The Poison Morality (27 page)

Oliver knew he had given her something no one else had ever given her, although she was not innocent, she had not known the pleasurable side of intimacy and despite the conversation about masturbation, he took pride in knowing he was the one that gave her first orgasm.

Oliver wiped his mouth and brought it to hers, watching her shudder still.  Small ripples surged through her body.  He had brought her to the climax and now must gently bring her back down.  His lips caressed hers with the sweetness from between her legs still on them.  Her body reacted now to every single touch as he pinched her nipples gently, her back arched, his hand slid between her thighs, they opened for him easily this time. 

Oliver slipped one finger inside her.  She was wet and warm.  He wanted to test how much penetration she would allow him.  She was small and her muscles easily gripped his finger when he caressed the spot inside her, gently pressing it and moving in small circles.  Her eyes closed, one hand gripped the pillow beside her head and the other clutched his wrist tightly.  He stopped, perceiving this as an indication that she wanted him to stop.  She looked at him when he did; he couldn’t read her reaction, her face blank, so he didn’t move.

“Tell me what you want.  I’ll do whatever you say,” he whispered, concerned, expecting her to tell him to cease but what she said instead urged him.

She drew his finger in deeper and looked at him, her voice deep and breathy, “I want you inside me.”

Stunned for a moment, Oliver didn’t move until she raised her hips and squeezed his finger.  Withdrawing his hand roused a small sound of disappointment from her but he kissed it away.  He situated himself between her legs and she wrapped them around his waist pulling him closer to her.  He entered her, all the way inside her until the flesh of their hips met and stayed there for a moment trying to gauge her reaction again but instead she grabbed his hips urging him to move as she constricted the muscles around him. 

He moved out of her enough to tease her lips and moved forward, deeper and deeper inside her until they were moving together in cadence.  He interlaced his fingers with hers and kissed her on every part of her his lips could reach, kissed her in rhythm with his thrusts, kissed her in rhythm with her hips meeting his until his movements were frenzied and she took over kissing him instead.  

Each was immersed in their own building pleasure, their moans became louder as the build-up finally released in both of them and they trembled and cried out with the joint climax.  Not only did he feel the pleasure of his own but hers as well.  Her arms went around his neck, her legs around his waist and he embraced her, his body jerking slightly.

Oliver still moved inside her until her muscles no longer convulsed but she still shook in his arms.  Neither spoke for a while, not wanting to change the atmosphere with words.  Especially after the throws of passion that could distort many feelings into something they weren’t.  But for Oliver, his feelings for her were sure. 

Without a word, she drew away from him, standing and putting on her underwear and his navy button up shirt abandoned in their lovemaking, her hair wild around her shoulders, and a satisfied grin on her flushed face.  He found her modesty adorable but unnecessary to him.  There was something intimate about her wearing his shirt, without asking, without permission, she chose to do so as her right.

“Please don’t leave, we could have pillow talk now,” he said quietly, smiling and satiated, his eyelids heavy, begging again.  For once the smile didn’t leave her lips when she noticed it was there but it seemed that she wrapped herself up in the moment like a warm blanket.  Oliver admired how ravishingly beautiful she was, satiated and relaxed in satisfaction.  He felt they were in sync, finally, but he didn’t know how long it would last.  He could take nothing for granted with her. 

His heart swelled at the notion that he was able to make her happy and comfortable with herself.  Now sex would be something that was enjoyable instead of painful for her, she would no longer be afraid of joy and pleasure.  He hoped her feelings of unworthiness dissolved as well. 

“Did I do it right?” she asked suddenly, breaking the silence and sliding under the covers again, turning her back to him, suddenly indifferent.

From anyone else, he thought, that would be an odd question but he simply replied, “I’m not sure there’s a wrong way.”  He lay on his back, one arm thrown above his head; the other lay across his stomach, only his elbow touched her.  “Did you enjoy it?” he asked.

“You’re a wonderful lover, Oliver,” it was a statement, without any emotion in her voice.  It was like she had become a woman from a girl in a matter of an hour and she would never have admitted such a thing before, “Not that there’s anyone to really compare you to.”

“That means I couldn’t possibly fail, lucky me,” he moved the collar of his shirt and kissing her neck.  “Did you enjoy your first orgasm?”

“Yes,” she sighed as his hand slid down to her breast, the nipple hardened under his palm. 

“I can give you another, if you like.”

“I don’t know,” she said.  Her hesitation caused him to stop unbuttoning the shirt about three buttons down.

Concerned he asked, “Are you in pain?  Are you hurting?”

Rolling over onto her back, she pressed her hand against her lower abdomen, “No,” she said somewhat surprised.

He kissed her again, his hand went under the shirt but she pushed his hand gently away and he accepted that she was done for the evening, abandoning the idea of making love to her again but was content just to be with her.  He watched her profile until her eyes closed and her breathing steadied. 

He was not surprised by her sudden change in mood but more concerned.  Tomorrow would reveal how much a success the evening turned out to be.  Even though he thought it to be one of the best nights of his life, unless she thought so, it didn’t matter how he felt.

***

The morning’s first rays of light peaked through the curtains and into Sophie’s eyes, waking her.  Pressure on the scar of her cut made her wince and then she realized it was Oliver’s hand thrown across her middle.  The weight of his arm must have been there for a while for it to be sore again.

Moving only her head, she looked at him, the light barely touching his face.  A curl had fallen across his forehead, his mouth partially open, breathing deeply and steadily, snoring slightly.  His angular face softened by the glow of the sun.

Staring up at the ceiling, careful not to move and smiling to herself, she remembered the events at the club, the dancing and poor Josie, the laughing, the kissing, and the begging for her not leave and she didn’t.

Looking at him again, she watched his bottom lip draw in and back out ever so slightly as he breathed. She could recall how he tasted.  They had kissed with such ease and passion that seduction was simply unnecessary.  The softness of his skin, the smooth way he touched her, the heat of his body, his tender voice and pleading eyes asking her to stay.

He rolled over taking the warmth with him.  She was suddenly aware of her bare legs, the stiff cotton of his shirt against her bare breasts.  At first, she panicked, but nothing seemed amiss.  She was perfectly relaxed and there was no soreness, no pain.  She had slept over, sharing his bed, and she was fine, more than fine.

Carefully, she slid out of bed moving gradually in time with his breathing.  Once free, she tipped quickly around, in her rush, she disregarded her own garments for her top half and finding her skirt on the floor on her side of the bed, she put it on.  Quiet as she could, she grabbed her jacket and shoes, trying to sneak away before he awoke.  She bent over to kiss his forehead but thought better of it, surely that would wake him and she was trying not to, and walked out of the door.

The click of the door woke Oliver, “Sophie?”  Her side of the bed was still warm and he stretched and yawned.  Propping up on his elbows, he looked around and called her name again, “Sophie.”  Her bra and shirt still lay on the floor, he breathed a sigh of relief; she wouldn’t leave here without them.  He fell back on the pillows, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he smiled satisfied.  The morning erection and thoughts of the taste of her stirred him.  Jumping out of bed, he expected to find her lurking around either in the bath or in the kitchen but her coat was gone.

Her side of the bed still warm, he told himself, she just left.  Hurriedly, he threw on whatever clothes were at hand and ran out the door.  Not sure where she would go, his mind traced a mental trail from his flat to hers.  Would she take the underground or the bus?  Not at the bus stop, he hurried towards the closest underground stop. 

The sun glowed brightly now, outlining the city. Early risers hustled to their destinations, stopping to order their coffee, eating their breakfasts while walking, stopping only to buy their morning papers.  The streets filled up with black cabs and red buses. 

Scanning back and forth, he searched for any sign of her.  Half walking and half running he hoped he could catch her.  In the middle of the bustle there she sat serenely on a bench outside Westminster Abbey across from the Houses of Parliament in the small courtyard.

She was so beautiful.  The golden sunlight made her glow but she glowed from the inside also, a perpetual smile of gratification was on her face, like it had always been there.  Drawing her knees up to rest her arms on them, the jacket abandoned on the bench, the skirt tucked between her knees and the back of her thighs, she turned her head in the direction of Oliver’s flat, wondering if he was still sleeping.  Lingering, she realized that she really wasn’t in much of a hurry to run away as she thought she was.  What was she so afraid of?

She touched her fingertips to her lips tracing where his had been the night before.  Holding the lapels of his shirt she burrowed her face into the smell of it, the smell of him.

Then, shifting her attention, she turned and looked the direction of home.   She was torn between where she wanted to go and where she needed to go and she wasn’t sure which was which but she felt like it should be the same place.

Big Ben struck one and she put her feet back on the ground.  Oliver waited, silently beckoning for her to come his way.  The second chime sounded and she stood.  Oliver took a few steps forward.  With the third chime, she wrapped her arms around herself imagining his arms around her.  Oliver watched the traffic to find an opportune moment to cross.  The fourth chime she scanned the direction of Oliver’s flat stopping on him.  Oliver smiled and started to wave at her.  When the fifth chime came he saw her look his way and turning, she walked away at the pace of Big Ben’s ringing.

Disappointment couldn’t have been more poignant than when she stood and looked at him and walked away.  Oliver ran his fingers through his own dishevelled hair, staring in disbelief at her back until he could no longer see her.  Trudging towards his flat, not wanting his misery to be so evident to onlookers, he felt a heavy sadness, the burden of disappointment.

Back in his flat, where he sat most of the day, hungry but unable to eat, thirsty but unable to drink, guilty but unable to profess it because he did nothing wrong.  So why did she run away?  Picking up her shirt he breathed deep the scent of her.  How easily she gave herself to him last night and now she regretted it?  The one thing he hoped she would not.

A few days, he would give her, but no more before she had to talk to him.  There was no way she was just going to walk away just like that and however she felt, he would allow her time to feel it but she would have to tell him one way or the other.  He would not torture himself for long with not knowing.  Perhaps it wasn’t like that at all, perhaps it was nothing, and she just didn’t want to wake him.  Pieces of what she wore was still here, that was a good sign or was it that she was in such a hurry to get away, and she abandoned them and him completely.

“So you’ve heard that I’m officially terminal?”  Mary’s voice was barely audible.

“Yes,” it was something else to weigh on his already troubled mind.

“So your
medicine
didn’t help me at all,” she said sarcastically.  “The chemo isn’t as aggressive as the cancer.  One poison trying to cancel out the other, competing to take over my body, both causes my eventual demise.  Why I let you talk me into it I don’t know.”  There was nothing accusing in her tone but Oliver felt it anyway.

“We had to try.”  Typically, in these circumstances he allowed himself some reconciliation with the thought that trying and failing was better than not trying at all but this time he felt utterly defeated.

“
You
had to, didn’t you,” it was more of a statement than a question knowing how he was.  “I could have done without; done better to drink my way straight into the arms of death.  And what do you do with the ones you can’t fix Doctor Oliver,” her brown eyes looked pitifully up at him but he knew she felt no pity for herself.

“Make them as comfortable as possible,” he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Is that what you’re doing now?  Helping me feel comfortable,” she mumbled the last words, talking becoming harder for her.

“I try to do that every day,” he flipped the chart closed.

“You haven’t visited in a while,” she tried to scold him but the energy was depleted.

“I come to see you every day I’m here, multiple times a day.  You don’t remember?”

“Do we still talk,” she asked saddened.

“Sometimes, not much.”

“My mind gone,” wincing in pain, she drew in air through her teeth.  She was speaking in broken sentences, conserving her energy by using as few words as possible.  “How’s your women?”

“I shouldn’t have talked to you about that.  Don’t waste your energy on my problems.”

“Still prob,” she let the word drop into oblivion.

“Where can I find your family,” he tried to take her hand but she moved it.

“You’ll miss me, only you.  All left me in some cap…capa...way or another.  I’ve been wronged too.”

“And your children, will you give me their names so I can find them for you?”

“Which one?”

He could tell she was becoming disoriented.  Time was of the essence now and he had to talk swiftly to get the information he needed.  “Whichever one you want, or all of them, how every many that is?”

“I had two, now I have none.  The one that stayed hurt me more than the cancer ever could.”

“Maybe you can make amends,” he leaned over her.

She winced again, he requested a nurse.  “Is that what people do on their deathbeds?  Apologize for loving each other so much it hurt,” she coughed.  “What if she comes here and I apologise and she doesn’t?”

“Is that so important? You can’t know what she will do or say until you give her the opportunity.”   The pretty young nurse came in and Oliver gave her orders.  She carried them out without question and promptly, he liked her.  When she returned, he let her give the dosages as practice, monitoring her.

“Nothing to do with absolution,” she relaxed again able to speak more clearly when the medicine took effect.  “She will be judge and jury, she never thought about me and what she did to me.  She never took responsibility for her part in what happened so it will never occur to her to ask for
my
forgiveness.”

“But what if that’s not the case.  What if she just needs to know where you are and she wants to let the past go?”

“The past will go when I do.”

“What about Marcus or Ian then?”

“Marcus, he’s dead.”

“Was he your son?”

“No, gone, heaven, hell, I don’t care where.  But Ian,” she sighed and didn’t continue.

“And if I was to find your daughter and bring her here what would you do?”

“Never forgive you.”

“I don’t need your forgiveness.  What would you say to her?”

Her faculties were slowing but before she fell asleep she looked off in the distance and managed to slur, “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better mother and I’m sorry I couldn’t help you be a better daughter.”  Oliver smiled knowing what he had to do.  Before he could leave she continued her thought, “And if its revenge you seek, it’s too late for me.  I go to my grave knowing that leaving me was the best thing my girls and the love of my life could have ever done.” 

Oliver watched her in quiet contemplation, no point trying to get any more out of her now.  In a minute she would be snoring so he dropped the subject, running his hand through his hair and then an idea struck him suddenly.  It was illegal to say the least but it was clear what he must do, he had to make the attempt.

Oliver flipped through her chart and found the address for her flat and then rummaged through her belongings looking for keys.  Searching through pockets and then her bag, full of useless items and then he heard the distinct jingle and fished out a set from the bottom of the bag. 

He knew it was wrong but for the right reasons, he would do what he could.  If he could keep Mary from dying alone he would try almost anything.  He had grown so fond of her and the no nonsense way that she spoke to him and her advice had been invaluable. 

As the night went on, patients required attention more than usual and the other doctors and nurses hustled about doing what they could.  Oliver, too, was rushed off his feet.  Between patients, he thought to himself, he could go to Mary’s flat tomorrow night or even on his day off but he didn’t know how much time she had left.  He had tried to ring Sophie but she had not rung back yet.  The not knowing was hard for him but he didn’t want to insist if she needed time.   He couldn’t go on with these lapses when she did not communicate with him and was left wondering what he did wrong or if she thought she did wrong.

***

He took the train to Shoreditch and took a taxi to Mary’s building.  He would feel bad when she went but he would assist her if she wanted, putting the question to her when the time came as he did others before. 

A few minutes later he was in a neighbourhood of council flats that all looked the same.  Checking the numbers on the buildings, the cabby had managed to drop him in the right vicinity.

Oliver took the mass of keys and tried them one by one until the right one slid easily into the lock and turned.  When he opened the door, a musty smell mixed with the heaviness of alcohol filled his nostrils and he stood a moment in the doorway letting the air come inside.  Flicking the switch on and closing the door behind him, the living area lit up, and the light reflecting off the many bottles that littered the room.  He felt it would appear less conspicuous if it seemed that he was meant to be there.  Occasionally, he would knock a bottle over and the clinking noise seemed loud in the silent flat.

It was messy but not completely filthy.  Every surface was covered with something, whether it was bottles, dishes, plastic plants and flowers, even the top of the television had a stuffed cat on top of it.

Oliver swiftly darted from surface to surface, looking for any clues or information, treading carefully as not to step on anything that would make noise.  He was willing to try to contact anyone he found information on whether it was a child or a sister, it didn’t matter as long as someone was with her.

Photos sat in a hap hazard stack on an end table of Mary and a man but she had cut out his face; photos of parties, drinks in hand, she found a kindred spirit in this man but something happened to sour the relationship.

The bedroom was not much better.   It was strewn with bottles also, mismatched linens cluttered the bed, and clothes littered the floor.  He maneuvered the labyrinth of belongings, accidentally kicking a hat box under the bed but he disregarded it, going straight to her bedside table and turning on the lamp. 

The drawer was stubborn to open, full of letters, withered and yellowed by time, none that seemed to be recent, random baubles and costume jewellery but towards the back he saw a photo.  Something about it seemed slightly familiar.

Pulling out the drawer as far as it would give, he still found it difficult to grab it because it was stuck to the back of the drawer.  He scraped at it with his fingernail.  Catching a corner and then it would slip.  Finally, he had a grip on it and tugged at it until it gave, slowly pulling so it wouldn’t rip.

Holding it under the light, Oliver stood in disbelief at what he was seeing.  Stunned his mind raced putting clues together.  Trying to remember anything Mary would have said that would have indicated what he was looking at but there was none, nothing definitive.  What if the signs were there and he missed them.  He sat on the edge of the bed dumbfounded.  He looked around, really looked around not seeing the chaos but the life, they were not separate however now that he realized who she was.  Mariella’s life scattered about, lonely and forgotten and now he knew why.

Disappointment with the revelation and Mariella in general, when he liked her so much, darkened his mood considerably.  It had been a few days since he and Sophie made love, he was waiting for her call but this was an emergency.  This new found information weighed heavy on him and he had a responsibility to enlighten her.  Folding the photo he shoved it in the inside pocket of his coat and raced to get out of the flat.

Walking hurriedly down the street hoping it wouldn’t take too long to get a taxi, the streets were uncommonly quiet compared to the thoughts raging in his head.  There was nothing for several minutes so he walked towards the Old underground stop.

Sorry he came; he sat on the train contemplating.  The decision was made not to talk to Sophie until he got some answers from Mariella.  Tomorrow, his first stop would be to the off license.