Page 19 of The Story of Me
“Fuck, Georgia; fuck, that feels good.” I panic for a few seconds, wondering if I feel different, if I feel hollow inside to him, barren, like something is missing. But the way he’s moving, the noises he makes, the words he says, it must be feeling as good for him as it is for me. He slides, grinds and pushes against me, and I instantly feel another orgasm building. His hands slide under my arse cheeks; he drives deeper and it’s like an explosion as I come again. It’s different from the first, but just as good, and it peaks again as I feel him pulse and explode inside me, his head hovering above, his eyes still locked on mine.
“Baby,” he whispers with his final thrust, his arms giving way as his weight comes down on top of me, our bodies slick and sweaty but still joined. “Shit, Georgia, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” My head spins and my stomach drops;was it that bad?“Are you safe? You on the pill? I’m so sorry. I never do that, never.”Shit.We didn’t use a condom.
“I… it doesn’t matter,” I say, moving in a way that makes it obvious he needs to get off me. He slides out of me and I get up and walk to the bathroom, but he’s right behind me and spins me around by my shoulder.
“What’s wrong? You are on the pill?” I shake my head slowly, and for a few seconds, he looks panicked, then his jaw tenses and his eyes widen.
“I can’t have children,” I whisper quietly. I’ve never said it out loud to another person before. His head tilts to the side and his ice-blue eyes soften their gaze on me.
“What?” He frowns as he speaks. I look down at the floor, and as I try to compose an answer in my head, he leads me by the hand, pulling me back into bed. This time, we get under the duvet and he pulls me into his chest for a cuddle.
“D’ya wanna tell me about it?” I do. Don’t ask me why, but I do, so I take in a deep breath,
“When we…” I struggle for a few seconds.
“You don’t have to, Georgia; I just thought you might wanna talk.” I nod my head against his chest. I would like to talk, but I don’t want to cry. I reallydon’twant to cry.
“It was the accident. When we…” It’s a stupid thing; I never know how to phrase this statement, not even to myself, in my head. Didwe, Sean and I, lose Beau? Or, didI, justme, lose Sean and Beau? Because technically, Sean was still alive when Beau was pulled dead from my womb. “My womb, my uterus, was ruptured during the accident. That’s how my baby died, and then…” My head feels dizzy just talking about this, but I want to explain. I want to say it aloud, to another person. “I had to have an emergency hysterectomy as they couldn’t stop the bleeding.” I think he’s stopped breathing while I’ve been talking; he’s holding me tightly and is absolutely still.
“Fuck, Georgia, I had no idea. That’s just so fucked.” He kisses the top of my head. “I’m so sorry. I really had no idea.”
We lay wrapped around each other in complete silence for a while, until eventually, we must both fall asleep.
Chapter Eight
I blink a few times before finally forcing my eyes open. The sun is shining behind the blinds at the window and I can smell coffee. I stretch and realise I’m a little bit sore between my legs, and I can’t help but smile. I can hear Roman moving about in my kitchen and my smile gets bigger. It’s like he’s been sent just to help me, and he’s exactly what I need right now; he’s uncomplicated—what you see is exactly what you get with Rome—and he’s a blinding fuck. I woke up in the night to feel him inside me. He was so gentle, with soft little kisses from his lips, gentle strokes from his fingertips, and neither of us said a word until we came. I sighed his name; he called out mine. I don’t remember him pulling out of my body, because we were still joined when I fell back to sleep.
I reach across to my phone and check the time; it’s eleven am. I wonder if Jim will still be awake, and I shoot off a text anyway.
Deed is dun!!!
XXX
I smile to myself, imagining her reaction. My phone rings just as Roman walks through the door carrying a cup of coffee in each hand. He’s wearing just his boxers, and I can’t take my eyes from his body for a few seconds.
“You gonna get that, George, or just let it ring?”
“Huh?” is all I manage.
“Your phone, it’s ringing.” He gestures towards the phone in my hand with his chin; I look down just as it stops ringing. I take my coffee from him, and he climbs into bed beside me just as my phone starts up again. I can see it’s Jimmie but I’m not sure what to do with Roman sitting right next to me. Before I do anything, Roman takes the phone from me.
“G’Day, Georgia’s phone, Roman Peterson speaking, can I help you?” He puts the phone on loudspeaker so I can listen, and I hear Jimmie’s shriek from where Roman has the phone held out in front of him. He pulls a face and moves it further away quickly. I snatch the phone from him.
“Jim?” I can hear what sounds like Jimmie and Ashley both cackling down the line.
“Oh, my God, George, that accent!”
“Go you, George! Did ya blow on his didgeridoo?” I turn to Roman and shake my head; the girls are so loud, but he’s just grinning, his eyes sparkling as he does.
“Are we gonna have a sensible conversation, or shall we just speak tomorrow?” I ask. My heart aches a little at the thought of them together on a Friday night. I wonder if the boys are there, too; if they’ve had a cosy night in, all together, a couples night, with all the kids running around like crazy and me, not a part of it. I have no one to be a couple with; I have no crazy kids to run around, no husband—not a living, breathing one anyway. The good mood I woke with vanishes in an instant. I hate feeling jealous and bitter, but sometimes, it just sneaks up and takes over my head and my heart. I end the call, turn my phone to silent, put it down on the chest of drawers and drink my coffee.
I can feel Roman’s eyes on me but I don’t look at him; I can’t right now. I’m too busy hating myself for being jealous of my two best friends.
“You okay?’ he asks from beside me, and I nod as I finally turn towards him.
“They’re drunk. It’s pointless trying to talk to them when they’re like that.”
He nods his head slowly. “And you’re jealous and wish you were there, drunk, with them.” It’s not a question; it’s a statement and I nod as big, fat tears plop onto my cheeks.
