I woke up at two a.m. sticky with sweat and burning up. My mouth was dry, my pajamas were soaked and I had a headache as big as the mansion I now lived in. Stumbling out of bed, I went to splash cold water on my face and all over my head, soaking my T-shirt and yoga pants even more.
It was damn unfair that my last night of freedom before more chemo was being ruined by this taste of menopause. I really needed that reminder that I was now as barren and lifeless inside as the moon. And probably as inviting, as my rejected advances toward Adam had indicated.
I stumbled from the bathroom, now completely wet, and peeled off my clothes, grabbing a thin tank top and pajama pants. But I felt stifled, suffocating in the still air of my room. And I still had no idea how to open my new, fancy windows.
Plus I had no desire to go back and toss in my bed for hours, thinking about the certain doom that would be injected into my veins in a matter of hours. The night before each round of chemo was a lot like how I imagined it must feel for an ex-inmate anticipating his next incarceration. He knew exactly what hell was in store for him and he also knew that he was powerless to avoid it once the jury declared, “Guilty on all counts.”
The IV injection would feel like the cold weight of manacles around my wrists and ankles. The almost instant metallic taste in my mouth and dull headache would be the sounds of the jail door clanking shut, locking me in for days.
I hated chemotherapy almost as much as I hated the cancer. And now it was slowly bleeding me of my will to live, to survive, to fight.
With a shaky sigh, I rubbed my hands over my smooth scalp—my new substitute for twirling my long hair with my fingers. I slipped through the threshold of my little sanctuary—soon to be my prison. And I glanced down the hallway toward Adam’s room.
I opened and closed my fists several times, fighting the urge to pad down the hallway and slip into bed beside him. I wanted it so badly—wanted
him
so badly. I wanted to listen to his peaceful breathing, cuddle up to his hard body, feel his arm curl around me. Feel his lips caress my neck. But I couldn’t forget our short conversation before I’d fallen asleep—his insistence that we take things slow.
Could I blame him? He seemed as scared about this as I had been to move back in here. And we were getting along rather well, so maybe there was some wisdom to it. But it still annoyed me.
I thought about that as I felt my way downstairs in the dark and flipped on a dim light over the wet bar. I could see my way to the glass doors that led down to the private beach on this side of Bay Island, where Adam’s gorgeous home overlooked the Back Bay of Newport Beach. The cool night air caressed my burning skin and I took a deep breath, already feeling calm, peace wash over me though my heart raced.
I fingered the pendant around my neck. I never took the compass off. I still wasn’t fully clear on what Adam had been trying to tell me the day he’d given it to me, but having it next to my heart was my constant reminder of him—of his kindness and his love, and of my love for him. Not that I needed much of a reminder of that last one. Every time I thought of him, that pinch in my heart did it all on its own.
I lay across the cool sand, looking up into the murky sky, shrouded in thick clouds. I thought about us for long moments, the compass pressing against my sternum. I hoped, rather than knew, that we would survive this. But we hadn’t been strong enough once and in the wake of all that had happened since, I honestly had no idea how we could.
Chapter Sixteen
Adam
It was two a.m. and I’d drifted off to sleep again, my head against my arm as I hunched over my desk. I rubbed my aching neck and checked the clock, remembering that I’d have to take Emilia to the hospital in the morning. I’d better get at least a few hours of sleep in a bed so I could be there for her. Forcing myself to work—and therefore keep myself distracted—did not seem to be as effective as it had once been.
I moved down the hallway toward her room, determined to look in on her before going to bed alone. She’d been weak and shaky tonight, and upset at Kat’s abrupt reaction to her news. She’d managed to fall asleep in spite of all that and I was grateful. She’d need all her strength for tomorrow. But when I got to her room, I found the door wide open and her bed empty. The clothes she’d been wearing were wadded in a pile on the floor.
Maybe she’d gone downstairs to grab a bite to eat? Hopeful that this was the case—because she probably wouldn’t be eating again for days, if her previous rounds were any pattern—I jogged down the stairs, but the kitchen and bar area were empty. However, near the glass doors that led out to the beach, a dim light had been left on over the alcove. And one of the doors was ajar.
Had she gone for a walk at this time of night? It was perfectly safe, of course, but what if she’d gotten weak and passed out somewhere? I was out the door in a second and after a moment of letting my eyes adjust to the darkness, I scanned the stretch of sand in front of me. The chairs and lounges were all empty, but after striding toward the shore, I became aware of a human-shaped form spread out on the cool sand, just feet from the shoreline. I cleared my throat loudly to let her know I was there without startling her.
Hopefully she hadn’t fallen asleep here.
Her head turned and she came up on her elbows, looking behind her. It was a dark night out. What little moon there had been was obscured by the ever-present coastal inversion layer. I came up behind her and sat on the sand nearby, the cool seeping through my jeans immediately.
She was only wearing thin pajama bottoms and an even thinner tank top, but she did not appear cold.
“Are you okay?” I asked without preamble.
She nodded, speaking almost as an afterthought. “Yeah.”
I paused and she seemed to be avoiding my eyes, turning her gaze back up to the sky. “What are you doing out here?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I was feeling really hot.” She shrugged. “It was nice and cool out here. I could breathe.”
“What’s wrong?”
She waited to answer me, keeping her gaze glued to the sky. “I can’t find Draco.”
I looked up again. There were no stars to be seen. The black of night was completely covered by the dull gray of low coastal clouds.
She took in a shaky breath and then shot me a look before her eyes darted away like skittish birds. “You told me that Draco is always in the sky—no matter what time of night, no matter where you are in the northern hemisphere. You can always find it. But I can’t see it tonight. What does that mean?”
I reached out and touched her smooth, cool cheek with the back of my knuckles. She was trembling so slightly that it was almost impossible to notice. “You can’t see Draco because you can’t see any stars tonight. It’s the marine layer.”
The breath shivered out between her lips and she closed her eyes. I continued to stroke her cheek. “I want to see it. I
need
to see it.”
“You just have to trust me. You can’t see it, but it’s there, I promise. Do you trust me?”
Her head sank as she lay back flat on the sand. I bent over her, looking upside down into her eyes. Our gazes locked. Suddenly it was hard to breathe. I stroked her cheek again. Her eyelids fluttered like butterfly wings. She was as delicate as one of them. As fragile. And I’d never thought of her in those terms before.
She was vulnerable. And in many ways she was at the mercy of everyone around her. Including me. My throat tightened.
She watched me for long moments, reaching up and hooking her hand around my neck as if afraid I would pull away. “You know what I love most about your eyes?” she asked.
I frowned, confused at the abrupt change of subject.
Her thumb moved across the back of my neck and I tried to ignore the tingling her light touch evoked. I wanted to pull her hand away but she was so breakable. And I’d pushed her away earlier.
“They are so beautiful—your eyes. And so different.”
I sighed, tried to laugh it off. Emilia’s intensity was unusual but not surprising. It didn’t take a genius to understand why she’d be feeling somber tonight. “Men don’t like being called beautiful…”
She grimaced at me and I saw a glimpse of my Mia return. “Whatever. Deal with it. Your eyes are
beautiful
. In a totally manly way, of course.”
I smiled but didn’t reply.
She tightened the clamp of her hand around my neck, pulling me closer to her. Our eyes were inches from each other but I didn’t look away though intensity of her gaze made me feel like I was staring into a 1000-watt spotlight.
“They are so dark, so mysterious. I used to think of them as curtains, or shutters. To close off what was going on inside. But tonight I think of them as…mirrors. Reflecting everything. I can see myself in there.”
My breath stuttered a little. “Oh…” I answered in the smallest whisper that seemed to get swallowed up in the ambient sounds around us, the regular lap of the water on the shore, the distant hiss of the freeway even in the early morning. “Oh, you’re in there, Mia. You are most definitely in there.”
And then without thinking, just feeling, my mouth sank to hers. I was bent over her, our heads facing different ways, my top lip sealed over her bottom lip, and she opened to me and I tasted her. I was kissing her upside down. And this kiss held more than passion, more than a declaration of desire. It held love. My love. Her love. They collided like waves crashing against a barrier that prevented them from meeting. Like that rugged, unmovable jetty that protected the harbor from the worst of the weather on the south-facing coast.
“Spider-man kisses,” she murmured against my mouth. I kissed her chin, her cheeks and the tip of her nose. She referred to the famous kiss Spider-man shared with Mary Jane in the first Marvel movie. Completely unaware that Spider-man was her next-door neighbor, Peter Parker, Mary Jane had peeled back his mask from the bottom half of his face and passionately kissed him in the rain as he dangled upside down from his web. Spider-man kisses.
But was I as disguised to her as Peter Parker had been from Mary Jane? In many ways, I was. I wore a mask because this wasn’t the time for us to deal with all the bullshit that had gone on between us. My lies. Her lies. Our respective secrets. They’d created that barrier between our hearts and there was no telling if they were surmountable. But now was
not
the time to test them. These days I cared about one thing and one thing only. Her survival.
A thin, silvery tear leaked from the corner of her eye. I pretended not to notice, pulling back, stroking her cheek.
“I’m sorry…for everything,” she whispered.
“I know. I’m sorry for everything too.”
She took in a shaky breath. “How will we ever get over this? Is it even possible?”
“Shhhh,” I quieted her, placing a finger over her lips. “Now isn’t the time.”
She watched me again. Her tears stopping, her eyes widening slightly at the realization that I was brushing this aside. Would she dissent from that opinion? Force the conversation that we’d been avoiding since the moment I’d found out about the cancer, her pregnancy, the huge gap that had widened between us when we hadn’t been looking?
“When will it be the time, Adam?”
I took a breath and let it go, touching her cheek again. “When you are strong and healthy again. Come on. You need to sleep. It’s going to be a long day for you tomorrow.”
And just when I was readying myself for her protest, trying to outthink her argument, she only nodded and moved to stand up without my help. I rose beside her and she slipped her small hand inside mine. I clasped it firmly, pulling her toward the doorway. She sighed and leaned against me.
“I don’t want to sleep alone tonight. Please…can I sleep with you?”
I wanted to tell her no, encourage her back into her room. I wanted to push her away again. Because she was getting too close. The safeguards around my feelings and that tiny bit of willingness to hold on to past resentments stood to take a battering. But she needed me. And I needed her to need me.
She came to my room and I changed, lay on the bed and pressed her close against me, wrapping her in my arms and burying my face against her neck, immersing myself in her smell. That ever-present sting, like a scab that had been ripped off my soul, intensified.
She was asleep in minutes, so still and frail in my arms. And my mind was wandering through all the possibilities that the future held for us—even to those unthinkable yet all too possible ones that I never allowed myself to consider.
If I lost her, I’d lose everything.
But there was more way than one to lose her. She would survive. She had to. But that didn’t mean that
we
as a couple, could. I had to admit it…I had my doubts. We were human, after all and there was a lot of water under that bridge—a lot of hurtful things had happened between us. It would be a long, hard road to mutual and self-forgiveness. The love was there…oh God, it was there. But obstacles like this required more than love to overcome.
My eyes finally closed hours later and in what seemed like seconds, my alarm was blaring in my ear and the space beside me where she had been was empty and cold.
Chapter Seventeen
Mia
“Online Friendship: Is It the Real Deal?” –Posted on the blog of
Girl Geek
on March 3, 2014
What’s a “real” friend versus an online friend? Are those relationships the same or even similar? Should they be stuck with the same label? Recent studies on the online social media phenomenon have shown that a person usually has far more virtual friends than real-life ones. These same studies, however, claim that the virtual friends can be no substitute for “face-to-face” friends because real-time experiences cannot be shared in the same way through text chat and comments on your favorite social site.
With online gaming, such is not the case.
It can be argued that with our online friends, we have complete control over how we present ourselves. We have time to formulate responses to them. We can be selective in the information that we share. We don’t have body language or weird tics or insecurities to hide. These facts can lead to the belief that your gamer friends cannot possibly know you like your face-to-face friends do. The medium of online gaming allows us to form a buffer for ourselves, erect a façade of the written word. We can even provide an avatar as a visual in order to prevent exposing our real identity.