Tomorrow, I’ll try out Mr. Stephenson’s advice and not be such a prick when she pushes my buttons.  Maybe then I can talk her into opening up to me.  Maybe then I can learn a little bit more about the girl with the haunted look in her eyes.

CHAPTER NINE

Tatum

After Mrs. Marsden passed, I called the nurse down while Finn called David.  Kelsey had already headed home since she was venturing into a 24 hours shift, promising to return after a little sleep.  Finn and I prepared Monica for family and the funeral home, while the staff nurse made arrangements to have her body picked up and transported.

I thought I would be filled with much more sorrow than I am, but after witnessing her death, I can’t help but feel peaceful.  Whatever Monica saw in those final moments was enough to erase her fear and put a smile on her face.  I think I just might believe in angels after all.

“You okay?” Finn asks, grabbing my hand as we leave the Marsden family alone to grieve.  He gives it one gentle squeeze, before releasing it.

“Yeah, I think I am,” I reply quietly, still lost in my swirling thoughts about death and the afterlife.

“I know you were close to her.  She really enjoyed you, you know.”

I smile over at Finn as we stand quietly in the kitchen.  His shaggy blond hair is messy from working an overnight shift, and his light green eyes are sporting tired rings around the bottom.  His looks and his build, at least six feet of lean, hard muscle, make it hard to believe he works as a CNA.  Don’t get me wrong, I love having his strength around here when we do transfers, but he looks like he just stepped off an Abercrombie shopping bag.

“I know.  I enjoyed her too.  I’m going to miss her.”

“Was she your first?”

I nod my head slightly.  Death is much harder when you have a relationship with the person.  She wasn’t even my family, and yet, I feel an immense sense of loss.

“You’ll be alright.”  He pats me on the shoulder, before walking into the office to clock out.  “See you soon?”

“Yeah, Finn.  Thanks for staying with me.  See you.”

It’s after 8 a.m. when I finally leave the home and drive back to my apartment.  School is out of the question today, as I just want to curl up in bed and unwind.  My body is drained, both physically and emotionally, and I need a hard reset.  After a quick shower, I slide into some sweats and a t-shirt before crawling into bed, intending to rest as long as possible.  It doesn’t take long before I’m drifting off into a solid sleep.

When I roll over from my dreamless slumber, the clock on my dresser reads half past two.  I extract myself from the mass of blankets and pad into the bathroom to pee before heading to the kitchen for a snack.  With a PB&J in hand, I plop down on my bed to see what’s on MTV at this time of day.

I don’t have to work today, and I’m grateful.  The head nurse gave me pay for sticking around last night and found someone to cover my shift.  She said she was impressed with my dedication to Mrs. Marsden and wanted to reward me with a good day of sleep after I stayed there all night.  It’s nice to feel appreciated for once; although, I was more than glad to stay without the pay.

As I eat my snack, I’m having trouble focusing on the mindless reality TV in front of me.  My mind is replaying those final moments: the scared look in her eye, the squeeze of her hand, the deep, rattling breath.  And the peaceful look that overcame her right before her final exhale.  As settling as it is, I’m also terrified.  My thoughts are overcome with death.  I wonder if my mom saw anything as she had lain there, the drugs overwhelming her system, waiting for her own demise.  Fuck!  I need a distraction.

I call the one person I know will be here, no questions asked.  Wyatt.

Not even twenty minutes pass before he knocks on my door, surprised I called him in the middle of the afternoon.  He also had the day off today, and sounded eager to come by.  I had told myself yesterday I wasn’t going to call him this week, but I need this.  I need to find some way to unwind, or I’m going to drive myself crazy.  This is the only way I know how.

He sits down beside me on the couch, but I can’t wait any longer.  I need this now.

“Come here, Wyatt.”  Crooking my finger at him, I reach forward to take his shoulders in my hands, pulling him towards me.  He comes easily, like I knew he would, pressing me down until I’m lying on my back, and he’s propped up above me.  “No talking this time,” I tell him, before pulling his mouth down to mine.

He smirks at me before claiming my mouth with his.  Wyatt knows how to kiss, his smooth lips moving gently against mine, his tongue slipping out to trace my full lower lip.  I open my mouth readily, greedily, and slide my tongue out to meet his.  He tastes of peppermint and tobacco, but I don’t mind.  The combination is overwhelming, but I’m used to it.

We don’t waste any time removing each other’s clothing.  His hands come up to slide my tee over my head, his eyes roaming my now bare chest.  He brings both of his hands to my breasts, kneading and massaging my flesh before dipping his head to pull one hardened nipple into his mouth.  I can’t contain the moan that rides out on my exhale.  Wyatt brings his hand down my stomach, slipping it beneath the waistband of my sweats.  He rubs his fingers in slow circles on my core through my lace underwear, my clit throbbing beneath his skilled touch.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he groans, before slipping my underwear to the side and gliding two fingers effortlessly inside me.

“Wyatt, ah God,” I cry out, the intense rush of pleasure taking me off guard.  He uses his other hand to work my pants and underwear off my hips, shimmying them down my legs where I use my feet to wiggle them off.  I spread my legs wider, giving him unquestionable access, my hips working into his hand, trying to reach the core of my desire.

His mouth comes back down on my breasts, one and then the other.  He alternates licking and softly pinching my rosy nipples with his mouth, each touch sending a zing of pleasure down to where his fingers are working rhythmically.  Wyatt lifts his mouth from my breast, taking my lips with his, giving my upper lip a sharp nip.

“Oh baby, you like that?  Should I make you come like this?”  His words send a hot rush through me.  My body is buzzing, but it’s not enough.  The pleasure is good, but I need more.  On the cusp of my mind are the thoughts of the past couple of days, and I try to will them away.  I need more.  I need Wyatt to rob me of the ability to think and leave behind only the ability to feel.  To erase the anxiety and fear and thoughtful questions swirling within the dark depths.

But he’s not enough.  He’s never enough.  He’s like lidocaine when I need a shot of morphine.

“No, wait.  I need you to fuck me.”

He groans, his fingers not missing a beat.  Taking that as a yes, I reach down and unzip his fly, sliding his pants down just enough to free his hard cock.

“Condom?” I ask on my next breath.  Wyatt circles my clit with his thumb and I close my eyes, moaning his name.  I’m awash with sensation, pleasure.  From his hands, his mouth, his body pressing into mine.

“Front pocket,” he grunts around his own breathy moan.  I reach into his jeans, finding the condom and sliding it down the length of him.  He doesn’t miss a beat as he removes his fingers and thrusts himself inside of me.

“Oh God,” I cry out, the pleasure branching out from that sweet spot deep inside of me, reaching to the tips of my toes.  He stills, holding himself completely inside me, giving me a moment to adjust.  But I don’t want him to wait, I don’t want him to stop.  I need to feel this, to forget everything else so I rock my hips forcefully against his, trying to take him deeper inside me.  Trying to make him move.  Trying to help me forget.