let go with a long, deep groan, filling me as he spasms inside of and all around me, his body trembling with the force of it.

  I’m panting as he pushes himself off of me, reaching to zip himself up as I sit up slowly, still dizzy, and adjust my t-shirt. I look at him, my eyes hardening as I remember what he said just before we both came. I feel a spark of fear as I realize he came inside of me, without a condom, and the implication of that coupled with his declaration. “What did you say?” I ask carefully, and he hesitates.

  “I…I want to grow a family with you,” he says slowly, a smile
spreading on his face as if he’s giving me the most wonderful news. All I can think about is that he’s insane! He’s got to be confused, or have lost his mind. It’s not like we haven’t talked about kids—he wants a whole soccer team, I want three…two boys and a girl that I can spoil and discipline, and raise with him. Theoretically.

  In reality, kids are something I can’t even consider. Marriage with my disorder is hard enough. But how could I subject kids to that? And what if it’s genetic?

  The discussion Ian and I had was a fantasy! Something that would happen in an ideal world where I’m a normal person and I don’t have to constantly fear disappearing. But I realize that he meant it, and I feel a shock of fear down to my core, sending chills through me.

  “I didn’t mean today,” he says, chuckling as he nudges me, clearly trying to lighten the mood. But I just feel cold, as if my stomach’s turned to ice. I look at him quickly and then down at my hands, which are clenched together so tightly the knuckles are starting to go white.

  “Babe,” he says more urgently, and I look up at him vaguely, staring past him as I try to collect my thoughts. I try to get the fear out of my expression, knowing he’ll see it, but I can’t. It’s completely consumed me.

  “Yeah,” I say quickly, pushing myself off of the table. “Um, can we go out to dinner? I want to get out of the house.”

  “Okay,” he replies, sounding surprised, and I push past him to run towards the bathroom, locking myself inside. I hear him follow me a few minutes later and try the door, and I tense, wondering if he’s going to knock or ask me to let him in. But I just hear his footsteps recede, and I relax a little, turning on the shower and throwing off my t-shirt, getting under the hot water as I let the tears start to flow, now that Ian can’t hear me crying.

  She doesn’t know about me. She doesn’t know about my life, or Ian, any of the things I’ve done or the things I want, my marriage or my dreams for our life together. I could handle hiding her, figuring out a way we could live our separate lives, but the idea of kids has brought a sudden levity to the whole concept that has scared me stiff. My life has always been transient, able to disappear in the blink of an eye. I can’t do that to kids. Their mother can’t disappear at any moment, replaced by a woman who doesn’t know or love them, with no guarantee as to when or if she’ll return.