by Fiona Keane
“I’m afraid too,” he mumbled into her hair. Lizzie climbed from the couch, pulling my arms along with her. I securely held myself, frozen in limbo and not sure what to say and how it should be said. I remained in the middle of the room while Lizzie threw her arms around Sean and Ella.
“Guys,” Sean’s plea was accompanied by his sweet laughter, “let me go. Please?”
Lizzie looked up at him, her face plastered in a hopeful smile. “The world needs your stupid, hot self.” Sean kissed her forehead in response and gently removed Ella’s grasp. Lizzie followed a sobbing Ella down the hall to Jesse’s room, leaving me in the living room. With Sean.
“Avery.” Sean nodded at me, a somber, desolate look on his face.
“Sean,” I mumbled.
He walked in the direction of Lizzie and Ella, and I could hear his bedroom door open. I turned around in the living room, tapping my fingers along my upper arms as I held myself, looking out the window. I wanted to leave, but everyone was here. I waited for someone or something, but nothing happened, so I went in search for myself.
“Where are you going?” I demanded, leaning against the doorframe of Sean’s meticulous bedroom. He was moving back and forth, fluidly and effortlessly, packing the suitcase on his bed. He was stuffing jeans inside when he answered me.
“My brother’s.”
“Miami.” He was mute to my reply. “For how long?”
“As long as it takes for my heart to catch up with my brain,” he exhaled, his eyes closing tightly, “or something like that.”
“Something like that,” I repeated, a new longing lacing my breath. “I wish you’d stay.”
“Do you?” he asked dryly, as if waiting for me to prove something to him. He knew well enough that I, and our other friends, wanted him to stay in Madison. We wanted him to start the process of saving his life, but he seemed too eager to run and hide from reality. He was too afraid to admit there even was a problem; that’s why he waited for liquid courage to tell me he was sick.
“Do you need me to ask you to stay, Sean? Is that what this is about?”
His stubborn silence filled me with unease as he continued packing his suitcase, grabbing clothes, and moving on to his toiletry bag. I watched, afraid and unsure of what to say, feeling perturbed and guilty as he floated around his perfect room in his perfect form. It isn’t perfect anymore. He’s sick. It wasn’t a game.
I entered his room, closing the door behind me. I walked toward Sean’s bed and sat next to the suitcase, twisting my fingers as he disregarded my presence.
“Please stay,” I pleaded in a whisper. Sean acted as though I wasn’t there but had somehow been responsible for his silence. When he returned to his suitcase, I reached for his arm, only able to grab the sleeve of his shirt as he tried to turn away. His green eyes burned as he glowered against mine.
“Sean!” I begged for him to pause, to think, but he glared at me. I tried to think this was the disease, his feelings and frustrations about its implications and not me, but when my skin trembled beneath his imposing stare, I felt something else…it was about me, and him.
Sean never looked at me the way he did in that very moment, ominously and perplexing, green eyes darkening with emotions reserved for someone else. He showed me a similar expression in Lizzie’s kitchen the other day, but there wasn’t the heat I felt in that moment, the paralyzing wave of emotion rippling from his skin into my soul.
Unable to tear my gaze from his, my hand melted against his sleeve and arm, and I realized I clung to his sleeve with a hopeless grasp. My knuckles grazed the skin of his powerful, toned arm still tanned from Miami. I broke from his stare, glancing at my hand and quickly releasing it. The room started to hum a silent growl that was perpetuated by my heart thumping into my ears. I dropped my head, feeling my words were useless, and studied the floor while hoping Sean would walk away so I could leave and spare the embarrassment of my inadequacy.
The loud crash of his suitcase landing on the floor distracted my stupor, but I felt his heart beat against mine before he even moved. Sean’s fingers knotted in my hair as his hands clutched my face, my mouth parting to meet his as we crashed onto his bed. I wanted this moment so desperately, for so long, that my body took over for my conflicted emotions and let Sean control everything.
He pulled back from me only to take off his shirt, tossing the thin fabric elsewhere in his room. Sean’s mouth met mine with need, a desperation for us both to surrender. His skin was heated as my hands greedily roamed along his abs, stopping only to hold his face.
“Sean,” I whispered, receiving the sparkle of emerald in reply. He breathed my name against my skin as his lips trailed along my throat, stopping above my collarbone. Sean’s right hand held my face as his left reached for my right thigh, his fingertips grazing along the trail of torture back up to my ribs, where his hand spread its possession around me.
“Do you want this?” he snarled into my mouth, lifting the hem of my dress over my thigh. The fabric pooled above my hips, and I forgot how to breathe. This was Sean, this was what I always wanted, but not like this. Yes, exactly like this. My gaze flicked between his eyes, the dark green burning with desire. I wiggled from beneath him to kneel on the bed, looking at him once more. This time, I consumed him. He didn’t look sick. I couldn’t imagine how he could be. Shirtless, tousled hair, stubble breaking from his wide grin.
“Yes,” I replied, not recognizing my voice between our pounding hearts. Sean’s hands secured around my hips, tugging me closer. I fell forward, crashing onto his chest, reveling in the warmth of his skin against my cheek. I didn’t know how much time we had, in life or in that moment. I knew there was one zipper on his jeans and one zipper on my dress. I could count that; it was easy. Pulling off my dress and dropping it onto his shirt was not. I felt vulnerable…until Sean’s fingers pierced my skin in their ascent to my shoulders, where he pulled me back against him. His fingers once more twisted and knotted in my hair, his tongue probed along my lips in our hushed demand for intimacy.
With Sean’s hands caressing my face, kneading my scalp, and gliding over my curves, I had no words. Neither of us did, and I wondered if it was because we weren’t really alone. Everyone was still there, on the other side of his door, but the world was right there for me, and its clock ticked.
A shiver rippled over my skin as his fingertips glided along my arms while I moved back from him, helping Sean out of his pants. His legs separated, making way for me to burrow between his muscular thighs as his hands once more found my face. I felt the warm air of his breath against my ear and throat, the sound of his deepening gasps filling me with need and sadness. His lungs held his disease, and thinking of how he spent his tortured breath on me, I fell apart beneath him. His hold tightened as he turned me to be beneath him, studying my eyes before his nose nuzzled mine softly while I was caged between his muscular arms and beneath his naked body.
I knotted my hands into his thick, messy hair, holding it in my fists. A low moan vibrated from Sean’s throat as his face glided along my stomach, his warm mouth trailing kisses against my skin. He rolled away, reaching beneath his bed while pressing his weight against me. He was out of breath when his mouth met my ear, a quiet plea in my name trickling from his lips as the outline of his shoulder above me was replaced with a flashing bright light. I pierced the skin of his lower back as he moved, clawing my nails up his back and down his arms until I wrapped my hands around his forearms. His muscles were tight, balancing his weight against me, and I closed my eyes to memorize the feeling of it.
It was difficult to keep quiet because I felt each cell in my body explode, demanding I scream for their release with Sean’s name. But the silence made it so much more real, more primal, and the sweat trickling between our rocking bodies was just the beginning. His muffled groan of my name into my shoulder weakened my resolve. His teeth against my throat as I slammed further toward his headboard fueled my body, filling it with an insatiable need for him.
His heartbeat pounded against my chest, my name hissing through his clenched teeth, and all I could think about was how imperfectly perfect it felt to fall apart together.
I woke to the hushed sound of my buzzing phone stuffed in the pocket of my dress, which dangled over the small white chair in Sean’s room. I scoured the darkness, reaching out for him, hoping I could return to my dream. We’d been knotted in each other’s limbs, a mess of heat and body, but my hand now fell flat against his crisply made side of the bed. I sluggishly sat, realizing I was left alone. My phone continued to buzz, but I couldn’t move. I was expended, entirely wasted, exploited, and tattered. I was just a bandage, used momentarily and selfishly for someone’s benefit and tossed into the trash only to be forgotten. I could never speak of this. Ever.
Chapter Eight
Time moved forward for me, except in my most recent work meeting. I glanced between Lindsay and the clock in our conference room. She had lectured us for ninety minutes. Ninety minutes of my life I was not getting back, repeating the same thought in infinite synonyms, as if we were incapable of understanding with her initial attempt eighty-nine minutes ago. The waistband of my nylons pressed too tightly into my skin while we received Lindsay’s lecture. It was safe to assume the appeasing smile on my face was fake and under my wool shift-dress I was a massive ball of discomfort.
“And let’s not forget that the districts are expecting these changes by the end of January, so that leaves little time for us to get our proposal through the Department,” Lindsay continued. “That being said, we have a new project. Avery and Andrew have been nominated to attend the December convention with me in Florida.” What? Florida? No. Crap.
“Wow,” Andrew’s posture straightened, “that’s an amazing opportunity. Thank you, Lindsay.” He can take my ticket too. I’m not going to Florida.
“Where exactly in Florida is it this year?” Cooper questioned, his blue eyes glancing curiously over the bifocals gracing his narrow nose. Let me guess.
“The University of Miami is hosting it this year. I think they’ll have presenters from South Carolina, Montana, New York…the list goes on.” Lindsay tapped her chin as she recalled details of the convention. “It’s only two days, so don’t pack your swimming suits.” I politely laughed at her comment. You won’t find me anywhere on a beach in Miami. Too many billboards. Once our meeting finished, Andrew and I quickly discussed a project he was completing for Cooper. Stephanie was the last out of the conference room, her cheeks blushing as she approached Andrew and me.
“Hi,” she giggled to Andrew. “I really like what you said about the reading program in there.” I looked up from Andrew and observed Stephanie’s flirting. Eye roll. When the day was done, I ran to catch my bus on University Avenue. It was crowded, filled to the seams with people heading home, and with nowhere for me to sit. I sullenly waited for the next twenty minutes to pass as I clung to the safety bar.
The walk from the bus stop to my building was frigid, and I quickly started making a warm meal once inside. The stovetop sizzled when water danced over the pot, distracting me from my stupor. I zoned out, sitting on the windowsill in my kitchen, tapping my phone against my chin. I considered calling Declan after such a monotonous day of work, but I felt so lethargic that I didn’t want to leave home…and I didn’t want to see anyone. Declan and I never established monogamy, and we’d only been on a few dates. I wasn’t sure if I could, or should, call him.
The glacial December breeze was refreshing with its icy ventilation against the uncontrollable radiator lining the wall opposite my bed. It woke me enough to slide toward the stove and break my egg noodles over the boiling water. I ate the bland soup in my chair with the hissing radiator as my evening companion.
***
Our dysfunctional dinner was rescheduled from last Sunday to Wednesday due to a conflict in Lizzie’s personal life requiring her to be out of town the entire weekend. I was glad dinner would be at The Tavern, where I could indulge in warm, comforting food of no nutritional value and then leave when I felt my stomach could take no more. Lizzie was the last to join us for dinner, her black knit cap covered in melting flakes of snow.
“I’m getting out of here,” she reminded us. I smiled and nodded, not wishing to poke the bear that was Lizzie’s unenthusiastic attitude. She climbed in the booth next to me, clinging to my warmth. I rested my head on her shoulder as a quick greeting before returning my attention to Ella. The latest in her adventure to terrorize her boss at the Children’s Theater involved a suspicious plot to misplace all of the staplers and correction fluid. In all, it was an unproductive afternoon supporting the artistic development of local children. Jesse returned to our table with an unnecessarily large tray and began handing out slices of gooey and poisonously delicious pizza. He looked adorable in his green striped suspenders latched to his green trousers. Clearly he’d changed since work, as this was a far different look from his suits and ties.
“Get this,” Ella squealed. “Ave’s going to Miami for two days.”
“No way. You know what’s in Miami, don’t you?” Lizzie snickered, reaching for the glass of water at her place setting.
“Tanned bastards.” I took a bite out of the most delicious slice of pizza as it oozed oil down my hand. Jesse tossed some napkins in my direction, his mouth and arm also drooling with pizza.
“What’s this?” he asked, resuming his place in our dialogue. I rolled my eyes, willing Ella and Lizzie not to mention Miami.
“I’m going away in a few weeks to Florida for a conference.”
“The reading one?” Jesse clarified, nodding in acknowledgement.
“When is it? Do you have enough time to get into a bikini?” Lizzie teased.
Considering I was mid-bite into my slice of pizza, I replied, “Not on the top of my list.”
“Speaking of Florida,” Ella’s eyes flickered to Jesse, full of hope, “have you heard from Sean?”
“We video messaged earlier in the week. He’s spending every day on the beach, drinking daiquiris and watching the babes.”
“I want a trust fund,” Ella grumbled and pretended to pout. “Must be nice.”
“Deep down, Ella, you love your job. You wouldn’t quit if the lottery came knocking,” I attempted to reassure her. She scoffed, rolling her eyes at me.
“I’d take the money and run.” She giggled. Lizzie reached for another slice of pizza, violently shaking out the bottle of crushed red pepper to create an additional layer on the crust.
“How did he look?” I inquired, thinking of his illness, and the night we spent together, but I flushed when all eyes fell on me. Even Lizzie stopped chewing for a few seconds.
“I mean,” I corrected, hoping to save face, “was he all tan and Sean?” Jesse snickered in agreement while nodding at me.
Throughout the rest of our meal, I felt nervous about going to Florida. Of all the places I could go to bump into Sean after the last night we spent together, it was not on the beach in Miami where he was residing in a personal exile. It puzzled me. If he was sick, why did he disappear? Shouldn’t he be in a hospital somewhere? Shouldn’t he be getting chemotherapy or having surgery? I was nauseous. Was it pointless to attempt anything because he was already so sick? Was it too late? I want to see him. No, I don’t. Yes, I do. He was killing me, and I couldn’t be there to help fight what was actually killing him.
***
After a day of traveling on the bus to Chicago for my nonstop flight to Miami, I was thankful to not be on the same flight as Andrew and Lindsay so I could pretend for at least five hours that I was on a solo vacation, traveling somewhere delightfully exotic where I would lay on the beach and escape the harsh Wisconsin winter. Hardly. In just a few hours, I would be crammed in an overly air-conditioned convention hall with my coworkers and hundreds of educators from around the country.
That was essentially it, and I struggled to get into any of it with my heart left across the country. I made polite conversation with
people at our table from California and Massachusetts. I hate polite conversation. I tried to focus on the speakers as we rotated through venues and discussions, but my mind blurred when exposed to all things work.
My hotel room was across the street from South Beach, where I knew I most certainly would not acclimate considering my already pale skin was near transparent with the gray winter. Our conference sessions ended for the day at half past five, and Lindsay wanted to take Andrew and me for a celebratory dinner, acknowledging our efforts and, off the clock, enjoying some tropical libations. We met at a hotel on the corner of Tenth Street and Ocean Drive, tucked inside a three-story hotel decorated in vintage art-deco style.
Lindsay engaged us in conversation that revolved around the conference, but on her third strawberry daiquiri she began opening up about some gossip. Apparently Cooper was having an affair with one of the other analysts in addition to the woman who previously held Lindsay’s job. As she sloppily discussed the rumor mill, I thought of Stephanie’s constant flirtation with Andrew.
It was my boss’s fourth daiquiri that brought our love lives into question, and I wasn’t entirely sure how to respond.
“Are you seeing anyone?” That’s a little forward, but okay…
“Sort of,” I blurted, trying to get her off my back. Andrew smiled, perhaps relieved we could wrap up this exchange soon.
“He brought you dinner. Right? He seemed really nice.” Andrew rested his arm on top of our booth seat, smiling at me. I nodded, feeling a little guilty about not having spoken to Declan much lately, and everything else regarding the mess of my life back home. I wonder what Declan would look like on the beach. I hated the beach, though, too many tanned jerks with their perfect bodies.
We ended the evening with one final round and the promise of a headache the following morning. Returning to my hotel room kept me going through the night. I opened the balcony door, welcoming the rush of muggy air that greeted me as I stepped out of the air conditioning. It didn’t seem right to know home was covered in a foot of snow while I was wearing a tank top, gazing at the Atlantic Ocean.
