Still Beating

Morning afters are confusing when you have no idea what’s supposed to come after.

The sun shines in through a nearby window, setting her milky skin aglow as she rests a few inches away from me. After watching her fall in and out of sleep so many times in that basement, I can tell she’s awake just by the way her body swells and deflates with every uneven breath. I stare at the expanse of her slender back, the bedsheet dipping off her hip, and I vividly recall every glorious detail from the night before.

But considering she’s pretending to still be asleep after slipping out of my embrace, I’m wondering if she’s trying to forget those same details.

I decide to brave the inevitable and slide my way over to her, scooping her up with one arm and pulling her to my chest. “Morning,” I whisper, noting the shiver she produces when my lips graze her ear. I trail my fingers up and down her belly, in between her breasts, and stop just short of her neck. I play with the heart pendant on her necklace as I wait for her response.

Cora stiffens at the contact. “Hey.”

“You don’t seem quite as excited to see me as I am to see you,” I tease, nudging my growing erection against her bottom as I kiss her shoulder.

Silence.

I go still, trying to read the mood. It’s feeling more like an awkward one-night stand and less like the best night of our lives. “Cora?”

Cora rolls onto her back and peers up at me with tired eyes. She scans my face, worrying her lip between her teeth as she pulls the bedsheet up over her chest. “I have some errands to run today.”

“What?” I blink at her, not expecting such flippant words to be the first thing out of her mouth after the night we just shared. “Right now?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs. “It’s Sunday. It’s errand day.”

“It’s also the day after we had mind-blowing sex, and we should probably talk about it.”Contentt bel0ngs to N0ve/lDrâ/ma.O(r)g!

Cora sits up, her cheeks staining pink, and begins to move herself to the edge of the bed as she drags the blankets with her. “I don’t want to talk about that, Dean.”

What the fuck?

“Seriously?”

“Yes. Seriously.”

I watch her collect her discarded clothes from the floor, slipping the tank top over her head and looking around for her bottoms. I do the same, pulling on my boxers and jeans as my heart clenches in my chest with rising emotions. “You can’t just pretend that didn’t happen.”

Cora glances at me over her shoulder, just briefly, and steps into her cotton shorts. “I’m going to hop in the shower. I forgot to pick up more dog food yesterday, and the store opens at nine.”

Ouch.

I gape at her, standing on the other side of the bed, shirtless and gutted. “Cora… you’re killing me.”

She falters mid-reach for her cell phone charging by the side of her bed. Her shoulders heave up and down with a weighted sigh, and she sits down, tugging her hair back with her fingers. “We weren’t even… safe.”

My fingers curl around my hips as I stare at the back of her head. I can’t argue with that—she’s absolutely right. “I’m sorry. That was my fault.” I approach her with hesitant feet, coming up beside her on the bed. “Are you on the pill?”

“Yes, but… I’ve missed a few doses. I’ve been forgetful with a lot of things lately, and I wasn’t expecting…” She sighs again, and this time, tears spring to her eyes. “It’s my fault, too. I should have stopped it from getting that far.”

I scratch my cheek. “I’ll give you money for the morning after pill. Just in case.”

Cora swallows, sparing me another quick glance. “Are you…?”

“Am I what?” My eyebrows go up. “Clean?”

She nods.

Normally, this question wouldn’t offend me—it’s a responsible question to ask your sexual partner, albeit, a little late. But this is Cora. She knows I was with her sister for the last fifteen years. Plus, I got tested after our captivity and everything came back clean, so I know that fuckhead didn’t give her anything. “Of course I’m clean. Do you think I cheated on Mandy?”

A shrug.

A fucking shrug.

“Wow. I never thought you actually believed that shit.” I spin away from her, trying to hide the hurt creeping onto my face. “I was faithful throughout our entire relationship, Cora. Even when we separated for those few months back in college. I’ve literally only had sex with one person my whole life… until you.”

I turn back to see tears quietly tracking down her cheeks as she keeps her gaze fixed in front of her. “My tests came back normal, too. Shockingly. They sent me home with antibiotics just in case, but…” Cora ducks her head as she lets out a breath. “This is such a mess.”

She pushes her hair back, revealing multiple pink splotches along her neck, along with a colorful bruise from where my mouth had been. I swallow. “Yeah.”

“I’m a horrible human being. Mandy will never forgive me for this.”

A wave of guilt pinches my gut as reality starts seeping in. One week after breaking off a fifteen year commitment to Mandy, I sleep with her sister. There’s not a single explanation we could come up with that would make this sound even remotely acceptable.

Then again, there’s not a single explanation that would adequately describe our relationship either. Our dynamic. Our history. Our connection. None of it’s normal; none of it’s relatable—all of it’s confusing as fuck.

I take a seat beside her, and Cora’s breath catches when my bare arm grazes hers. “Corabelle, I’m sorry for not being stronger. I hate that you’re feeling like this, and I hate that it’s my fault. I just… I’m fucking crazy about you.” She tips her head to me, her eyes swelling. “I can’t turn it off. And I can’t stop caring about you just because the circumstances aren’t ideal.”

“It’s more than ‘not ideal’, Dean. It’s wrong. It’s beyond the realm of appropriate.”

“But it’s real, and it’s intense, and it’s swallowing us whole.”

“Is it, though?” Cora inhales a shuddering breath. “Is it real?”

“What?” I frown, thrown by the question. “Of course it is.”

She looks away, fisting the hem of her tank top between sweaty palms. “Maybe this was simply born out of trauma and survival. We think we still need each other even though we made it out. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if we didn’t go through what we went through.”

“I disagree,” I say, shaking my head. “Maybe not right now, but… I think this was inevitable.”

“No. When the trauma fades away, we fade away. This is temporary.”

My anger flickers. “That’s not what you said last night when I was inside you. You said you’ve always been mine.”

Cora sets her jaw, her cheeks flaming. She rises to her feet and storms away. “I was in the heat of the moment, Dean. I can’t believe you brought that up.”

I stand to follow, grabbing my shirt off the floor and tugging it over my head in the process. “Why not? You said it.”

She whirls around with a fresh set of emotions ready to fly. “I can’t do this!”

“Cora…”

“No! Don’t try to change my mind or feed me that fairytale, always-meant-to-be bullshit. You were engaged to my sister as of a week ago. You were with her for fifteen years.” Her tears spill out, catching on the corners of her mouth. “Then you dumped her for me, and now I have to live with that.”

I reach for her hands, but she yanks them away. “I already told you. Ending my relationship with Mandy had nothing to do with you. Or us.”

“Lies.”

“Stop, Cora. You could walk away from me right now and tell me it’s over, and I wouldn’t go back to Mandy. It ended because we ended. You don’t change that.”

Cora stares at me with flushed skin and crossed arms. She nods her head slowly, deliberately, and pins her eyes on mine. “I guess we’ll see.” She takes a step back and drops her arms to her sides. “It’s over, Dean. I can’t do this to Mandy.”

She continues to walk backwards, away from me, and I shake my head with a bitter laugh. Unbelievable. I reach into my pocket, pulling a wad of cash out of my wallet as I pace over to her. I lean in close, then tug her wrist towards me and open her palm. “You probably should have thought about that before you fucked me.” I slap the money into her hand, trying to ignore the pain that flashes in her eyes. “For the pill.”

I grab my coat off the back of the couch, slip on my shoes, and slam the door shut behind me as I walk out of her house.

Morning fades to night, and I don’t hear from Cora all day.

I’ve been pissed off and resentful since I left her house, alternating between taking power naps to try and forget all the bullshit swimming through my head, and binging Netflix to try and distract me from all the bullshit swimming through my head.

So far, neither have worked. I’m plagued with bullshit.

I never thought this would be easy. I never assumed we’d hop into bed, wake up the next day, and our magical, new life would begin. Fuck, no. There is nothing easy or magical about any of this. It’s messy and dirty and confusing and hard.

But I knew that. I’d considered all the bumps and curves we’d hit along the way, and I was willing, prepared, to brave each and every fallout with her. We’ve already survived so much together. We’ve weathered through the most turbulent storms. We’ve faced things that would keep the most fearless person up at night. We’ve looked death in the eye and persevered.

And yet, she runs from this.

From me.

But I suppose matters of the heart can be the scariest thing of all.

I stretch out on the couch, pulling up my blanket and calling in an order for Chinese food. I glance at Cora’s name and our last string of messages, and I notice a text from her that I never opened. It was in response to me telling her that I’d be at her house in fifteen minutes:

Cora: That’s not a good idea

Would that have stopped me from driving over there in the middle of the night to try and comfort her in the dark?

Probably not.

But she tried. She tried to stop it.

I feel like a guilty asshole, even though I know what happened between us was real and inevitable and consensual. We both wanted it. We both craved it.

But I know her heart—I know that her loyalty to her sister will always be a jagged wedge between us. Maybe I pushed too hard. Maybe it was too soon. I swipe at her name on my screen and type out a message I’m sure I’ll regret instantly.

Me: I don’t want to fight with you. I understand why you’re scared and I totally fuckin get it. But whatever is between us isn’t gonna go away. Last night was everything, and I know you felt it too. We can go slower. We can start over. Just don’t shut me out…we’re in this together 🙂

I add the smiley face because Mandy always said it was the key to texting in order to get your proper feelings across. One time she had an entire conversation with me using only emojis, and it was strange and confusing.

The message shows ‘read’ almost immediately, so I hold my breath and wait. I wait for those little bouncing dots to appear, telling me she’s thinking, telling me she’s responding… but they never come.

I check my phone periodically in between my Kung Pao Chicken and Sons of Anarchy marathon, but there’s still no response.

Dammit.

I glance at the time on my phone, noting it’s already after ten P.M. I have to be up for work in six hours. Groaning with frustration, I toss the phone beside me on the couch and run both hands through my hair, letting out a weary sigh of defeat. I stand up, dragging my blanket to the bedroom with me, when I hear my phone ring from the couch.

I pause. Then I drop the blanket and jog towards my cell phone, my heart thundering with anticipation and relief when I see Cora’s name light up the face.

I swipe to accept. “Hello?”

It’s silent for a beat, and then her groggy, slurred voice reaches my ear. “You’re… incorrigible.”

“I suppose I am.” I bite down on the inside of my cheek, a tingle of concern poking at me. “You okay, Corabelle?”

“No… no, I’m not okay. But I think you’re pretty okay. Even though you’re incorrigible.”

Her voice is raspy. Sluggish. She sounds drunk. “Have you been drinking?”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Okay…”

Cora sighs, and I hear clatter in the background like she knocked something over. “I think we could have been the best thing to ever happen to me.”

I zone in on her use of could have been. “We still can, Cora. This doesn’t have to be over.”

“It does have to be over, Dean, because you’re a lion and I’m a mouse.”

“What?”

A stretch of silence passes, and I wonder if she spaced out or fell asleep, but then she replies softly, “You’re a lion, fearless and strong, and I am just a mouse.” Cora pauses again, then continues, “I’m small and weak, afraid of everything lurking in the dark. The things I want are disguised in deadly traps, and yet, I’m still tempted.”

“Cora…” I start pacing around my living room, my stomach unsettled.

She sighs, long and lingering, her heavy breaths like an ominous soundtrack to her words. “The trouble with mice is you always kill them.”

I recognize that quote from the book, Of Mice and Men. It sends a chill down my spine. “That’s not true. Are you sure you haven’t been drinking?”

Cora laughs a little, and it’s just a fleeting, foreboding chuckle. “Goodbye, Dean.”

“Wait. I’m worried about you, Corabelle. Talk to me.”

“I do think we could have been great,” she finishes. “If you weren’t a lion, and I was not a mouse.”

The call disconnects, and I’m left staring at my phone, my insides twisting into knots and my heart telling me that she is not okay.

Something’s off. Something’s wrong.

I realize I might come off like a stalker driving to her house in the middle of the night to console a woman who clearly wants her space. But I’m willing to take that risk because my instincts are screaming at me to go.

I’m knocking on her front door ten minutes later, after speeding my way over here, blowing two stop signs. The happy, turquoise door is a deceiving camouflage to the dejected woman residing on the other side of it. “Cora!” I call out. My knuckle taps turn into pounding fists when she doesn’t open the door. “Cora, open up. I’m worried about you.”

All I can hear on the other side is animal claws pacing the entryway, mingling with squeaky whines. I try the doorknob and heave in a breath of relief when it opens. But then I realize Cora never leaves her doors unlocked, and my relief fades back into concern.

Jude and Penny Lane greet me at the door for the first time, pacing around in circles. As I step through the threshold, both dogs go running down the hallway towards Cora’s bedroom, like they are beckoning me to follow. “Cora?” I try to make my presence known, so I don’t startle her. “Cora, it’s me. I’m just here to check on you.”

Nothing.

Fuck. I make my way through the living area, down the hall, and stop short of Cora’s room. Her light is on, but she’s clearly not awake. She’s lying on her back on top of the covers, one arm hanging off the edge of the bed, while the other is sprawled across the mattress, still clutching her cell phone. Both dogs are pawing at the side of the bed and whimpering.

“Cora.”

I step inside the room, my feet cautious at first. Unsure.

“Corabelle.”

She doesn’t move. She doesn’t flinch.

Is she even fucking breathing?

“No, no, no, no, no….” I feel like the air leaves my own lungs the moment the thought crosses my mind, and I dash over to her bedside, shaking her. “Cora. Cora!” She doesn’t respond. “Holy fuck…. Jesus…” My eyes catch sight of an empty bottle of sleeping pills tipped over on her nightstand and I fucking lose it. I climb on top of her, straddling her waist with my knees, and I press my ear to her chest as I continue to shake her.

This isn’t real.

This is a prank—a practical joke, just like that time I gave her the cornstarch donut and she pretended to faint. She’s about to wake up and say, “Gotcha”. Then she’ll laugh and laugh, and I’ll be so pissed off at her, but so, so relieved that she’s okay.

But that doesn’t happen.

She is still, lifeless, and I flash back to Blizzard lying on that dog bed in the middle of the hospital room looking eerily similar.

“No… God, no, Cora. Come back to me. Fucking please don’t do this…”

I pull my phone out of my pocket, almost dropping it as my hands start violently trembling. I punch in the numbers 9-1-1 and ramble off the situation to the dispatch operator, sounding like a crazed, desperate man. And I am.

I am.

I’m instructed to perform CPR. I carry her from the bed and lay her down on the floor, pressing against her chest like I’ve seen in the movies. Then I tip her head back, pinch her nose, and breathe my life into her mouth.

“Is she breathing?” the operator asks over the speaker.

I reach for her wrist and try to find a pulse. I place my ear to her heart again.

God, I can’t tell.

“I don’t know. I don’t fucking know….”

“Okay. Just stay on the line and help will be there soon. Continue the chest compressions, fast and hard…”

The voice fades out as I continue to press against her chest, occasionally stopping to search for a sign of life. “Don’t you leave me, Corabelle. I fucking love you. Don’t you dare leave me.” I gather her petite frame in my arms, bringing her up to my chest, sobbing into her hair. I cling to her, trying to zap her with my lifeforce, trying to bring her back to me with nothing but my tears and words and love. “Come back,” I whisper through my grief, then lay her back down to continue the chest compressions.

The sirens sound in the distance as I break down on top of her, weeping and shaking.

What have I done?

What the hell have I done?