Chapter Thirty Seven
Maggie
Maryia: So are you coming back to campus today or are you going to keep playing nurse?
I look down at the snarky text and roll my eyes. It’s the third like it that’s come in today. Bridgette is getting discharged today and since she was admitted, neither myself or Brad has left and Maryia is pissed.
Me: I told you this morning that she was being discharged today.
Her response comes in almost immediately.
Maryia: Yeah, well. Just making sure your story stays straight. For all I know, this is just her way of trying to drive a wedge between us.
Are you fucking kidding me? She thinks Bridgette tried to kill herself as a way to…what? Make Maryia’s life miserable? How fucking narcissistic can you get?
I pocket my phone, refusing to respond to that baiting bullshit. Stepping into the room, I watch Brad help Bridgette into a wheelchair, even though she’s perfectly capable of walking. She looks good, though. Rested. There isn’t much else to do when you’re confined to a hospital room for seventy-two hours except for rest and watching bad TV. Trust me, we watched it all, too.
Brad left a few times to grab a shower and some new clothes for all of us while I stayed here. The doctors told us it wasn’t necessary, that they have plenty of people to watch over her and that we could go home. Like hell that was happening.
Seventy-two hours in the hospital and her father didn’t stop by a single time, or my mother. Apparently, Brad called him and told him what happened, to which he called her stupid and hung up. What a fucking guy.
It didn’t seem to bother Bridgette. When she asked Brad if he had told their father and he let her know that he wouldn’t be coming, she wasn’t sad. She was relieved. I’d be relieved too if that prick was my father. I got fucked when it came to the mom department, and so did Bridgette and Brad, but at least I had a good example of what a father should be like. Harry Brenton is not it. I can tell you that.
After getting Bridgette to my car, Brad sits in the back while Bridgette sits up front. Brad and I discussed a schedule for watching over Bridgette. Not a twenty-four-seven thing, but just to keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn’t feel alone. That’s what the hospital psychologist told us she needed right now. They also told us that she needed to get into therapy as soon as possible.
That was a little bit harder of a sell. Surprisingly, though, it only took a little begging from Brad and I to convince her. I dropped Brad off at his place before heading to the university. We ride mostly in silence until Bridgette and I get to our dorm. She hits the button for her floor, and I don’t press mine, choosing to ride up with her.
“You know, you don’t have to stick to me like glue, Maggie. You have a life outside of worrying over me,” Bridgette says.
“I know,” I say.
I also know that she likes us worrying over her, and that’s okay. Sometimes we all need someone to give a shit, and I never want her to feel like she doesn’t have anyone again.
I wave my master key card over her reader since all her stuff is still inside her room and she looks at me sideways. It’s the same look she gave me when I told her that’s how I got to her. It saved her life, though, so she really shouldn’t judge.
When we step in, a sort of PTSD hits me. Remembering the last time I was in here, the adrenaline filling my body, the panic and fear. My eyes move to the flask still sitting on her bed and the empty pill bottle.
Before she can, I move over to it, quickly scooping them up and throwing them in the trash. Of course, the hospital told her that, especially with her current mental state, alcohol is something she should stay away from. She also got a thirty-minute lecture on how dangerous and addictive opioids are, to which she completely tuned out. I gotta be honest; I did, too. Maybe that lecture would have been helpful if she was searching for a fix, not an OD, but we all knew it was more than that, so it seemed like a waste of time.
Bridgette promised Brad and I that she would quit drinking, at least for a little while. She said the drinking helped keep her numb, which kept her functional. Until it didn’t.
She still hasn’t opened up to either of us about why she tried to kill herself, why she wanted to escape. I could see she was unhappy on the outside, withering away into a shell of the version she used to be. I convinced myself it wasn’t my business, not my concern. She walked out on me, pushed me away, hurt me. I didn’t owe her anything.
I now know that’s a crock of shit, because if she had died in this bed, scared and alone, I would have never been able to live with myself. So, yeah. Bridgette’s mental health and wellbeing are officially my business. Brad feels the same way, too.
When I look up, I see Bridgette staring at her desk. Two white envelopes are on it, one with Brad’s name on it and the other with my own. The one with mine has a red lipstick kiss against it and instinctively, I reach for it.
Bridgette is fast, though, ripping the letters off the desk and ripping them to pieces before throwing them into the trash. I blink at her in her confusion. I know what they are before she even speaks.
Her goodbye letters.
“I thought I wanted you to read them in the hospital, but…I don’t. I just want to forget this whole mess,” Bridgette says as she takes a seat on the edge of her bed.
“I won’t,” I say as I come to sit beside her. “I won’t forget how alone you felt, how helpless. I won’t forget that I was one of those people who made you feel that way. That you asked for help, and I refused. That?—”
“Maggie, I never asked for your help.” She interjects.
“Yes, you did,” I respond. “Maybe not with your words, but you asked for help many times. I was too bitter and hurt and spiteful and I…I’m so sorry, Bridgette,” I say with a shake of my head as my eyes come to hers.
She gives me a tight smile and an uneasy shrug.
“But I’m here now,” I say as I slip my hand in hers, squeezing her fingers. “Brad and I are both here and we aren’t going anywhere, okay?”
Her eyes stay on mine as she nods and swallows roughly, squeezing my hand back. I smile at her and it seems to pull a small smile of her own out. Soon, that smile slips, as a seriousness takes over her face. I feel my own mirror her expression before she’s leaning forward. I’m ashamed to admit I let her come almost all the way before I pull back. The rejection splashed across her face physically hurts my heart, but I can’t. Fuck how I wish I could.
“I’m sorry, B. I can’t. I…I have a girlfriend,” I say.
She looks away, pulling her hand from mine as she nods.
“Of course. I’m sorry. I…I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“It’s okay,” I say.
We sit there quietly for a moment before she speaks again.
“Do you love her?”
I hesitate. Mainly because how do I tell her no? How do I tell her that I’ve only loved one person? That I only figured out that I loved that person after I lost them, and no matter the good times I have with anyone else, they don’t compare. How do I tell her that the only person I ever have and probably ever will love…is her?
Her crystal blue eyes move, meeting mine as they shimmer with emotion and a twinge of hope. I should put that hope out immediately. It would be better for the both of us. Things with us are too messy, there is too much at stake, and given her current mental state and hell, maybe even mine, it’s not a good idea.
“Do you love her?” Bridgette repeats. “It’s a simple question, Maggie,” she whispers.
My eyes bounce back and forth between her eyes and her mouth. Her pink lips are so full, so soft. They are practically fucking taunting me, and I can’t look away. She moves slowly, so slow that I don’t even realize she’s this close to me until her lips bump against mine. It’s a testing move, a questioning one. It’s a move that allows me all the time in the world to come to my senses. Ask me if I do, though.
Slipping my hand behind her head, I crush my lips against hers, keeping her pressed against me. Fireworks, literal fireworks, flash behind my eyes, and a piece I knew was missing but never thought I would get to hold again clicks in place. Bridgette’s hands roam over me as she climbs on top of me, our kiss sloppy and needy. Like we can’t get close enough. Like if we ever stop, we’ll be ripped away from one another for good. That almost happened, right where I’m laying and I still can’t get over it.
“I thought I lost you,” I cry as she peppers my neck with kisses. “I thought I’d have to live in this shitty world without you.”
“Never, baby. Never,” she promises as her hands move to my shirt, pulling it up and over my head before unhooking my bra.
My breasts spill free and she cups them both before wrapping her mouth around one of my nipples, swirling her tongue around it as I moan.
“Fuck, B.”
She hums against my skin, giving the other breast equal attention as her hands move down to my leggings, hooking the waistband and dragging them down my legs. Her hand runs over my cotton thong, and she moans against me before releasing my nipple.
“Baby, you’ve soaked right through your panties.”
“How can I not when I’m with you?” I admit, cupping her face as I look at her.
She smiles at me. A real, genuine smile that takes my breath away. I wish she could always look like this. So happy, so light. I wish I could be the one to always keep that look on her face.
Leaning down, she presses her lips against me as her fingers slip beneath my soaked fabric. Pushing two inside me, she curls her fingers up for a moment before pulling them out again. Fuck, this is so wrong. I need to stop this. I have a girlfriend and I’m laying here naked with my kind of ex/stepsister who just got out of the hospital. This is twenty different ways of fucked up. I’m not this person.
When Bridgette wiggles out of her pants and pulls off her shirt, though, all my morals go straight out the window.
I look at her flawless body pressed against mine as my hands come to her hips. She grinds against my thigh, spreading her wetness all over me when I groan.
“Get up here, ride my face.”
She quickly clammers up my body, turning around at the last minute.
“What are you?—”
Before I can finish that thought, she’s lowering her pussy onto me as she begins eating mine. We both groan as we begin devouring each other. I’m stuck between wanting this to last forever and making her come all over my face. Fuck, I’ve missed her. Her smell, her taste. Just…her. Knowing that I can’t have her has only made me want her more. Knowing that I absolutely shouldn’t be touching her or letting her touch me, it sends me over the goddamn edge.
I feel my legs begin to quake and hers are right behind me. Tilting my hips, I grind my pussy against her tongue before I’m falling over the edge. Running my tongue through her, I moan and whimper against her, forcing myself to stay focused as I shatter apart. Thankfully, she is right there with me, the taste of her cum splashing against my tongue as I lick and suck her clean.
When our orgasms have passed, she slowly climbs off of me, sitting beside me hesitantly. My post orgasm clarity hits, and I realize the gravity of what I just did. Holy fuck. I just cheated on my girlfriend. Not just a ‘little peck while I was drunk’ cheat, either. No, I tongue fucked the woman I love while she did the same to me. I humped and grinded against another woman, and until this moment, I felt practically zero guilt.
Now guilt is all I’m able to feel.
Sliding out of bed, I quickly grab my clothes, pulling them on as I attempt to get dressed as quickly as possible. Bridgette doesn’t say anything, thank fuck, because I’m pretty sure if she asked nicely enough, I’d climb back into bed with her and we’d never come up for air again.
I pocket my phone and keys before moving to the door. I’m halfway through it when I hear Bridgette’s soft voice.
“I’m sorry.”
I pause, my body going stiff. She didn’t do anything wrong. This was on me. She tempted me, I gave in. That was the extent of her doing. The rest is on me. I’m so goddamn weak for her I folded like a lawn chair.
Forcing myself to continue through the doorway, I let the door shut with a solid thunk. I walk to the elevator, jamming the button to my floor as I put my head in my hands. I’m so distracted, I don’t hear the elevator arrive and I slip inside just before it closes on me.
When I get to my room, I slam the door shut and move to my bathroom, beelining for the shower as if I can wash the mistake from my skin. I turn the water up until it’s practically scalding, before peeling off my clothes and slipping inside. I lather up my loofa with soap and pause.
I have warring feelings of needing to scrub every inch of that moment from me while also never wanting to touch it, never wanting to lose the feel of her, the smell of her. Then guilt slams back into me, and I begin to scrub. I scrub until my skin is raw and then I scrub some more. I brush my teeth three times and yet I can still somehow taste Bridgette on my tongue.
Fuck.
How am I going to tell Maryia? It’s going to break her heart. I may be having a hard time truly falling for her, but I know the same can’t be said for her. She’s fallen for me hard and fast, and I just did the most disrespectful thing I could possibly do to her, to us.
When I step out of the shower, I wrap a towel around me and get dressed. As soon as I slide on my clothes, a knock comes at the door. My heart flips in panic. I can’t see Bridgette right now. I don’t know what to think or even do. I know that I need to be alone, though.
The knock comes again.
“Babe, are you in there? It’s me,” Maryia says through the door.
Fuck.
Pasting on a smile, I crack open the door.
“Hey,” I say as I scrunch my hair with the towel.
“You didn’t tell me you were back,” she says as she lingers in the doorway.
“Just got back. What’s up?” I ask.
Maryia frowns. “Are you going to let me in?”
“Sorry, yeah,” I say as I shake my head, stepping out of the way.
If I thought guilt was eating at me before, it is practically consuming me now, being face to face. I just have to tell her. Word vomit it out. I’ll feel better once I do. She deserves to know. I’d want to know immediately if the roles were reversed.
The roles would never be reversed, though. She is kind and sweet and loyal and I’m just…a tramp.
Okay, I just need to say it. Here goes fucking everything.
“Maryia, I?—”
“I’m sorry,” she says before bursting into tears.
I frown as I wait for her to continue.
“I just…I get so jealous. I feel l-like I’m losing you. I know there isn’t anything between you and Bridgette, I mean, she’s the worst. You were just being a good person and I just…I’m a jealous bitch. I’m so sorry, though. I don’t want to lose you,” she sobs.
I stare at her, speechless.
“Please tell me you forgive me, please tell me this isn’t over. I can’t lose you,” she cries, closing the distance between us. She buries her head into my neck as her shoulders heave with sobs and I hold her to me, unsure what to say or do.
Goddamn, I’m a coward, because I absolutely take the easy way out. I hold her tighter to me, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as I shush her.
“Of course, we’re not over. I’m right here,” I say, my traitorous tongue tangling myself deeper into this messy web.
She pulls away, giving me a watery smile.
“Really?”
I nod, and she presses her lips to mine. I’m not entirely shocked at what I feel. Or, more specifically, what I don’t feel. Kissing Bridgette was like a long awaited return home. It was like fireworks and magic all balled up into one. Kissing Maryia feels like…well, kissing. Like two pairs of lips mashed together. There is no spark, there is no…
“I’ll make it up to you, I promise. How about I take you out? Wherever you want to go?” she says, interrupting my thoughts.
“Sure, I’d like that,” I say, so convincingly I almost fool myself.