So far...

I am exhausted. I understand the first couple of weeks back are going to take some getting used to, but, sheeeesh. try explaining that to my feet. Or my sleepy self at five in the AM when that damn cell phone alarm goes off. Ay ay ay.

Is it really only wednesday?

Jiminy christmas.

I honestly feel like /i have no time to write and post, though I do my best. Been writing shorthand at school whenever possible. But when will I have time to type that shit up? I guess i need to think about saving for a netbook. that would be splendiferous.

And, um, yeah, how the fuck is anyone ever supposed to have a baby too? Unreal. We'll see, friends, we'll just have to see. Maybe next year if I get a real teacher job. Because all this running around is likely to take ten years off my life. lolz. Actually, I'm hoping once i get used to it that it will actually generate more energy, rather than sap it.

And if I can manage, i'd like to get on that damn excercise machine that's gathering dust over there in the corner. Aaron and I tried to make this bet that we wouldn't have sex unless we both lost ten pounds first. I think we will both cheat on that bet. but it was a noble sort of goal, if depressing. I honestly don't want to be thinking about poundage and weight and body image while I'm making love (or fucking). it's the anti-aphrodesiac, am i right? but whatevs.

Of course, try telling my 6:30 pm self to climb on that excersise machine. Try telling my tired, achy, hungry, grumpy, still-need-to-get-dinner-prepped-and-made-and-eaten, couch-craving self to throw on some sweats and do 20 minutes on the eliptical.

And you will probably find yourself smacked and verbally abused.

Ok, now I'm running a bit behind time, so lemme get the hell outta here. Oh internets i miss thee during my long ass day.

wish me luck this hump day! I'm supposedly going out for margaritas tonight after work.

That'll make thursday morning fun fun fun :(

A Sucker for a Bet

Day one down. The rest of the year to go!

It will take a while to get into the swing of things, but it will happen.

Today we went to the wake for Aaron's student. It was heartbreaking and awful and just so grim. There's no way on earth i could have stood there and recieved the mourners the way his parents did. Forget it. It really shook Aaron up to see the kid like that. I knelt by him and said a prayer. Aaron did not.

I'mma post something quick, a non-sequitor. hope you enjoy.

You remember Phelan?  

***************

“You still dating that same chick?”  Phelan was still bitter about losing that bet he’d made with his roommate.  It had seemed like a sure-thing.  No way anyone can get a goldilocks virgin to spread her legs within a fucking month.  He couldn’t lose.  He actually couldn’t believe that the arrogant motherfucker had taken the bet.

And then the arrogant mother fucker had won the unwinnable bet. 

Maybe Phelan had miscalculated about Mexican Catholics.  Maybe they were all just horny bitches in disguise as goldilocks virgins. 

It was a Saturday night and they were playing darts in their club room at the apartment (It was supposed to be an office, but who the fuck needed one of those?). Grey didn’t answer the question right away.  “Which one?”  He responded after throwing his third dart and missing by quite a lot.  He’d nearly missed the board.  

Phelan smirked.  So he was still dating her.  It had been weeks since Grey’d won the bet and he was still dating the girl.  This spelled trouble.

“Senorita Goldilocks.”  Phelan said, retrieving all the darts from the board and strolling back to where Grey was swigging from a bottle of blended scotch.  “And what the fuck are you drinking?”

“Who the fuck knows.”  Grey responded in a gruff voice.  “And yeah, I’m still fucking her, if that’s what you mean.”

Phelan stood at the line and prepared a throw.  “But you aren’t just fucking, right?  You’re still taking her to dinner and the movies and all that other horseshit too.”  He tossed the dart and smiled.

His friend didn’t answer.

Phelan threw another, missed badly, but grinned anyway.  “Pussy got your tongue?”

“Fuck you.”  Grey laughed.  “Yeah, I’m still charming her.  So?”

“So?”  Asked Phelan, incredulous.  “This is going on three-fucking-months buddy, and you’ve already claimed the prize, so what the fuck are you hanging around for?”

“You’d give your right nut for one night alone with this girl, Dickwad.”  Grey responded, moving into place at the line.  Phelan noticed his friend didn’t meet him in the eye.  Interesting.

“A wise man once told me ‘get out before three months or you’re officially in a relationship’.”  Phelan said, picking up his beer from the bartop and taking a swig.  He watched Grey toss a dart before resuming.  “Who was that wise man?”  He asked rhetorically.

“Well that same wise man has also said ‘if she gives good head and lets you do anal then stay while the getting’s good.’”  He threw another dart and then tossed a grin over his shoulder.

“Ahh the sacred commandments of the Grey Delaney Guide to Good Fucking.”  Teased Phelan after Grey landed a dart in the goddamn bull’s-eye.

“Better Fucking.”  Grey corrected with a wolfish smile. “Besides, what’s it to you who I date and for how long?”  Grey asked, finally looking his friend in the eye.

“I’ve been waiting forever for you to cut that chick loose so I can have a taste.”  Phelan admitted with a sly grin.

Grey laughed derisively.  “I hate to break it to you Phel, but I don’t think you have a chance in hell with this one.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.  Sorry pal.” But he didn’t sound the least bit sorry.

“You’ve ruined her for all other takers?”

Grey chuckled but didn’t reply, only took another swig of the whiskey.  Phelan studied him for a minute.  Why the fuck was he drinking cheap liquor?  Grey Delaney almost never drank cheap booze, unless there was nothing else available or unless he wanted to get shitfaced quick.

“You been getting some on the side too, though, right?”  He inquired, looking at the score and sizing up the board as he retrieved their darts again.  He was almost always dart bitch.  It had to do with a bet they’d made like a year ago—he couldn’t remember the terms of it now, but it had had something to do with oral and, who the fuck could remember.  Point was, Phelan was dart bitch.

“I fucked that girl you brought home last week.”  Grey answered.  He wasn’t teasing. 

Phelan felt his lips snap into a mirthless grin.  “Which one?”  He asked, forcing his tone into fraternal camaraderie.

“The tall one—Thursday night?”  Grey tossed a handful of cashews into his mouth, looking bored.

Goddammit.  “The black girl?”  Phelan could feel his blood beginning to boil. 

“I think she prefers to be called ‘bi-racial’” Grey said with a lazy smirk.

Phelan turned away so that his friend wouldn’t see him seething.  Fucking prick.  Grey knew that Phelan preferred black chicks and he was supposed to keep his hands to himself where those ones were concerned.

Plus he hadn’t had the chance to fuck that one yet.  He’d brought her home and she’d sucked him off, but she’d said she wasn’t ready for anything past oral.  Apparently sometime in the night she’d found herself ready enough to fuck his roommate.

And then she’d failed to answer the next time he’d called to make plans.  Fuck Grey Delaney.

“Nice, huh?”  He asked.

Grey fucking shrugged.  “Not bad.”

Fuck you.  You goddamn son of a bitch.

Phelan grinned and nodded but he was grinding his teeth so hard he thought he could feel his fillings vibrating.  He lined up a shot and threw, wishing he could stab the little points into Grey’s smug face.

“So how you gunna break it off with your little fish taco?”  He asked pleasantly.

Grey was quiet for a long moment but Phelan didn’t dare turn and look.  He threw instead, and waited.

“Who says I’m breaking it off?”

“Jesus Christ, Grey, what’s wrong with you?  Don’t tell me you’re in love or some shit.”  Phelan filled his tone with as much disdain as he possessed.

“Christ, no, don’t be ridiculous.”  Scoffed his friend behind him.  “The day that happens if the day I give you permission to tie me down and make me watch while you fuck the girl.”

Phelan laughed.  “Well you’re still bringing her on nice dates, you’re still fucking her, you’re still playing Mr. Perfect--next you’ll be marching down the aisle if you’re not careful.”

“Like hell.”  Grey said, stepping past Phelan to the line.  “I’ll probably have her a few more times and then tell her I’ve met someone else or something.”  He wavered a bit and took a moment to regain his balance.  Phelan raised an eyebrow.  His friend was getting shitfaced, fast.

“Where’s the little fajita this evening?”  Phelan asked.  “How come you’re here getting wasted with me instead of fucking her in her naughty Catholic ass?”

Grey missed the board by three feet and laughed.  “She’s working.”

Phelan looked at the clock.  It was only ten-thirty.  “Los Tres closed at ten.  Her shift should be just about up, right?”

Grey grunted and threw again, missing again.

“Oh no.” Said Phelan, feeling like Christmas had come early.  “Did you two have a fight?”

Grey made a dismissive sound and threw his third dart, this time at least making the board.  “What?”

Grey Delaney didn’t get in fights with girls because Grey Delaney didn’t have relationships with girls.  He wooed them, fucked them, and when he was done he moved on—he never stayed long enough to get into arguments or tiffs or disagreements.  He existed in the perfect honeymoon phase of interaction with these girls, where they believed the sun to shine out of his ass—right up until he dumped them.

“Well why not go pick her up now?  Unless she’s not happy with you for some reason?”

“Go get the fucking darts, cunt.”  Replied Grey with a condescending smile.

“Holy fuck.”  Phelan said with a wide, giddy smile.  “You are in love, aren’t you?”

“Nope.”

“Yeah, you are, this little concha has you by the fucking balls!  You’re pussy whipped!”

Grey continued to grin.  “Not so pussy whipped that I couldn’t fuck every girl you bring home before they ever give it up to you.”

Phelan narrowed his eyes.  “Ok, so if you’re not pussy whipped, you can break up with her tomorrow, no problem, right?”

“Absolutely.”  Grey replied, obviously responding to the challenge in Phelan’s tone.  Grey Delaney almost couldn’t resist a dare or a bet.

“And I say you’re full of shit.”  Phelan said slyly.  “I’ll bet you a thousand bucks you won’t have the balls to break up with her tomorrow.”

Grey shrugged. 

Phelan nodded.  “Ok, a thousand bucks, plus a year of rent and your best bottle of scotch.”

Now Grey looked grim.  “And If I win?”

“If you win?  The same.  But on one condition.”

“What’s the condition?”  Grey blinked and Phelan knew the booze was hitting him pretty hard, though you’d have to know him pretty well to see it.

“It has to be tomorrow, it has to be here, and it has to be right after you’ve fucked her one last time.”

Phelan couldn’t be sure in the weak lighting of their club room, but he thought Grey might have just washed over pale.  Holy shit.  The guy really did feel something for the girl.  Pathetic.

“You’re a class act.”  Grey said, a chill in his voice.

“Hey, I need to see it to believe it.”

“You think I make shit up?”

Phelan shrugged and he could feel his friend fairly vibrating with rage at the impugning of his pride.  He didn’t dare say a word—he knew well enough how to avoid getting punched in the face.

“Fine.”  Grey said.  “Tomorrow.  Be here around eleven and you’ll get the pretty little scene you’re hoping for.”  Grey chugged at the bottle of cheap scotch for a long moment before slamming it down on their little bar.  “But you’re going to have to come up with a better fucking bottle than this swill to make it worth my while.”  He said, and started for the livingroom. 

“Whatever you want.”  Phelan laughed.  “Hey, where the fuck are you going?  You done with darts?”

“I’m done with you, you prick.”  Grey growled, and Phelan heard the unmistakable sound of Grey wrestling his keys off the hook by the door.  “I’mma go fuck everything I see.  Wanna come watch me put your sorry ass to shame?”

Phelan chuckled, delighted at how rattled his normally cool and collected friend was.  “I’ll drive, you shithead, you’re wasted.”

“Fine.”  Grey snapped.  “I think I’m in the mood for all chocolate tonight.”

Phelan set his jaw but forced a smile.  “Maybe I’ll call up your twin sisters then.”  He conjectured idly.  “As long as we’re going for sure-things.”

Grey responded in a weary sort of sing-song “Stay the fuck away from my sisters, you sorry son of a bitch.”  It was a familiar refrain.  “Touch any one of them and I’ll make sure you piss blood for a month.”  He clapped his friend on the shoulder affectionately before spinning on his heel and waltzing out the door.

Phelan laughed as he followed his friend out of their apartment.  It was going to be a long ass night.

status

So tomorrow I start the job!

EEEK!

Excited, nervous, anxious, bracing myself.

I haven't had a full time job in forever-- this will be like student teaching, only i'll get paid for it (marginally) woohoo!!

I started off the morning with multiple orgasms, so that was lovely. Thanks Husband!

Then, unfortunately, I had to go to the market basket. Normally I would not have done anythong so foolish as brave a supermarket on a sunday, but since i'll be joining the ranks of the working class, it was now or never.

Jeeeeesussssss. Shoot me in the face.

But I survived. No causalties. then did some minor chores for the folks too.

Aaron is having alot of trouble processing the death of a student of his. He'd been playing it cool, but last night he kinda melted down. It was rough.

You can probably tell I'm a little scattered right now. yeah.

Ok, this has been a less than pithy blog entry. i think the shorter it is, the better for all of us.

So, bye for now. wish me luck. My social life is doomed to disappear, and that makes me sadface. My checking account will not be so anorexic, which will make all the people i owe money to much more gladface.

And I'm hoping Aaron will be less stressed out than he has been. i love him so much.

k,

ciao

Late

Wooo, a double entry, we all know how i love that!

Anywayz, because my reader, the incomparable Yelling Pigeon, has already guessed as much, I figured I'd post this next vignette to validate her wonderful imagination for plot and scandal!

I had it written and she was all over it already! Maybe i'd better try harder to shock and subvert?!?!?

Anyway, this takes place just a little bit BEFORE the Sick Day.  It is a little... um... revelatory about Vaughan Grey and Velvet's little side relationship...

Enjoy ;)

************************

Velvet was late. 

She was so busy being a young mother of four that she hadn’t been paying attention and she hadn’t been careful.

Now she was staring at the kitchen calendar with some distress, flipping back a month, flipping back another.

Shit.

With a measure of panic she tried to remember the date of her last ‘appointment’ with Vaughan.

Oh, God damn it.

She felt a heavy stone crash to the floor of her middle, and her heartbeat just about quadrupled.  Her mouth went dry and her eyes welled up.

Please, God, no.  Please.

She closed her eyes and tried desperately not to fly into hysterics.  Breathe.  Think.  Breathe.  With grim determination she opened her eyes once more and studied the calendar once again, as if willing it so might change the awful fact that she hadn’t bled since the last time she’d fucked her ex-husband.

“What’s the matter, Love?” 

She jumped a mile at the warm kiss atop the back of her head, the long arms wrapping around her from behind, and the sweet intimate murmur of Jonah’s voice against her skull.

“Oooh.  Sorry.”  He chuckled softly.  “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Velvet swallowed and placed a shaking hand over her heart—it was pounding so hard she was suddenly afraid he might just hear it and get suspicious.  “You snuck up on me.”  She gushed in a feathery voice, hoping she sounded like her adorable self despite feeling anything but.

She felt like a whore, and a lunatic, and a criminal, and a victim, and a frightened little girl all at once.

“Sorry Sweetheart.”  He murmured again, squeezing a little tighter, pulling her small, delicate body against his and nuzzling affectionately into her hair.  “Mmmm.”  He sighed, cozy and warm.  “Everyone’s in bed—finally—and maybe, if we’re very lucky—“  He chuckled almost giddily, “Maybe they’re actually asleep by now too.”

She let out a soft little laugh.  “Wishful thinking, Mr. Delaney.”  She cooed, spinning in his embrace and going up on tiptoe for a kiss.  He kissed her sweetly, with just an edge of something hungry and needy.

What was she going to do?  She could hardly think straight.  She’d been ill that morning, and the morning before, and, come to think of it, the morning before that!  But she’d ignored it because the flu was going around.  Grey’d stayed home from school with it last week.  She’d figured she would come down with it, and so the vomiting, the upset stomach, the aches, and the dragging exhaustion all seemed par for the course.

Ugh.  Golf metaphors?

“Hey.”  Jonah said, pulling back from the kiss and peering at her.  “Where are you?”  His voice was all gentle concern.  He ran two knuckles down the side of her face lightly and searched her visage as if he might be able to divine her troubling secrets.

She nuzzled into his hand and did her best to smile sweetly.  “I don’t know what we’re going to do about those twins.”  She supplied immediately.  She was very good at lying to her husband.  She hated doing it, but she had to do it, and so, she reasoned that she’d better learn to do it well.  She lived to make Jonah happy; to make him as happy as he made her every day.  He was a good man.  The best man she’d ever met. 

He didn’t deserve a wife that fucked around on him with her sonofabitch ex-husband twice a year at his fucking command.  Her frown deepened and Jonah looked genuinely sympathetic.

“Did they give you trouble at nap time again?”  He asked, moving his hands to gently massage the tension from her bird-like shoulders.  She closed her eyes and enjoyed how large and strong—and yet how gentle—his hands felt on her petite frame.

She nodded.  “They just play and sing and gab away at eachother up there.”  She sighed, moaning just a little at how good his ministrations felt.  He knew just how to massage her.  He was the best husband in the world.

“And we’re done trying to put them in separate rooms?”  He asked carefully.  It was the solution that made the most sense from a purely academic perspective.

“Jonah, you’re not here in the day, you don’t know what it’s like.”  She snapped with a fierce pout.

He promptly kissed that pout, eliciting a begrudging giggle from her.

He pulled back and grinned down at her.  “I know it Angel.”  He assured her.  “I get the picture well enough from the weekend days.  They scream bloody murder at me if I even try to put them down in separate bedrooms.” 

She was glad the topic had so distracted him from her fretting over the calendar.  She wished it could be so easy to forget the dilemma herself.  “I don’t know why they can manage to fall asleep in the same room at night.”  Velvet wondered aloud for what felt like the hundredth time.  This little drama had been plaguing the Delaney household for weeks and weeks now.

“Maybe because it’s so dark.”  Jonah posited, abandoning the massage and pulling his wife in for a hearty bear hug.  “I read them four stories tonight.”  He informed her, trailing his fingers up and down her back slowly and soothingly.  “After that I went in to Ava’s room and she wanted just the one, you know, the one with the princess and the suitors?  But I had to re-read it over twice more.”  He laughed softly.  “I wouldn’t be heartbroken if that damn book got lost somewhere…”

Velvet giggled on cue, but she was only half listening.  If she was…she didn’t even want to think the word, that’s how terrified she was.  But if she was…you know, then it wasn’t necessarily Vaughan’s.  She and Jonah had a pretty active sex life for a couple of exhausted young parents with four small children.  It could definitely be Jonah’s.  It was possible.

But what if it wasn’t? 

She worried her lip and buried her face in his chest, wishing she could hide from this and make it all disappear.

“And then Grey and I got to chapter fifteen in our story—“ He was saying, sounding very pleased and a little proud.  “And he actually looked disappointed when I said we’d need to stop for the night.”  Jonah laughed once and sighed a little.  “Not bad for a book he called ‘stupid’ and ‘boring’ when I first suggested it.”

She murmured some positive response and focused on counting the steady, calm, reliable beats of Jonah’s good heart. 

She should have fought Vaughan harder last time.  When he’d told her he wanted to do bondage.  She should have been more assertive.  More adamant.  Instead she’d capitulated, like she always did when it came to Vaughan, and she’d let him tie her up.  Let him strap her to the bed.

Undeniably it had been hot.  It had been beyond sexy.  She’d felt like a character in a sexy novel; she’d felt scared and aroused and vulnerable and in danger and so turned on she was sure she must have been positively dripping with anticipation and arousal by the time he finally put himself inside her. 

He’d taken his time with the foreplay.  And he’d blindfolded her for some of it.  She’d almost fainted from the terror—he could be a frightening man, her ex-husband, and he’d played a very scary game with scissors. When she got home she told Jonah she’d just decided she wanted a haircut.  She’d cried about the new short length of it for hours after it was done.  She’d cried and Vaughan had smoked his cigar and when she’d finally stopped sobbing he’d made her suck him off so he could run his fingers through the newly shortened tresses while she did it.

And while she was tied up she’d had no say over him—over the contraception.  He’d taken out her diaphragm.  She’d begged him to put it back and he’d laughed at her.  He promised he’d pull out—said he wanted to cover her in his come.  The titillation of knowing her diaphragm was not in place had made her all the more aroused, despite her common sense screaming at her to stop him at all costs.

So she’d stopped her struggling and chosen to believe him. 

And he distracted her with foreplay that just about melted the wall paper from the hotel walls. 

She was ashamed of it, thinking of it now, in Jonah’s loving arms, but she had begged Vaughan, actually begged him to put his cock in her, he’d made her want him so much.

She hated him for that.  For being able to do that to her.  Hated herself for being weak and stupid and awful.

And he had finally slammed into her, and he’d fucked her hard, like a whore gets fucked, and she’d loved it.  Loved being bound and blindfolded and at his mercy. 

And he’d brought her close, so close to the release she desperately needed, and he was close too, and then he’d leaned down and snarled: “I lied Princess—I’m gunna fill you up—and there’s not a goddamn thing you can do about it.”

She’d screamed then, and struggled against the ties binding her, bucked wildly against him, tried in vain to throw him off her, make him slip out, and he’d just chuckled and thrust harder, deeper, more crushingly into her.  He’d smothered her screams with his broad, rough hand and fucked her like an animal in rut; indistinguishable from a monster but for the deliberate, controlled expression in his terrifyingly cold, dark eyes.

He’d liked the struggle.  Urged her on.  Taunted her so that she’d fight harder.  He’d liked the way she’d clenched around him, tried to squeeze herself closed against him, and thrown her body into wild contortions trying to be free of him.  He’d licked the tears off her face as he pounded into her.  When she bit his hand like a little hell cat he’d slapped her hard and replaced it before she’d even had time to react; he’d been unfazed and probably more aroused than ever.

She realized later that she should have gone limp to spite him, gone corpse-like to deflate his arousal.  But in the heat of the moment she’d panicked—just like he knew she would—and she’d fought like a hellion to wriggle free.

And then he’d come.  Hard and long and gloriously.  Come deep inside her.

And she’d wept beneath him.  Wept bitterly while he remained within her, running his hands possessively over her body, putting his mouth wherever he pleased while he waited for his tumescence to recede all the way.  She’d cursed him and railed at him between sobs and told him how much she hated him.

He’d grinned, forced his mouth on hers until she was short of breath and sure she’d die, and then he’d pulled out of her, pulled a robe on over his nakedness, and left the room without a word.

Left her there.  With his filth stewing inside her. Left her tied up, and naked, and used, on the bed while he went to do whatever the fuck he’d felt like.

She was sure she’d suffered a panic attack there, alone, not knowing when or if he’d be coming back to let her lose.  She’d rather have killed herself than let some hotel worker find her in such a position.

She wasn’t able to see a clock, and at some point she’d finally dozed off, and when he came back the room was pitch black.

He’d woken her by pouring the contents of an ice bucket all over her.

She’d screamed and he’d stuffed a rolled-up pair of socks in her mouth.

Then he’d gone down on her. 

And Vaughan Grey didn’t simply go down on a woman.  He ravaged her with his fingers and tongue and lips and teeth.  He fucked her with his mouth until she was coming, quite against her will.  Coming, wave after wave after blessed wave of release—cresting in pleasure, and laced with bitter, angry regret.

He made her come, there in the pitch black, shivering and humiliated and at the mercy of a man she loathed.  He made her come in the way only Vaughan Grey could—that way that made her feel completely owned by him and bound to him forever.

Then he’d showered, again leaving her there, cold and unable to escape the pervading dampness of the melted ice cubes on and around her.  Left her trembling and moaning and whimpering and begging simultaneously for more and for him to leave her the fuck alone.

When he came back he brought her to another climax with just his fingers while he lazily smoked a cigar.  She still got a little wet thinking about laying bound in that dark hotel room, watching that red-orange ember on the end of his cigar blaze and then dim, flare and then fade while her stroked her steadily toward babbling madness and then to ecstasy.  Still felt tingles all over when she remembered how after she’d come back to earth he’d sucked in on the cigar, long and deep, and then exhaled all of it onto her slick, throbbing sex.

Eventually he’d untied her.  Mocked her by thanking her for a lovely evening.  ‘We’ll have to do it again sometime.’  He’d said with that rancid smirk of his, and she’d wanted to lunge at him, throw herself on him and kick, and bite, and scratch, but he’d quelled her preemptively by reminding her that she’d need to go home to her husband looking fresh as a daisy. ‘It’ll be hard enough explaining the haircut, Sugar, you don’t want to have to try and talk your way around a black eye too.’

So she’d pulled herself up and off the bed with as much dignity and poise as she could muster and she’d carried herself to the hotel bathroom, trying not to look at the hanks of her beautiful hair laying cast-off on the floor.  And she’d showered.  Showered and scrubbed and practically scalded herself in an effort to wash herself clean of what he’d done.  She’d pissed in the shower and hoped the urine would kill any chance of conception—she’d heard that it would—and she reached inside herself and tried to clean out residue that might remain of him.  She’d sobbed the whole time.

“Love?” 

Presently Jonah was looking downright stern.  He’d been trying to get her attention and she’d been lost in those terrible thoughts.

“I’m so tired.”  She confessed meekly.

His stern expression melted into a kind, sympathetic one.  “Of course you are, Angel.”  He said in a soft, smooth voice.  “It’s been a long week.”  He gathered up her small hands in his large ones and brought them to his lips.  “I’m home now though, and you can let me do all the work.”  He smiled at her happily.  “I love weekends with you.”  He told her genuinely.  “I love to make sure you put your feet up and get a little bit pampered.”

She smiled weakly.  “Take me to bed?”

He blinked, momentarily surprised.  “It’s still early.”

“I didn’t mean it was time to sleep.”  She said in a silky tone she only really half-felt.

His eyebrows lifted.  “Ah.”  He said and nodded thoughtfully.  “In that case, love, let’s get you to bed, shall we?”

He slipped her right hand into his left and shut off the kitchen light as they went.  She’d think about this tomorrow.  She’d think about it when he was busy being the perfect father to their perfect little family. 

She knew she had to figure out a way to rid her body of what she was sure was Vaughan Grey’s sordid poison. 

And do it before Jonah ever suspected she was…anything other than completely his.

Sick Day; Aunt Grace

Little Grey opened the door before Grace had the opportunity to knock.  He didn’t greet her with a smile, but rather a grim sort of expression that sat unnaturally on his seven year old face.  This was the boy with the winning smile, with the mischievous gleam in his eye.  The prankster, the hellion, the charmer.  Seeing him so serious and somber made Grace more alarmed than Jonah’s phone call had—which she hadn’t thought possible.

She didn’t even bother scolding him for opening the door without making sure it was someone safe—he must have been watching for her car and seen her pull up.  “Hi honey.  Where’s Mum and Dad?”

He stood aside to let her enter and gestured to his right, toward the living room.  She stepped into the normally impeccable Delaney Foyer and tried to reconcile what she was seeing with what she’d expected to see.  It was as if a toy shop had exploded; there were toys everywhere, thrown about with abandon.   It was how her playroom looked after one of Ben’s sleepover parties—but it looked so bizarre out here in Velvet’s stately foyer.  Barbies strewn across Italian Marble tile.  G.I. Joes clustered atop the teak entryway table.  Plastic farm animals inhabiting the base of the potted palm.  Sparkly pink feather boas decorating the handsome Parisian umbrella stand.  Puzzles, games, musical instruments, blocks, skates, a matching pair of baby doll strollers—it was overwhelming.

She picked her way carefully but quickly over the detritus and stopped at the livingroom archway.  This room was a small disaster as well.  Potted plants overturned, furniture re-arranged and denuded of cushions, articles of clothing sprinkled helter skelter.  Grace swallowed her rising panic.  A house only got into this state if children had been left unsupervised for a long stretch of time.  She stepped into the room Velvet liked to call ‘the parlor’, and took stock.

The larger couch had been pulled all the way over to the archway of the den and was serving, Grace guessed, as a security gate for a doorway that was far too wide for the standard plastic safety devices.  She could hear cartoons and singing toys and the babble of two-year-olds.   Jonah walling off his children with a sofa meant Jonah needed to be by his wife’s side without distraction.  “Where?”   She demanded in her most teacher-like voice.

Grey pointed toward the study.

Grace charged to the handsome paneled darkwood door to the rear of the livingroom and knocked smartly.  “Jonah.”  She said, announcing her presence.

“Thank God.”  She heard him say a second before the door swung inward. 

“What’s happened?”

“Grey, run and get Mummy’s coat now please, will you?”

Grace didn’t bother to watch the boy go—her eyes were on the petite figure curled on the deco era fainting couch by the window.  She didn’t look good, so still and collapsed like that.  Grace thought she might have been comforted to see the woman moving in pain, rather than this deathly stillness.

“I think she’s having a miscarriage.”  Jonah told her in a very close whisper against her ear.  He kissed her then, on the cheek, and pressed her into a hasty squeeze.  “Thank you for getting here so quickly.”  And he was across the room before she’d even raised her arms to hug him back, he was frantic, but doing his level best to remain steady and strong.

Grace peered at Velvet.  It didn’t look like a miscarriage—at least not a normal, ‘nature’s way’ type of miscarriage.  Grace had had two now.  This looked more dangerous, less the way nature intended.  Velvet was ashen—she must have lost a lot of blood.  And she was weak as a newborn kitten, her eyes were slow to open when Jonah went to her and told her she needed to sit up.  She looked faraway and fragile.

“Sorry about the house—“  Jonah was saying to Grace distractedly as he helped his wife into a sitting position.  “Thank God they’re all ok—I can’t even think about how many ways they could have been hurt today.”  She heard the terror ripple through his voice.  He was shaken down to his marrow.  “Grey fed them lunch, and I’m pretty sure Ava found snacks, but could you make sure they eat?  The twins haven’t napped, I’m betting, and they’re going to need diapers.  Oh the toilet down here isn’t working right now so use one of the ones upstairs, or maybe the half-bath off the kitchen?  God I haven’t even been in there; Jesus, I don’t know what shape that one’s in.”

She crossed to him and put her hand on his shoulder where he knelt before Velvet.  “Jones.  It’s ok. Shhhh.”

He stuttered to a stop and she watched the back of his head as he nodded. 

“I’ll take care of everything here—you just worry about your wife and don’t waste a minute stressing about all this, got it?”

“Got it.”   He croaked.  “Thank you Gracie.”  His free hand drifted up and covered hers where it rested on his shoulder.  “Thank you.”  He repeated.

“Now get going.”  She commanded.  “Keep me updated when you can.”

Grey returned with his mother’s coat, and a scarf too, and Grace raised her eyebrows to see that the boy had donned his own coat as well.

“Thank you—good work.”  His father said, hurrying to take the coat and wrap it around Velvet.   He didn’t even bother with the sleeves, he just wrapped it around and sort-of tucked it tight, then wrapped the scarf around her gently and pulled her into his arms. 

“Grace—“  Velvet murmured.

“Hey sweetie.”  Grace smiled at her.  “Don’t you worry about a thing, ok?”

“Take carevthem ferme?”

“Of course, sweetie, not a problem.”

Jonah hadn’t paused for this little dialogue and Grace had to hurry to keep up with his progress toward the front door.  Grey ran ahead and pulled open the massive door like a pro and looked about ready to bolt toward the car when Grace called to him.

“Where’re you going baby?  You’ve gotta stay here.”

He fixed her with the darkest glower she’d ever seen on a child, before looking up at his father imploringly.  Jonah paused, the cold air flooding into the foyer, and he stared at his son for a few moments, indecisive.  Then, “He can come.”

“Jones, the hospital is no place—“

“He’s been with her all day, he knows better than I do—C’mon buddy, let’s get going.”  He turned over his shoulder one last time.  “Call me, well, call the hospital if you need to--for anything.”  He said in a rush.  “And try to get in touch with Nolan for me?  He can help you, too, if you need to get home—“

“The kids are with my mother, I’m here as long as you need, Ok? Ok, I got it, now go.”

He nodded and obeyed the command most willingly.  Grace watched until all three were safely loaded into Jonah’s car and he began to back down the driveway.  “Drive careful.”  She said quietly, and sent a fervid prayer up to heaven for someone to watch over this little family tonight.

Then she closed and locked the front door, shed her own winter coat, took a deep breath, put on a cheerful smile and headed for the den.  She had a hell of a lot to do around here before her friends got back, but first priority was making sure those kids in there were healthy, clean, fed, and happy. 

She refused to think about how wan and weak her friend had looked as she was carried from the house.  Refused to dwell on ‘what ifs’.  Everything was going to be just fine.  It just had to be. 

Sick Day

 Ok folks, taking a step back in time!  I wrote this a while back and really really like it.  There's some stuff that went on years ago that we need to explore and delve into because it plays a role in the present day cedar falls... dun dun dunnnnnnn!

Ok, hope you like...

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Jonah pushed the front door inward and it smacked hard into something that rang and erupted into a jaunty, high-pitched electronic version of ‘The wheels on the Bus’.  He frowned and pushed the door open more carefully.  The foyer was littered with enough toys for an entire preschool.  Furrowing his brows he closed the door behind him.

Somewhere deep in the house an exaggerated eastern European voice could be heard counting to ten and laughing in a vampiric ‘ah-ah-ahh’.

He put his briefcase down next to a rainbow colored xylophone on wheels and started toward the sounds of sesame street when a metallic clatter and a peel of giggles sounded from the direction of the kitchen.  Pocketing his keys and stepping over an orphaned baby doll and a pile of wooden block puzzles, Jonah moved toward whatever mischief was transpiring in the kitchen.

He groaned when he saw the dining room.  Someone had decided to do arts-and-crafts in here.  On the walls, and floor, and, was that?  Yes.  On the cream colored Italian silk upholstery on each and every dining room chair.  The indecently expensive hand woven rug was now decorated with what appeared to be an entire bottle’s worth of Elmer’s glue and confetti, and, oh yes, macaroni elbows too. 

What the hell was going on here?

An A-rhythmic and very insistent metallic banging from the kitchen helped drag his attention from the disastrous dining room.  “Sonuvabitch.”  He said quietly to the spilled fingerpaint kit in the corner by the standing porcelain vase that had been a wedding gift from his parents.  Taking a deep breath he pushed the kitchen door inward almost reluctantly.

“Jesus Christ.”  He said, but it was drowned out by a boisterous clatter and tapping accompanied by a full-lunged, a-tonal, almost unrecognizable version of the alphabet song.  Jonah forced himself to count to ten very slowly--fighting the rapid pace of the amateur drumming--as he surveyed the damage.

Someone had figured out a way around the child proofing.  Every condiment kept below, say four feet, had been removed from the refrigerator and strewn about gloriously throughout the kitchen.  Every single pot and pan and lid they owned seemed to be out of the cabinets and were now serving as an entire percussive symphony for someone.

“Zeeeeeeeeee!”  The voice shrieked triumphantly, followed by a beat of silence and then the enthusiastic sound of self-applause.  “Yeeayyyyy!”

Jonah bit down on his lips to keep from laughing.  When the banging began again he crept toward the kitchen island.  He glanced at the cabinets under the sink—they seemed to be one of the only sets still securely closed and undisturbed by whatever little hurricane had struck the kitchen.

“Eeee-yiiiii eeeee-yyyyyiiiii eeeeey-iiiiiiiyyy!!”  The voice was doing ‘Old Macdonald’ now, as Jonah placed his palms on the kitchen island and slowly leaned over the smooth granite surface to peek.

He’d expected to see a mop of red hair, but what he saw instead was enough to make his jaw fall open.  She was powder white.  All over.  Head to toe.  Covered in a layer of white dust.  As was the floor all around her, and the pots and pans and the wooden spoon she was using to play drums.  Jonah spied an upturned bag of flour by the sliding glass door, along with multiple tracks of various sized footprints heading in and out of the mess.  Holy God.

“Haii!”  His daughter greeted him with a wide grin and he looked her over, unsure whether he wanted to laugh or cry.  What a mess. 

With the crystal clear decisiveness signature to toddlers, she flung the wooden spoon away and scrambled to her feet, eager to run around the island and clamp his pant leg in a full body squeeze.  He wasn’t even quite sure which one she was under all that flour.

“Hi there.”  He said, and when she looked up at him he couldn’t help laughing.  It was even in her eyelashes for god’s sake.  What the hell had happened?  He bent down and swung her high above his head, causing a puff of flour to shake loose from her hair, and a pleased giggle to bubble up from her belly, before setting her firmly on his hip and taking one last inventory of the kitchen.  He opened a few lower cabinets to make sure the other twin wasn’t hiding within, peered under the kitchen table in the breakfast nook—finding evidence that the area had likely been used as a fort or a cave of some kind—and then departed the kitchen in search of the rest of his family.

“You made quite a mess.”  He murmured to the nearly-naked little flour-cloud on his hip.

She made a devilish giggle and kicked her legs eagerly. 

“Yes.”  He agreed with her, “But I think you must have had some help, hmm?”

She tossed her head to the side (another little puff of white powder) and rambled vehemently but mostly incoherently.  He thought he might have heard “Ball” and “Monkey” and possibly “Elmo” among the nonsense syllables, but even those he couldn’t be sure of.

He picked his way carefully through the foyer and stepped into the living room with a euphemistic curse.  “Son of a gun.”  He said through clenched teeth.  He was starting to get worried now.

The potted plants from the large bay window had been overturned and potting soil, like the flour in the kitchen, had been tracked to and fro by tiny feet.  The furniture was strewn with what had been piles of clean laundry when he’d left that morning, and the sofa and chair cushions were nowhere in sight.  In here, like in the foyer, there seemed to be an almost un-navigable maze of miscellaneous toys and playthings.  From small items like blocks and fake plastic food items, to larger items like a tricycle and a pink plastic (kid-sized) shopping cart.  Jonah doubted a single toy remained behind in the toy chests they kept in the den.

He doubled back to the foyer quickly and let out a shaky breath of relief to see that the safety gate was still in place at the base of the stairs.  Thank God.

At this point the girl on his hip decided to perform ‘Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes’, apparently determined to cycle through her entire repertoire, and she was slapping at his head and shoulders with great gusto.  Jonah tried to lean out of her range but she managed to knock his glasses askew on one wild swing and he had to clamp down hard on the insides of his cheeks to keep from cursing.

He was really getting nervous now, and his strides became longer as he headed to the downstairs bathroom.  He said a quick thanks to the fates that they’d decided against a tub in the downstairs bathroom, but he was holding his breath nevertheless.  There were all sorts of ways for a child to manage to do harm in a bathroom.

“Jeeeesus.”  He said when he got close and stepped into a wide, spreading puddle.

“Uh-Oh.”  Said the girl, recognizing a curse when she heard it.

“Uh-oh.”  Jonah echoes absently, taking one splashing, soggy step after another until he reached the door and pushed it open quickly.

The toilet was overflowing (he had anticipated as much), and bubbling up out of it, like an insane fountain in a princess dream, was a dense carpet of fluffy, foamy bubbles, which blanketed not only the toilet but the entire floor of the little room as well.

And there was the other twin.  Naked.  Soaking wet.  Covered in bubbles.  And apparently on cloud nine about it.

The twin on his hip squealed and the one planted among the foam looked up with an answering shriek.

Ok.  Genny was the one in the bubbles, so Vienna was his flour-child.

Vienna started squirming and wriggling to get down as Genny clambered to her feet and crossed to him with her small arms held aloft.  “Up!”  She demanded. “Up!”

Jonah had been a father and an elementary school teacher long enough to know what would happen if he let the two come into contact—he’d have two daughters covered in paste.

So he deftly dodged Genny and crouched down to turn the valve behind the toilet until the water supply was closed.  By this time the water was seeping through his shoes and his socks were getting quite wet.  His daughter had, apparently, done her level best to flush an entire bottle of bubble bath or baby shampoo or something.  Holy hell.  He’s never seen so much foam, outside of a carwash, and he’d certainly never seen it spilling gloriously from a toilet.  He couldn’t help but grin at the absurdity of it.

Genny was doing her level best to climb onto his back or knee or whatever she could manage, and the squirming Vienna was becoming quite irate with his refusal to put her down in the bubbles.  “Up!”  Genny demanded.  “Bubbuhz!”  Whined Vienna.

“Hi Daddy!”  Piped a bright voice from behind him. 

He grunted as he stood, working hard to maintain his balance despite Vienna’s forceful wriggling and Geneva’s tenacious climbing.  He turned to see his four-year-old looking cheerful but disheveled, her hair a mess, her mouth orange (he’d put his money on canned pasta as the likely culprit there), and paint all over her hands and arms and pajamas.  Pajamas?

“Hiya Birdie.”  He responded in as chipper a voice as he could manage.  “What’s uh, what’s the story?”

She looked around at the bubbles with astonishment, took in the sight of her two ragamuffin sisters, and then looked at him with wide purple eyes and a serious expression.  “I didn’t do it.”

Jonah clenched his jaw and ran his tongue over the insides of his teeth.  “Crazy day, huh?”  He inquired, plucking his slippery wisp of a daughter from the field of bubbles and pressing her slick little form to his side as he stepped from the bathroom.

“I made you a picture!”  She told him, sounding enormously excited.

“Thank you.  Did you go to school today?”

“Nope.”  She replied pleasantly as she trailed along in his wake.  “We stayed home sick.”

He paused in his progress just long enough to maneuver the back of his hand to her little forehead.  She didn’t feel warm.  He moved away from her just before Genny would have landed an unwitting kick to the girl’s face.

“We?”  He asked, resuming his steady pace toward the den.  “Who is ‘we’?’

“Me and Grey.”  She answered, and he heard a note of resentment in her voice at the mention of her older brother.

“Grey’s sick?”  He peered into the den where Sesame Street was playing at full volume, where books and toys and sippy cups were strewn about in disarray.  Where a couch cushion fort had been erected over by the piano.  But where there was no sign of his wife or son.

“No, he’s taking care of Mummy.”  Avalon answered, running off toward the art table.  Where arts and crafts were meant to be done.  Where paint and crayons and glue and things of that nature were sanctioned.  Today the art table looked almost pristine.  Because she’d opted to re-locate to the dining room today.

“Where is Mummy?”  He asked, trying not to let the panic he was feeling creep into his voice.  “And where’s your brother?”

Avalon shrugged and began singing along with Ernie, twirling several long ribbons around herself fluidly.

On his right hip Vienna was trying to get his attention with her garbled, mish-mash version of ‘The Itsy Bitsy Spider’, recognizable only because of the upward climbing hand motions; And on his left hip, Genny, not to be outdone, began a very rowdy ‘If You’re Happy and You Know It’.

A sharp throbbing was beginning to gather behind his eyes and his breathing was tight.  He slipped Genny down his side and to the floor despite her urgent renewal of the plea of “Up!”, then crossed to the television set and clicked the ‘down’ volume button furiously.

“Ava-Bird, I want you to do me a big favor please.”  He said as calmly as he could. 

She stopped twirling and singing—she’d detected something serious in his tone.  “Yeah?”

“I need you to keep your sister here with you in the den while I go find Mummy and Grey.  Can I count on you?”

Genny was stomping now and he knew she was likely to have a hell of a tantrum in a matter of moments, and even though Vienna wanted nothing more than to be set down, it just had to be this way unless he wanted flour all over the den as well.

Avalon nodded, solemn in her appointed duty.

“Good girl.”  He told her, and rested his hand on her head for a moment.  “Try and distract her, ok?”

“Ok.”  Avalon began talking in an over-bright, uber-enthusiastic voice to her little wet stormcloud of a sister and was doing her best to engage her in a sing-along as Jonah back-tracked through the den, through the livingroom and into the foyer.

Vienna chattered at him in a very displeased sort of tone.  He recognized, vaguely, that she was scolding him.  He kissed her cheek before her thought about it and inhaled a nose full of flour dust.  He sneezed.  “Bessooooo.”  She declared promptly.

“Thank you.”  He responded with a gentle smile.

Were they upstairs?  He sniffed and adjusted his glasses.  Why on earth would Velvet go upstairs and leave her very young children downstairs?  A lump was forming in his throat, which, in combination with the constriction around his ribs, made the act of breathing an enormous challenge.

“Velvet?”  He called up the stairs.

He heard Genny wail in the den in response to the sound of his voice.  The little girl called out for him plaintively.  He heard Avalon try another tack—“Genny, Genny, let’s color!  Wanna color?!”

No answer from above stairs.

He looked at Vienna, who was looking up the staircase as he had been.  How had all this happened?

He didn’t want to leave Ava alone with Genny for too long, but he needed to go check.  His heart was beating very irregularly and a leaden weight had settled in his gut.  Whatever it was that had facilitated today’s chaotic sequence of events, it wasn’t good.

He lifted one long leg over the child-safety gate, gripped the railing and pulled the other over carefully.  It wasn’t so easy with a kid on his hip. Then he mounted the stairs with enough speed to illicit a breathless “Wheee!” from his daughter.  He wondered, for half a second, if they’d trailed a cloud of white powder behind them on the way up.

When he reached the top landing his son appeared before him.

“Grey!”  He said, a measure of relief spreading through him at the sight of the boy, who looked just fine.  “Been looking for you, Buddy.”

“Mum is sick.”  He responded without preamble.  His seven-year-old face was drawn and pale with concern.  He was frowning and looking much more mature than any second grader had business looking.

Ok.  Something was wrong with Velvet.  He swallowed.  Maybe very wrong.  “How about you, son?  You ok?”

Grey looked impatient.  “I’m fine.”  He said hurriedly.  “Mum is really sick though.”

Jonah squeezed the boy’s shoulder firmly.  “Where is she?”

Grey spun on his heel and Jonah followed without delay.  He led his father to the master bedroom.  The first thing Jonah saw was blood on the sheets.  He stopped functioning for a minute and went clammy all over.

He slipped Genny down and forced her hand into Grey’s.  “Hold her.”  He managed to say.

The door to the master bathroom was ajar and Jonah moved toward it, hardly aware of the steps it took to cross.  He pushed open the door very slowly.

His heart surely skipped several beats. 

She was curled up on the bathroom floor, in the fetal position, a pillow from Grey’s bed cushioning her head, a wadded up towel between her legs, the toilet seat up and ready, he imagined, for vomit.  She was paler than he’d ever seen her, and her underarms were dark with perspiration.  Her hair was pulled back in a hectic ponytail and the dark circles under her eyes were alarming in their severity.

“Velvet?”  He croaked.

She lay quite still.  He was frozen.  He watched her torso for a moment and was able to see her small frame lift and fall with inhalations and exhalations.  Thank god in heaven. 

“Velvet.”  Jonah repeated sternly, still rooted to the floor just outside the bathroom.

Her eyes fluttered.

“Mumma!”  Vienna called.

“Don’t let her come over here.”  Jonah said sharply to Grey.

Velvet’s eyes fluttered again and finally opened.  She looked faraway and dazed.  “Grey?”

Jonah crossed to her then, knelt beside her, and put a hand to her forehead.  Warmer than he’d like.   “Velvet, sweetheart, it’s Jonah.”

“Jonah.”  She murmured her voice as weak as a mewling kitten.

“Angel, baby, what’s going on?”  He urged her, his voice thick with emotion and ringing with panic.

“Told him not to call you—“

“I’m home now love, I’m here now, just talk to me.”  He ran his eyes over her and discerned the likely source of the blood. 

She fell quiet for a long moment.  Outside the bathroom in the master bedroom Grey was blocking his baby sister’s attempts to get to her parents.  He wasn’t doing it kindly, but Jonah could hardly be bothered by that at the moment.

“Grey—put her in the nursery, shut the door, and get the phone please.”

“She told me I couldn’t call you—“  He said, sounding angry and afraid and ashamed.  “She said I wasn’t allowed to call 911 either.”

Jonah closed his eyes.  “It’s ok Buddy, just do what I say now, alright?  Put your sister in the nursery for a minute, make sure the door’s closed tight, and run and get the phone please.”

Grey didn’t respond verbally but Jonah heard the unmistakable sounds of a toddler getting half-carried, half-dragged down the hall kicking and screaming.

He re-opened his eyes and stared helplessly at his wife.  He stroked her cheek and rubbed her back gently.  “Velvet, baby, talk to me.”

Her wide green eyes peered up at him and he read sorrow in them.  “I think… I think I might be pregnant?”  She more asked it than stated it.

Jonah thought about the blood on the sheets and cast a quick glance at the blood on the towel between her legs and he wasn’t so sure she was still pregnant, but she very likely had been.

“Ok.”  He said gently, rubbing her back in a soothing rhythmic pattern.  “Ok, well, don’t you worry about a thing sweetheart.”  He crooned.  “We’re gunna get you to the doctor’s right away, ok?”

She shivered all over and his heart twisted dramatically in his chest.  “Can you sit?  Do you think?  If I help you?”  He asked.

She looked disinclined to such a course of action.  “I don’t feel so hot.”

He snorted at the euphemism.  “I know, love, but we gotta get you up and to the doctor, ok?”

She shook her head and crinkled her brow.

“Yes.”  He insisted.

“Here.”  Said a breathless voice behind him.

Jonah turned and took the cordless bedroom phone from his son’s outstretched hand.  “Good work, thank you.”   He said.  “Stay here a minute please.”  Grey looked as though he hadn’t planned on going anywhere, no matter what Jonah said.

Jonah dialed Nolan.  Not at home.  He didn’t have time to track him down.  He dialed the next person he knew he could count on. 

Grace answered on the third ring. 

“I need you to come over and watch the kids.”  He stated before she’d even finished her greeting.

“Jones?  What’s going on?”  She was instantly alert, immediately receptive.

“Please—I need to get Velvet to the hospital.”

“I’ll be right there.”  She answered without hesitation.

“Thank you.”

He hung up and dialed Sam’s office. 

The secretary put him through rather quickly when he told her it was an emergency.  “This is Dr. Bennett.”

“Sam, Velvet’s been bleeding—I think she may be… pregnant—“  He euphemized neatly.  “She’s, she’s not doing well here.  I’m bringing her to the hospital.”  Jonah had avoided saying ‘miscarriage’ because he didn’t want to upset his wife or his son—though he doubted Grey knew what a miscarriage was, and the boy looked plenty upset already by the prospect of his mother having to go to the hospital.

“How long and how much?”  Sam asked soberly.

“I just got home.”  Jonah said, his body beginning to shake with the panic flooding through him.  “A lot.  A, uh, a fair amount here Sam.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“Thank you.”

Jonah’s thumb punched the button to hang up and he pressed the firm plastic against his lips for a long moment.  He could hear his two year old stomping around in the nursery, throwing a fit.  He’d venture a guess that they hadn’t napped today.

He put the phone on the tiled floor and held out his hand to Grey.  Grey scowled and looked very serious.  Jonah opened and closed his hand several times wordlessly.  After a long deliberation Grey finally slipped his hand into his dad’s.

Jonah closed his fingers around his son’s small hand and pulled him into a fierce one-armed hug.  “I’m so proud of you for taking care of your mother today.”  He said passionately.

Grey grunted.  “I tried.”  He was trying hard not to whine by covering his anxiety with a forced gruffness.  “I made her soup and brought her water and crackers and a pillow.”  Grey was allowed to use the microwave.  Jonah would bet he’d also made the canned pasta lunch that had given Avalon an orange mustache.  And he’d probably had to feed the twins too.  Jesus.

“You did a great job.”  Jonah affirmed, pulling him back to look him in the face.

“But she just kept throwing up all the time.”  Grey lamented, his big green eyes flicking over to where his mother lay quite still and pale on the bathroom floor.

“Hey, look at me.”  Jonah said gently but firmly.  Grey did.  The boy was scared to death.  Jonah could empathize.  “You did a great job.  I’m proud of you.”  His son’s lower lip trembled just a bit and then he shrugged dismissively.  Jonah planted a kiss on his forehead.  “And you helped take care of your sisters, too, didn’t you?”

He nodded grimly.  “I tried to give them lots to play with so mummy wouldn’t have to get up.”

“That was smart thinking.”  Jonah said kindly. 

“And I made lunch too.”

“Impressive.”  He said.  “Thank you for being such a good big-brother.”

“Is she dying?”  He demanded suddenly, looking angry and terrified all at once.

Jonah fixed him with an earnest, steady stare.  “No.”  He told him plainly.  “Your mother is going to be ok.”  He continued.  “You took very good care of her for me, and because of that she’s going to get well very soon.”

Grey dragged in a shuddering breath and sighed it out.  His lowered brows and his frown remained unwavering.

Vienna was banging her head or feet against the nursery door.  Jonah squeezed his son’s hand reassuringly.  “Now, son, I need you to keep being a great big brother and bring Vee downstairs, ok?  Be careful with her on the stairs, you hear me?”  Grey nodded reluctantly.  “Ok, good.  You bring her down while I get Mummy dressed and ready to go.”  Jonah no longer gave a flying fuck about where his daughter might trail flour.  “And then wait downstairs and let Aunt Grace in as soon as she gets here—got it?”

Grey nodded once, firmly. 

Jonah cupped the boy’s cheek and smiled a soft, sad smile.  “I love you.”

“Loveyoutoo.”  Grey mumbled and, with one last baleful glance at his mother, hurried out of the bathroom and to his appointed tasks.

Jonah turned back to his wife.  She was awake and watching him with watery eyes.

“What is it?”  He asked quickly.  “Are you in pain?”

She shook her head weakly.  “You’re the best dad—“

He shook his head as he adjusted his body and slipped one arm below her legs just above the knees, and one around her back an under her arms.  “Can you put your arms around my neck sweetheart?”

She tried, but they fell back limply.  He tried not to think about how serious her condition was, why she was so very weak.  He maneuvered as gently as he could, so as not to jostle her, and stood with her bundled in his arms.

He’d never been so afraid in all his life.

Here's the low-down:

Whoopsie. Missed a day there.

It was a pretty busy, away-from-the-computer kind of day for me yesterday.

Started off pleasant, in post-coital bliss, then quickly devolved into a very nasty, ridiculous argument with my husband. Yuck yuck yuck.

Then dropped $400.00 to replace the alternator on Aaron's froggy wagon, had breakfast with my mom--and folks, she's at the age where the bulk of her conversation pertains to medical issues one would rather not discuss over a meal-- especilly when one has ordered eggs and hollandaise sauce. Gross. Besides? Everything about my mum & dad's sitch is depressing. and gloomy. and infinitely frustrating.

That's another kettle of fish.

Then-- a great thing-- I went to visit with D and the Bean! Made my week, to tell the truth. Ahhhh. It feels so good to get some female energy and perspective in my world! You might not notice it at first, but living with a guy and that guy's brother can really do weird things to the hormones, I think. It was nice to find some peace and balance and power in being a woman! And besides the awesome chat, the laughs, the advice, the encouragement and the sexy talk, I got to hold and bounce and play with the incredible Miss Zoe P! Her smiles light up a room!

Oh, and don't underestimate the power of a mary lou's coffee in your hand. I'm tellin ya.

K, then to work, but first I had to pick up the husband from HS to drive to our mutual work at the elementary. Chilly. At least at first. i waited until he chose to speak to gauge what mood he was in. See, I already felt alot better about the argument because I'd had a chance to laugh about it and process it with my bestie, so I wasn't actually angry at all, but I definitely needed him to do the approaching on this one.

And he did. He was conciliatory, and kind, and sweet. So I responded in kind. We said the requisite "I love you"s before he headed in to aftercare. Then somehow I recieved a voicemail from Brockton Human Resources but managed to never hear the phone ring or even have a missed call (curse you Verizon!!). So I promptly listen to the message and guess the fuck what? They want to offer me the job, and I should call them back if I'm interested.

WAHHHHHHT??????

YAYAYAYAYAYAYYYYYYY!

So I do. Get put on hold. Have to call back. Struggle with shitty reception, but eventually and FINALLY I am hired for a goddamn job! I am goint to be an MTA at BHS FULL TIME!! With bennies. The job is basically being the school bitch-- doing whatever they need whenever they need it, but whatevs! I am stoked! A little anxious (because anxiety is my default state), but relieved beyond measure.

It doesn't answer all my problems and woes like a magic wand-- I'm not making enough for that, but goddammit, does it ever help! Full time job. Wowza. Plus the afterschool job. holla!

So yay.

Then work was fun. I helped kids with homework and then played legos. The boys playing legos seemed shocked and curious that I was a female teacher and enjoyed building badass looking spaceships out of legos.

Then we came home and all hell broke loose, but to be honest I don't want to break it all down here at present. Suffice it to say that Aaron and I argued again, then he was awesome pants, I had a sobbing, sniffling, ugly-cry breakdown, and then slowly but surely began to heal and feel alot better. i've been keeping things so pent-up, keeping this armor on--because what other choice do I have, really? It's either get tough or breakdown at every bump in the road, you know? and my little road has been pretty fucking bumpy as of late. But anyway, it was good for Aaron to dismantle the armor, strip it off me, and exfoliate realllllll good. I feel shiny and healthy and much better balanced than I have for a while.

Then i made english muffin pizzas for dinner because I was just too exhausted to do anything more elaborate (or healthy), and they were yum city.

holy hell, this post got long. What a day yesterday, eh?

So that's what's happening in my neck of the woods. I start monday. Yup. Today and tomorrow I need to run around and get paperwork finalized and shit, email the school districts in whiich I sub to let them know /i am no longer available and blah blah blah.

i am also going to trot out the vibrator, because Aaron and I had alot of fun this morning, but I really wanted to be in charge and make him... well, you know what I'm getting at, but then we ran out of time for me to get off, so I'll just see to that myself :) Unless my brother-in-law comes home sick AGAIN.

So I'll likely post some writing too, since I was delinquent yesterday. Enjoyz. and thank you all for your constant encouragement, your best wishes and your belief that it would happen eventually.

Today an MTA, maybe next year a real-life, honest-to-goodness, full-time teacher in my own right?!?!?!?

hope so!

Long Night; Part 11

Yikes.  Eleven?

Interesting little side note:  When we used to play the sims ALL THE TIME Aaron actually invented a character named Eleven Delaney.  She was awesome and sexy and quirky and artsy.  Half asian too.

Now he's lamenting that I've hogged the name Delaney and he can't write a story about 'Eleven Delaney' in Cedar Falls.

I'm trying to figure out a way to work her in...

anyway.  Part 11.

We get a kinda-sorta glimpse into one of the characters we never pay much attention to-- but really?  This is more about Jonah than anything.  Not gunna lie.  It's about exploring the man with the secret as he tries desperately to maintain the life he led before the secret.

Long long long night apparently.

um,i think I'll post a deviation from the long night next, for two reasons:  The first:  I like variation and dislike getting stuck too long in one story line\time\place.  Second:  I have not finished the next segment to my satisfaction.  It took a turn I didn't expect and am not sure I want to go where it took me, not yet, maybe never.

AND i've been writing SO MUCH as far as other story lines go, so why not take a detour and give you yummy, salacious, delicious OTHER STUFF???

Anywayz.  Today you get more LONG NIGHT.  Enjoy!

*****************

Jonah crossed to his daughter’s desk and stared at the device that was emanating uninspired, angsty college folk music.  He didn’t see a dial. Or even a discernable button.  How the hell does one turn the volume down?

“Uh, Vee.”  He gestured at it, smiling apologetically.  “It’s just a little loud for a conversation.”

Vienna had flung herself onto her bed after letting him in, and now she had to drag herself up and off of it once more to deal with the music.  Every movement was an effort, every effort cost her.  She swiped her finger in a half circle on the flat surface of her music player and, as if by magic, the referential lyrics vanished to a hush, the tired guitar dwindled to a hint in the background, and the homage-laden harmonica mewled like a kitten instead of whining like a merciless banshee.  She dragged her feet back to the bed and collapsed again, miserable and mute.

Jonah tried to feel for her, he really did, but right now she was more a task than a person to him.  He’d been engaged (by his beautiful, fretful little wife) to entreat the young woman to join the rest of the family for dinner. And so he was standing in her room, gazing at her, and trying to dream up some way of accomplishing the goal, which looked, at the moment, to be an unlikely one.

“Mum send you up here?”  The girl asked, staring up at the high ceiling of her over-large, shared bedroom.

“We’re both worried about you.”  He responded dutifully.

He watched her flat stomach tense beneath her pajama tank top in a humorless laugh.  “Worried about your precious, bourgeois dinner party.”

Oh, for Christ’s sake.  This was going to be just delightful.  Who’d she been dating—Holden Caulfield?

Jonah crossed to her bed and sat gingerly at the foot of it.  When she hadn’t made a move in response, nor requested he remove himself, he relaxed a little and crossed his arms thoughtfully.  “Our primary concern is your well being, Vienna, and I think you know that.”

She huffed and threw an arm over her eyes, but she grunted in some semblance of concession.

“Of course we’d love to have you downstairs with the family—you’re a part of this family and tonight is an important night.”  He saw her lips push tight, just like they had the first time she’d tried a lemon as a toddler, and he smiled gently at the memory.  “But nobody is asking you to do anything you aren’t comfortable with.”

She nodded beneath her arms and blew a shaky puff of air from those puckered lips.  She was trying hard not to burst into tears.

They sat in silence for a few moments; he wanted to allow her time to regulate her breathing and push away the impulse to sob.  He waited until her arm slipped off her face and she was staring at the ceiling once more, to continue.

“Want to tell me about it?”  He suggested.

“No.”

He nodded.  He didn’t really want to hear about it.  But neither one of them were going to get what they wanted tonight.

“How long had you been dating?”  He asked softly.

He saw her dart her tongue over her parched lips and swallow hard.  She shrugged.

“Vienna.”  He said, a stern but gentle command.

“Two months.  I guess. Three?”

His eyebrows lifted.  “And I never met him?”  It was a loaded question.  A very Dad-like question.

She rolled her eyes.  “Don’t start, please?”

He licked the back of his teeth and chose his next words with care.  “It strikes me as a bad sign that you didn’t have this young man over to meet your parents.”  He said, forcing a neutral tone.  “It tells me that maybe you had some doubts about him?”  Her violet eyes closed tight.  “Maybe your subconscious or your gut told you he wasn’t the right guy from the get-go?”

She covered her face with her hands just as a sob tore from her throat.

“Okay.”  He said soothingly.  “It’s okay. Shhhshhhshh.”  He patted her leg very gently and she bolted upright and wrapped her arms around his neck in one fluid and desperate movement.

He held his breath, waiting to feel something inappropriate, waiting to turn into the monster that lurked within him.  But nothing happened except a girl sobbing into his neck and mumbling indistinctly.

He exhaled and inhaled a little more freely.  And patted his daughter’s back gently.  And tried not to think about Viola.

“Slow down, Honey; slow down and tell me from the beginning.”

It took her a couple of minutes to reign in her emotions.  When she did so she unwrapped herself from him and pulled her long legs into the pretzel position.  She pushed her long auburn hair back behind her ears and sniffled.  His lips quirked.  He loved her so much.  He hadn’t been paying much attention to her lately.  To her or her twin sister.  They were so independent and busy and grown-up lately.  It was sort of sweet to see her vulnerable and in need of a hug.

He only wished she didn’t have to be broken hearted and miserable.

“He’s a sophomore at the university.”  She said on a weary exhale.  He pursed his lips but held his tongue.  “I met him at the coffee house, he’s a poet and a lyricist and a musician.”  Her voice tread the line between bitter resentment and adoring awe.

So this guy was a self-centered, egotistical, disingenuous, ass.  Wonderful.

“What’s his name?”  Jonah asked automatically.

“You don’t know him.”

“I didn’t ask if I knew him, I asked what his name is.”  Jonah responded archly.

“Dad, you don’t know him, he’s not from here, he just moved here to go to the CFU!”  She hurried, a whine creeping into her voice.

He was pretty used to knowing the people his daughters associated with.  He was in the school system.  He could pull their academic records and see who their family was and size them up pretty easily.  In many cases he’d been their sixth grade social studies teacher or their elementary school principal.

He didn’t like the idea of this unknown coffee house neo-beatnik, with a cipher for a background, sniffing around his daughter.

“Vienna.”  He said simply.

“Cash.”

Jonah just barely resisted rolling his eyes.  “Cash?”  He responded as mildly as he could manage.  “And does Cash have a last name?”

“Nassiri.”  She said, her eyes flashing, her tone a dare.

“Sounds like he’d be in a band.”  He quipped wryly before he could stop himself.

Her lips pressed firmly together and she glowered at him.  Then the expression slipped and her lips quirked.  “Dad.”  She said warningly.

“Apologies.”  He said with a small smile. 

She laughed a little.  “Cash isn’t his real name.”

“You don’t say.”

She giggled.  He grinned.

“So what happened?”  He prompted easily.

Her small smile evaporated and she looked away.  “He met someone else.”

Jonah adjusted his glasses and refused to think about Velvet and Viola.  Refused to do it. 

“How did it end?”  He asked quietly.

She ran her fingers through her hair, over her scalp, and Jonah was reminded forcibly of Nolan.  Funny how these little traits and quirks get distributed. 

She looked disgusted and miserable. “That’s the worst part!”  She moaned.  “He sent me a text.”  She turned to her father with baleful eyes.  “A goddamned text, Dad.”

Jonah nodded solemnly.  “The boy’s an idiot, Vee.”  He said decisively.

She rolled her eyes and clucked her tongue and pulled all her long red hair to one side.  He watched as she began to braid the long, straight mane restlessly.  “Dad, you don’t even know him!”  She protested.  “He’s a genius.”  She insisted.  “He’s brilliant and he’s beautiful, and he is so talented it’s almost painful, you know?”

Jonah would certainly classify the music he’d heard upon entering her room as ‘painful’, but he decided it would be best to avoid an artistic debate at present.  He was old, ergo he’d never win—right as he may well be.

“A genius?”  Jonah challenged.  “Brilliant?”  He prodded.

“You don’t know him.”  She repeated mulishly, her long fingers working steadily down her locks.

“You’re right.  I don’t.”  Jonah conceded.  “And I think we’ve already covered just why, precisely, I was never introduced to Mr. Nassiri.”  He said unsympathetically.

She blushed all over and frowned at the far bedroom wall.

“And as for his brilliance,”  Jonah continued, hell bent on saying his peace, “Any idiot who breaks up with someone via text message is not only far from a genius, he’s also a coward, and not really much of a man at all Vienna.” 

Her lower lip trembled.  She didn’t seem inclined to speak.

“Besides.”  He continued, wanting to see her smile again, wanting to hear her giggle.  “He’s obviously a fool to look at anyone else when he should have been counting his lucky stars to have you on his arm.”

She rolled her eyes and gave him a pitying, exasperated look. “Daa-aad.”

He managed not to chuckle.  “What?”  He demanded.  “You’re smart, funny, beautiful, talented, clever, well-traveled, sophisticated—“

“Well apparently none of that matters, does it?” She interrupted, her voice dancing a fragile line between anguish and acrimony.

He was thoughtful.  “Besides, what imbecile went and passed up a redhead?”  He asked in a tone of absolute wonder and bewilderment.  “Everybody knows a redhead is a real catch.”

She shook her head and a giggle slipped out.  “You’re such a dad.”  She lamented, even while smiling.

“Well.”  He shrugged.

She hugged him and he held her for a long moment, as long as she needed.  He wondered if she’d slept with the boy.  Probably.  He wondered if he’d made promises to her.  Likely.  Lied to her, and pretended, and charmed his way into her pants.  Most definitely.

He wondered if he could kill the boy and get away with it.  Less probable.

“You want me to come downstairs now, don’t you?”  Vienna asked resignedly as she pulled out of the hug and slouched against the wall, stretching her long legs out on the bed before her and flexing her pedicured toes.

“Your family loves you, Vee, and everyone would love to see you join us.”

She sighed and ran her fingers through the braid she’d started, shaking the plait loose with determination.

“Everyone will be looking at me, and pitying me, and talking about me behind my back.”  She said it without emotion.  It was a fact.

Jonah removed his glasses and began to clean them unnecessarily.  “Everyone is here to support you, and help you, and be here for whatever you need.”  He corrected.  “And moreover, this night is in honor of your brother and his new wife, so you certainly won’t have to endure being in the spotlight with this, or anything of the sort.”

They fell into a thoughtful silence for a moment or two.

“I’ll come down if you get mom to promise she won’t bring it up.  Like, at ALL.”  Vienna bargained, sounding much more like herself.

“Sound like a deal.”  Jonah said, slipping his glasses back on and smiling fondly at his daughter.  He extended his hand for a shake, and she seemed to deliberate for a few seconds before laughing and clasping her hand to his for a cordial, business-like shake.

He then got up and crossed to the door.

“Dad?” 

He stopped and turned.  “Yes, love?”

“Thanks for being you.”  She said with complete sincerity.

His gut twisted painfully and he felt a slippery coldness wriggle down his spine.

“Thanks for being a good sport on this kiddo.  I know you’re hurting.”

She shrugged and sniffled a little.  “Be down in a few, k?”

“Ok.”  He said with a nod.  He paused in the doorway, not quite ready to leave the safezone of the twins’ room for the no-man’s-land of the hall.  Where Viola was likely waiting to prey on him.  “Uncle Caleb’s broken up with Gideon.”  He told her.  “It was pretty awful.  Maybe you could do me a favor and make sure he has an ok night tonight?”

She tilted her head to the side and gave him a concerned and curious look.  “You got it.”  She responded kindly.

“That’s my girl.”  He said, and, taking a deep breath, pulled open the door and braced himself for the rest of the evening.