Maggie's Five ...the first in a LOVE story

by Sandra Fitzgerald

  He rips the packet open with his teeth and hands me the contents, dropping the package to the ground as he returns his strong grip to my backside.

  “Hurry sweetheart, I need to fuck you now.” His breaths hiss through clenched teeth as I roll the rubber over his hard cock.

  The next thing I know, he’s inside me, slamming his length into me as deeply as he can go, shifting my hips for better access. He takes all he can get over and over until he releases a growl, jerking with so much force that my head hits the brickwork painfully. One, two thrusts and he freezes; one more and he’s done with a choked cry of pleasure.

  And I’m left… stunned.

  With all the build-up and anticipation I thought it was going to be amazing, but… I don’t know, I’m left wanting and needing. I reach my hand between our stomachs to rub over myself, to find my climax.

  Red lowers me to the ground, slapping my hand away. “We’re done. Fix yourself up.”

  My buzz is burning to suffocation and I want to leave and stay, be held and pushed away. I want to cry and laugh and scream and breathe and breathe… I want to be home, on my own and be done with Red and the liquor, the pubs, the pot and pills and confusion and lies and people and… and... and me.

  My chest starts to heave. I can’t inhale.

  My throat’s contracting, compressing my every attempt for air. My head’s becoming light and my vision is blurring.

  Red takes my arm and drags me towards the club. I can’t find my feet though, and I stumble to my knees, gasping for oxygen, my eyes filling with tear,; my heart-rate in frenzy as panic sets in. My stomach churns and I heave painfully once, then again, vomiting over the concrete and my hands. Lost in my dizzying fog, I vaguely perceive voices passing me by, mixed with Red’s anger.

  Rough arms lift me and set me on shaking legs. A hand slaps my face, causing me to stumble sideways and scrape my bare shoulder on the nearby wall.

  “For fuck sake Maggie, snap out of it.”

  I’m trying… I’m tryin... drawing rasping useless gasps. I can’t focus, can’t see through my open eyes.

  I’m shaken so violently, my head lolls uncontrollably. “Fucking hell. Get in a fucking taxi. We’re done.”

  “You’re done with me?” I whisper holding onto the cold wall and watching his foggy silhouette stride away.

  I absently wipe the back of my hand over my mouth to clean away the bile dripping to my chest, then sluggishly stagger towards the end of the street in search of a taxi, waving off a group of women when they approach asking if I need help.

  He’s leaving too.

  three

  Chapter 9

  I’M WONDERFULLY warm and surprisingly comfortable. Strong arms hold me tight with a hand secure over my waist, the other in my hair tethering me to a muscular chest. But it’s the smell that has me rousing. Inhaling, I bury my face into the soft cotton shirt. This scent right here, I could wrap myself up in it for the rest of my life. It’s masculine, woodsy and comforting and all things safe. It’s Brendan, my Brendan, but better. Brendan mixed with... mixed with…

  My eyes fly open as I dart upright. “LUKE,” I shriek, shuffling away from his hold.

  “Shit. What, what is it?” Luke leaps out of the bed, darting for the door, slowing when he reaches the hall, looking left and right for the cause of alarm.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I yell flabbergasted from the bed, trying to ignore the pounding in my brain.

  He looks confused. “Maggie Mae?” he mumbles, still half asleep, running his hands through his blonde hair. It’s longer, so he pushes messy strands behind his ears. It looks good on him. He looks good. I want to hate him for that, but can’t seem to.

  He’s dressed in a pair of cotton boxer shorts and a loose fitting t-shirt. Both are articles of clothing I’ve never seen before, so why do I smell Brendan? My eyes close and chin drops. When I breathe Brendan in, my heavy lids open and widen in horror or surprise or longing. I’m not sure, maybe all three.

  I’m wearing Brendan’s Rolling Stones Vintage Tongue t-shirt - one of the many things of his I threw in my rage, and am now grateful I didn’t manage to ruin. Brendan loved the Rolling Stones. After all, ‘Who doesn’t like a little Jagger action?’ Brendan’s words, not mine. But he’s right, who doesn’t?

  “When did you get here?” I ask, rubbing my hands over my face and probably smearing what’s left of last night’s makeup. And how did I end up wearing my dead husband’s clothes?

  Lying back down and pulling me gently over his chest, Luke sighs tiredly. “Late - early. Stupid o’clock, I think.”

  “Stupid o’clock?” I repeat to hear him chuckle at my query.

  Remember I don’t need him, I don’t need him, I don’t need him, I chant silently. He’ll give me hope then take it all away. I don’t want to need him, I don’t... but God I’ve missed him, really missed him. Far more than I realised until now.

  “How did you get in?” I ask cautiously, feeling my stubborn resolve crumbling in a not so stubborn manner. Clearly something I’ll have to work on around Luke.

  “You left the door open. Not just unlocked, I mean wide open.” Shit, I don’t remember anything after getting into the taxi. “And you we’re kind of… sprawled out on the floor...” Luke isn’t speaking at me, nor using an accusing tone. He is simply stating facts in his sleepy voice.

  I’m ashamed and embarrassed at being caught out and don’t know what to say, so I say nothing. After a brief silence, he continues, “You were covered in um... you had some... I had to change you and that’s the first thing I found,” he says, fingering the gathered fabric resting on my stomach. “I didn’t think you would like waking up in my clothes.” I feel him shrug under me. I’m still wearing my bra and underwear so know he didn’t try to get me to shower or see more of me naked than necessary, which I’m glad for. I look a little knocked around at the moment.

  “I went out and must have had a little too much, I guess.”

  “Hey, it’s okay Maggie, I understand. After I lost-” Luke cuts off abruptly, huffing out once. “I get it. I understand.”

  After he lost what? I want to ask him more but am too afraid of the answers he may give.

  I try to roll away from him because I’m still dirty from last night, dirty from Red’s touch, dirty from my own hand. Luke’s hold tightens, pressing me into him - and I can’t help but soak up his warmth no matter how wrong I know it is.

  Our breathing evens out in unison and the clarity of my reality weighs agonizingly in my heart. He’s here but can leave me, will leave me again no matter how much I want him to stay. I’m selfish. Being petrified of what’s outside in the tangible world can have that effect though, when you’re completely alone.

  “I’m mad with you, Luke,” I say, surprising myself, unsure where my statement came from.

  He turns us so we’re both on our sides, facing each other. “Are you?” His brows cross, giving me his undivided attention. “Why?”

  Before I can answer, my eyes fill with thick tears and a sob escapes from deep in my chest.

  “Hey Maggie Mae, I’m here now. I’m back,” he whispers, wrapping me in his arms.

  “But you left… and you’ll leave. You have to. I mean you should… no, I-”

  Overwrought, I cover my face with my hands and cry. I don’t know why exactly - relief, happiness, anger, insecurity. Or is it a good old-fashioned dose of guilt because I feel like I’ve betrayed him? I’ve let Luke down with my callous actions while he’s been away. He keeps still letting me cry until I’ve cried myself out.

  After I’m quiet and he’s sure that I’m done, the bed shifts and Luke sits up, taking me with him. He steadies and crosses his legs. I copy his movement so we are both sitting Indian style, limbs touching, my gaze wavering. Holding my hands, Luke waits patiently for me to look up at him.

  “You’re angry with me?” he asks, arching a brow and pointing at his chest, suggesting that my anger is directed at the wrong person.r />
  “You left,” I whisper, ashamed with my explanation.

  “For work.”

  “But you still left, after you promised-”

  “For work, Maggie, and I came back.” Luke’s voice is still even, but firmer than it was and it prickles at my skin.

  “But you still left me,” I hear my voice raising.

  I know the illogical words are coming out of my mouth and I can’t believe I’m the one saying them but I can’t seem to stop them either. They sound pathetic and weak. I sound pathetic... weak. And frankly it pisses me off.

  “Yes Maggie.” Luke’s voice is firm now, his eyes boring into mine. “I had to leave for my job. It’s my company and I had business to attend to. That’s how life works. I go to work, I come home. People do it every day.”

  “You WENT home,” I yell, trying to break free from his hold on my hands.

  I know I’m being ridiculous, well aware that I’m over-reacting. But I can’t allow him to do this. I can’t let him give me hope that can’t possibly last.

  “I came home. I went to work.”

  “NO.” This time I struggle harder, twisting my arms until I manage to break free. Then I quickly scramble haphazardly over the messy covers on the queen mattress and scamper to the bathroom, locking the door after slamming it shut. I press my back to it, sink into a crouch and wrap my arms around my knees.

  “Maggie, yes,” Luke’s voice carries from the other side of the wall. “I came home - to you. I came home, Maggie. I will always do my best to come home.”

  Why would he? He doesn’t owe me anything and I’ve got nothing to give.

  “Brendan said he would always come home, too,” I whisper, mostly to myself. The fight in me is dwindling as rapidly as it exploded. I really suck at this whole arguing thing.

  Logic tells me that Brendan had no choice and if he did, he would have chosen to stay, for the girls to stay. Nonetheless, logic has no home in my senselessness. He still left me bereft and empty and Luke has the power to do the same.

  My grief becomes so overwhelming that I feel like I’m drowning. Brendan’s gone and will never come home. My babies… my precious, innocent babies who never got a chance at life are gone, and will never be able to come home.

  I’ll never be able to hold them in my arms. I’ll never be able to kiss their soft cheeks, hear them giggle, show them how much I was made just for them, made to love them with my all, with every molecule in my being precisely designed to be their mother. His wife.

  I drop heavily on the cool tile floor and cry my heart out, thinking of all the shameful things I did last night, of all the appalling things I’ve done and weep harder, disgusted in myself.

  I’ve eagerly taken drugs, drunk myself to oblivion and had cheap dirty sex in so many public places I’ve lost count and it sickens me. I sicken me.

  I’ve let my family down. Worse - I’ve disrespected them and their memory. I don’t deserve to have anyone. I don’t deserve anything.

  “You should leave, Luke,” I say blankly as the miniscule, tangible part of what’s left of me dissolves to dust.

  “Maggie Mae, open the door. Let me in,” Luke begs softly.

  I stand and drag my feet to the edge of the bath tub, stopping motionless as I stare at the white porcelain. Heavy arms reach to the back of my head to pull Brendan’s shirt from my body. I watch as my hands turn on taps, set the plug into place to allow the water to pool. My legs lift and carry me into the filling liquid and sit my backside on the base. My arms wrap around bent knees; my lids close, my heavy head lowers.

  And I wait.

  MY PHONE RINGING in another room rouses me from my dark musings. I reluctantly drag myself out of the tub and look at it longingly. I could spend the rest of my life in there, sink under the surface and let the blackness take over.

  Not bothering to pull the plug, I wrap a towel around my body and walk wet foot-prints through the house to my phone, to find it pressed to Luke’s ear. He immediately stops speaking when he sees me enter the kitchen.

  I simply hold out my palm and watch it until he rests my mobile on it, brushing my fingers with his before pulling away.

  Turning my back to him, I murmur, “You really should leave. I’m no good anymore.” My statement is as dull and lifeless as I feel.

  I lift my phone to my ear on my way through the living room. “Hello?”

  “Boyfriend back, sweetheart?”

  “No boyfriend.”

  “Be ready in an hour sweetheart. You’re with me,” is all Red says before the line is disconnected.

  I’m ready in forty minutes.

  Chapter 10

  I’M BARELY OUT of the taxi when I land heavily on my hands and knees, throwing up. I tend to spend a lot of time on my hands and knees, and not necessarily to vomit… though, most of my nights have a habit of ending with me splattered with rancid bile.

  I hear the front door slam and footsteps rushing closer. I can’t manage to look up just yet because I still have more to painfully expel. And I do, twice over.

  “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you Maggie Mae,” Luke murmurs, scooping up my hair with one hand and resting the other on my back.

  “Why?” I choke, then turn my head and dry heave around painfully cramping abdominals.

  “Come on, let’s get you inside… Whoa, what happened to your face?”

  As Luke tenderly cups my jaw, I have to try hard to focus firstly on the question, then secondly on my answer.

  “Red got mad at the ATM.” I cross my brows in confusion. “It stopped giving out money... and Red got mad and hit it.”

  “Then hit you?” Luke asks with a clenched jaw.

  I’m so tired I scarcely manage to shrug in response as I lower my head to the damp grass. When I’m almost all the way down, I feel my body being lifted off the wet earth and carried into the warmth of the house I sometimes exist in.

  Luke doesn’t say another word while carrying me into the downstairs bathroom, turning on the taps to fill the tub. He presses a gentle kiss to my temple above the swelling and no doubt bruising on my cheek and lowers my feet to the cool tiles.

  “Careful baby, kick your shoes off,” he suggests in his deep, caressing timbre.

  “Why are you here Luke?” I ask for the hundredth time, as I hook the point of my shoe into the back of the other, letting it drop with a clunk, then use my toes to flick the other one off.

  “I told you Maggie Mae, for when fine isn’t fine anymore. Are you still fine, Maggie?”

  I don’t know.

  “I’m fine Luke.” Am I? “How long?” My words jumble out and I have to wipe away at some saliva dripping out of the corner of my mouth.

  “How long what, Maggie?”

  “Just how long…”

  How much longer do I have deal with me, how much longer until I can be free, how much longer do I have to live? How much longer until I can die so all of it ends?

  “I’m going to help you undress now, yeah.”

  “Why?” I’m trying to stand taller to look Luke in his eyes, but am struggling to balance. I think I should care that I’ve gotten myself to the point where I can’t do for myself, I think I do or at least I will soon enough.

  “We need to get you clean-”

  “No.” My eyelids blink heavily. “Why everything?” I have to fist his t-shirt to stop from over balancing to one side.

  Taking a long deep breath, Luke sits on the edge of the bath and places me between his legs. He reaches over to test the water before adjusting the taps.

  “You help me too, Maggie,” he whispers sadly. “I don’t know why exactly, but when I’m here with you...” He lifts a shoulder once, turns off the water and searches my face. Resting his hands on my hips to keep me steady, he then begins to slide the zip down on my dress.

  “You need to start dressing warmer. You’re freezing, baby.”

  I raise my arms above my head so Luke can slip the fabric free and discard it to the floor. His long fingers t
rail down my limp arms, tracing their way to my hands, where he entwines our fingers. I’m dimly watching his expression turn from concern to anger to sorrow.

  He raises my right hand with his left, gently squeezing our tangled fingers while looking at me with wide sad eyes, like he’s waiting on me for something. He presses a gentle kiss to my third finger, drawing my attention to it. Finally, I realise what Luke’s trying to show me through his cautious actions. My heart drags heavily in my chest and then limps for a few beats before bottoming out.

  My ring is gone.

  I don’t remember when and I don’t know how, but I can see what’s before me and it’s not the ring Brendan gave me at our last ever Christmas together. Our last everything together.

  My head lowers of its own accord and finds its way to Luke’s shoulder. My eyes close and my body begs for it all to stop. I’m so emotionally stricken I can’t even manage a single tear to help elevate the intense pressure building up inside of me. I’ve managed to fail my husband on a whole new level of low. God, I’m a revolting, disgusting person and deserve nothing.

  Luke’s strong arms engulf my much smaller frame, pulling me closer. I automatically resist him, only to feel him tighten his embrace and place firmly onto his lap.

  I’m rigid for the longest time, denying all the words of comfort he repeatedly murmurs into my ear until it all gets the better of me. Everything comes all at once; every wrong I’ve done, every first that became my last. All the kisses I’ll never get, all the kisses I’ll never give… the hugs, the laughs, the cries… the arguments, the making up… the adventures, the quiet times. All of it, now all my lasts.

  Burrowing into him as deeply and securely as I can, I start sobbing gut-aching, self-loathing cries. This is why I’m so very afraid of Luke. I’m far more afraid of him than any other person I know.

  Luke has the ability to make me feel. All the blame and self-hate, the loss. All I’ve worked so hard to numb in my horrid reality, Luke can bring forth and kill me with it all over again.