Better Than None

by Olivia Jake

  “I’d still like to forget if you would.” I said so softly I wasn’t even sure he’d hear me. But he did, as a slow smile spread across his face.

  “You know you don’t have to, Stephanie.”

  “I know that. I want to.”

  I know he couldn’t see my expression in the darkness, but he obviously heard something in my voice. Typical Dr. Rosenberg, he stared at me for a while before determining my sincerity, and when he did, he stood, took my hand and pulled me to him. He was so warm, and set against the cool night air, I shivered at his touch. I didn’t know why it felt so right being with this man who was probably so very wrong for me.

  I was still nervous as we walked back inside, but it wasn’t like the panic in the elevator. This time, it was a combination of excitement and nerves. He led me, my hand in his, to the bedroom and once there, one corner of his mouth turned up as he looked down at me and tenderly freed my hair from its ponytail holder. Then, with both palms on either side of my face, he brought his lips down to mine and kissed me. This wasn’t like the kisses in his office, there was no urgency, no frenzy, just warmth and tenderness as our lips and tongues danced and explored.

  I’d probably never spent so long just kissing, I typically always just wanted to get to the main event. Plus, kissing could be so intimate and I’d never been intimate in the true sense of the word with anyone before him. Finally, he undressed me, slowly. The bedside lamps were on giving him plenty of light to study every inch of me. I was proud of my body and comfortable naked, but the way he looked at me wasn’t just with appreciation, he made me feel desired and wanted as he caressed my skin kissing my cheek, my shoulders, my breasts. It was so sweet, so loving and so slow I was starting to go nuts. Whether he was taking his time to make sure I wasn’t going to freak out and hyperventilate again, or whether this was just another side to the good doctor, I didn’t know. But what he was doing was making me feel like I was on fire. What he was doing was making me want more.

  So I started undressing him, unbuttoning his shirt, sliding it off his broad shoulders and running my hands down his chest and stomach before I unbuttoned his pants and slid them and his briefs down. I was greeted with a very happy man and decided to stay down there. As I did, I looked up at him and smiled as I licked my lips. If I thought his looks were intense before, the way he stared down felt like he could burn a hole right through me. I held his gaze as I took him in my mouth, getting used to the feel and size of him. It had been so long since I’d done this, and this was the first time I wanted to please a man not to impress him, but simply to make him happy and make him feel good. I wanted to do for him what he did for me in his office.

  “Oh God, Stephanie, that feels so good.”

  His hands started fisting my hair, holding on tighter and I knew he was close. I was so lost in it and so eager for him to come in my mouth that I was shocked when he abruptly stopped my head and pulled back.

  “Stop, wait…” he panted.

  “Didn’t, um didn’t you like it?”

  “Are you kidding me? I liked it too much. I almost came.”

  I chuckled, “that’s kind of the point.”

  He smiled and reached down to pull me up and into a kiss. I was surprised he’d want to taste himself on me, my mouth was so wet from sucking him, but he didn’t seem to care. When we broke apart he told me he’d be right back and disappeared into the bathroom. As he came out he was rolling a condom on and I must have smiled.

  “This is kind of the point.”

  He stalked towards me, backing me up until I hit the bed, and when I did, he lifted me up and back then crawled over me, pressing my thighs apart with his knees as he leaned in to take a nipple into his mouth. I arched up into him feeling the sensation all the way down. His fingers mirrored what his mouth was doing and as good as it felt, I desperately wanted more.

  “Please, Dr.” was all I got out before my eyes snapped open to see him scowling and I grinned sheepishly. “Please don’t put me in the elevator, Brad. Please fuck me. Please.”

  “That was a close call. I’ll let it slide, this time.” He said as he rubbed the head of his cock against me. Once it was clear I was more than ready, he slid all the way in, and hard.

  “Ohhhh.”

  “That’s for calling me doctor while I’m sucking on your beautiful tits.”

  “Oh, doctor.” I teased and he thrust hard again. I couldn’t help but smile, it felt so good, and I felt him so deep. “Doctor, doctor, doctor.”

  That was it. He pounded into me so hard I felt like I could feel him up in my throat, and when he tilted my hips up I felt that feeling again. I couldn’t believe it but as he continued thrusting I felt my orgasm rising, I felt tingling all over, even my face was tingling as I moaned and he pounded, grabbing my hips to get deeper and deeper until I shattered. This time, there was no crying, and thankfully, no squirting, just an amazing orgasm. He continued driving into me as I rode it out, slowing his pace as I came down to earth.

  “I should punish you for calling me doctor, but you’re so God damned beautiful when you come.”

  I couldn’t believe those words were being said about me. I blushed, though I was already flushed. Silly as it was, his comment embarrassed me. He pulled out, and I realized he hadn’t come yet.

  “Turn over, Stephanie.” He growled sounding sexier than ever as he knelt above me. I did as I was told and he slid in behind me. What I thought would be another hard pounding turned into a slow, languid rhythm. We stayed like that on all fours for a while until he told me to lie down. We moved as one as I extended my arms and legs, grateful for the rest, and then he rolled me onto my side so we were spooning as he continued to take his time as he slid in and out of me, his hand exploring me, rubbing my ass, then my stomach and up to my breasts where he stayed. When he pinched my nipple I could feel myself clench around him making us both moan in unison. He continued to pinch and I realized what I did to him when he did that so I started purposely clenching and releasing as I made small circles with my hips while he continued to fuck me. The pace started to increase and his breathing started to become more and more shallow, and with his hand still on my breast he squeezed hard as he grunted and growled as he came.

  When his body quieted, we were still in that intimate embrace, our bodies spooning, his front glued to my back, our legs entwined and his heavy breath still panting in my ear. Slowly, his breathing evened out and only when he twitched did I realize he had dozed off. But when he woke, his whole body stiffened immediately as he pulled out, got up and disposed of the condom. When he came back to bed I couldn’t read his expression, but it wasn’t a good one. Unlike his typical staring, he averted his eyes, turned his back and sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

  I had no idea what changed in the span of a few minutes, but I sure wasn’t going to lie there in the hopes that he’d share. I got up, once again mentally chastising myself for letting my guard down and opening myself up to a man, this man. I didn’t know how other women did it, but obviously I just couldn’t handle sex. Or intimacy. Or whatever this was.

  “Stephanie.” He said flatly and I didn’t even turn to look at him. When he repeated my name with a little more force only then did I look over my shoulder as I slid my pants on.

  “What?” I stood there with my hands on my hips, naked from the waist up, so even though my posture was one of defiance, it was obviously muted by my attire, or lack thereof.

  “It’s not you…” he started, but I interrupted.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re going to give me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line? Jesus. Do I look like that much of a sap?”

  He looked so pained, but I didn’t care. I was hurt too, not that I’d let him see that. I’d already given him too much, I wasn’t going to give him that.

  “You told me you thought I was a prick but not a liar. What happened to that?”

  “Obviously, sometimes my judgment isn’t always spot on.” I searche
d for my bra and top and when I found them I was relieved that I was almost out of there. I bent down to pick them up and was startled when he was standing behind me. “Jesus! What is wrong with you?”

  “I thought we already covered that.” His tone softened as he gripped my arms and turned me around, forcing me to face him.

  “Look, you don’t owe me anything…” I started to say looking at his chest, but his grip tightened, compelling me to look up at him.

  “You’ve got some weird hang up about people owing each other. I know I don’t owe you anything. But I want you to give me a minute to explain. Is that too much to ask?”

  “It’s just not necessary, that’s all.” I said with defeat. I wasn’t trying to be a martyr, it was just the truth. It didn’t matter what he said.

  “Maybe not to you…” he trailed off but didn’t loosen his grip. “Look, I told you, I haven’t been with anyone since my wife… and I, when I woke up, for a minute I thought… and then I realized…” He couldn’t finish his sentence but he did release me.

  “So you were so horrified that you had been with me that you couldn’t even look at me when you came back to bed?” I sounded like a petulant child but I was so fragile, I couldn’t help it.

  “No, Stephanie, I wasn’t horrified.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes, but his tone was soft. “I’ve been married for a long time, that’s all. It really isn’t you.”

  I nodded, not sure I totally understood. “I’m just not your wife.”

  He shrugged and swallowed as he nodded, too. There just wasn’t much I could do about that.

  CHAPTER 11

  I took Barb home the next day, after the all too familiar routine of going to the hospital, reviewing her discharge with the nurse, getting her home-care instructions, waiting for transport to wheel her down, exchanging pleasantries with some of the doctors and nurses whose faces I started to recognize after so many recent visits. Each time they helped her from the wheelchair into my waiting car she seemed to be weaker and weaker, and less like the vibrant woman who was my everything.

  Once home, I helped undress her. She was still covered in old crusty blood and the green-blue antiseptic wash from the procedure.

  “Ma, let’s wash you before you go to bed.” She was so weak from the chemo, the procedure and the meds that I didn’t trust her to shower on her own. I was surprised she didn’t fight me on this, but rather, waited patiently as I drew her bath. She was starting to look less and less like the mother I knew. After weeks of inactivity and little food, her skin had started to hang on her, and for the first time, she looked her age. As much as I used to hate my mom’s vanity, I found myself wishing it were there. But instead, she didn’t even seem to care. I wasn’t sure if it was just the meds or sad resignation at everything that this disease was already taking. Along with her health and vanity, she was losing her dignity.

  Doctor after doctor, nurse after nurse, tech after tech had by now seen my mother naked, had lifted her pendulous breasts to adhere EKG stickers and feel all around her abdomen, had helped her to the bathroom, had seen her in ways that even I never had. My mother, who could never stand to leave the house without the right earrings was suddenly helpless to being lifted and moved and led and poked. To them, all the medical professionals, I know they just saw another patient, but to me, to see my mother so helpless, so devoid of caring anymore about what she might look like, like everything else, it changed my perspective on so many things. It was hard to worry about pretty much anything else when I was now bathing my own mother.

  Perhaps it was sick, but as depressing as it was, sitting there with her, pouring water over her head, massaging her scalp, gently rubbing her soft and now wrinkled skin, there was a sweetness to it. I’m not sure if she felt it, but caring for her like this wasn’t just a tender moment, it was pure. She needed care and I was able to give it. No ego. No pride. Just simple care and love.

  She leaned her head back into my hands as I massaged her scalp and moaned softly, “oh, that feels nice honey.” For the first time in weeks, she seemed to enjoy what she was feeling after having only felt pain, nausea and discomfort.

  I smiled and continued, glad I could give her some relief.

  “Um, Mom, do you think you can wash yourself between your legs?” I asked hesitantly. For the first time, she was embarrassed.

  “Of course I can do that! I don’t want you doing that for me!” I was glad to hear a little fight in her. Of course, if I had to do it, I would have. I knew it was just skin. It shouldn’t have been any different than washing her arm or her hair, but it was, and I wondered if we’d get to the point where she wouldn’t be able to do that for herself. One of the many things I was learning was that it didn’t matter whether I worried about what might or might not be. With this disease, and perhaps life in general, I was realizing that to a certain extent, whatever will be will be, however I very much doubt that’s what they were singing about in “Que sera, sera.”

  I continued to wash her hair as she slowly washed herself. All of her movements were so much slower than they’d ever been. It was almost like watching someone do tai chi, the execution of each movement was so measured, almost as though there were resistance pushing against her. I stayed behind her, out of her line of sight to give her the illusion of privacy. As I rubbed her head, clumps of hair balled in my shampoo-soaked hands. It was coming out faster than I could ball it up and set it on the side of the tub. In vain, I hoped she wouldn’t notice, though of course, once she looked in the mirror it would be impossible not to see. She must have seen the hairs falling out already, but still, I didn’t know if this much had ever come out all at once.

  Just one more thing this disease was taking from her. Along with her dignity, it took one’s strength, one’s healthy cells, and as if taking the big things weren’t enough, it had to chip away at the little things like someone’s hair. For so much of my life, I think I gave my dignity away. I was never robbed of it like this. Now, seeing my mother lose hers, I couldn’t help but be outraged with myself for squandering it, for having so little respect for myself as to have no dignity at all.

  I wondered if Brad bathed his wife while they were still together. I had no idea how far along her cancer was, or when they split up. I hoped that if he were still with her that he’d be a good enough man to do that for her, though honestly I didn’t know if he would. If Marty were in Brad’s position, there was no question that he would. Marty would be wonderful to his sick wife.

  If I were sick, I’d want Marty taking care of me, not Brad. Brad didn’t have the patience. I’d seen glimpses of care, of tenderness, but it was like he held himself back or that he had somehow forgotten what it was like to be human. All he could see was the disease. As it had been with so many of the doctors we’d encountered, they couldn’t seem to see the whole person. Of course, I hadn’t slept with Barb’s other doctors, and I had with Brad. So I chose to believe that Brad built up his own walls to protect himself from becoming emotionally attached to his patients, and that deep down, he cared. Because if it weren’t that, if it were just that he was a cold heartless prick, especially when faced with what he saw every day, then by having been with him in the ways I had, I might have sunk lower than ever before.

  I helped Barb out of the tub, thankful the mirror was fogged up. Once she was steady, I said what had to be said. “Mom, I think we might need to think of a new hairstyle.” I couldn’t bear to say the words ‘shave your head’ just yet.

  “I know it’s thinning. You think we need to cut it short? Men hate short hair.”

  A smile crept over my face for a brief moment. Barb was still Barb, and that which I used to hate I now found endearing. But that respite was brief. I took the coward’s way out and wiped off the mirror with my hand so that she could see what I saw. She gasped and her knees buckled. I held her steady as we both studied her reflection. Frail, hanging skin, patches and clumps of hair now dotting her head.

  “Oh my God! Stephanie, look
at me! Stephanie!” She covered her mouth in horror and at that moment I would have given anything to shield her from this. Sadly, there wasn’t much I could do other than comfort and support her.

  “I know, Mom, I know. You tell me when you’re ready and we’ll shave it and then go wig shopping.”

  “That’s easy for you to say! You’re not the one who looks like this!” she stuck her finger at the mirror. “How dare you be so cavalier about this! Get out! Out!” Barb’s voice shook with emotion.

  My mom rarely yelled, and I knew she wasn’t yelling at me, not really. I knew she wanted to blame someone, anyone for what was happening to her. I just happened to be there. As much as I wanted to give her the privacy she deserved, I wasn’t sure she wouldn’t fall and crack her head open on the tile floor. So I wrapped the towel tightly around her and held her as her frail body started shaking and the crying finally started. Over the last couple months since her diagnosis, she had teared up, but so far, she hadn’t really cried. Between the two of us, I was the cry-baby. I choked up at sad love songs, commercials, emotional stories I heard on NPR. She would always marvel how tough I was on the outside, but how easily I could get misty over the sappiest things. She, on the other hand, was so soft on the outside, so weak, yet she never cried the way I did.

  We stood for a long time like that, me hugging her towel-wrapped body as she shook and sobbed while I cooed and whispered that I loved her. When she finally stopped shaking and crying, she put a tentative hand to her head, running her fingers through the hair that was there. She stared in horror as she looked at the sheer amount of hair that came off in her hand. With teary eyes she looked at me and nodded.

  I smiled softly. “You’re going to look great, mom. You have a perfectly shaped head and big eyes, you’ll be more beautiful than ever.”

  “I have pancreatic cancer, Stephanie, not a brain tumor!” She deadpanned.

  “I’m serious. You’ll see!”