Edison

by Jessica Gadziala

  What spectacle would be made of her life?

  How would I have gotten food and fluids into me without someone making me choke them down?

  Would I have fallen into a bottle?

  Would I have understood the hopelessness that would make me romanticize the idea of a swan dive like my sister had?

  Would I have followed her into the dark?

  As much as my stubborn, hard ass wanted to say I would never be that weak, I also knew that there was no pain like I had felt since her passing.

  Left alone with no one to give a shit, hell, maybe the end to grief would have been a lot more tempting than living on.

  "You don't have to thank me. I told you I would be there for you when you needed me, love. That was what I was doing, being there for you. There's nothing to thank me for. This was right where I wanted to be."

  There it was again.

  That tightening, warm feeling in my chest.

  It was almost like a pulling.

  Like a chain dragging me closer to him.

  Ugh.

  How cheesy was that?

  What was wrong with me?

  That wasn't me. I wasn't that sentimental, sappy chick.

  He was a good guy.

  He had been good to me.

  No need to go all fucking Bronte on him.

  "Since you're hungry, and your culinary skills seem limited to adding water and spice packets to instant noodles," Edison said, pulling back to smile down at me, like he found my lack of cooking skills charming, "how about I make you some food, then we go from there?"

  "So long as it isn't that crap you forced in me yesterday," I agreed, curling my lip.

  He chuckled at that. "That crap was what my mother used to force in me when I was sick for prolonged periods of time. Full of vitamins and all that disgusting stuff. You've been living on bread. I wanted to get something else in you."

  "Cabbage is never necessary," I insisted, pulling back to reach for my coffee.

  "Take to bed for a week again, and it will be," he warned as he turned to unpack his bag.

  I watched him as he moved confidently around my kitchen, realizing with a detached kind of amusement that he had actually rearranged my cabinets, not quite able to make my mind comprehend what he had just so casually said.

  If I took to the bed for a week again.

  Like he expected to be around to see if that happened.

  Like if it did happen, he would be there to force disgusting cabbage soup into me.

  Why?

  Yeah, that was a good question.

  I didn't have an answer to it either.

  Who the hell, when they could have their pick of any woman, would choose someone as prickly as me?

  A crazy person, that's who.

  But a little voice was saying that maybe, just maybe, his kind of crazy was exactly the kind I needed.

  "What's up, Lenny?" he asked, back to me.

  "Just... trying to catch up with my thoughts," I confessed.

  "Such as?"

  "Such as I vaguely remember telling my mother that I hoped she died alone."

  There was a pause. "You did say that. And more."

  I nodded even though he wasn't looking. "I meant every word."

  He looked over his shoulder at me. "I know you did."

  My lips curled up into a smirk even though the last thing in the world I felt like doing when I said this was smiling. "Does that make you think less of me?"

  "Because you rightfully hate your mother? No, Lenny. I think she earned every word of your little speech. And I think she will quickly forget you ever said any of it. She seems about as self-realized as a fucking goldfish."

  "Don't insult goldfish," I demanded, making him turn back again, giving me a smile.

  "It's nice seeing you be you again," he told me, and the sincerity in his words almost made me feel the need to walk over to him, and throw my arms around him.

  Almost. I managed to keep that bizarre as fuck urge between me and my clearly fucked up little brain.

  "Well, I, ah," - Was stammering? What the fuck was wrong with me? "I'm glad to not be a pathetic sack anymore too," I said, attempting levity, but it was clear Edison didn't care for my choice of words.

  He put down the potato he was holding, then moved across the kitchen toward where I was leaning against my couch, snagging my chin. "You are not a pathetic sack. You know how I know that?" he asked, waiting for me to shake my head which was all I could manage with his eyes so intense on me. "Because you could never be pathetic, Lenny. You went through some shit. You let yourself fucking feel it for a change. There's nothing pathetic about that. Got it?"

  It wasn't rhetorical.

  He wanted an answer from me.

  "I got it," I agreed, feeling my belly do a little flip-flop thing that was both exciting and somehow scary at the same time. Like the drop you get from the first downward pitch of a rollercoaster.

  Hell, maybe that was what was happening.

  I was in a cart that had been inching its way up a track for so long, maybe without realizing just how high up I was getting, and this was the moment I realized where this was leading, what was happening, I was flying into it with nothing to do to slow me down, to stop me.

  Falling.

  How was that even possible?

  Me.

  Cold, shriveled-hearted me.

  There shouldn't have been room enough for that.

  Hell, with Letha's passing, there shouldn't have been anything left. She was all that ever resided in my chest, in that thing called a heart. She was it. Ever.

  No one had even come close to getting in there.

  It should have gone in the ground with her.

  It shouldn't still be in my chest, beating away, reaching out for someone else.

  Maybe it was just the grief, just the gratitude for not having to go through it alone.

  Maybe it had nothing to do with anything, just a trick of the brain.

  Or, at least, as he moved away from me to fix me food, I was hoping that was all it was.

  But then we ate, and he told me that he had smoothed things over with Meryl so that whenever I was ready, I could go back.

  Given my soon-to-be negative bank account, yeah, that was going to be like tomorrow. No matter what place I was in mentally and emotionally. It wouldn't help things to be out on the street.

  "And I need to call the funeral home," I added, telling him my to-do list because he insisted on seeing if there was anything he could take off my plate. Even with how much he had already done. I didn't actually think one single person could be quite so giving.

  It was weird, quite frankly.

  "Why?"

  "I don't think I even gave them my address to send a bill."

  "Don't worry about the funeral home," he said, voice abnormally guarded.

  "What do you mean, don't worry about the funeral home? They need to get paid, Edison. I really don't need them sending me to collections."

  "It won't go to collections."

  "Of course it will. If I don't pay."

  "It's already paid."

  "It couldn't be. I didn't..."

  And then it hit me.

  And fuck no.

  I mean, it was sweet and everything.

  Too sweet.

  But no.

  I always made my own way.

  I always took care of myself.

  And I damn sure didn't want Edison thinking that I needed things from him financially.

  If there was one way to kill a budding... whatever we were, that was it.

  "What?" I hissed, shaking my head, not quite sure he meant exactly what he said. I mean, did he just put a deposit down for me so I could work it out when I was in my right mind? That would be, well, okay. I would pay him back for it. But it was a nice gesture. I was clearly not functioning enough to remember things like payment plans.

  He couldn't have meant he paid for it paid for it.

  Funerals ran, what? Six to
eight grand?

  No way.

  "I don't want to hear anything about it," he told me, his body going tense. "It's done. It's handled. We're moving past it."

  So, yeah, that wasn't deposit talk.

  That was I paid for the whole thing, and I don't want you to get your feathers ruffled about it talk.

  "Edison, no," I said, shaking my head. "I mean, that is incredibly sweet of you, but no. I will go and see about a payment plan, and have them give you a refund or something."

  They wouldn't like that, but that was too fucking bad. I mean, how can they expect you to figure shit like that out when you were just days into losing someone who might have meant the world to you?

  "We're not talking about this," he growled at me, getting up to walk away.

  "Um, don't fucking growl at me, Edison," I demanded, making him turn back to me, face blank, everything about him saying to let it drop. But me, well, when did I ever listen? "What? You think because you get all growly and go all stubborn biker at me that you are going to get your way? Sorry, buddy, but I'm not one of those girls."

  "Buddy?" he asked, lips twitching. "And what girls?"

  I had a feeling he was purposely trying to lead me away from my main point, but I blindly followed him anyway.

  "Those girls. The chicks who bow and kowtow just because your fucking voice is deeper. No. We're talking about this. Because this isn't going to work for me."

  "It's already done."

  Christ, he was a pain in the ass.

  I guess this was what it was like to deal with me.

  Taste of my own medicine, in a way.

  "Fine. Then I will pay you back."

  "No."

  "This isn't a discussion," I told him, crossing my arms.

  "It's a discussion until you give in."

  "Then I'm afraid we will be talking until the end of time."

  "Lenny, give it the fuck up."

  "Edison, stop being so ridiculous," I countered, lifting my chin.

  "I have the money."

  "That changes nothing. It doesn't mean that you should be covering my bills. And this isn't a bill. This was funeral costs. For my sister. This is not your responsibility. You don't go around dropping more than five-thousand dollars on someone you barely know."

  "Barely know?" his voice cracked across the silence in my apartment. I had a feeling just then that I had finally done it; I had finally pushed the wrong button.

  He moved across the room toward me, not stopping until our toes were almost touching, making me need to turn my head up to keep eye-contact.

  "I know what you're like in your day-to-day life, how you throw that attitude around. Sometimes to people who deserve it, like the fucks at your work. But sometimes just because you like getting a rise out of people. I've seen your determination and your focus at the gym. I've seen you drunk and flirtatious. I've seen you tipsy and chilling with my brothers. I've seen you have a sass contest with Adler. I've seen your eyes dance at the idea of getting to educate me about cereal. I've seen you pissed and wary when I got under your guards. I've seen you completely lose yourself in grief."

  Okay. He did sort of have a good argument there. He had seen a lot in a short time.

  "I know what it feels like to have your tears soak my shirt, what it is like to force food between your lips. I know the feel of you against me when I needed to drag you into the shower and wash your hair and body. I know what your bad dreams sound like. I know what your shit mother did to you and Letha growing up. I know how much she meant to you. I know all of this is falling on deaf ears because every piece of shit man who has crossed your path in your life has only succeeded in bolstering your idea that men can not be trusted or depended on, that you are better off without them."

  Ugh.

  He saw so much.

  Too much.

  No one should have been able to see all those parts of me.

  "I fucking know you, Lenny. I know the bad. And it doesn't scare me. It doesn't even register as a blip on my fucking radar. And I damn sure know the good as well. And the good, love? The good is too fucking good. The way you look at me sometimes - not often, and I know you don't even realize it - with wonder, like I am something that shouldn't exist. And when I get to see one of those smiles. You know, the real ones. The ones that meet your eyes. The ones I only ever get to see."

  His arm slid around my back, pulling my body flush with his.

  "And I know what it is like to be inside you, to feel your body under mine, to hear you cry out my name when you come..."

  Suddenly, charging back from the dam that grief had kept it behind, my desire flooded my system all at once, almost overwhelming in its intensity, stealing my breath, making my legs feel weak, and my breasts get heavy.

  It must have been there in my eyes, because then it was right there in his as well before his lips sealed over mine. Seared into mine.

  Trapped in my misery, time had moved differently for me.

  But it had been so long considering he hardly ever left my side. No two people who recently started... something went almost a week without fucking when they were beside each other twenty-four-seven. But our bodies felt the void, were desperate to fill it.

  My hands raked over him hungrily, yanking at his tee until he lifted his arm so I could free it and expose his skin to my needy fingers.

  His hands were just as desperate, not even a hint of gentleness in their touch, sliding down my back to sink into my ass, squeezing hard, then lifting me upward, coaxing my legs around him.

  My back slammed against a wall with a whack, making me moan, his hand going behind my neck to yank at my hair, making me let out a groan of approval, loving his loss of control.

  His cock was hard against the material of his jeans, and my hips dropped to position him where I needed the friction most, grinding against him, shameless, as my hands went up his back to snag the band holding his hair, working it free so the soft strands fell down his shoulders, begging for my hands to sink in.

  Edison's hips slammed forward, his cock hitting my clit hard. He pinned me to the wall with his hips, reaching down to snag my tee, dragging it upward roughly, tossing it to the side.

  There wasn't even a pause before his hands were covering my breasts, rolling and twisting my nipples into even tighter buds, only then ducking his head to take them into his mouth in turns, sucking, nipping, making me completely mindless with need for more, for it all, for that beautiful oblivion I knew he could give me.

  My hips thrust outward slightly, putting a few inches of space between us, allowing my hands to reach for his button and zip, working them out, then forcing my weighted limbs to unwrap. My feet met the cold floor as my hands yanked the material down his legs with an impatient moaning growl noise I didn't know I was capable of until right that moment.

  Edison grabbed the material before it fell, fishing out his wallet, grabbing a condom, then tossing the billfold away, letting the pants and boxer briefs fall to his ankles as he reached down to stroke his cock twice.

  My greedy eyes followed, and I felt my lips part, wanting to close around the head and suck him deep, wanting to hear the rumbling noise he would make when I did.

  "No," he said, slipping on the condom then reaching for my waistbands to my pants and panties. "I need to fuck you," he explained, yanking down the material until it fell, discarded as his own. I stepped out of the material just a second before his fingers slid up my slick slit, circling my clit before moving downward, and thrusting two fingers deep inside me.

  A gasping moan escaped my lips as my hips rocked against him, sliding my pussy across his palm.

  His palm curled, pressing against my clit, even as his other hand grabbed my hip, forcibly turning me, pressing me against the wall as his fingers continued to fuck me, make sure I was ready.

  Because we both knew there would be nothing slow, sweet, or loving about this.

  He was going to fuck me.

  Rough.

  Hard.r />
  Unrestrained.

  Even as the thoughts formed and my ass pressed out toward him, his fingers slid out of me, grabbed his cock, and pressed it into place at the entrance to my pussy.

  Then, one hand on my hip, the other moving up to grab a handful of my hair, he slammed forward, claiming me to the hilt with one thrust.

  There was no time to adjust to the invasion, his size.

  There was just accepting.

  Just taking.

  Just enjoying the savage way his cock claimed me, taking every inch of me with each thrust forward, his hands holding me captive so I couldn't move as his pace got harder, faster.

  My whimpers became ragged moans that hurt the back of my throat as the sounds of his body slamming into mine met it, making it clear to everyone in the goddamn building that Edison was making me his in every way possible as his hands released me, one going around me to stroke over my clit as his grumbling growl in his chest told me he was getting close.

  The other moved to my ass, slapping it hard once before I felt the fingers sliding inward, his thumb circling me for a second before pressing inside, claiming me fully.

  It was seconds after that, my body starved for release for too long, his fingers expertly demanding a triple zone orgasm that made the world go black for a second as my voice got strangled in my throat with the first overwhelming pulsation of release.

  It came back on a scream of his name as the waves crashed, hard, fast, unrelenting, seeming to go on forever as Edison kept fucking my pussy, my ass, as his finger kept working my clit, dragging it out, milking it for all it was worth before slamming so hard forward that my entire front smashed against the wall, my name growling from deep in his chest as he finally let go.

  As I fought for my breath, for pieces of my brain to come back together, pinned to the wall by his body, I realized he needed it as much as I did.

  The release.

  I might have been the one who had been grieving.

  But he had been the one right beside me through it, handling all the things I couldn't - or wouldn't - handle myself, worrying about me, comforting me.

  It had to have taken a toll on him as well.

  Because he had fucked me roughly before.

  But nothing like this.

  This was him losing every bit of control he normally possessed over himself.