by Portia Gray
"Arielle, you're going to get through—"
"I'm not going to kick this because I'm not strong enough. I'm not special enough to have that happen for me. And everyone hoping that I get better is…going to be horribly disappointed, even if it is only two people in the whole world."
Thelma shut the door, turned around just in time to see Arielle retreat to the corner to curl up in a ball and wait to die. "Listen to me," Thelma whispered. "I don't know what you're going through. You know that. Calvin doesn't know what you're going through. That man next door certainly doesn't know. But don't make the rest of us feel guilty for that."
"Why do I have to make everyone else feel better?"
"You don't, Arielle. You have to count on us for support and know that we're here for you." She just covered her face. "And you're not allowed to make us feel bad for caring about you. That is one thing you do not get to do." Arielle dropped her hands, so shocked she had no idea what to say. She even stopped crying. "You keep this up and it's going to piss me off, but I can deal with it. I'm an adult. You will scare the shit out of Calvin with it, though. And that I will not let happen. You're tougher than this, so just…straighten the fuck up, Arielle."
That stung. That really stung.
"I'm so sorry we're worried about you. I'm so sorry we want what's best for you. I'm so sorry there's a man next door that really cares about you. You're right. You've got it rough." Then she spun, yanked the door open and left, not closing it behind her.
She'd never seen her aunt so angry. Shit, that really made her feel like crap. Arielle got up, washed her face, brushed her teeth, and wished she could lock herself in her room. But she couldn't. Because the only functioning bathroom in the house was off of her bedroom. She really wanted to throw things. But instead, she got her pyjamas on, crawled into bed, and didn't sleep a wink.
Chapter Fifteen
"So, that was it for radiation," Doctor Foster pleasantly reminded her as he entered his office where she was already waiting, dressed and ready to head to Thelma's for the week.
"Yeah," she nodded, hands fidgeting in her lap. "Too bad. I think I was finally getting used to it."
He just grinned, taking his seat behind the desk. "Now, your chemotherapy treatments are done in another wing of the hospital. Doctor Greg is taking over your file for that portion of your care, but he and I will be talking regularly." She nodded while he opened a file. "The chemotherapy will have side effects, and I know you are likely familiar with what they are."
"Yes," she mumbled. "Google told me all about it."
"It's imperative that you keep food down, Arielle. Your body will need the strength to fight. So I'm going to ask you now, do you want a prescription for medical marijuana?" Her eyes popped wide, she knew it. "Not everyone wants it, but I have to say it has done wonders for my past patients. You can bake it into things, add it to recipes, and it will keep the nausea away."
"I'm going to try toughing it out first," she said, dropping her eyes to her hands in her lap. "I don't…I don't know if I want that in my house. There's a nine-year-old boy living with me, after all."
"Oh, your son?"
Arielle frowned. She was sure she'd told Doctor Foster about Calvin. "No, my nephew."
"Oh, that's right. I'm sorry. Charlie?"
Arielle almost laughed at that, but then felt a bit of hurt. "No. Calvin."
"Right, Calvin. No, I understand. But if you change your mind, I do recommend it."
"Thank you," she replied awkwardly.
"I encourage you to get lots of rest this next week. Be strong for the next step, and I think you're going to do fine."
Arielle smiled, getting to her feet. "Thank you again, Doctor Foster."
He stood and circled the desk, making for the door. She followed. Before he got there he turned, smiled at her, then offered her a hug. Half-confused, half-embarrassed, Arielle let him hug her, keeping her shoulders scrunched forward to put room between them.
"You're going to be fine, Arielle," he said warmly, then held her at arms' length. "You're such a beautiful woman." Arielle felt her blood get a bit cold. This felt really wrong. "You're going to come through this fine," he assured her, then moved to kiss her.
She was stunned. Stuck in one place. Knowing this was inappropriate. And yet she should like this. He was cute, and a doctor besides? Good lord, it was like hitting the jackpot. But all Arielle could think about was the fact that his hands were far too polite as they held her upper arms, and his lips were too baby-soft. He smelled like soap and tasted like toothpaste. Far too…clean.
She backed away, covering her mouth and looking at the ground in a stupefied pause.
"Shit," he whispered. At least he seemed mortified over what he had done. "Arielle, please forgive me. That was…that was uncalled for. And unprofessional. I am so sorry.It’s just you are so lovely—"
"I have to go," she mumbled, reaching for the door.
"Arielle, I'm so sorry."
She waved a hand and walked past Doctor Foster's waiting room, head down, not watching where she was going. She made it all the way to the sliding doors without incident, but as she got there they opened and she was careening into someone who caught her and kept her upright by the arm.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, knowing she was turning pink.
"Arielle?"
She brought her head up, stomach sinking. "Mandy."
Her new shopping pal tilted her head but didn't let her arm go. "Is everything okay?"
"I'm fine. Last radiation treatment. We're…heading to my Aunt's farm for a week."
Mandy nodded. "Sounds ... nice."
"Yeah," she said after an incredibly weird pause.
Mandy's eyes narrowed. "What's wrong?"
Shit, you want that alphabetical or chronologically? Arielle thought, but what she said was, "What do you mean?"
"You're freaking out. What happened?"
She inhaled slowly. "My doctor just made a pass at me," she blurted. "I…walked away."
Mandy's face darkened. "He fucking what?"
"It was fine, he kissed me but knew right away it was a mistake…he didn't force me or hurt me or anything. It's…fine."
The other woman crossed her arms. "You gonna tell Quentin about this?"
Arielle shook her head. "Trust me, Mandy, Quentin doesn't care. Now, I have to get going. I'm sorry, really, but if I'm late they'll worry about me…" she side-stepped the woman and made for her car, wishing she could find a way to muzzle herself. When did she start spilling her guts out? That wasn't like her at all.
She had to go back to just keeping her private-life private.
"Get the hell up or I swear to Christ I'm breaking that thing off."
Quentin cracked one eye open, his head pounding like a drum line and Mandy staring down at him, arms crossed, looking like one incredibly pissed off bitch. He groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Mandy? What time is it?"
"It's about the time I kick your ass. You're talking to me now. And get rid of her, too."
Quentin's head went to the right, a blonde biker slut just waking up and even more scared of Mandy than he was. "What the hell?" he sputtered. "Get out."
"You passed out, I just slept here," she whimpered.
"Get out," he repeated in unison with Mandy.
"I'm naked."
"Sweetheart, everyone's already seen it. Now get out," Mandy repeated, voice stone-cold serious.
The piece climbed out of bed, scooping her clothes off the floor. It gave the perfect view of her round, firm ass and he groaned again. Right, now he remembered that big-man bastard pouring tequila shots down his throat in rapid succession and not stopping him bringing this bitch back to his dorm room saying something along the lines of how ‘pussy solveseverything’. Shit. Quentin was pretty sure he was going to hurl.
The blonde gone, Mandy slammed the door. It made him wince, rubbing his head again. "Mandy, take it easy. I'm fucking hung over."
"You're a dickhead is what you ar
e." He happened to agree, but wasn't sure what she had as proof this time. Mandy pointed at the door. "Why is there some skank in your bed when that little sweetheart is living right next door to you and ready to feel better about herself?"
"What?" Shit, she was really going to have to slow down so he could jump on track here.
"I went to the hospital to see a friend who just had a baby. Ran into Arielle. She was all done up, wearing make-up, hair looking all cute as hell. Great outfit. Looking like a million bucks—I fucking hate that bitch for being so fucking pretty. And you're here? With that?"
Quentin frowned. "She looked good, huh?"
"Yeah, she looked fucking perfect. Good enough that her doctor put the moves on her."
That made him sit up with a growl. "The fuck he did!"
Mandy smirked. "So you do give a shit after all."
He was busted so he ignored that. "Mandy, she's too…nice. And I'm not."
"I asked if she was gonna tell you about that sleazy shit doc and she assured me that you wouldn't care. Why'd she say that, dickhead?"
"I pissed her off." He scrubbed his face with both hands. "I pissed her off to push her away and it…it likely hurt her."
"What happened?"
"Mandy—"
"Quentin," she threw his tone back at him.
He sighed, eyes closed. "Coulda slept with her. I told her it was a bad idea. Fuck, I really wanted to though."
Mandy's presence got quieter and Quentin dared to open his eyes. Her face still said she was angry, but her eyes were softer. "Oh Quent, you didn't."
"I had her there, willing. Fucking perfect. And I sent her away."
Mandy's inhale was regretful. "Honey, girls don't like to feel that they're not pretty enough."
"That's not what it was about."
"But that's our vulnerability. So when the guy puts on the brakes, we assume the imperfections we see every day are the reason for it. And you know what she sees when she looks in the mirror."
"She was so angry," he conceded, voice hollow, staring at the wall.
Mandy sat on the bed next to him and he double-checked to make sure his business centre was all covered up. It was, thank God. Otherwise it was in immediate danger.
"I like her, hun. And you know I don't like anyone. And I happen to think you're a better man when you've got someone you care about." Mandy shook her head. "Shit."
"It's better for her, Mandy."
"Except she likes you. Otherwise she wouldn't be so upset."
"She'll find someone better."
Mandy stood, hitching the strap of her purse up. "Why are men such idiots?" she mumbled and made for the door, leaving him wondering the same thing.
"Pink? I don't even have pink paint."
Quentin sighed. Everyone in his world was going to start thinking he was turning into a woman. But some things were worth more than pride. "I understand, man. Just get some. It's a surprise. For the kid. He wants a pink bike."
"This is… weird coming from you. Who's this kid?" Chip asked, eyebrow raised. Quentin knew what his next question was going to be.
"Hey—don't even start that. His aunt has breast cancer, okay? He wants it pink for her."
Chipsighed, scratching his balding scalp. "Like…what kind of pink? Hot pink? Barbie pink? Mary Kay pink?"
"Think classic car, candy pink," Quentin said. "Just…make it nice, you know?"
Chip sighed, then offered his hand. "You got it. I'll call when I get the paint in."
"Thanks man," Quentin returned, shaking the offered mitt.
"I got one more coat of black on your bike, and the chrome will be back by the end of the week."
"Perfect."
"And the pink bike. I'll only charge for the paint. My mom had breast cancer. Tell the kid…he's a pretty tough little fucker. Willing to ride a pink bike around."
Quentin grinned. "Okay. Thanks, man." Before he could swing a leg over his Dyna his cell rang. He pulled it out, flipped it open. "Yeah?"
"We found the dealer that sold to Trixie," Dillon told him without greeting.
"Yeah? Where?"
"We're in that shithole apartment building over on Shepherd. But…ah, shite. I think you better come over."
Quentin smirked. "Having trouble with one skinny white kid?"
"Just get here 'ya bastard."
"On my way."
Black bikes were lined up outside the building so he knew he was at the right one. He cast a look both ways along the sidewalk at the front, but it was remarkably quiet. Which was nerve-racking considering this was a block off of the town’s center and one of the busier streets in Portus Felix.
One of his brother's was watching the front door, giving Quentin a silent nod and holding it open for him. "They're on the third floor," he muttered.
Quentin took the stairs two at a time, pushed through the third-floor fire doors and found two Dead Men kuttes in the hallway. Gage nodded his head into the room, and Flynn gave him a couple of raised eyebrows. "You ain't gonna believe this, man."
Quentin frowned, making his way into the fleabag apartment, finding himself in a small, cramped kitchen with sticky linoleum floor and a three-bulb fixture only putting out one-third of its potential. It stunk, Christ it stunk in here. The smell was acrid, like cleaning solutions set on fire.
He passed through the grim kitchen, stepping onto faded carpet that felt like gravel under his boots it was so matted up. A sagging couch took up most of the room, and standing in front of it smoking a cigarette was Dillon. He pulled the smoke from his lips, exhaled, and nodded his head to the hallway. "Confirm what's in that bedroom."
Fuck, what was with all the cloak-and-dagger theatrics? When did everyone stop telling him shit straight?
Getting supremely pissed off, he headed down the hallway and next saw Colton in the doorway of a room that had the windows well-sealed, the only light from a bare bulb overhead. A man had his hands tied behind his back against the wall, a sock shoved in his mouth. He was covered in scabs and bruises, and it didn't take a doctor to peg him as a tweaker. Quentin didn't recognize him, but he was scrawny, white, and had a black swastika on the side of his neck. Wearing only white boxers, he looked like he might top the scales at ninety-five pounds.
Colton tilted his head to the only 'furniture' in the room, a mattress shoved against the old-school radiator. A woman was handcuffed to it, arms over her head, which was resting on its side on the bare mattress, a small pool of thin vomit next to her face.
Not shocking on its own, until he recognized her.
"Fuck," Quentin muttered. "That's Arielle's sister."
Chapter Sixteen
Arielle woke to the sound of two roosters crowing at different tempos, wincing. Right, she'd forgotten about Thelma's roosters.
It was two days after her final radiation treatment. Three full nights of restless sleep since her awful humiliation at Quentin's house and subsequent melt down in front of Aunt Thelma. Arielle honestly had no idea how she would go back to Portus Felix now, even if she had no choice.
She had to admit to herself at the very least that she was not okay. She could smile, joke with Calvin and help Aunt Thelma pickle beets all she wanted. Inside, deep down, she was not okay, and only she could fix it. She just had no idea how.
Arielle also owed Quentin an apology, but that was as appealing a thought as a quick dip in a vat of fire ants. She cringed to remember the things she'd said to him. God, she'd been terrible. And Aunt Thelma was right; it wasn't that he didn't care. It was because he did, and she'd really been a bitch about it. All because she couldn't deal.
She had no right to be so furious he stopped either; what he had given her had been absolutely amazing all on its own. And God knows he couldn't have been using her, he'd gotten nothing out of it. And it had truly been better than any other similar experience of her entire life. Yes, she'd been with men before, had orgasms before. But to be so overwhelmed by desire while trusting the person she was with without question? S
he had never been able to let herself go like that. Quentin made it okay, didn't make her feel ashamed of it. He just wanted anything else they did to be as special.
It brought tears to her eyes, to be honest. Remembering it right then, warm from sleep and even warmer from what she'd just been dreaming about, she nearly cried. Every night since then she'd been dreaming about him. And she didn't believe he want anything to do with her now, not with that dreadful hissy fit she threw.
Groaning at her embarrassing femaleness, she threw her covers off her legs and sat up, stretching out the stiffness of sleep and trying to push the thoughts of her neighbor from her head. She had five more days to sort herself out and plan an apology. And rest; she really needed to get her rest.
"Feeling better?" Thelma greeted her in the kitchen. It was misleading. She was still kinda short with Arielle over their standoff in the bathroom. Arielle was trying to make amends but Aunt Thelma was tough.
"I'm fine. You need help with anything today?"
"Nope, get your rest dear," she sang out before the patio door banged shut behind her. Arielle winced. Thelma still wasn't talking to her. Great.
The house was completely silent. She knew Calvin was likely hard at work feeding chickens or something. Or shelling peas. All the stuff that used to get delegated to her and Jolene when they were little.
It was funny, but coming here had her thinking of Jolene a lot. The room she was staying in was the room she and Jolene had always shared. Aunt Thelma hadn't changed a piece of furniture since then, so it was like a time capsule of sorts. This place swam with so many memories of her parents and her sister that it was honestly hard to breathe at times.
Shehad barely taken a moment to worry about Jolene since she'd last vanished. Arielle was used to the disappearing act by now. The first few dozen times it happened she'd lost sleep wondering what that crazy woman had gotten herself into. Now she just…waited for her to show up out of nowhere or a stranger to call saying she was dead.
