Quinn 23.
I do not enjoy feeling like an idiot. And talking about something over and over again is like my own version of hell. Yet, my mind and body war accepting my current situation…accepting that Bently is truly mine and he won’t leave me just like everyone else. Since my diagnosis, I’ve been forced to reexamine not just my past but how it has molded me as I’ve grown.
Introspection is a bitch.
After my sister died, I slowly became someone who did not let emotions rule their actions. In any given situation, I am levelheaded and rational. My parents checked out completely, I accepted that and moved on. Each labor and delivery of my boys, my OBGYN was fascinated by my relaxed demeanor. Joe began withdrawing day after day, I picked up the slack where needed. My in-laws respond to me with detachment and obligatory concern. Joe asked for a divorce, I gave it to him. Even listened to his mother rant about how I am the only one who could have prevented the divorce, like she’s the Smokey the Bear of marital strife. Ford viciously turned me down, and I shrugged it off and started internet dating.
But since the moment Polk sat down across from me all those weeks ago…my mind has been in chaos no matter how many times I remind myself to roll with it. If he leaves, he leaves, right?
WRONG!
I’ve always prided myself on never needing anyone. I’m capable of handling anything, I am woman and mother, hear me roar!
Sitting in that restaurant, it’s as if my body reset. Like Polk restarted my system and since then I’ve craved him more than chocolatey goodness. My world was rocked with the Multiple Sclerosis diagnosis, and he’s right there, every step of the way and I haven’t stopped spinning, desperately trying to find purchase anywhere to give me a moment of stillness.
All I have to do is reach out and touch him and I know, I know , everything will still. It will calm. But reaching out is accepting my weakness and I honestly think that’s the worst of it all. I am my own worst enemy. I’m the only roadblock to a happy life. It isn’t the hits that keep you down, it’s your reaction to them. And I’ve reacted poorly. Probably justifiable, but poorly, nonetheless.
He's patient. And affectionate. And steady. And generous. And so damn good, my mind insists he won’t stay. But my heart, my soul, knows he will. Bently Walker is mine. I need to get out of my own way and reach out.
This is the last time I will feel like this. This is the last time I will allow fear to dictate my life. This is the last time Polk will ever question my commitment. I love him and loving someone means being vulnerable. It won’t kill me, it’ll make me stronger.
And God knows I need some strength right now.
We’re sitting in the exam room of a neuro-ophthalmologist my neurologist recommended. I stand from the exam chair and walk over to Bently seated in the only chair in the room, besides the doctor’s rolling stool. He jolts in surprise as I straddle his lap and plop down. I bury my face in his neck, sucking in his comforting scent. His arms come around me, holding me to him, chest to chest.
“I love you.”
I hear the smile in his voice. “I love you too, darlin’.”
He holds me while we wait, his heartbeat lulling me into a pleasantly hazy state. The door eventually opens, and someone sucks in breath, then chuckles. “Not sure if I can examine you properly from that position, but I’ll do my best.” Polk and I laugh, and he helps me stand up and guides me back to the exam chair.
“Needed a hug,” I admit with no shame.
“Don’t we all?” Dr. Pflug sounds nice enough, her voice reassuring. “Before we get into the nitty gritty, may I examine you first?”
“Sure,” I reply easily.
“Excellent.” For the next while, Dr. Pflug uses several contraptions, and eye drops to look inside my eyes. She hums here and there and gives me instructions but otherwise doesn’t say much. When she’s done, I hear her stool slide backward, and the snap of her removing her gloves. “How long have you been on the Cymbalta?”
“About a week.”
“It’ll take another couple of weeks for you to feel its effects.”
I hold up my hand to stop her. “Are you saying there’s nothing physically wrong? It’s all in my head?” I can’t keep the disgust from my voice, I’ve heard this before, and it doesn’t suck less with each doctor’s explanation. Polk growls low in his throat, I hear him shift as if to stand.
“Oh, there’s something wrong.” I’m not sure if that is reassuring or not. All I’ve wanted is an explanation, a reason, and preferably a cure. Though, hearing it confirmed is unsettling in its own way. “I ask because the Cymbalta will help immensely with any nerve discomfort you’re experiencing; it will improve your mood and regulate your stress response.”
“Ok.” Polk’s hand brushes against mine, and I turn my hand to entwine our fingers.
“I’m not sure how much you know about stress and the effects it has on the body. While optic disruption is not uncommon with MS patients, in your case, your optic nerves are irritated and inflamed due to an influx of stress hormones.”
“I’m stressed out?”
Dr. Pflug doesn’t seem offended by my tone. “Essentially. Though it’s more complicated than that.”
Polk asks, “Is the blindness permanent?”
“No.” She’s confident and it goes a long way to ease some of my concern. “When you leave here today, the girls up front will give you the name and number of a therapist that deals with patients who are navigating difficult diseases. They will also give you the contact info for a support group.”
“Is there anything you can do today? Or do I need to wait for the medication to start working?” There’s a note of hysteria in my voice that I can’t hide.
“Yup.” She opens the door, and I hear her murmur to some voices down the hall. When the door closes again, I think she sits back on her stool and wheels closer to me. “This is the part where I scare you.” That doesn’t sound ominous at all. “A steroid injection will help immediately to reduce the optic nerve swelling, and any other irritated tissue.”
“I’ve had steroids shots before, that’s not scary. My butt just hurts for a day or so.” I laugh, wondering how many people freak out about needles.
“Good. These don’t go in your butt, they go in your eyes.”
“The fuck you just say to me?” I blurt out, slapping a hand over my mouth. I normally don’t care much about what I say, but I do try to be respectful.
“Not the first time I’ve heard that. They are quick, and I’m sure your man here will be happy to hold your hand.”
“Of course.” Polk’s voice is breathy, and it calms me down for some reason. He’s a veterinarian, and performs surgery, but a needle in my eye freaks him out.
“Give me a few minutes, and my staff will escort you down the hall to our procedure room and I’ll meet you there. Quinn, in addition to the therapy and support group…from one mom to another, lean on those in your life, trust them to help you, give them some of this mental baggage for them to carry. Like this guy here. He seems sturdy enough to carry the weight.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Great. Sit tight.” The door closes and Polk and I sit in silence for a few moments.
“That’s fucked up,” he mutters. A snort escapes me, then another and soon I’m practically falling out of the chair and gasping for breath as I laugh my ass off. “In the eyes? Jesus. How are you not flipping out?”
I shrug. “Because you seem to be doing that just fine.”
“IN YOUR EYEBALL!” I’m still laughing at him when the tech comes in. I won’t lie and say I’m not nervous, a needle is about to be inserted into each of my eyeballs. Compared to birthing a 10 pound baby, this is nothing.
Polk sticks to my side the entire time, holding my hand, whispering words of encouragement in my ear and reminding me how much he loves me. It doesn’t hurt, it’s just weird. Honestly, it’s not something I want to go through again, but I’ve had worse.
By the time we make it back to my house, my vision is incredibly blurry but not pitch black like it was. I’m overwhelmed with relief and some tears escape.
“Hey, now, none of that.” Polk draws me into his arms, holding me as gratitude leaks down my face. Pulling back enough that I can look up at him, I cup his cheeks and bring his lips to mine. I missed him. You can be in the same room as someone else and still feel miles apart. I put that distance between us, and I didn’t even think about what it would do to him.
And my boys. I owe it to them to do better. I know I scared them and that is unacceptable. Tonight, we’ll go to the arcade and out to eat and we’ll have a good time as a family. I’ll show them that their mom is a fighter.
But first…
“Bent? Will you take me upstairs and make love to me?” A gush of breath escapes him as his body sags, completely encompassing me. A second later, I’m airborne as he carries me up the steps and into my bedroom. Kicking the door shut behind us, he sets me down on the floor. He strips me slowly, reverently, worshipping every inch of skin he uncovers. On his knees, he lifts my left leg over his shoulder and licks up my center. Bowing over his head, I run my nails down his bare back. When did he remove his shirt?
Bently positions me in the center of the bed, nestles between my spread thighs, and devours my mouth, his hands exploring my body. He pinches my nipples, teases my clit and opening, he even runs his slick fingers over my asshole. Feeling him again is a gift I don’t want to take for granted ever again. He enters me smoothly, bottoming out inside me with a sinful groan. We move together, for a while neither of us in a hurry, just enjoying being joined once again. His movements speed up and he lifts my legs up and places my feet on his chest.
“Play with your tits, baby. Pinch your nipples hard. Good girl.” He takes my right hand, wrapping my fingers around his cock as he shuttles in and out. “Feel how wet you are? That’s for me. That’s because of me. You fit me perfectly.” My orgasm threatens to break me with every word out of his mouth. “Don’t deny us this connection again. I don’t have to be inside you, but God how I want to be every fucking minute, but you can’t withdraw, you can’t disappear. I could reach out and touch you, but you weren’t here. You left me and I can’t do that again.” His movements grow aggressive, he’s deeper, thrusting faster. I moan as the pleasure starts at the end of his glorious cock and spreads throughout my body.
“I won’t. I’m sorry,” I wail, my legs trembling, my breathing labored. He frantically shifts my hand up to my clit.
“Rub it, pinch it, you gotta cum, baby.” It’s only a few circles over the swollen flesh before my head digs into the pillow, my eyes roll back, and my climax rushes over me. “Fuck yeah! Fuck!” My pussy flutters then constricts around his girth, pulling his own release up his shaft. A comforting warmth settles into my bones, and I close my eyes as he gently lowers my legs and lays flush against me, careful not to crush me. He licks up my jawline to my ear, “Love you.”
“Mmhmm. Love you too.” I slur, and his laughter is the last thing I hear before I fall asleep.”