Chapter 35
Maia
Waking up, face planted in Jackson’s crotch was a touch awkward, I must say.
“This is not the friend zone,” I say pointing at the bulge in his jeans.
“What!” he laughs. “It’s the first thing in the morning. I have no control over that. That and the fact that you’ve been sleeping in that position for the last hour. How much self-control do you think I have?”
I throw a couch cushion at his head and walk over to the bathroom to grab a shower. Before I walk in, Jackson stops me. “Do you want me to come with you today? To the hospital, I mean,” he asks tentatively.
“I’d like that,” I reply smiling. Only briefly do I consider the awkwardness that will ensue when Blake and Jackson run into each other there.
With all the issues that I’ve had over the past few weeks, I find myself standing in the shower thinking only about the bulge in Jackson’s pants. I asked for time, but does sex really qualify a relationship? I’m pretty sure that shower sex, being so reckless in nature, counts even less. Screw it? Screw it!
“Jackson!” I shout.
“Yo!” he calls back from the kitchen.
“I’m wet!” I yell back. Wow, if that’s not a double entendre. I clasp my hand over my mouth. Thankfully as the words fly out of my mouth, the kettle begins to whistle loudly, drowning out my Freudian slip.
“What was that?” Jackson asks from just outside the bathroom door.
“I need a towel, in the hallway cupboard to your left,” I say.
“Should I leave it at the door?” he asks.
I roll my eyes. f-ucking hell, he really is taking this gentleman thing very seriously. “I, um, I have shampoo in my eyes. You may need to bring it in. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, anyway,” I say, the intended seduction in my voice overshadowed by the tremble.
Jackson walks into the bathroom with his eyes averted. I want him to want me. I need it. I know he’s doing everything in his power to keep looking away. Problem is, he’s doing too good a job.
“Can you hand it to me?” I say leaning around the glass of the walk-in shower. As he hands the towel to me, I let my fingers linger on his, almost holding them in mine. His eyes meet mine and any willpower that he was clutching onto falls away. I see it by the way his eyes cloud over with lust. In less than a second his jeans, t-shirt and boxer shorts are all off, and I give his resplendent body a once over.
“Liar,” he says as he walks into the shower.
“How so?” I ask innocently.
“How’d you manage to get shampoo in your eyes when you aren’t actually washing your hair?” he teases. I smile coyly as his hands grab my waist and pull me into him.
Jackson’s mouth crashes over mine, greedily. Hungrily. I drink him down as if I’ve been thirsty in a desert for half my life.
“What about needing time?” he asks as his hand cups my breast and his lips move down to my neck, peppering it with soft, delicious kisses. A soft groan escapes my lips. There is no time when Jackson touches me. Time stands still. My fingers slide over the toned muscles of his upper back, slippery and wet with the cascading water.
Jackson’s body pushes me back against the tiles, and the feeling of his hardness rubbing against my thigh threatens to send me way over the edge. I want it. Mine, it all belongs to me. As if sensing my anticipation, Jackson grabs the backs of my thighs and lifts them around his waist. In one swift motion, he slides into me. If I missed him for nothing else, my God I missed this. He thrusts into me, deeply, with a gentle force that causes my legs to clench like a vice grip around his waist. With each thrust, he delivers a deep and perfectly timed kiss. I can barely breathe, but it is the most beautiful kind of suffocation. My body writhes against his. More, I want more.
Jackson’s hand comes up and holds my chin, pulling my face down so our eyes meet. He kisses me, his gaze never leaving mine. He wants to see me come. To know that I have, before he does. My nails dig into his back as an earth-shattering explosion rocks me from the inside out. Seconds later, Jackson pushes into me with ferocious finality. I collapse against his chest, and we both sink down to the tiled floor. I turn and lean my back against his chest as the warm water falls over us. I can barely catch my breath. Jackson’s fingers trace small lines up and down my thighs. I can hear his heartbeat pounding in his chest. For now, and I suspect forever, there’s no place I’d rather be.
Perfection is short lived, though, because now we must get dressed and make our way to the hospital. Jackson makes us coffee, and doesn’t discuss the shower. He makes light and pleasant conversation to distract me from my thoughts. For that I am extremely grateful. He knows I’m not ready to go beyond what happened this morning.
As we enter my mother’s room, I see a familiar silhouette seated by her bed. Aunt Megs has her head bowed in silent prayer, a wooden rosary woven through her fingers. She looks up as she hears us approach, and walks over to me, embracing me in a fierce and warm hug.
“What happened, Maia?” she asks.
I tell her the story while Jackson goes off to buy some more coffee. “My father will pay for this Aunt Megs, I promise you. If I need to spend every cent I have to make sure of it,” I say angrily, passionately, as I hold my mother’s hand.
“This is the most peace she’s had in a long time,” Aunt Megs replies, sadness cloaking her face.
Jackson walks back in, followed closely by Dr. Carson. In my few encounters with the doctor, I’ve always been reassured by his warmly optimistic nature. Today, his face is serious. My stomach begins to churn before he even speaks.
“Maia, your mother’s body has healed well. But I’m afraid I’m not overly optimistic about the brain activity we’re seeing. It is very minimal. We think it’s time to bring her out of the coma. Cease the drugs,” he says.
“What will happen?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“Well, we leave the ventilator attached, and see what happens.” He looks down as he says this.
“Is there a chance she won’t wake up?” I ask, almost in tears.
Dr Carson breathes a labored sigh. “Maia, there are moments in my job where I wish I could lie and give you the hope that you need, and this is one of them. Based on what we have observed, we think that it’s not likely that her brain function will ever restore. The more likely scenario is that she will continue to require the ventilator to live.”
Now my stomach drops completely. This is the absolute worst case scenario. Jackson stands behind me, with a hand on the small of the back. The only saving grace in this moment is the knowledge that he will catch me when I fall, not if, but when.
“We will continue to monitor her for a period of time, but if there is no improvement after a few weeks, we will give you the option to continue the life support, or to turn it off.”
Dr. Carson speaks quietly, sympathetically. As if he already knows her fate. Aunt Megs has moved over to the sofa, a solemn faraway look on her face.
“How soon will I have to make the decision, if it comes to that?” I ask with dread.
“A week or two is normally sufficient to determine the long term prognosis,” he replies clinically.
Dr. Carson leaves, followed closely by Aunt Megs, who promises to return in the morning. I take up my seat next to my mother and Jackson sits on the sofa in the corner of the room. He doesn’t say a word. He knows, always knows, exactly what I need from him. No one in the world will ever understand me like this man does. I give him a small smile before placing my head next to my mother’s on her pillow, the whooshing of the ventilator the only reassurance of life.
I’ve watched a thousand movies where the coma patient’s hands or eyes move, where they are about to turn off the life support and a miracle happens. That doesn’t come for us. Jackson accompanies me every day to the hospital, and sits in quiet support on the sofa. In the evenings he comes home with me, eats dinner, and makes sure I’m sleeping before he leaves. In the mornings, he arrives with coffee and some kind of breakfast. I haven’t really wanted to talk or laugh. He hasn’t forced me to. He has, as promised, been there, as my constant. The closest we come to intimacy is the gentle kiss I feel on my cheek just before I drift off to sleep. Then he either leaves or, if the day has been particularly bad, falls asleep on my sofa. We’ve run into Blake a few times at the hospital, and even though I see Jackson’s jaw clench as soon as he sees him, they have been amicable to each other. For my sake.
* * *
Two weeks exactly from the day of Dr. Carson’s pre-emptive prognosis, I hear the news I have been dreading. There is no brain function, and there never will be.
Jackson doesn’t need to be asked to leave. “I’ll give you some time,” he says before planting a soft kiss on my cheek and walking out of the room.
I call Aunt Megs, and sit down to bear my soul.
“So, now there isn’t enough time to have every conversation that we could have. Should have. I always thought I had so much time, for everything. I never guessed I’d be here, with so many regrets. I know most of your pain was caused by me. You just wanted me to be happy. So I promise you that I will be, I will try to be. God, what am I supposed to do?” I say, holding my head in my hands.
“Stop running away.”
Aunt Megs’ voice breaks through my pity party. I don’t turn. Enough people have seen me cry these past few weeks, and that pisses me off.
“Maia, you cannot keep running away. Your mother would not blame you for any of this. You are not responsible for other people’s choices.” Megs’ voice is stern, maternal.
“Then why do I feel like I am?” I ask sadly.
“Because that’s how you want to feel. That boy,” she says, gesturing towards the door, “is too scared to say boo, because he’s so afraid you’ll run away. Is that what you want to turn him into, a puppet? Because you will. He looks as though he loves you enough to become one, just so he doesn’t lose you.”
“I don’t know how else to be,” I say, now sobbing.
“No, fear is stopping you from being something different.” Megs reprimands. “Fear is what brought her here, not you.” She says, pointing towards my mother.
When Jackson comes back, Aunt Megs insists that we all say a few prayers, and we oblige. So much happens in the moment where the doctors turn off the ventilator. A single tear rolls down my cheek, Jackson wraps both arms around my waist and I allow my body to sink into his. My father now faces a murder charge. It has all ended, and it has all just begun.