Complicated: A Tainted Love Novella (11 page)

Next on my agenda: getting Rachel back.

She’s been denying what’s in front of her for too long and it’s pissing me off. I gave her distance, hoping she would come to her senses, but she can be so stubborn when she wants to be. Sometimes, we neglect to see what’s right in front of us and how perfect it is, in favor of doubt and fear. Fear is a contradiction of love; it destroys it. With fear, no one takes the next step. I shed my doubt and fear the moment I set foot on that plane bound for Philly. I need her to shed hers as well.

If she thinks it’s over between us she has another guess coming. She needs to open her eyes and acknowledge the truth between us. I see I’m going to have to work overtime for this to happen, but I won’t give up. I have feasted from her lips; there is no way I’m going back to dying of hunger.

Rachel

T
he Keyes ripped into me as I knew they would. I’d basically hid their daughter from them, hid her problems from them. They would have gladly helped her through it all if we three hadn’t have been so secretive to begin with; things would not have gotten so out of control for her; and, of a truth, Delilah would not be in a lying on a hospital bed right now. Hindsight is always twenty/twenty. Had we gotten her parents to intervene, they would have known how to fix the situation and get Delilah the help she needed.

Marshall and I enabled Delilah’s issues. If we had tried to get her help for her impulsivity when she was a teenager, truly, things would be different for her. As Marshall and I sat in the waiting room getting rightly berated by his parents, I realized that, maybe, things would have been different for Marshall and I as well.

A few days after the Keyes’ arrival, Delilah is experiencing terrible withdrawal symptoms, none that I haven’t seen before since this is not her first bout with it. Her mood swings are helter skelter, downright scary; and although I have been privy to these intense and fierce mood changes, they still surprise me. Delilah is not one for outbursts of anger or madness. She is fun-loving and more interested in a good time than a fight.

Ben has impressed me with his unflinting commitment to her. He has stood by her side throughout everything, and not been scared off one little bit. His dedication in the face of insurmountable odds is commendable and, admittedly, hot as fuck. Who doesn’t want a man who thinks we’re worth it and sticks with us through the bad times, as well as the good?

As Delilah curses us all to high Heaven and Ben pleads with her to calm down, I look over at Marshall and catch him staring at me. It has been a bit unnerving having him watch me like a hawk these past few days. His look is reminiscent of two things: desire and sly interest. I know he wants me – and God, I want him too – but his sly interest shakes me up. It’s as if he has something up his sleeve for me and I want to find out on the one hand, while on the other, I’m terrified. Only he can have me right side up and inside out with just that goddamn look.

I excuse myself and step outside not just to escape Delilah’s wrath or flee from the wanting, assessing look in Marshall’s eyes, but to also tamp down the rising desire in my treacherous body. Crossing my arms over my chest, I attempt to hide my protruding nipples. Marshall and I haven’t had sex in little over a week and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss him inside me, miss him close to me sharing his warmth and passion.

Resting my forehead against the wall outside of Delilah’s room, I exhale a heavy breath. Marshall’s proximity is messing with my plans of staying as far away from him as possible. His presence reminds me of the heinous thing I’d done seven years ago, but he also makes me forget and want to go back to those old times.

Ever since we broke up things have been in a constant complicated state between us. We exist apart, but when we’re together everything rights itself in our world. As much as my heart longs for him, I can’t allow myself to go back there, not with the mounting guilt of what I’d done ever and always ready to creep back up on me. Marshall going back to his life can’t come soon enough.

“Are you okay?” a deep voice startles my closed eyes open and I whip my head up to find a man in a white lab coat and blue scrubs staring at me. A doctor, I presume.

He’s young, maybe late twenties, at most thirty. Short dark hair atop his head, the faintest hint of scruff on his face, brown eyes and a strong square jaw is what I am met with. His pouty lips curve into a small smile as he takes in what must be a very frightened look on my face.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” he apologizes, holding his palms out in front of him as if to halt me from bolting.

I stare at him as his brown eyes stare back, unblinking; like if he closes his eyes for a split second, I may disappear from his view. My mouth goes dry at seeing him and I do a quick perusal of the man I see in front of me. The doctor is handsome, tall and has a gentle spirit about him, but there’s just something that’s missing.

No fire, no passion,
a voice jolts in the back of my mind.
But he has potential.

I catch sight of his name plate and see Dr. J. Hansen inscribed on it. His body is lean and fit, not muscular; probably as a result of healthy eating, long hours at work, and limited exercise. There is something there that I could dig, but I swear, the inferno that burns within me like a wildfire when Marshall is near is non-existent. Frankly, I have
never
felt that way for any other man. It feels like that feeling is reserved only for that fucking man.

Dr. Hansen makes some gestures with his hands, and I feel a stirring in my stomach as if he’s pulled a small ounce of my needs from inside me.
Whoa
.

It might not be fire, but it’s something.

“Huh?” I mumble, confused.

“Oh,” he sighs, relieved. “You speak. I thought you were mute since I’ve been standing here for almost five minutes waiting for you to say something. If you were mute, I would’ve been stuck, since
How are you
and
I’m fine, thank you
are the only words I know how to sign. Aaaannd, I’m babbling…”

Dr. Hansen turns an embarrassed-shade of red when he snaps his mouth closed and looks down to the floor in a boyish way. It tugs at something in me and a genuine smile graces my lips. He’s adorable and charming, and I find myself intrigued by him.

“I’m not mute,” I answer softly, still smiling.

He gasps as he stares at me with wonder, then smiles a megawatt smile and I can imagine him being the resident McHottie at the hospital. Holy hell! If I thought he was cute before, he is scorching now!

“Well, thank God for that,” he expresses. “With a voice like that, I’d let you talk my ear off.”

Okay…doc’s got game.

It’s at this time when the good old doc had me blushing that Marshall exits the room, where I can hear Delilah telling Ben to fuck off and go tend to his blonde. I don’t know what she’s going on about right now, but I know she’s just lashing out because she’s not getting her drug appetite appeased. God! What demons she’s had to fight in her life! I am happy and impressed that she is still standing, still breathing, and still fighting for her life.

“What’s going on?” Marshall asks, eyeing Dr. Hansen with suspicious eyes.

The fire starts to kindle in my belly at the sound of his voice and I want to set my treacherous body afire for responding any at all to him right now, when there is a perfectly sweet and hot-as-fuck doctor standing a few short feet from me.

“I was simply attending to a damsel in distress,” he answers with a charming grin.

I laugh out loud and rest a hand on my waist as I appraise the good doctor. “Smooth,” I commend, to which he only smiles brighter.

Marshall turns to look at me, no doubt spotting the blush on my cheeks, and his face morphs into that of a pissed off lover. Here we go.

“I’m sure she’s okay, Doctor…” Marshall trails off as if trying to ascertain his name, but I know Marshall. He doesn’t give a damn.

“Hansen,” the doc finishes. “Name’s Dr. Hansen, a consulting oncologist here.” Dr. Hansen turns to me, instead of Marshall who had been engaging him. “And your name is, beautiful?”

Oh, he is laying on the charm pretty thick.

“Taken,” Marshall chimes in, snaking a possessive arm around my waist and bringing me flush against his side.

The heat of desire I feel every time I’m near him breaks out and has my panties awash in arousal. When I was sixteen years old, I had to go to junior prom with a date. Marshall thought it would be a good idea for me to go with a date so I wouldn’t feel like a third wheel, tagging along with Delilah and her guy number umpteen. When Jeremy came to pick me up at the Keyes’ that evening, Marshall grabbed my waist and placed a deep, claiming kiss on my lips, all while staring Jeremy down. He didn’t have to say what that kiss meant. That kiss stayed on my mind the entire night and served as the fuel that made me give Marshall the ride of his life that night.

This very possessive move is doing the same thing to me at the moment, but hell if I’ll let him figure that shit out.

“Excuse me?” I demand, trying to pull away, but with Marshall’s fingers digging into my waist, I don’t go far.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dr. Hansen hurriedly says, seeing the gesture for what it is: back the fuck off. “Don’t mean to step on your toes, buddy.”

Marshall cocks a glance at the doctor as he slowly backs away in defeat. Dr. Hansen, however, looks at me then at him before saying, “Next time, don’t leave your girl unattended. When dogs see pussy they bark.” Then he spins and walks down the hall and out of sight.

His very cryptic statement puzzles me, pisses me off, and impresses me all in equal measure. It seems boring Dr. Hansen did have some pizazz; too bad him calling me pussy would have earned him a punch in the throat. Chancing a peak at Marshall, I see a smirk on his face, one that tells me he understands perfectly what Dr. Hansen just said. Pissed off at him pissing all over me, I pull from his grip – I may or may not have felt the loss of his touch – and turn on him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I snap, shoving his arm.

“What the fuck is wrong with
you?
” he counters, narrowing his all-seeing eyes.

“Why can’t you leave me the hell alone, Marshall?” I fire at him, wishing that he really would, but praying that he never does.

He snorts at that, but doesn’t make an effort to answer.

“You don’t fucking own me, Marshall,” I assert and storm off in the direction Dr. Hansen went.

He tugs me back and has me up against the wall in a split second. “Where are you going?” he demands.

“To go fuck Hansen,” I lie, but not caring that it will anger him. Fuck him.

Marshall’s eyes narrow to slits and he drags himself away and growls, “God, you piss me off!” He drives his fist in the dry wall and then grips his hair tight in frustration.

“Then do us both a favor and go the fuck back to New York, Marshall!” I hiss. If he goes away, I will be free, not having to wonder about feelings that never seem to die down.

As quick as a snake, Marshall is back in my face, caging me in. “And leave you for these other pricks to fuck? No one’s getting this pussy again but me, Rae, so deal with it.”

He’s so fucking cocky. So goddamn arrogant.

So motherfucking right.

But his offhand comment pisses me off. I am just pussy to him!

“That’s all this is to you, isn’t it? You get all bent out of shape over me not because you love me, but because you wanna fuck me,” I sneer. “That’s all I am to you – pussy. And you’re a dick.” I flip him off and make to walk off, but I feel the warmth of his hand on my bicep when he grips it, effectively stopping me from going further.

Marshall drags me backward and shoves me up against the wall, his breathing angrily ragged. He should scare me, but I have angered him too many times to know he would never hurt me. It used to be foreplay for us, but right now I know he’s truly angry. His eyes have darkened and his face is red. If anything I’ve pissed him off royally. Good. Now he knows how I feel.

“Do you really think this is about fucking you, Rae?” I hate how his eyes are slicing through me, luring me to answer him truthfully. Where are the angry hurtful words he should be throwing my way?

“I don’t care,” I lie, looking away from him. I want to fold my arms over my chest protectively, because my nipples are pebbling from the heat of his proximity.
Stupid hormones.

“Don’t,” he warns. “
Never
lie to me, Rachel. This is not just about fucking for me, although that shit is fucking amazing.” I blush, goddamn it. “You and I both know what I want, what I need, what we
both
need, and it has nothing to do with your pussy gripping my cock.”
Sweet talker
.

I scowl, expressing my displeasure – how he can go from sweet to filthy in a split second is beyond me – but fuck if his voice and the words coming from his sexy as hell mouth, filthy or not, don’t make my pussy wet.

“I need you, Rachel. I miss you. Tell me you don’t feel the same way,” he entreats, his voice desperate. I don’t want to lie, but I’m too scared to tell him the truth, too scared to have what I need. So I resist.