by Dylan Allen
And here we’ll stay.
I could go back inside and tell her I would have given up my job, my passport, whatever I had to, to protect her and what we have.
I could say it until I’m blue in the face.
And she’d never hear me.
I’ve already handed her my heart on a platter twice, and, both times, she’s found it lacking. So, she wants me out of her system. Then, that’s what she’ll get.
The Jezebel
Regan
The Jezebel Podcast: Episode 35
“Hey ladies, I know we’re still taking a victory lap after Dr. Zimmerman’s downfall, so you’ll have to forgive me for being a Debbie Downer. But my life has come a little too full circle recently. You all have heard my story; you know what happened to me in that house. But what you don’t know is that I’m a total hypocrite. It took me almost twenty years to tell my mother. I’ve never told my brothers or any of the friends I made, before or since. Not because I’m ashamed of what those men did to me, but because I know that it was my fault. My best friends lived a nightmare because I thought I was untouchable and led them straight into a trap I should have seen coming. When I had the chance to help one of the women who was there with us, I turned my back on her. All because I wanted to pretend it never happened. I used to be afraid of my own shadow. Then, I met this man – and guys, he’s amazing. My dream man. I love him. Things weren’t going to work out… because...well, the why doesn’t matter now.
My first thought when he left...was, “Thank God, I won’t have to tell him about those three days of hell.” And I was relieved. I saw that as a silver lining to losing the only man I’ve ever loved. Can you believe that? I’m a prisoner in a cage I’ve built around myself.
And I had to ask myself. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
How can I sit on here and preach about shunning shame and ask you all to overcome your fear so that I can tell your stories? How? When I can’t do the same. I’ve been so mad at my family for the secrets they’ve kept from me…and here I am keeping a whopper of one from them, myself. How can I expect them to trust me, when I don’t trust them? How can I help my daughter be brave and speak out if, God forbid, anything like happens to her, when I haven’t been willing to myself? I watch tv. I’ve seen what happens to women who speak out. From Anita Hill to Christine Brasley - Ford, it’s always the women who lose. I was afraid of the scrutiny, and I let that fear keep me in a marriage I should have never entered. It’s precluded me from knowing real intimacy with anyone, and now, it’s become the silver lining for my heartbreak.
I’m struggling, ladies. I’ve been telling your stories, setting the record straight for everyone, but I don’t know how to do it for myself.
I don’t have any answers or a happy note to end this on. I just don’t know who else would understand. Thank you for listening. Next week, I’ll be back with more stories about women we won’t allow the world to forget. This is The Jezebel, signing off.”
Venus Rising
Stone
“Thank you so much for coming, I know it was a lot to ask,” Regan greets me with an outstretched hand and I just stare at it in disbelief.
“It’s flu season. Unnecessary touching isn’t recommended,” I say and climb out of my truck.
“Right,” she says, and stuffs her hands in the pockets of her skirt.
It’s fucking petty, but three months after that night at her house, the weight of resentment still sits in my gut like a boulder.
“I’m here. So cut the cloak and dagger. What do you need?” I ask, and cross my arms impatiently.
“It’s an emergency or I wouldn’t have called,” she says urgently.
I laugh. “Yeah, I’m aware that you avoid me at all costs.” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice.
She swallows audibly, and her eyes narrow as if she’s in pain for a second. “There’s a woman here, she didn’t have anywhere else to go. And she’s in labor. I think. She’s been having contractions all day.”
“Why didn’t you take her to the clinic you partnered with?”
She sighs, her hands flexing and curling at her sides. Her lips barely move when she speaks.
“They terminated our agreement after my divorce. Marcel is one of their largest patrons. I haven’t been able to negotiate another arrangement like that yet. I’m working on building my own clinic on sight, but that takes money that I’m still trying to raise. Permits that keep getting “lost” And, as you noted, you are my last resort, because it’s a fucking emergency.” She pauses to take a deep breath. I know we have issues, but if you could put them aside and please come help this woman who has trusted me with her life.” Her voice breaks and her chest heaves, her eyes are pleading and bleak.
But I need to understand what I’m walking into.
“Have you been timing her contractions?”
“Yes, but only since her water broke, and that’s when I called you.”
“How close?”
“Four minutes, max.”
“Do you have a delivery area set up?”
She nods eagerly. “I have everything in place. I found some info in the book about home births…I fitted the room out today.”
I grab her arm, “Today? She’s been here all day. Why’d you wait so long to call me?”
She bites her lip. “The baby’s not due for another month, and until her water broke, I wasn’t sure she was in labor. So, I let her rest and went to get stuff from the medical supply just in case.”
I’m already moving again by the time she’s done talking. I grab my field kit from my car and start walking back to her.
“Take me to her,” I say with a curt nod, and wait for her to take the lead. I open the bag to see if I have everything I need and look up to find her standing in the same spot, watching me. “Is there a problem?” I in a brisk, but civil tone.
“Thank you so much for this. I know you’re angry with me…” She puts a hand out as if she’s going to touch me.
I step back with a sharp shake of my head. “That doesn’t even begin to describe what I’m feeling, but this isn’t the time. Let’s go.”
She nods and drops her eyes to the ground but not before I glimpse some of the sorrow in them.
I’m torn between heartache and hope. The last month of silence and distance has nearly eaten me alive. Tyson has made it sound as if she’s never been happier. But that’s not what I see now. It’s not what I feel.
Her shoulders sag and my heart mimics the motion.
“Okay, let me show you the way.”
“Thanks Rob, appreciate you coming.” I shake hands with my retired pediatrician. He was the only person I could think of to call who would come.
“No problem, Son, we’re lucky the baby’s healthy and mama is, too.”
“I know.” I glance behind him and frown. “Where’s Regan?”
“Oh, she said to thank you and tell you goodnight.” He sets down his bag and heads toward the bed where Lucy and her baby girl are getting to know each other.
She’s very lucky. Less than two hours of pushing brought a beautiful baby girl into this world, and when I caught her, she gifted us with a lusty, robust cry of displeasure. The miracle of life is a humbling sight to behold. And Regan was a great birth coach and my right hand. We work so well as a team.
The goodwill and optimism that started to grow while we were in the thick of delivery evaporates at Rob’s message. She may not want to talk to me, but I damn sure want to talk to her. I leave the patients in the very capable hands of one of the best pediatricians in the state and go in search of trouble.
I walk through the stone-arched walkway that connects the residential facilities with the classrooms and offices. I’m angrier with Regan than I have been with anyone in my entire life, but I can’t help the rush of pride, as I survey what she’s done with this place.
Venus Rising is nothing short of remarkable. It’s everything she said it would be. It’s bittersweet to see
her doing it all and not to be part of it. We’ve made an art form of avoiding each other.
I see her twice a week when she joins our CrossFit Team for a workout.
She doesn’t talk much to anyone. Even her brothers. She comes, gets her workout done, and then leaves. It hurts like hell to see her and pretend I don’t crave her, with every fiber of my being.
The buzzing interest around the picture has subsided—mainly because she keeps such a low profile.
I still wake and experience the same sinking sensation I’ve felt since I moved back here and realized that she would not be mine. Tyson has invited me to her house every Friday for the last month, and I’ve said no. That first encounter, at her house, was still too close to the surface. I’m not ready to socialize with Regan.
Thank God I love my job and that it’s demanding and intense. But, at night, when I’m alone with my thoughts, they’re all about her.
As I approach the suite of offices where hers is, doubt descends and slows my stride.
I don’t know if I’m ready to be alone with her. But I don’t know when I’ll have another chance, and at the very least, I need her to know that she can’t provide medical services here unless she gets licensed. And to tell her that she can’t call me like this again.
I steel myself and knock lightly on the door with “Regan” etched into the frosted pane of glass that serves as a window. There’s no response, but I see a light on, so I test the knob. I open the door, and I stick my head inside, slowly, and look around the room.
The first thing I notice is the map that takes up one entire wall. It’s dotted with different color push pins and sticky notes. I step into the huge space and close the door quietly behind me. It’s part office, part situation room.
Regan is sitting propped up, lengthwise, on a small bright blue sofa. Her laptop is on her thighs. Her head lolls to rest on the back of the sofa and her hand dangles off the edge. A soft snore punctuates her exhales.
I walk over and gaze down at her. She looks as wrung out as I feel.
But even exhaustion can’t tame the beautiful synergy of her bold cheekbones, her wide-set heavily lashed eyes, or her generously full lips and the soft set of them made even more so by sleep. I would have fought any war by her side, or at her front, if she’d have let me.
I trace the lines of her body with my eyes. Each one on prominent display, beneath her light grey calf length pencil skirt, topped by a form fitting white t-shirt. Her feet are bare; her toes are painted candy apple red. God; I want to taste them.
She is a whole eight course meal, and I’m a man who’s been living on beans and toast for months.
My entire body responds with what I can only describe as a full-body hunger pang. My mouth waters. My fingers twitch, and my cock stirs. My gut rumbles, the way it does when I’m hungry.
Her eyes pop open as if she heard it. She gasps and covers her chest with her hand. “You scared me.” She closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths.
“Sorry, I knocked.” I step back from my hovering stance and shove my hands in my pockets.
“I was only closing my eyes for a minute… Let me just shut down, really quick,” she says, groggily, and taps her mouse to wake her laptop. She lowers her feet to the floor and starts to type in earnest.
Something falls from beneath her skirt and lands on the floor with a thud, and then rolls a few times, before it stops halfway between us. She’s immersed in whatever she’s doing and doesn’t seem to notice.
I stoop to pick it up and smile when I realize it’s a vibrator. And it’s warm and sticky. I lift it to my nose and inhale. The smell of her, citrus and fucking heaven, fills my nostrils, and I go from disinterested to full on rock hard in seconds.
“Okay, all done,” she announces, and reaches over and puts her laptop on the small side table next to the couch.
“Did Rob not tell you I was…” Her words die on her tongue, as her vision clears, and she sees the toy in my hand. Her face blooms with color.
“You dropped this,” I say, and smile innocently.
Her lips compress, and she clears her throat.
“Here.” I drop it into her outstretched palm.
“Thank you,” she says stiffly, and tucks it between the cushions of the couch.
I rub the wetness on my fingers together. Her eyes widen briefly, before she starts looking around, like she can’t find something.
“You lose something else?”
“Have you seen my shoes?” she asks, a tinge of panic in her voice.
“What do you need those for?”
Her head snaps up, and she narrows her eyes. “I’m leaving.”
I laugh. “Fuck if you are. You owe me at least more information about this reckless thing you dragged me into. If anything had gone wrong, Regan…I don’t even want to think about it. Robert Hirsch is a great pediatrician. But I want her to come to my office, tomorrow, if she’s up to it, and she should be. She needs a proper exam and blood work. She’s healthy, young, and in good shape, so everything went smoothly, but Regan, the hospital is where all of this should have happened.”
Her jaw tenses, and her words are clipped. “I know that, Stone. I’ve explained that this was extraordinary, and she might have been in danger. You’re a doctor. And, I trust you.”
I snort in disbelief. “As if you know the meaning of that word. I think you called me because you think I’m so pussy whipped that I’d risk my career for you. You needed a chump, and you called the biggest one you knew.”
She rears back like I slapped her. “No, how can you say that?”
I take a sweeping survey of the room in an effort to escape the damning hurt in hers.
I glimpse the papers she left scattered on the floor and see one that reads “The Jezebel” in large letters, in the same font as her tattoo. I lean down to pick it up, and she dives to beat me to it. She tucks them behind her back.
“What is that?”
“Nothing,” she snaps, but she looks panicked.
A prickle of unease runs up my spine.
“Did you start your blog again?”
“No.”
“Then, what is it?”
“Nothing, Stone. Leave it,” she snaps, but she’s nervous as hell.
“Why can’t you tell me?” I advance on her.
She stands her ground, sticks her mulishly set chin out at me and says, “I don’t have to tell you anything. No matter what you think, you don’t own me.”
Disillusionment is like a dagger in my side and I’m so tired of her and this whatever the hell is going on with her. I nod. “You’re right. I don’t. So, fuck all of this. I’m done asking you questions.”
“Finally!” She raises her hands in celebration and exasperation all at once.
“Yeah, fucking finally. I’m done. Whatever you’re up to, keep me the hell out of it.”
“Oh, no problem there,” she quips.
I laugh and snatch up my backpack. “Big fucking problem, actually.”
“Enlighten me,” she scoffs.
“Gladly,” I say walk back over to where she’s standing.
Her eyes widen and she backs up and hits the wall after only a couple of steps.
She licks her lips and her eyes drop to my mouth. “What are you doing?”
I place a hand on either side of her head and bring my face close enough to hers for our noses to touch. “Enlightening you, Goddess.”
I lift my fingers where the wetness from her vibrator has dried and run them under her nose, drag them over to her lips and press until they part for me. She moans at the intrusion and she sucks them deeper into her hot, soft mouth.
“See how good you taste?” I ask her in a low rasp.
She nods. Her inky lashes flutter like the palm leaves caught on a breeze.
“Have you let anyone else taste it?” I ask, and I wrap one hand around her throat, and she bites her lips.
“Have you?” I growl when she doesn’t respond
&nb
sp; “No.” she squirms against my erection rucking her hips.
I slide my other hand up her thigh, slip it under her skirt and cup her through her panties. She rocks against my hand, grinding into her damp heat into the heel of it.
“I know how bad you need me inside you...”
“Yes, so badly…” she admits in a voice thick with misery.
I brush the tip of my nose against hers, move my mouth just a sliver from hers, but I don’t let our lips touch.
I draw in a deep breath and smile. “No matter how hard you try to hide it from me, I’ll always know. Even if I never touch you again.”
“How?” she pants.
I gaze down at her beautiful face, memorize the look of rapture adorning it. “Because, like recognizes like, goddess. We’re made for each other.”
I am so in love with her and so damn angry at her. But I don’t know how to wake somebody who’s only pretending to be asleep.
I pull my hand away from her body and take a huge step back. “It’s a damn shame that you fucked this up so royally.”
Her eyes flutter and open, dazed and glassy with need. I bite the inside of my cheek to stifle a groan and shove my hands into my pockets to keep myself from yanking her back to me.
She blinks, the glaze in her eyes clears
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m sick of your secrets, and your desire to help everyone but yourself.”
“That isn’t true.” She yells, but I am done listening.
“You make me so crazy, like… some nights, I want to set myself on fire for it. But I’m done trying to prove myself to you, …” I wipe my palm on my trouser leg and her eyes grow wide.
I look away. Because fool I am, I can’t look her in the eye and lie. “So, you got your wish. You are officially out of my system.”
I walk out and it takes all my self-control not to slam the door behind me. I’m so angry I could spit. What the fuck is happening? It just keeps getting worse. I wish I could get her out of my system, but I can’t.
