by Susan Stoker
He stayed with me all day. Forcing me to drink. Making me eat, even though twice what I ate came back up. (Good Lord, can I not throw up in front of the perfect man for once in my life?!?)
Then I broke.
He told me that he’d researched it and we could be married in three days. All he had to do was get the application and we could go down to the courthouse and get it done. Easy-peasy. He told me that his insurance would kick in immediately and I could start the chemo again.
That’s the last thing I wanted, but for some reason, I let him convince me. I’m just tired. Tired of fighting him. Tired of being sick. Tired of worrying about every-fucking-thing. Truck said he’d take care of me, and I believe him. He might be marrying me so I don’t croak, but I have no doubt that he’ll do anything necessary to take care of me.
I think I gave in because no one (other than Raynie, and that’s different because she doesn’t actually live with me) has ever given the littlest shit about me. Mama sure didn’t. Neither did all those uncles.
If I wasn’t so tired and sick, I know I probably would’ve stuck to my guns. Had some pride. But when you’re at rock bottom, what’s a little pride?
* * *
Mary agreed to marry him?
Holy fucking shit!
Truck put his head back on the couch and closed his eyes.
Had they gone through with it? He had to think they did, since she was still alive today. If she was that bad off, there’s no way she would’ve been able to beat the cancer without chemo.
He was married? Mary was his wife?
Eager to find out what happened next, Truck opened his eyes and read the next entry as fast as he could.
* * *
Well, it’s done. I married Truck today. It wasn’t exactly romantic, we were in and out of the courthouse in thirty minutes, but I’m now Mrs. Ford Laughlin. How did I celebrate? I barfed all over the bathroom floor. Again. FML.
Truck brought me to his apartment and got me in bed, then left to go to post and file the paperwork so I could get on his insurance. He’s been distracted because all the guys left to go out to Idaho. Something to do with Fish and his new woman. But of course I don’t know what’s going on because I haven’t talked to Rayne or the others as much as I’ve wanted to.
Then, while he was gone, I christened our married life by puking on the bathroom floor.
I’m pathetic.
And hideously ugly (it’s a good thing sex is off the table because Truck would take one look at my flat-as-fuck chest and run screaming from the room, saying he was no child molester).
And married.
Fuck. What did I do?
I married a man for love and he married me for pity.
Fuck!
* * *
Looking down at his ring finger, Truck had a distinct memory of Mary sliding a ring on it. Where was it now?
Suddenly, finding his wedding ring was more important than reading. Putting the journal aside, Truck stood and headed back into his wrecked bedroom. He went straight to the bathroom.
Instinctively knowing exactly where his ring was, he opened the bottom drawer to the left of the sink, crouched down, and rifled through the junk there, pulling out a small velvet bag in the back. How he’d known right where to look, Truck had no idea, but when he dumped the bag into his hand, two rings clinked together as they landed in his palm.
Their wedding rings.
Closing his eyes, he suddenly remembered everything about the day he’d put them away.
* * *
“I’m not going to wear my ring,” Truck told Mary.
Her eyes were sad, but she nodded. “Okay.”
“Not because I’m not happy to be married to you, but because it’s not smart while we’re on a mission.”
“Okay,” she repeated, then pulled her own off. “If you’re not going to wear yours, then I won’t wear mine either. If you have a naked finger, so do I.”
“That’s not necessary,” he said.
“It is. And this goes for more than just this mission. If you take off your ring, mine comes off too. Got it?”
* * *
Truck remembered nodding at her, but not worrying about it much because he had no intentions of taking his ring off otherwise, except for missions. He’d never cheat on Mary and he’d never willingly leave her. He’d thought the idea romantic, her not wanting to wear her ring if he couldn’t. He’d taken both rings, put them into the small bag, and placed it on the counter. Later, he’d moved the rings to the bottom drawer for safekeeping.
He meant to tell her where he’d stashed them, but they’d both gotten busy and he’d forgotten.
Truck slipped his wedding ring on his finger and couldn’t believe how right it felt. He fingered the smaller band wistfully. Reluctantly, he took his own ring off and put it back into the velvet bag with Mary’s. He wanted to haul her back to his apartment and demand to know when she’d planned on telling him about their marriage, then make her wear the ring proclaiming her as his. Just as he would wear his ring, making sure bitches like the chick from the bar knew he was taken. But instead, he put the bag in his pocket.
He needed to figure out how to get Mary to confess that they were husband and wife, but in the meantime, he couldn’t bear to be separated from their rings. Somehow he felt, if he had them with him, it would somehow make their marriage more real.
Truck went back into his living area and detoured to the kitchen to get a glass of water. He drank it down, then went back to the couch.
His memory was definitely returning. With every word he read, and with every hour that passed, Truck was more and more certain he’d eventually remember everything. His head was throbbing, but nothing could keep him from reading his wife’s words.
* * *
I have to admit that I’m feeling better. I finished the chemo treatments (which sucked) and have started on the radiation again. Every weekday for fifteen minutes, I get zapped. I can’t feel it, which is good, although I have a permanent tan mark on my back from the rays. That can’t be healthy, can it?
And my skin is slowly starting to burn. I remember this from before.
Truck has been super attentive the entire time, and I have to admit I love it (although I’d never tell him that. It would go to his head or something. Ha!).
There are times I just don’t understand how he can love me. I’m a pain in the ass. It can’t be fun to be around me right now with my health issues and the way I’m always so bitchy. He could do so much better than me.
But if he decided that he couldn’t deal with the cancer, or me, it would break me. More so than Brian did when I was a teenager. More so than all the other men who let me down. Truck means everything to me, even though I’ve never told him. I have no idea what I’d do without him.
* * *
Truck closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Mary might only be able to admit to herself in her journal how much she cared about him, but seeing the words meant more to Truck than he’d ever be able to put into words himself. He didn’t like knowing that he had the power to break Mary, but he wasn’t surprised…simply because she could easily break him as well. When he opened his eyes, he had to blink a few times to clear the tears from his vision so he could keep reading.
* * *
Oh, God. I forgot how bad radiation was. I can’t stand for anything to touch my chest, which makes it awkward because I’m basically living full-time with Truck in his apartment. He’s helped me goop up my chest with the lotion they’ve given me, but it burns so bad. And it’s so humiliating having him see me.
Intellectually, I know boobs don’t make me who I am, but how will Truck ever see me as anything but the poor pathetic shell of a woman I am now? Not that I have the slightest desire to have sex, but what about the future? If Truck stays married to me, I’m gonna want to jump his bones, but even I wouldn’t want to bone someone if they had the kind of scars I do. They simply aren’t attractive in any way, shape, or form.
&n
bsp; Nights are the worst. I swear I can feel my skin peeling and cracking. I lie in his bed on my back, without a shirt on because that shit hurts, and Truck sleeps next to me. He scoots down until his feet are hanging over the edge of the bed and he throws his arm around my waist. He nuzzles against my hip and tells me how proud he is of me. How strong I am.
What he doesn’t know is that it’s all a lie. I’m a fraud. I’m not strong at all. If I was, I’d tell him that I love him. That I want him to be with me for me, not because I needed his fucking insurance. But I don’t say a word. I lie awake most of the night memorizing the feel of him next to me because I know when this is all said and done, and I’m better (God, please let me get better!), I’m gonna lose him.
* * *
Truck remembered sleeping with her like that. Remembered the helplessness he felt of not being able to do anything for her. Hating how much pain she was in. Hating that sometimes even the breeze from the ceiling fan on her chest was too much for her to take. Mary was so fucking strong. He couldn’t even fathom how she’d made it through.
But seeing the words “I love him” in black and white, again, made him more determined than ever to make her believe that she was beautiful inside and out.
She loved him.
Mary fucking loved him.
Truck smiled.
* * *
It’s been a while since I’ve written in here. Things are…weird.
The doctor told me my cancer is gone (yeah, like I’ll believe that. I’ve heard it before).
I’m still with Truck, have basically moved in.
But Truck’s friends found out we’re married. And they weren’t happy. They were pissed he kept it from them, because they don’t keep secrets from each other. I’m afraid Truck is gonna tell me to go home, that we should get a divorce, but so far he hasn’t.
But worse than that, Rayne hates me. I can’t blame her, really. We promised to get married together, and I went behind her back and did the deed without her. Of course, the promise was bullshit. We were both drunk when we made it, but still. I know Rayne, and I know she had dreams of me marrying Truck and her marrying Ghost in a double wedding ceremony, and learning that I’m already married killed those dreams. I killed her fucking dreams.
Many times, I’ve thought about how everyone would be much happier if I wasn’t around.
If I hadn’t married Truck and gotten the treatment, they might’ve mourned me, but Rayne would be married, Truck might’ve found someone who was less annoying than me, and the others wouldn’t all be fighting.
God. This sucks.
* * *
Mary and Rayne had a pact to get married together? The guys were fighting because he’d married Mary and hadn’t told them? He couldn’t imagine why he didn’t tell his best friends about it…unless he was protecting Mary. Yeah, he could see himself not wanting to make her feel awkward around the others.
But he didn’t believe for one second that any of the women, or his friends, would be happier without her around. That was bullshit. She’d better not still believe that.
* * *
Things still suck. At least Annie is still talking to me. We’re practicing our sign language together. She’s so fucking cute. Says she’s gonna marry Frankie, the deaf kid she met who lives out in California. They “talk” over the Internet all the time.
I miss my best friend.
Truck seems to have patched things up with his friends, thank God, but Rayne still hates me. I don’t know how Harley feels, but since she’s super close to Rayne, she probably does too. Kassie is about to give birth. Emily is not far behind her (and she’s having a boy! One of the nurses I got to know in the hospital spilled the beans to me. I promised not to tell, but it’s been hilarious telling Emily that I just “know” she’s having a boy because Annie wants a brother. She’s going to be so happy).
I don’t really even know Casey or Wendy that well, which sucks because they seem to be really nice. Rayne’s brother is now with a woman named Sadie. Truck’s talked about how hilarious Bryn is, Fish’s wife, but again, I wouldn’t know because I’m not in the inner circle anymore.
Truck is…Truck. He’s so nice to me and now that I’m not sick anymore, sleeping next to him is akin to torture. Right before he comes to bed, I steal his pillow so I can smell him on it all night. He doesn’t know though. He always smells so good.
Oh, and…I miss sex. It’s silly. I mean, I was sick for so long, I couldn’t imagine ever wanting it again. But one night when Truck was at work, I masturbated. I climaxed so hard, because I was thinking of Truck’s big hands on my body. How his tongue would feel eating me out.
I’m so pathetic. But, man…now that I’ve started thinking about it, I can’t stop.
* * *
Truck swallowed and felt his dick twitch in his pants. Reading about Mary wanting sex, and masturbating, was so damn sexy, he almost couldn’t stand it.
He had no idea how old the journal entries were though. They might be years old, or they might have been written shortly before that last mission when he got hurt. Truck had no idea since they weren’t dated. He was glad he and his friends had patched things up, but it sucked that Mary had still felt ostracized. Obviously they’d made up, because Rayne was in constant contact with Mary now, but he hated that they’d had a falling out in the first place, especially since it centered around their marriage.
* * *
Rayne and me are BACK!
I decided that enough was enough and I was going to apologize for everything. But then the bank got held up, and I had to hide in the vault with her.
I spilled my guts and she FORGAVE ME!
God. Nothing feels as good as having Rayne back.
I also kinda told Truck that I wanted him. That I wanted to be a real wife to him.
Things have been weird with us lately, but I’m hoping that I haven’t ruined our chances altogether. I’m working on being nicer, not only to him but to everyone. It’s been hard (especially when that skank paramedic hit on him), but I don’t want to always be the bitch.
He has to go on a mission this weekend, but when he gets back, I’m going to tell him that I like him. A lot. I want to tell him that I love him, but I have to work up to that.
Thank God, I don’t have to worry about telling him about my lack of boobs, since he already knows (duh!). I can just go straight to telling him I want to suck his cock. Hahahaha!
All guys want that, right? If I had to seduce him from scratch (that sounds weird, but you know what I mean), I’d utterly fail. No boobs, no long hair to swish around, and my prickly attitude…what a recipe for failure. But since I know he already likes me (loves me?), this should work out.
He’s working late tonight, so I’m going to masturbate again. I love putting his pillow under my ass and pretending he’s pounding into me. God. I’m so pathetic. This girl needs to get her some! But maybe it’ll be like a subliminal thing…he’ll smell me on his pillow and jump my bones. That’s the plan at least. We’ll see if it works.
* * *
Holy shit. He had smelled her on his pillow. Truck remembered the first night back in his apartment, how he’d held his pillow close all night because it smelled so fucking good and he couldn’t figure out why.
That little sneak.
He grinned.
It seemed as if there was a lot he and Mary still needed to talk about. He didn’t like hearing about the bank being held up, she hadn’t told him anything about that, but he wondered if it was related to the sketchy men she’d been talking about lately.
But more than that, she told him she wanted to be a real wife for him.
That she wanted a real marriage.
That took guts. He’d never doubted her strength, but that just proved it all over again.
And her coming over tonight and telling him about her cancer was also extremely brave of her, especially in light of what he’d just read. He didn’t know when she’d been all set to seduce him, but he had a feeling
it had been fairly recent. And if that was the case, him losing his memories had changed everything.
But what really struck Truck was that she hadn’t given up. She’d pushed through her insecurities and worries and stuck by him. Standing up for him when she thought he needed it and not giving up on them as a couple.
She loved him.
He’d realized it before reading her journal, but reading her inner thoughts, knowing what she’d been through, made it all the more clear.
He and Mary were married.
Suddenly, Truck knew what was missing in his bedroom. In that spot on the wall by the door, the one he looked at all the time, thinking it was too empty. Their wedding certificate. He remembered hanging it, and Mary rolling her eyes at him when he’d proudly placed it where they’d see it every day.
He wondered where it was. Wanted it back where it belonged.
He wanted Mary back where she belonged.
With him. Here. In their bed. Under him.
Then something else hit home. He and Mary had really never had sex. She’d told him that, but it hadn’t sunk in because they were still getting to know each other. After reading her last two journal entries, he realized that she’d been serious. At some point, she’d wanted to change the nature of their relationship, but it didn’t sound like that had happened before he’d gotten hurt.
They hadn’t consummated their relationship yet.
It sucked, because it gave her a hell of a good reason to get their marriage annulled, but on the other hand, he was glad they hadn’t. That he hadn’t had her and forgotten. One part of him wanted to believe that he’d never forget sinking into her for the first time, but another part wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t imagine how she’d feel if he’d forgotten them having sex.
