Shattered and Shaken Read online

  Gathering up the courage, I go downstairs to grab a sandwich and a few pretzels. Thankfully, there's some 7-Up in the fridge. I hope the carbonation will help me. As I walk back to my room, I skim the house for Wyatt. Don't ask me why, but I do. He's nowhere in sight. I peek out the foyer window and see that his Jeep's still in the driveway, which means he's in Kyle's room.

  Thirty minutes after I've eaten my lunch, I feel it rise into my throat. Placing my hands over my mouth, I rush to the toilet, and I barely get the seat raised before I expel everything I ate. Cold sweat covers my forehead, and I collapse to the floor, resting my head against the wall. Tiredness consumes me, and I struggle to get back into bed.

  I haven't left the house in over a week, so I'm not sure what type of virus I caught, but it's not welcomed, not in this temple of mine. Pulling the covers neck high, I snuggle into my pillow and close my eyes, hoping the dizziness will fade. The nausea has gone away; it's amazing what a little vomiting can do. As the vertigo subsides, I drift to sleep.

  It’s not long before the rolling of my stomach brings me back to life, but this time I have no warning and vomit onto the floor beside of my bed. Once my body's depleted of food, I begin to dry heave, loudly. Great! There's no way I'm going to be able to clean this shit up without causing an even larger mess. My door busts open and Wyatt rushes to my side, pulling my hair back. “Oh damn, Allie. It's okay, get it all out,” he urges, softly.

  My heaves finally vanish, my insides splattered all over the floor; this is embarrassing. Wyatt drops my hair and strides to the bathroom. Falling back against my pillow, I hear the sound of running water. “Here, let me place this on your head. It'll make you feel better,” he insists, placing a warm rag to my forehead. His hand travels down the side of my face and I reach mine up to cover his, bringing his palm to my lips.

  “Thank you.” I place a kiss to the inside of his palm.

  Pity penetrates his baby blues. “Anytime.” He places the back of his hand to my cheek. “You don't feel warm, probably just a stomach bug.” He walks to the bathroom and comes out with two or three towels.

  “I'll get it, you don't have to play in my body fluids,” I say, sitting up mortified.

  He bends down beside the bed and covers the regurgitated food with the towels. “No, you won't. I got it. Just rest,” he instructs.

  I follow his instructions and lie back, feeling terrible that he's cleaning up after me like I'm a child. After he finishes, he checks on me one final time. “I'm going to throw these in the washer. You need anything else or will you be okay for a few minutes?” he asks, concern sketched into his face. You gotta love a man who doesn't mind caring for you when you're at your lowest and who still makes you feel like you're the most beautiful woman in the world.

  Shaking my head, I assure him that I'm fine. “I'm okay. You don't need to come back. I'm going to sleep whatever this is off." He flashes me a lazy smile and leaves. Before I get situated in bed, my phone chirps; it’s Sophie letting me know that she'll be home in two days. I text Blake informing him that I'm not feeling well, assuring him it's a virus, and that I'll call tomorrow with an update.

  I don't wake until the next morning, and sleep must have worked magic, because I'm back to feeling normal. The dizziness and nausea have subsided, so I take a shower and prepare for my day. I don't have anything planned, but I like to look my best every day. You never know who'll stop by. Mom must have stayed at Jack’s last night because I'm not greeted with the scent of coffee as I exit my room, and her car isn’t outside when I open my blinds.

  The coffee pot is filled with yesterday's coffee. I pour the coffee into the sink and the scent smacks me in the face, making me sick to my stomach. What the hell? I've never felt this way about the smell of coffee. Gagging, I leave the water running and go out onto the deck, praying that all I need is a little fresh air. Sitting in the chair, I begin to make a list of what I've eaten over the last few days. It can't be food poisoning because I haven't left the house, unless I've eaten something that was expired. But if that were the case, Wyatt would be sick as well; he's eaten everything I have. Just to be sure, I go inside and check the dates on everything we have in stock. Even the food I haven't touched, just in case it has contaminated anything within its path.

  There's nothing, everything is fine. Shit!

  I go back to my room and check the calendar on my phone, and fuck my life... I'm late. Shit! I grab my wallet and haul ass to the car, passing Wyatt as he pleads for me to stop. What am I going to do? I can't be pregnant, can I? I try to count the times Blake and I got carried away and didn't use protection, but I can't decide on a number. Aw fuck, not even once... God dammit! How can I be so stupid! You'd think I would've learned my lesson the first time.

  I have no idea how he’ll handle it if I'm pregnant. If I am, maybe I shouldn't tell him. I can take the money Kyle left for me and move out of state, rent an apartment until he's finished and then tell him. Nope, that won't work. SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! Motherfucking shit!

  Pulling into the Walgreen's, I slam the gear to park and punch the steering wheel. “How can you be so stupid!” I mumble, thoroughly pissed off. I'm livid with myself. I have birth control and forgot to take it. Not only have I ruined Blake’s life, and mine, but if I'm pregnant, it'll crush Wyatt.

  I stop procrastinating and make my way through the store towards the pharmacy department. As soon as I enter, Josie, one of my mom's closest friends, greets me from behind the counter. Can this get any worse? I hate living in this town! Everyone knows your business. If you fart the wrong way, everyone in Jacksonville will want to examine your ass to be sure it isn't deformed. Waving at her, I hurry to the back of the store, and I'm thankful when I see there isn't anyone in line to check out in the pharmacy. I skim down the aisle full of tampons, pads, and other feminine products and grab three of the first pregnancy tests I see. The cashier is an older woman that attends the same church as my mother, but I don't believe they're acquainted or anything.

  As I place the tests on the counter, she eyes them suspiciously, and then she brings her eyes to mine. “All of these for you dear?” she asks, judging me. Not that it's any of her business, but I tell her yes. She leans over the counter and looks to my stomach. “Huh,” she shrugs. Damn lady, if I was showing already, I wouldn’t need the test. She better keep her job and not venture out, most employers have low tolerance for ignorance. Not saying she's ignorant or anything, okay, maybe I am, but she brought it upon herself - eyeing me the way she did.

  She asks for a total of thirty dollars. “Are you kidding me?” Thirty dollars? That's absurd! She holds her hand out, palm up, waiting for me to pay her. “Y'all should be ashamed of yourselves, charging people an arm and a leg for a necessity,” I argue.

  She puckers her lips at me and nods. “Yeah, and you should be ashamed of buying these tests without a ring on your finger, but who am I to judge,” she responds. What a bitch. If I didn't respect my elders, I'd reach over the counter and slam her face into the register. Okay, maybe a slight exaggeration, but I'd let her know about herself.

  I'm not the best Christian, but I know that it's not her place to judge me; only one person can do that. It sure as hell ain't her. She bags the tests and hands me the receipt, holding the plastic bag towards me. I snatch it from her hands. “And lady, for all you know, I could've been raped. Although I wasn't, you never know what someone's going through,” I advise her. She snarls her nose and backs away into the pharmacy. Now, I know I shouldn't have compared myself or my situation to someone being raped, but it has happened. Her words could've pushed a girl in that situation over the edge- causing her to self-inflict bodily harm. Maybe she'll think before she speaks next time, but it won't be me. There will not, and I repeat, will not, be a next time for me. Fuck!

  Pulling into the driveway, I take the tests out of the plastic bag and stuff them along the waistband of my shorts, tugging my shirt down in an attempt to cover them. I open the front door slowly and peek inside fo
r Wyatt. He's not within eyesight. I make my way inside and quietly shut the door. The last thing I want is for Wyatt to catch me and probe me with questions, so I tiptoe up the stairs. Right before I make it to the top, the stair creaks. Great. I stand still and listen for movement, but I don't hear anything. Skipping the last three steps, I scurry into my room and lock the door behind me. I begin opening the boxes before I make it to the restroom, reading the directions as I walk. It says you should use your first morning's urine for the most accurate results, but I pay them no attention. If you're pregnant, it's going to show any time of the day, right?

  I empty my bladder and place the stick between my legs, making sure I saturate it well. I place it on the counter and begin the countdown. In five minutes, I should either see the words pregnant or not pregnant; I hope to see not. I don't leave the bathroom. I can't. If I walk away, maybe I'll miss the results. Delusional, I know, but, hey, I’m not in my right mind here.

  Pacing the floor, I count along with the clock. Three hundred seconds is too damn long to wait on results that'll determine the rest of your life. With technology advancing, they should put faster pregnancy tests to the top of their list. Before I get the last number off my tongue, I glance to the counter, looking for my answer. When I see the results my knees buckle, and I have to depend on the vanity for support. Not Pregnant. Thank you, Jesus! Talk about weight being lifted from your shoulders. It feels like there was a brick house using me as its foundation, but it was knocked down with those two lifesaving words, not pregnant. I shove the rest of the tests under the sink and go down to find Wyatt, but his Jeep has disappeared. Damn dizziness, it's reappearing. Maybe I should call the doctor. Blake can treat me. He's the best physician I know.

  Blake told me he'd stop by and drop off a nasal spray. He said the dizziness could be from post-nasal drainage that doesn't escape through the nasal cavity; it stays within the ears, back of the nose and throat. I hope he's right, even though that sounds completely gross, because each time I have a dizzy spell, they return with a vengeance.

  I shoot a text to Wyatt asking him to stay away for a while because Blake's on his way, and I can't handle the confrontation with Blake. I know once Blake finds out that Wyatt's here, he'll insist I stay with him, but I'm not ready to separate from Wyatt just yet. I'm not as nauseated as I have been, but I'm still a little queasy. Wyatt doesn't return my text, but I get the confirmation it went through. I'll take his silence as a signal of cooperation.

  Strong knocks come from the door. Opening it, I'm greeted by the most handsome doctor at Onslow Memorial. He's wearing blue-green scrubs with his shirt tucked into his draw string scrub pants, and his cell’s attached to his waistband. He doesn't say anything, not a single word; he enters into the foyer and crashes his mouth to mine, causing my heart to work double time. He pulls his mouth away from mine. “Happy to see me?"

  I hug him tightly, remembering how good it feels to be wrapped up in him. “Umm, what gave it away?” I ask, snuggling into his chest. His hands press against the middle of my back.

  "I can feel your heart hammering, babe.”

  Wrapping my arms around his neck, I jump up and wrap my legs around his waist. “If you think my heart’s hammering, you'll really be impressed by the way my insides are contracting for you. Craving you to fill me,” I say, eagerly kissing him.

  He turns me around and presses my back against the door. His hands grind into my body, paying special attention to my breasts. As he presses his hips into me, I feel him growing longer, harder. “Mmm,” I moan. His touch, his kisses, they're satisfying to my soul. Taking his bottom lip between my teeth, I nibble it, sucking it frequently.

  Rubbing my sex against his cock causes him to gasp. Scrubs make for easy access, so I reach down and untie his pants. Reaching my hand between us, I stroke his shaft, and circle my thumb around his tip. "When I left the hospital, everything was under control, but I don't have time to make love to you right now,” he mutters as I suck his lip.

  Sadness consumes me at the thought of being put second, once again. I release his lip and capture his face between my hands. He may not have time to pleasure me, but I want nothing more than to satisfy him. “Okay, then I’ll pleasure you,” I urge, massaging his length.

  He grunts, fighting the temptation. “No, I want to please you. I need to. I've been away from you way too long. I need some more of your juicy sweetness.” He carries me up to my room and stands me against the wall. “No bed?” I ask.

  “No,” he replies, pulling my pants off. Once my pants hit the floor, my back’s against the wall, my legs over his shoulders, and he's face deep in my vagina - sucking, licking, and biting me. His tongue slides up and down my labia, entering inside of me periodically as he fucks me with his tongue.

  “Holeeee fuck, ahhhh,” I moan, forcing his face deeper into me. He brings his mouth to my clit and sucks, hard. The harder he sucks, the higher I climb. As if he's in tune with my body, he releases my clit and his tongue slides into me as I climax, licking up my juices. “As always, baby, you never disappoint. Fucking delicious,” he declares, sucking me dry.

  Lifting me, he carries me to the bed and sets me down. I assume he could tell by my legs’ dead weight, I wouldn't have made it. “You good now?” he asks, leaning over me.

  “Oh, babe, I'm better than good,” I giggle. “I'm fantabulous,” I proclaim. Except now, I feel exhausted, but I won't show it.

  He kisses me one last time. “Good. I'm happy to be of service to you, my love,” he pauses, scraping his teeth over his lip. “I have to get back to the hospital, but I'll be back for you later. Get your rest. I've got one hell of a night planned for you, Miss Anderson.”

  Oh yay! His promise makes my stomach turn flips. Normally, it's a good butterfly effect, but with the nausea I've been experiencing, I feel like I'm riding a never ending roller-coaster.

  Chapter Eighteen

  LAST NIGHT, BLAKE WAS supposed to come back after his shift ended, but he was unable to. He had three emergency C-section, and one other physician available. He ended up crashing at the hospital, and the next day, it was his shift to stay there anyway. Although I miss Blake, I'm happy he didn't return. Wyatt came home reeking of booze. He stumbled through the front door babbling incoherent sentences, something about me putting Blake before him after all that he's done for me. I wasn't sure what he was referring to, but I didn't argue with him. Arguing with a drunk is as pointless as speaking to a brick wall; neither one listens.

  I placed his arms over my shoulders and guided him to Kyle's room. Once we entered into the room, I pushed him on to the bed. “I find it kind of funny that you love Blake so much, but here you are concerned about me, putting me to bed... you should join me,” he mumbled. He pulled me on top of him as I attempted to undress him for bed.

  “Wyatt don't, your drunk,” I said, as I tried to wiggle myself out of his grasp.

  He laughed, but it wasn't natural; it was forced. “Allie, why are you doing this to yourself? Why are you doing this to me? To us?” he whispered with water-filled eyes.

  I thought about his words for a moment, but I haven't done anything to him; he did this to me, to us. “I'm not doing anything to you, Wyatt, except trying to make you comfortable for bed,” I assured him.

  He rolled us over and changed our positions. I lay on my back beneath his hard muscular, tattooed hotness as his heart pounded against my breasts. “Wyatt, please-” He crushed his mouth to mine. Even though I instructed my brain to resist him, it didn't obey, allowing my body to comply to his touch. Our tongues tangled together and our hands committed each other's body to memory. My hands glided over the mountain-like muscles in his arms and back. His hands over my panties, he rubbed my sex nice and slow. My tongue traced every outline of his tattoos. I made my way to his hardness, ready to engulf his cock, but as my lips touched his tip, the salty pre-cum caused me to become nauseous.

  I had attempted to swallow the feeling back down, but it was overwhelming. I pushed away
from him and ran for my room, once again embarrassed.

  He must've passed out after my unplanned escape, because he didn't chase after me like he normally would; or he really was pissed off that I asked him to stay away while Blake was here. Either way, he didn't come, and I’m grateful…

  I don't understand why I'm not getting any better. I haven't run a fever, all I do is get nauseous and vomit. It freaking sucks! I've been more tired than usual, but I believe it's a side effect from vomiting several times a day. The pregnancy test came back negative, so I don't know what's raging through my body, but it's unwelcomed. Maybe I should take another test, properly this time. Tomorrow as soon as my feet hit the floor, I'm going to take another test, just to be one-hundred-percent positive. The instructions did say to use your first urine of the day; maybe it does have an effect on the results. It just doesn't make sense.

  Sophie's back home, and as much as I want to see her, I can't. I left her a message letting her know I wasn't feeling well and that I don't wish to infect her with whatever it is I've been exposed to; we'll catch up this weekend, hopefully. Plus, all I want to do is sleep. No matter how old you get, you'll always need your mother. My mom makes the best homemade chicken noodle soup, and I really wish she were here to make it. She's been picking up extra shifts at the hospital and sleeping at Jack’s during the day. She claims it's because he's at work and the house is quiet, opposed to the ruckus Wyatt and I create. Excuses if you ask me. I don't care where she stays anymore. Honestly I don't. I know the loneliness you feel being separated from your love. You feel half full. And even though I'm still adjusting to her and Jack's relationship, I'm trying to keep an open mind. She deserves to be happy.