Scared of Beautiful (27 page)

Jackson’s mouth crashes over mine, greedily.
Hungrily
. I drink him down as if I’ve been thirsty in a desert for half my life.

“What about needing time?” he asks as his hand cups my breast and his lips move down to my neck, peppering it with soft, delicious kisses. A soft groan escapes my lips. There is no time when Jackson touches me. Time stands still. My fingers slide over the toned muscles of his upper back, slippery and wet with the cascading water.

Jackson’s body pushes me back against the tiles, and the feeling of his hardness rubbing against my thigh threatens to send me way over the edge. I want it.
Mine
, it all belongs to me. As if sensing my anticipation, Jackson grabs the backs of my thighs and lifts them around his waist. In one swift motion, he slides into me. If I missed him for nothing else, my God I missed this. He thrusts into me, deeply, with a gentle force that causes my legs to clench like a vice grip around his waist. With each thrust, he delivers a deep and perfectly timed kiss. I can barely breathe, but it is the most beautiful kind of suffocation. My body writhes against his.
More, I want more
.

Jackson’s hand comes up and holds my chin, pulling my face down so our eyes meet. He kisses me, his gaze never leaving mine. He wants to see me come. To know that I have, before he does. My nails dig into his back as an earth-shattering explosion rocks me from the inside out. Seconds later, Jackson pushes into me with ferocious finality. I collapse against his chest, and we both sink down to the tiled floor. I turn and lean my back against his chest as the warm water falls over us. I can barely catch my breath. Jackson’s fingers trace small lines up and down my thighs. I can hear his heartbeat pounding in his chest. For now, and I suspect forever, there’s no place I’d rather be.

Perfection is short lived, though, because now we must get dressed and make our way to the hospital. Jackson makes us coffee, and doesn’t discuss the shower. He makes light and pleasant conversation to distract me from my thoughts. For that I am extremely grateful. He knows I’m not ready to go beyond what happened this morning.

As we enter my mother’s room, I see a familiar silhouette seated by her bed. Aunt Megs has her head bowed in silent prayer, a wooden rosary woven through her fingers. She looks up as she hears us approach, and walks over to me, embracing me in a fierce and warm hug.

“What happened, Maia?” she asks.

I tell her the story while Jackson goes off to buy some more coffee. “My father will pay for this Aunt Megs, I promise you. If I need to spend every cent I have to make sure of it,” I say angrily, passionately, as I hold my mother’s hand.

“This is the most peace she’s had in a long time,” Aunt Megs replies, sadness cloaking her face.

Jackson walks back in, followed closely by Dr. Carson. In my few encounters with the doctor, I’ve always been reassured by his warmly optimistic nature. Today, his face is serious. My stomach begins to churn before he even speaks.

“Maia, your mother’s body has healed well. But I’m afraid I’m not overly optimistic about the brain activity we’re seeing. It is very minimal. We think it’s time to bring her out of the coma. Cease the drugs,” he says.

“What will happen?” I ask, my voice shaking.

“Well, we leave the ventilator attached, and see what happens.” He looks down as he says this.

“Is there a chance she won’t wake up?” I ask, almost in tears.

Dr Carson breathes a labored sigh. “Maia, there are moments in my job where I wish I could lie and give you the hope that you need, and this is one of them. Based on what we have observed, we think that it’s not likely that her brain function will ever restore. The more likely scenario is that she will continue to require the ventilator to live.”

Now my stomach drops completely.
This is the absolute worst case scenario
. Jackson stands behind me, with a hand on the small of the back. The only saving grace in this moment is the knowledge that he will catch me when I fall, not if, but when.

“We will continue to monitor her for a period of time, but if there is no improvement after a few weeks, we will give you the option to continue the life support, or to turn it off.”

Dr. Carson speaks quietly, sympathetically. As if he already knows her fate. Aunt Megs has moved over to the sofa, a solemn faraway look on her face.

“How soon will I have to make the decision, if it comes to that?” I ask with dread.

“A week or two is normally sufficient to determine the long term prognosis,” he replies clinically.

Dr. Carson leaves, followed closely by Aunt Megs, who promises to return in the morning. I take up my seat next to my mother and Jackson sits on the sofa in the corner of the room. He doesn’t say a word. He knows, always knows, exactly what I need from him.
No one in the world will ever understand me like this man does
. I give him a small smile before placing my head next to my mother’s on her pillow, the whooshing of the ventilator the only reassurance of life.

I’ve watched a thousand movies where the coma patient’s hands or eyes move, where they are about to turn off the life support and a miracle happens. That doesn’t come for us. Jackson accompanies me every day to the hospital, and sits in quiet support on the sofa. In the evenings he comes home with me, eats dinner, and makes sure I’m sleeping before he leaves. In the mornings, he arrives with coffee and some kind of breakfast. I haven’t really wanted to talk or laugh. He hasn’t forced me to. He has, as promised, been there, as my constant. The closest we come to intimacy is the gentle kiss I feel on my cheek just before I drift off to sleep. Then he either leaves or, if the day has been particularly bad, falls asleep on my sofa. We’ve run into Blake a few times at the hospital, and even though I see Jackson’s jaw clench as soon as he sees him, they have been amicable to each other. For my sake.

* * *

Two weeks exactly from the day of Dr. Carson’s pre-emptive prognosis, I hear the news I have been dreading. There is no brain function, and there never will be.

Jackson doesn’t need to be asked to leave. “I’ll give you some time,” he says before planting a soft kiss on my cheek and walking out of the room.

I call Aunt Megs, and sit down to bear my soul.

“So, now there isn’t enough time to have every conversation that we could have. Should have. I always thought I had so much time, for everything. I never guessed I’d be here, with so many regrets. I know most of your pain was caused by me. You just wanted me to be happy. So I promise you that I will be, I will try to be. God, what am I supposed to do?” I say, holding my head in my hands.

“Stop running away.”

Aunt Megs’ voice breaks through my pity party. I don’t turn. Enough people have seen me cry these past few weeks, and that pisses me off.

“Maia, you cannot keep running away. Your mother would not blame you for any of this. You are not responsible for other people’s choices.” Megs’ voice is stern, maternal.

“Then why do I feel like I am?” I ask sadly.

“Because that’s how you want to feel. That boy,” she says, gesturing towards the door, “is too scared to say boo, because he’s so afraid you’ll run away. Is that what you want to turn him into, a puppet? Because you will. He looks as though he loves you enough to become one, just so he doesn’t lose you.”

“I don’t know how else to be,” I say, now sobbing.

“No, fear is stopping you from being something different.” Megs reprimands. “Fear is what brought her here, not you.” She says, pointing towards my mother.

When Jackson comes back, Aunt Megs insists that we all say a few prayers, and we oblige. So much happens in the moment where the doctors turn off the ventilator. A single tear rolls down my cheek, Jackson wraps both arms around my waist and I allow my body to sink into his. My father now faces a murder charge. It has all ended, and it has all just begun.

Jackson

Six months later…

“You are such a clown!” Maia says, whacking me in the arm.

“What?” I ask, as I sling an arm over her shoulders. “I’m just saying that purple pants are a great idea for his groomsmen,” I say laughing.

Blake’s fiancée, Emily throws a cushion at me and grins at him adoringly.
Who knew we’d be here?
Sitting in Maia’s apartment, with this guy who I nearly murdered at one point, discussing his upcoming nuptials with his future wife.

“Man, if I don’t get laid tonight because of you…” Blake says, pointing a finger at me with mock seriousness.

Emily flicks her long, blonde hair over her shoulder and grins at Blake.
Every time I see them, I swear I think of Barbie and Ken.
“I’ll consider it, let’s get going,” she says and they stand to leave.

“You guys are noisy as hell,” Jade moans, walking out of her bedroom with a sleepy expression and bed head.

This time its Maia’s turn to jibe. “Well, if you spent your nights sleeping instead of entertaining half the female population in Providence, you may need to sleep less in the day!”

“Look who’s talking,” she says. “You guys do sleep in the bedroom right next to mine, don’t claim innocence,” she rebuts.

Maia throws me a positively sinful look. “Anyway, you have a big day tomorrow, so no late nights,” she reprimands, poking me in the arm.

Yup, my first day as a Criminology major is scaring the shit out of me and it hasn’t even begun yet.

“I’m going out,” Jade says, walking into the bathroom as Blake and Emily leave.

“Surprise, surprise!” I tease.

Maia and I finish up the dishes in the kitchen. She washes, I dry. It’s the same every night.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way
.

“Do I really have to go to bed now?” I say with mock childishness, linking both arms around her waist from behind and pulling her back into me. She leans her head onto my chest and with her free hand reaches back and grabs a handful of the bulge in my jeans.

“Hey!” I tease. “Really? The crotch grab, just like that?”

She swings around and pulls me into her, her ass resting against the kitchen countertop. “Why not?” she smiles, biting my bottom lip gently. “It belongs to me, after all. All mine.”

She looks up at me, eyes blazing with lust, just before our lips crush together. Maia does this to me, all of me. She is fucking irresistible in every single way. Even in the worst of ways.

“Let’s put you to bed,” she says, grabbing my hand and leading me into the bedroom.

We set the bed on fire, as we usually do, and both of us spent and exhausted, we curl up together, ready to drift into a peaceful sleep. Sleep alludes me tonight, but not in the ways it used to. In the last six months, Maia and I have both had our share of nightmares. We’ve battled our own demons, but slowly and surely, the love we have for each other is killing them off, one by one. Maia’s breathing evens out. I’ve watched her fall asleep a thousand times.
And it never gets old.
Reaching into my bedside drawer, I finger a soft velvet box carefully tucked into the back corner. Tomorrow marks a year since we met. And I’m taking Maia back to the galley at the Bean and opening that box, and fucking sweating until the answer she gives me is hopefully
yes
. I may be crazy, and yes I have considered that many times since buying this ring, but there is no other option for my forever, however long that turns out to be.

I don’t plan on asking Maia to marry me. The ring tells me that her that her and I, we’re forever. It’s finally all real; the good, the bad, and all the shit in between. I’m not even giving her this ring because she’s all mine. I’m giving it to her because I’m all hers. From the moment her towel turban-wearing self walked into my life. I want her to say yes to never leaving my side, and I don’t care if the legal piece of paper or the name change never comes.
I just need Maia
.

We were both so scared of the future, the past. I think of how many times we nearly let each other go, and I am grateful that the universe had other plans. Turns out what we found was hot and crazy and messed up, but amazing. In the end, we were both so scared, but we really were just scared of beautiful.