CHAPTER FOURTY-NINE
DAPHNE
“I think I like this one the best,” Carla said, holding up one of my and Jace’s wedding photos. I took it from her hand and looked at it. It was one with her in the background, making a face. I laughed and tossed it back at her.
“I’m looking for one to have framed and hung over my new mantle.”
“I know, I think that one is perfect,” she said with a wink.
“I think we’ll keep looking,” I told her with a smile.
I looked around my and Jace’s new house and sighed contentedly. I love him so much. I love our house. I love our life.
We got married down at Columbus Park under the lit arbor just as the sun was going down. The photos all have the harbor and the glorious sunset in the background. It’s like the day was designed just for us. I knew that’s an entirely narcissistic view, but on this point, I didn’t care.
I was brought back to the present by my oh-so-direct friend. “So, when are you going to start popping out kids?”
I laughed. “We’ve only been married for a month. Slow down there, skippy.”
“Yeah, but you’ve been doing the nasty for two years. Come on, you’re behind. I’ll be a fabulous auntie.”
“I’m sure you will be, as long as you don’t say things like ‘doing the nasty’ in front of my child.”
She was crazy, but I loved her. She went on to say, “Maybe you two aren’t doing it right. Is Jace ramming that hard…”
“Carla!” I stopped her there. I love her, but I didn’t want to discuss my husband’s hard anything with her. My face was bright red, I could feel it.
She laughed. “You still blush like a school girl every time I mention sex. You need to read some trashy novels, get some ideas. You two are probably still doing it missionary, aren’t you?”
With a giggle, I said, “Trust me, we have plenty of our own ideas.”
“Oh, really? Tell me more. Have you done it all over the new house yet? Does Jace like doing it doggy style?”
“Carla! Stop,” I was laughing. Jace and I had no problems in the bedroom. As a matter of fact, it was quite the opposite. Some days we did it like rabbits all over the house and, yes, in different positions.
I was still not comfortable talking about it, though, and Carla knew that. She loves to tease me. She likes to call us “The virgin duo.” Little did she know, there was nothing virginal left about either of us.
“Here it is,” she said, suddenly. She was holding another photo from the pile of wedding pictures. When she handed it to me, I saw that this time, she wasn’t kidding.
Jace and I were facing each other holding hands. The water from the river could be seen in the background and the sun was glinting off of it as it lowered, casting a golden glow around us both. That was beautiful, but even more so was the look in our eyes as we stared at each other. It was going to look perfect above the mantle.
“I love it!”
“Yeah, me, too,” she said. It was the first serious thing she’d said in twenty minutes. “You know after you have kids you’ll have to take it down, though, right?”
“Why?”
“Please, you’ll have so many pictures of the kid, you won’t have room to hang your own. Just think about how gorgeous that kid will be with the two of you as parents.”
I smiled and tried to picture our baby. I hoped he looks just like Jace.
“Yeah, I bet he will be a looker,” I said.
“He?”
“I just think since Jace has two brothers, maybe the boy thing runs in his family.”
“Maybe, but I’d like to order a niece, too.”
Before I could respond to that, I heard Jace come in the front door. He came in and found us still sitting on the couch looking at our wedding pictures. He said hello to Carla and kissed me.
He was all dirty from work in his jeans and t-shirt with his big arms showing underneath the short sleeves and his hard chest outlined by the cotton material. I would take him down and eat him up right there if Carla wasn’t here. Even after two years, just looking at him excites me.
“What are you ladies doing?”
“We’re picking one out for above the mantle. What do you think of this one?” I held up the one Carla picked out and as I looked at it again I realized that part of why it was so beautiful was that it was a day that neither of us thought we’d ever see. You could see the love in our eyes in it.
“I love it.” The look in his eyes described the way I felt about it without words. He leaned over and kissing me again.
“Hey, Jace, I was just asking Daphne when the two of you were going to start making babies,” Carla said.
He laughed. “Whenever she’s ready. I’m going to leave that up to her.”
He wasn’t just saying that. It’s what he’s told me from the beginning. We both want kids, but he said it was important to him that we wait until I feel ready to do it, without being stressed or anxious. It should be a beautiful time in our lives, not a worrisome one.
He’s so sweet that he even questioned if I thought we should take some parenting classes, since neither of us had an example to go on. I honestly thought we’ll be okay. I’m definitely not my father and he is the most incredible, generous, big-hearted, nurturing person I’ve ever met. Our baby will be so lucky to have him.
“I volunteered to show you guys some new positions, but wifey is getting all embarrassed about it. You wouldn’t mind if I tagged along one of these days and just made sure you two virgins were doing it right, would you?” Carla asked him.
“Shh! Carla!” I laughed again. Thank God Jace was used to Carla. He was laughing, too. She has no filters, but she has a good heart and she loves me and Jace knows that. It’s all that matters to him, and I love him that much more for putting up with her.
He winked at me and said, “I’ll leave that up to her, too, Carla. Appreciate the offer, though.”
I looked at Jace. “I told her we were completely fine in that department.”
“She’s is right about that. We may have started out virgins, but I think we’ve got it mastered,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Are you sure? You know you don’t always have to be on top. Sometimes it’s fun and more productive to have her sit right down on your lap and you can kind of like…” She flexed her hips up and screwed up her face. Jace laughed and shook his head as he went into the kitchen to get a drink. I scolded her again, jokingly.
“I want to wait a year or two. I just got this nursing job, and I’d like to work for a while first.”
“Yeah,” Carla said, “I guess that way you can build up some leave. Don’t take too long, though. I want a baby to play with.”
“Why not have your own?” Jace asked her.
She looked at him like he had two heads. “Bite your tongue. I don’t even have a regular man yet. I’m not cut out to be a single mother.”
“You take your time, honey,” I told her. “You’re still young and beautiful. Have fun.”
“Hey,” Jace said, pretending to be insulted. “Are you saying being married to me isn’t any fun?”
I got up and went over to where he was sitting. I sat down on his lap and kissed him. We forgot Carla was there as we kissed passionately. I could feel him growing hard underneath me.
Carla cleared her throat and said, “Um… I think I’ll just be going.”
We laughed and apologized. “Sorry, we just get carried away,” I told her.
She snorted and said, “Newlyweds,” but she was grinning. “I really have to go. See ya, Jace.”
“See ya, Carla.”
I got up and walked her out. I gave her a hug before she left and promised I’d call to let her know how the new job goes. I’d just finished two years of nursing school and I got a job at the University Hospital. I was really excited about starting.
Jace had been so helpful and supportive while I was in school. I couldn’t wait to start making money and contributing to our lives. He said that part doesn’t matter, and I believe he means it. But it will make me feel better. He works so hard. I want to be an equal partner.
After she left, Jace showered while I put away the wedding pictures. We went out to dinner. Now that we’re living in Boston, we eat out once a week on Fridays. The rest of the week, we take turns cooking and on Sundays after church, we have dinner with his brothers.
We started going to a new church. It’s still Catholic, but no one there knows our history and it’s more comfortable for us there. We’re both still very devout, practicing Catholics. What has happened in the past is between us and God, but we both still feel strongly that we did the right thing and God is on our side.
Tonight, we went to a place near the Harbor called Legal Sea Foods. It’s one of our favorite places to eat when we’re in the mood for shellfish. The manager knows Jace from a job his company did for him last year, so he always starts us out with a huge shrimp cocktail.
We sit upstairs when we’re in the mood for quiet elegance, but tonight I wanted the two-pound lobster, so we had to sit downstairs for that. It’s a lot louder downstairs because that’s where the bar is at and a lot of college kids hang out there.
While we were eating, Jace looked over at the bar crowd and said, “Do you ever feel like you’re missing out?”
Confused, I said, “On what?”
“You’re about the same age as those kids at the bar. They’re just having a great time without a care in the world. You just finished school and you have a house and a husband to take care of. Do you ever wish you could go back and do it the way they’re doing it?”
I glanced over at the kids. I thought about high school and even if you factored out my horrible father, you couldn’t pay me to go back. It was fraught with constant anxiety over what to wear and who was talking about who and what boys were going to want if I went out with them.
Being a child of sexual abuse could have sent me over to the promiscuous edge, but instead, it sent me in the other direction. I never accepted dates because of my fear that the guy would want sex. I was a senior before I had my first real relationship. He was the one who ran when he tried to get me in bed and I told him about my dad.
I looked back at Jace and thought about how when you change one thing in your life, it often alters the course of it, and I said,
“No, not even a little bit. Mostly because had I done things differently, I would not have met you. Look at me now!” I giggled.
He smiled. “Yeah, look at you now. Happy looks so good on you. It’s hard to imagine the different courses our lives would have taken if we’d never met.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you think you would still be a priest if we’d never met?”
He nodded and popped a piece of lobster in his mouth. “Yeah, I think so,” he said, after he swallowed. “It wasn’t terrible. I was never really content with it, but until I met you, I really thought it was where I was supposed to be.”
“Are you ever sorry you gave it up?”
“Not even a little bit,” he said, copying my words with a grin. “I love you, Daphne. I love our life, and I think God and I are okay these days.”
“Good. Me, too.”
“You too what?”
“I’m good with God.”
“What about me?”
I knew what he was fishing for, but I liked messing with him sometimes. “You just said you’re good with Him too.”
“But what about how you feel about me?”
“Oh! I’m good with you, too.” He made a sad face and I smiled. “I love you more than life itself.”
He grinned and said, “I knew that, I just wanted to hear it out loud.”
******
When we got home that night, Jace looked at the couch and with a grin he said, “You know something?”
“What’s that?”
“We made love on my old couch and on your old couch, but we haven’t done it on our new one yet.”
I went over and slid my arms around him. He kissed me deeply, and I said, “Do you think we should christen it?”
“I absolutely do,” he agreed with a grin. He flexed his hips into me, and I felt him already growing hard. He kissed me again and as he did, he pulled my dress up to around my waist. I broke the kiss and raised my arms so he could finish pulling it off. I walked over to the couch, saying,
“Let’s do this.”
He laughed. “I think I want you on this side,” he said. He was standing near the back of it.
I raised an eyebrow, but went around next to him. He grabbed my face in his hands and gave me another hard kiss as he released my bra. He flipped me around so I was facing the couch and pulled my panties down. I stepped out of them and felt his hands roam down across my backside, over the curves of my butt and dip between my legs.
“Mm, my baby is always so responsive.” I turned back around to face him and we kissed again. God, I love kissing him. I could do it all day. He had other ideas as he growled and buried his face in my breasts. While he was doing that, and doing it very well, I unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. I slid my hand down inside and found his now rock hard cock. I gave it a squeeze and felt him shudder into me.
“Take them off,” I told him. He reached down and put his fingers against my outer lips again and said, “Mm, so wet baby…”
“That’s because you’re so sexy, you make me that way.”
He reluctantly let go of my breasts and pulled his hand away from my pussy. I watched as my gorgeous husband stripped off his clothes. I could also just look at him all day. He grinned again and said, “I think I changed my mind. I think I want to sit on the couch, with my beautiful wife in my lap.”
“I like that idea,” I told him. He finished getting naked. God, he’s gorgeous, I’m so lucky. He sat down on the couch and I straddled him.
We kissed for a long time with his hands rubbing my back and shoulders. I loved it when he touches me like that. I loved everything he does.
I reached down and took him back into my hand. I lifted up on my knees and while his hands found my breasts and began to massage and caress them, I lined him up with me and sat down on his cock. God…there is no better feeling in the world than being filled up with my husband.
I started to move up and down. He was still licking and sucking on my nipples, using his teeth to graze them lightly because he knows how much I love that. I arched my back so that I could take his cock even deeper inside of me and I rocked back and forth on his lap. His thighs were hard and tense as he used them to bump my butt up and down as he flexed his hips so that he could thrust up into me.
He kept a breast in his mouth while he reached down between us and found my clit. I moaned at his pinch. I leaned back even further to give him better access, and he began to rub it with two fingers while he continued to pound my pussy.
Each time he bottomed out inside of me, he would round his hips, grinding up into me hard and deep. I’ve never felt anything like the way this man makes me feel and I’m sure that I never will. The sex is fantastic, all the time, but I believe our emotional connection feeds that and makes it so much better.
I rode him hard and fast until I felt his breaths begin to shorten and I knew he was ready to come. I squeezed my pussy muscles, clamping down on him like a vice and that sent him hurtling over the edge.
I felt the warm liquid fill me up as he held me down tightly against his lap. He was moaning and making primal sounding grunts as he milked himself into me. When he finished coming, he didn’t stop moving. He’s a generous lover; never stopping until I come.
He kept flexing his hips and rubbing my clit with his fingers. He brought the other hand up and pinched and rolled my nipples. I felt the orgasm washing over me and tightened every muscle in my body as I came.
Jace kept rubbing lightly until my body stopped shaking and I collapsed into him, breathing heavily. He put his hands on my back then and began to rub my back and run his hands through my hair. He was kissing the side of my face and telling me he loved me over and over.
When I had the strength I pulled my face up and looked at him. “I love you, Jace. I never imagined being happy like this.”
He smiled. I still melt when his smile is just for me. “I thank God for you every day, Daphne. I love you more than I can ever put into words and I am so grateful we found each other. I look forward to discovering new things with you every day for the rest of our lives.”
I kissed him again and I thought, who would have ever imagined that two abused kids who at more than one point in their lives thought they could never be happy would find each other and change that.
I know that I’m where I’m supposed to be and Jace tells me he knows this is where he belongs to. I’m going to hold onto him forever, and I know in my heart that it’s only going to get better and better.
GAMED BOX SET
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 Claire Adams
PART 1
CHAPTER ONE
Quinn
face on the magazine cover kept eclipsing my textbook. I recognized him from high school, junior high school actually, and the thrill of seeing him again was more exciting than gross anatomy. I tried to tell myself it was the magazine that was grabbing my attention. I had obsessed over the new hit multi-player online game Dark Flag since it came out. Owen Redd was rising to dominance as the game's first clan leader. He was a star in the gamer community.
And my sister's boyfriend, I reminded myself.
I never understood how he put up with Sienna. She had wanted to change him from the moment they met. My perfect sister, with her stellar G.P.A. and her driving ambition to be a surgeon, wanted her boyfriend to be more than a gamer. I always suspected she started dating him as a challenge. Sienna was always trying to improve, perfect, and control the world around her. Owen struck me as another project she took on – change the school's most popular rebel into the prom king. She kept a framed picture of their prom court on the desk in her dorm. Owen's crown was crooked, but he and Sienna were still together.
I wondered if she knew he was on the cover of a magazine. Sienna would not be impressed, but it really was a big deal. I reached for my phone.
"The studying going well?" my roommate asked.
"Can you believe the professor gives us a quiz at the start of every class? Seems cruel," I said.
Darla shook her head and laughed. "I heard he charts the quiz scores on a board."
I groaned. My sister's name was on the top of that board and I could not help but look at it every time I sat down to struggle through another quiz.
Darla gave my long hair a sympathetic tug. "Have you ever considered changing your major? I know nursing is a noble profession, but as far as I can see, you don't like anything about it."
"I like it," I said. "It’s just a lot of memorizing and papers and sitting around studying new research. There's not a lot of, I don't know, action to it."
"Well, if you're looking for action, I heard there's a Dark Flag party over in the basement of the Mathematics lab," Darla said.
My roommate was the opposite of me in many ways – an art major with a concentration in textiles – but she was also a gamer. I stood up to lead the way out the door.
"Wait, you forgot your phone," Darla stopped me. "Ugh, I think your advisor is calling."
I looked at the caller ID and bit my lip. Alice Bonton had a sixth sense about when I was going to do something fun instead of study. There was no reason I couldn’t let the call go to voicemail, except my father's nagging motto: never put off for tomorrow what you can deal with right now.
"Ms. Alice, how is your evening?" I asked. Darla shrugged her shoulders and left without me.
"Quinn, I'm glad I caught you. I mean, I'm not glad, I'm just grateful you answered your phone," my advisor said.
"If this is about skipping class last week, its sounds much worse than it was. I was actually volunteering my time down at the blood drive. I just forgot to get a volunteer form signed," I said.
"Skipping class again? That's the fourth time this month. That's once a week. Quinn, I'm concerned. I know this isn't the time to discuss it, but–" her voice cracked. "I'm not sure how to do this."
"I can make up all the work, I promise. I'm studying right now. Literally, the book is open in front of me. I love nursing, I really do. I've just been distracted lately." I stopped myself before I started talking about the new game. My college advisor would not be impressed to hear how dedicated I was to a new online game.
"When was the last time you went home? Spent any time with your family?"
"I don't know, fall break? So, well, I guess about a month," I said. "But I'm going home for Thanksgiving. Sienna wants to stay on campus, but I agreed to go home. I'm in charge of making the gravy. Sienna makes the best stuffing, but she's only staying on campus to get a head start on studying for finals. She's pre-med and wants to be a surgeon."
There was silence on the other end of the line. Finally, when I had held my breath long enough to see a few stars creeping around the edges of my vision, my advisor said, "I know you look up to your sister, but I hope you have considered finding your own path."
I could feel dread hanging over the conversation. Ms. Alice's words were heavy and she struggled to speak. The same weight settled over me. "Am I getting kicked out of the nursing program?"
"What?" my advisor asked. "No. I mean, I don't know, the skipping class is getting out of hand. I just think now is a good time for you to consider what you really want to do. You shouldn't stick with a major just because of family expectations. Instead of following in your sister's footsteps–"
"Ms. Alice, are you alright? Maybe I should make an appointment during your office hours," I said. "I'm going online right now to put in the request. I don't want to take up any more of your time this evening."
"Wait, Quinn, I'm calling late for a reason," my advisor said. She cleared her throat and paused again.
"Oh no! You're right. I didn't know how late it was! I promised a friend I would cover his shift at the front desk of our dorm. I gotta go, Ms. Alice. I'm sorry. Thanks for your concern. We'll talk soon!" I hung up the phone and put it down as if it burned my hand.
I was never rude and I never lied, but I had been both to Ms. Alice for no discernible reason. Something in her heavy tone and her pauses made me nervous. I looked at the clock. It was past ten o'clock on a weeknight. My stomach twisted. Why would my college advisor be calling so late?
I stood up and brushed my hair back, doing my best impression of my sister's hair flip. Sienna never let other people bother her. My sister would have cut the strange phone call short twenty seconds after it started. On the other hand, I was wracked with guilt. I felt as if Ms. Alice was trying to tell me something and I had not done a good job of helping her spit it out.
Despite the guilt, I brushed my hair and got ready to join Darla at the gamer party. I moved quickly and was out the door before I could even shut my abandoned textbook.
"Oh, sorry. Excuse me," I said.
The taller of the campus security guards held up both hands. "Whoa, slow down. Are you Quinn Thomas?"
My stomach turned sour. "Yes?"
"Your advisor is Alice Bonton?" he asked.
"Yes. Wait, what's going on?" I asked.
His rotund partner shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled. "Your advisor needs you to meet her at Alton Tower. We're here to give you a lift. That's all we know."
"Please come with us, Ms. Thomas." The taller guard stepped aside and ushered me past.
I took a step before I saw the sharp look pass between the two men. "What is this all about? Has something happened?"
Neither said a single word more. I fought the urge to run and instead walked downstairs and out the front doors. The fat guard waved a thick hand towards the campus vehicle. My feet froze and an angry buzzing started in my ears. The taller guard stepped around me and opened the passenger side door, relegating his partner to the backseat.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
The lanky man folded himself into the driver's seat. Instead of answering, he turned the key in the ignition. I tried to close my eyes and take a calming breath, but an incessant flashing of lights stopped me. An ambulance drove past and joined the whirling lights of a police car not far away.
Alton Tower. That's where the guard said my advisor was waiting. I knew it because it was my sister's dorm.
The campus vehicle bucked the curb and drove right onto the lawn outside Alton Tower. Another campus security Jeep, the police car, and the ambulance blocked the front door of the dorm. I sat in the car, not sure where I was supposed to go.
Ms. Alice appeared, skittering around the front of the police car. She ran up to my door, and I could see she was talking before she opened it. "Quinn, I'm so sorry, but I was afraid you wouldn't answer if I called back."
"What is going on?" I asked. I gripped the side of the passenger seat and refused to get out.
"There's been a… Um, well, an accident," my advisor said. She reached for my hand.
"My sister? Is Sienna alright?" I slapped away Ms. Alice's hand and vaulted from the security vehicle. The rotund security guard tried to stop me, but he was too slow getting out of the backseat.
"Wait, Quinn, stop. Let me tell you what happened," Ms. Alice said.
The raw agony in her voice made me stop, but I could not turn around. She slipped around to stand in front of me and held out her hands. I crossed my arms tightly and waited for my advisor to speak.
"Sienna committed suicide tonight."
I laughed. The sound fired out of me. The two security guards backed off as if I brandished a gun. "That can't be right. Sienna would never do that."
"Quinn, I'm so sorry. Her roommate came back from the library and found her in the bathtub–"
"She slit her wrists?" I asked. The world was spinning away and getting smaller. It felt as if everything around me was shrinking onto a television screen and some terrible after school special was on.
"Please, Quinn, come sit down," my advisor begged.
I yanked my arm away from her reaching hands. Before my thoughts returned to my body, I had started running. I dodged around the ambulance before the fat guard could catch up. His lanky partner tried to cut me off on the front steps, but I spun out of his reach. The guards keeping the front hall clear were too shocked to move. I slammed into the stairwell and ran up two steps at a time.
Sienna lived on the second floor at the end of the hall.
"Quinn, no! That's her sister," Sienna's roommate cried as I ran past where she sat wrapped in a blanket in the stairwell. The EMTs in the doorway called out, but I could not stop.
A detective in a gray suit looked up as I barreled through the door of Sienna's dorm room. His bright badge and ashen face stopped me.
"Is it true?" I asked.
"You're the sister?" he asked. His gray eyes swept towards the bathroom door. "I wouldn't."
He made no move to stop me, seeming to understand that I had to see for myself. I lurched towards the bathroom and stopped two feet short of the threshold. A wet puddle of bath water mixed with dark blood inched towards the door.
Sienna was gone. My perfect sister with her flawless beauty and driving ambition was gone.
I sank to the floor, unsure gravity could keep me from spinning away. I clung to the rug with both hands – Sienna's outrageously-priced woven rug she had begged our parents for last Christmas. I gritted my teeth and swallowed hard. Sienna would never forgive me if I threw up on her rug.
#
dorm room was not more than a small box. The forensic photographer worked around me while two police officers joined the detective. They spoke at a regular volume, fully aware that shock had rendered me deaf to their words. I could not understand what they were saying.
"Everything seems to line up: high pressure major, friends say she was very focused, her schedule is intense. There's no major event, no tipping point so far," one of the uniformed officers said.
"Pretty typical," the detective agreed.
I gripped the rug so hard I felt my knuckles creak. The tears were building, a hard pressure pounding in my head, but they would not come. Only ragged breaths escaped, and each one hurt my throat. I wanted to cry, I had no idea what else to do, but I could not.
Sienna always knew what to do next. I always joked she would have made an excellent cruise director. At home, she had all of us scheduled down to the next five minutes during the holidays. I needed her to tell me what to do now.
I gasped for air. The detective stepped to the door of the dorm room and waved an arm down the hallway. In a moment, one of the EMTs sat on the floor next to me.
"Here," he said. "Take this. It’s a low dose anti-anxiety pill. It'll help calm you down."
It was something to do, some small action to get me off the rug and standing on shaking legs. I took the pill and let the EMT help me up. He stood firmly between me and the bathroom and held out his arms to usher me out the dorm room. Two men and a black stretcher waited in the hallway.
They were going to take Sienna's body away.
"Can I go with? I want to go with," I asked the EMT.
He shook his head. "Stop talking like that or you'll be overnight in the psych ward. You're going back to your dorm room to call your family."
A warm numbness spread through my body as the EMT escorted me downstairs to the campus security guards. Everything seemed far away and soft. I imagined my life becoming a video game, the origin story of some dark superhero. The flashing lights of the police cars, the open doors of the ambulance, the arrival of the coroner's van, they were all on a screen. I was safe on the couch in my dorm room, dozing as I watched the introduction.
If only it had all been a bad dream.
And then, I was on my dorm room couch. My roommate paced the floor in front of me. Her long, delicate fingers weaving together and squeezing with nervous energy. She spoke to me, occasionally sat next to me and tried to talk, but I could not hear anything she said.
"It's all over campus by now. I'm not sure you should stay here. People are going to be coming by and now's not the time. Right? Quinn?" she asked.
Darla kept going to the door. She never opened it, just called through, but the knocks kept coming at regular intervals. I could feel Darla's nervousness growing. She wrung her hands and stood exhausted in the middle of our small room. In my hazy mind, she became the gatekeeper. Was I a prisoner or the hidden princess?
Sienna had been the princess. My father called her Princess all the time. There was no way she would be sitting in a fog during a crisis like this one. She would have had everything organized by now.
I felt like I could not even blink without a colossal effort.
The next knock on the door was a rapid, insistent rap. Darla leapt to answer it and this time she pulled the door open. Alice Bonton slipped in our dorm room and locked the door behind her.
"She hasn't called her parents yet. She hasn't even moved," Darla told Alice.
"Quinn, honey, we need to call your parents. Let's do it now so they can come here and get you," my advisor said.
I shook my head. Somehow this was all my advisor's fault. If I had not answered the phone call from her, none of this ever would have happened. Sienna would still be alive and studying her night away. And, I would be slipping into the world of Dark Flag with Darla at the gamer party.
"I'm going to dial the phone and hand it to you, alright?" Ms. Alice asked.
"What I am supposed to say?" I croaked. "They are never going to believe me."
"Believe you?" she and Darla both asked at the same time.
"Sienna would never do something like that," I said. The images came back to me and the room in front of me faded away to darkness. Every time I tried to think of why, how Sienna could do that to herself, a giant chasm opened in my mind.
"Do you want me to tell them?" my advisor asked.
The phone was ringing and my mouth went dry. I nodded just as I heard my father's voice.
"Hello, Mr. Thomas? I'm sorry to be calling so late. This is Alice Bonton from UCLA. I'm your daughter Quinn's advisor. What? No, she hasn't done anything. Quinn is fine. I'm actually calling about Sienna."
There was a long pause on our end. I assumed my father had launched into a righteous lecture about the rudeness of the late night phone call. He was a busy man, probably due in court early the next morning, and he did not put up with such thoughtlessness from people.
If I had called, the lecture would have been the same.
"Yes, I did say I was calling about Sienna," Ms. Alice said.
And that was the difference. When it registered the phone call was about my sister, my father changed completely. I could almost hear him politely giving my advisor leave to speak, even though she stood a few feet away from me.
"There is no easy way to tell you this, but there has been an accident and Sienna Thomas is dead," Ms. Alice said. She looked as if she had fumbled a live hand grenade. "No, you're right, I should be more specific. Your daughter was found in her dorm room bathtub. She had cut her wrists. She was pronounced dead at the scene."
My father was a lawyer and must have switched into default mode because Ms. Alice spent the next ten minutes giving short, factual answers to his questions.
Finally, she cleared her throat. "Sir, I have your other daughter here. Wouldn't you like to speak with her?" Ms. Alice did not wait, she just handed me the phone with a barely disguised expression of relief.
He was still talking when I took the phone. "I'm going to need the name of the detective and the uniformed officers. I have her roommate's contact information somewhere."
"Daddy?" I asked.
"I'm going to have to lie to your mother until this is all cleared up. She can't handle news like this. We'll tell her Sienna was hurt in a car accident. I'll be there in the morning, Quinn. 8 am sharp in your lobby," he said.
The line went dead. I dropped the phone on the floor and lay down on the couch. Darla pulled my comforter off my bed and laid it over me as I curled up in a ball.
Somehow, my body woke up at 7:30 am. On autopilot, I showered and dressed and walked downstairs to meet my father.
He was early and impatiently waiting. "Did you talk to her roommate last night?"
"No."
"But you went to her room? The detective said you were there," my father asked.
"Yes. I saw, I saw…" I stopped and clung to the mailboxes in the foyer.
My father pulled open the front door. He then grabbed my elbow and escorted me out in front of him. "We're going to the coroner's. Didn't you tell me you went there with your class? That's my girl, never flinching when there's something useful to learn."
"That was Sienna," I said.
My father scowled as he opened the car’s passenger side door for me. He scowled all the way to the county coroner's office. He wiped it away when the coroner met us at the door. The two men shook hands.
"Has the death certificate been finished?" my father asked.
"Yes, sir. My findings corroborate with the detective's conclusion. Her death has been ruled a suicide," the coroner said.
For once, all the air seemed to be sucked from my father. I noticed how he had lost weight. There was more gray in his hair. The normal command he had over any room was gone and he followed the coroner without another word.
We stood in front of a plated glass window and stared aimlessly into a small room. White tiles reached halfway up the wall before giving over to an institutional gray color. Two orderlies pushed a gurney into the room. On the coroner's signal, one lifted back the white sheet.
There was Sienna, gray against the bleached white of the sheet. Her golden hair was combed back from her face and still damp from the medical examiner's administrations.
"Sir?" the coroner called as I swayed.
My father clamped onto my arm to steady me. "She was going to be a surgeon. She never flinched, never fainted." His eyes never left Sienna's face. "Her sister was going to follow in her footsteps but no one could catch up to her."
"You've had a terrible shock," the coroner said to me. "Would you like to sit down?"
"You're not going to faint are you? Surgeons don't faint," my father said.
"I'm in the nursing program."
He snorted. "Sienna was going to be a surgeon."
I wrenched my arm free from my father's grip and sat on the bench the coroner had shown me. Anger burned in my chest, and I rubbed at the pain. My father had decided when we were still toddlers that his daughters would be doctors. Sienna had thrived under the challenge, basking in my father's approval as she excelled.
I had always felt constricted, the square peg in a round hole. There was the pressure of his imperial expectations, the way he discussed it with everyone as if it was a foregone conclusion and not a hard achievement.
Had the pressure finally been too much for Sienna? I wondered.
My older sister had her ups and downs. Black rages and immobilizing bouts of depression. Sunny cheerfulness that lit up entire worlds and an infectious joy in her work. My father said it was a sign of a brilliant and passionate mind. Sienna worked hard, then needed to recover. Then, her love of the medical field would pull her back up.
It had always been strange to me that Sienna never recognized her own symptoms. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I pushed it away. There were certain topics that were never touched in our house.
"Did you tell Mother?" I asked.
My father finally turned away from the window. "No. She was not feeling well this morning. I told her you needed my help and that I would be back this afternoon."
My mother would never have believed it was Sienna that needed help.
The orderlies pulled the curtains on the small room. The coroner led my father to a counter to fill out the remaining paperwork. I sat on the bench and stared at the box of tissues left on the opposite end. It had barely been touched.
Did they replace it often or were most people that sat here like me? I wondered. The tears still would not come; they couldn't fight past the numbness. Somehow this was a joke, a prank. Sienna was not dead. She was going to burst through the door at any moment and make me admit I hated my major.
After all, nurses don't faint at the sight of dead bodies.
#
did not say a word the nearly four-hour drive home. My parents lived about fifteen minutes away from the Las Vegas Strip in an affluent neighborhood called Summerlin. I felt the weight of exhaustion and grief the entire drive, but I could not take my eyes off the arid and flat landscape.
My father pulled into the driveway of our six-bedroom house. The Juliet balcony overlooked the driveway and behind the window, I saw the shadow of my mother. She disappeared back into her bedroom suite. I knew she would not meet us at the door, full of concern. If she was not feeling well it might be 24 hours before she appeared downstairs.
Once inside, I headed straight for my bedroom and curled up in the middle of my four poster bed. For a moment, I felt like the time in high school when I got sick at camp and had to get picked up early. Sienna was still there having fun, and I was stuck in our thick-carpeted, quiet house by myself. I clung to that bittersweet memory, the idea that Sienna would be home soon with fun summer stories to tell.
When I woke up, the light was a hot glow, but I could tell by the shadows that it was late afternoon. I lay still and wished the nightmare would end. Now, awake felt like the bad dream and asleep was my only relief.
I could not hide out forever, so I brushed my hair, tied it back in a loose ponytail, and headed downstairs. I reached the last step and heard my mother call from the kitchen.
"Darling, have you seen the Bloody Mary mix? Oh, never mind, I found it," she trilled.
I walked into the kitchen to find her dancing around the kitchen island, mixing a dark red Bloody Mary and filling it with an array of vegetables. "A light snack?" I asked.
"Oh, Quinn, dear, Daddy said you were home. He told me you've been skipping classes lately," my mother said.
I poured a hefty shot of vodka into a tall glass and mixed my own Bloody Mary. My mother stabbed radishes onto toothpicks and affixed them to a celery stalk, a makeshift rose garnish. She hesitated as she handed me one, forgetting for the moment that I was of drinking age.
"It’s your sister that doesn't like these," my mother said.
"She's not, I mean, she was not a big drinker," I observed. I held the glass to my lips, unable to drink for the lump in my throat.
"And yet she's forever going to parties. How does she manage it?" my mother asked. "I still don't understand how that girl can balance her surgical studies, a busy social life, and that boyfriend of hers."
"Maybe she couldn’t handle it," I said, my voice wavering. "Maybe it was too much for her and someone should have told her to slow down, take it easy, and not put so much pressure on herself."
"Please, I know you don't spend a lot of time with your sister, but you know what Sienna's like. She can handle anything." My mother brushed back her blonde hair and took a long, satisfied sip.
"Daddy said you weren't feeling well," I said.
Her eyes went dim, deflecting the question. "Oh, you know, I just felt a little out of sorts, but now I'm fine."
I eyed the drink in her hand. "Did you take something?"
"Quinn, please, what kind of question is that? I didn't need to take anything. I just feel better. Now, enough talk about me. When are you going to find yourself a boyfriend? I'm sure your sister's boyfriend knows lots of eligible guys," my mother said.
"It’s not like we can go on double dates," I said. The drink was suddenly too heavy. I set it down on the counter and slumped into one of the swiveling bar stools next to the kitchen island.
"Why not? I know Sienna's busy, but she can make time to set you up. You need someone. I'll give her a call," my mother said.
As she reached for her phone, the realization crashed over me: my father had not yet told her. I was so frozen with dread that I sat dumbfounded as she called Sienna's number.
"Hello, dear, I know you're busy, but take just a minute to listen to a message from your mommy. I've got Quinn here and she is moping around. Honestly, she looks as if someone's died. I'm hoping you have time for one of your wonderful sister make-overs. Maybe Owen could find her a date for this weekend? You could double for dinner and then split up? Think about it, darling. You know how she depends on you. Love! Kisses!"
I still could not move when my father walked into the kitchen. He was just as shocked as I was when my mother bounced over and kissed him on the cheek. "Barbara, I thought you were still upstairs. You're feeling better? Did you take something?"
"Why does everyone ask me that? So I slept in a little this morning and wasn't a ray of sunshine. I'm fine."
"Daddy?" I asked. The rest of the words stuck in my throat.
My father turned to me with a hard look. "Your mother's right, she's fine. Let her enjoy her drink."
"You can't, you can't make me be the one that does it," I said. "You have to tell her now."
"Tell me what?" my mother asked with a bright smile.
"You just want everyone to be as miserable as you, don't you, Quinn?" my father asked. "Ever since you were young, you did just as you pleased. Your sister was the one that knew how to take responsibility. She knew how to live up to expectations and be grateful for every opportunity she got."
"Tell her or I will!"
"Now, Barbara, why don't you sit down?" my father said in his best soothing voice. "There's some bad news about Sienna. I can hardly believe it myself. I didn't know how to tell you and I wanted to wait until you felt better."
"Sienna? Is she alright?" my mother shoved her empty glass onto the counter and hung on to the edge with both hands.
My father struggled to get his voice to work. "Sienna…Sienna committed suicide last night."
My mother sank to the floor as a keening wail rose from her lips. I jumped down from my stool and ran around the counter to sit with her on the floor. She bumped her head back against the cupboard, her eyes screwed shut tightly.
"I didn't believe it at first," my father said. "I still don't believe it. How could she do that? How could she throw away all her accomplishments, all her goals?"
"Oh, my sweet girl, oh, my sweet, sweet girl. I know. I know how it feels," my mother whispered to herself.
"Mommy?" I took her hand.
She yanked it away. "You don't understand, poor Quinn, you're like him. Sienna was always like me. She felt things the same way – felt the burning, felt the falling, felt the soaring."
"Can we talk about that?" I asked. "I think we need to talk about that."
My mother scrambled to her feet and flung herself at my father. "You promised she would be okay. You promised me she could handle it. Everything was fine, Sienna was always fine. Lies! Now, I know you lied. It's all my fault. My beautiful, sweet girl," my mother cried.
I stayed on the floor, cringing as my mother flailed her manicured fists at my father's chest.
"Barbara, you need to go lie down. You've had a shock."
"A shock? Why am I the only one that isn't shocked at all? You think people can just magically brush themselves off and be just fine. Well, that might work for you and maybe for Quinn, but not everyone's as heartless as you two," my mother said.
"Everyone grieves in their own way," my father said. He caught hold of my mother's wrists and pulled her towards the door. "It’s no use falling to pieces, its already done and we can't do anything to change it."
"She's not dead, she can't be. You're just a cruel man playing a cruel joke," my mother said. She yanked her wrists free and spun away from my father. Then, she grabbed her phone and marched out the other kitchen door.
I sat on the floor listening to my father's angry breathing as we heard my mother leave another voicemail on Sienna's phone.
"Are you happy?" he finally said to me. He slammed a fist on the counter and walked out.
By the time I managed to stand up, the house was silent. My mother was back in her bedroom suite, my father was in his office, and I was alone in the rest of the stretching square footage.
My mother was not shocked that Sienna had taken her own life. That idea blinked in my brain like the starting cursor of a video game. Was there some sign I had missed? Was there something I could have done?
My legs were heavy as I dragged myself up the stairs to Sienna's room. It had to be my fault. We weren't close, but we were sisters and I should have known if she was feeling so desperate.
Her room was as neat and tidy as always. The Tiffany blue walls and white furniture glowed in the sunset light. Instead of an old-fashioned four poster bed like mine, Sienna had a queen-size bed with a white satin tufted headboard. The comforter was an intricate swirl of pastel paisley. I sat on the edge of her bed, careful not to crease it.
I needed her there. Sienna never sat around helpless. I could see her marching into her room and scolding me. She would have gone straight to her computer and researched the reasons, both psychological and physical, behind suicide.
I wondered if she had researched it before she did it. I should have looked on her computer in her dorm room. Sienna probably looked up a dozen case studies the moment the thought of suicide crossed her mind.
And still, she did it. The thought made me dizzy, and I let myself slip to the floor.
I leaned back against her bed and felt the sharp edge of something stick me in the back. Reaching under her bed, I pulled out a photograph album she had made her senior year of high school. I opened it up, welcoming the sweet relief that happy memories brought.
The first picture was Sienna leading the cheerleader charge onto the football field. Except it was not her red-lipped smile or glowing golden hair that caught my attention. In the far background was a tall blond boy leaning on the fence next to a gangly girl with long wavy hair.
Owen Redd liked to watch the football games from the sidelines instead of the stands. He liked chatting with people more than yelling silly epithets at the field. One time, Sienna had begged me to bring her a different pair of shoes, and I had bumped into Owen at the fence.
Instead of football scores and finals, we talked about Halo and Assassin's Creed. He didn't laugh when I asked questions about strategy. Instead, he explained in detail the successful maneuvers he had done.
Sienna laughed when she found us. "Aren't you two the perfect pair? Too bad Redd looks better on me."
She knew. Sienna knew that night at the football game that I had the most helpless crush on Owen. I could still feel the thrill of his hand accidentally brushing mine as he described good sequences.
I never understood why they were together. Sienna was more annoyed than enamored by most things that Owen loved. He mocked her cheerleading. And I remembered when she got him voted prom king, he was so irritated that he brought her home and left without saying goodbye.
At the thought of goodbye, I slammed the photograph album shut. How could I say goodbye to my sister?
#
was easy to pretend I was still in high school. The house was quiet when I emerged from Sienna's room. It could have been any one of hundreds of nights when our mother had retreated to her room, my father had shut himself in his office, and Sienna was out. She was always busy, always doing something.
The only one that was ever around was our cook. I found her in the kitchen looking the same as she had for decades: a white shirt, black pants, and a red apron. Her riotous black curly hair was secured in a prim bun and blue eyes sparkled as she sang.
"No one told you," I said, the weight pushing me back onto a stool.
"I sing when I'm sad, too," the cook told me. "It helps. Wanna try?"
"You know I can't carry a tune. Sienna is – was the singer."
The cook put down her red spatula and propped her fists on her hips. "You know you never have to refer to her in the past tense, don't you? Sienna’s memory is just as alive as anyone else outside this room if we talk about her."
"I don't feel like talking, Charlotte," I said.
"And you don't feel like singing. How about baking?" Charlotte asked.
I smiled. I loved to bake. It did not hurt that it was the one thing I did better than Sienna.
Sienna had come home from a cheerleading meeting one year and announced an impressive list of things she was going to personally bake for their fundraiser. After two minutes of baking, in which flour got in her hair, she crushed a raw egg in her hands, and the top fell off the ground cinnamon, she declared that baking was a waste of time.
That night, Charlotte taught me to bake the easiest, silkiest, and best buttery sugar cookies. We decorated them with a light lemon frosting and glittery sprinkles. Of course, Sienna took all the credit and they sold out in minutes.
"We're going to need a good dessert table for the, ah, for the guests," Charlotte said.
I nodded, my voice gone again. She meant we needed desserts for the reception that would invariably follow the funeral. Still, Charlotte's practicality was comforting as I settled into the regular routine of the sugar cookie recipe.
"It doesn't feel real. She should come in the door at any moment," I said as the first batch of cookies went in the oven.
"You'll look for her for a long time. Nothing wrong with that."
Her calm acceptance of my feelings made it possible for me to think outside of the warm and comforting kitchen. It registered that I had seen the door to my father's office standing open and I wondered where he went. I had ten minutes before the first batch was done.
"Have you seen my father?" I asked.
Charlotte shook her head. "He asked for chicken dumpling soup when I came in and then he disappeared."
I went to peer in the door of his office. The lights were off, but I could see his outline propped in a chair. He stared out the window, a glass of whiskey suspended in the air halfway to his mouth.
"Daddy?" I asked.
He jumped as if a gunshot had reported in the wood-paneled confines of his office. "Quinn, Jesus Christ, you scared me. What are you doing creeping around?"
"You're the one sitting in the dark."
He grumbled and turned on the lamp next to him. His eyes were red and puffy but dry as he scowled at me. "How's your mother?"
"I don't know, she's still upstairs," I said. "How are you?"
"Probably a good idea. She needs to rest. I'm tired. Exhausted. You might not think it’s a big deal to drive from Vegas to L.A. all the time for school, but it takes a toll," he said. Finally, he noticed the glass of whiskey and took a long sip.
"Speaking of L.A., I should call school," I said.
"Your advisor spoke to all your professors. The funeral is in two days. You can stay with us until it’s over," my father said.
"The funeral?" I asked. A sour taste filled my mouth at the word.
"Yes, I have a friend at the Walton's Funeral Home, he's the director. Making all the arrangements. Viewing, service, reception, it will all be here. Cook knows the rest."
"It just seems so, I don't know, so fast," I said.
My father snorted. "What did you expect, Quinn? Decisions had to be made. Not everyone can go through life wavering like you do."
"Sienna was decisive. She kinda proved quick decisions aren't always the best, didn't she?" I could not take the angry words back.
He shifted in his leather chair and refused to look at me again. "Check on your mother before dinner," he said and turned the light off.
I retreated back to the kitchen, and Charlotte took one look at my face and folded me into a tight hug. "He's just grieving. Anything that comes out of his mouth the next few months is pure rubbish."
"I, I accused her of being rash. I actually joked about where her quick decision-making got her. It was awful," I said.
"No one can know what went through her head. Sienna always had her mind made up and wouldn't let anyone change it. A trait I'm happy you did not inherit from your mother."
Charlotte and my mother had a long-standing habit of arguing over recipes. Though my mother did not cook, she clung fast to a few beliefs of how things should be done and would not hear reason.
"Everyone always says Sienna is just like my mother."
"It never bothered you before," Charlotte said.
"What bothers me now are the ways they are the same. The big mood swings and the perfectionism. It’s just not that healthy," I said. My voice was low; they were words that felt dangerous to say out loud.
"What's wrong with perfectionism?" my father asked from the doorway. "Do I smell something burning?"
I ran for the oven and pulled the sugar cookies out just before the edges burned. "Nothing is ever perfect and people who strive for it end up stressing themselves out over something they can never achieve."
"Your sister achieved plenty," my father said too loudly.
I could not take anymore. "And what about the mood swings? Are you going to tell me it’s perfectly healthy to be so depressed you stay in bed behind black-out curtains for a whole day only to emerge ready to go out for cocktails?"
"And now, we're talking about your mother," my father said. "Your arguments always segue, like your entire life is full of segues. Next you'll be telling me that you want to quit nursing and join the circus, right?"
"Sienna is – was just like Mother. She would refuse to come out of her dorm room for days. I used to have to bring her food. Then suddenly, I would run into her at the cafeteria. She would be bright and smiley and act as if nothing at all had ever been wrong. That's not right."
"They are passionate, they know what they want, and they strive to make it perfect. I don't see anything wrong with that. Sure, they both take disappointments hard, but it just shows how much they care," my father said.
"Just once, I want to hear you admit it is not normal," I said. "And don't even use your lawyer arguments on me. Normal is not postponing Christmas because Mother has locked herself in the closet. Normal is not you breaking down the closet door with a metal baseball bat because she hasn't said anything through the door for two hours. Normal is not a smart, popular, college girl at the top of her pre-med class suddenly slitting her wrists and bleeding to death in a bathtub!"
I looked across the kitchen island at Charlotte. We had stood here and had the exact same conversation over and over again. Friends had offered contact information for doctors and psychologists, given my father books, and invited my mother to meetings. My parents always insisted she was fine.
Now, Sienna would never be fine again and my father still could not face the facts. "Something must have happened to make Sienna do what she did. When I found out who made her feel that way, there will be hell to pay. I bet it was that boyfriend of hers, Owen. She was always complaining that he refused to get a real job or do anything with himself."
I thought of Owen on the front cover of the gaming magazine. My father would never understand. "Speaking of Owen, have you called him?"
"Why would I call him?"
"Daddy, he needs to know! He doesn't go to UCLA. What if no one on campus had his contact information? What if they didn't think to get a hold of him? He might not even know Sienna is dead," I said.
"Maybe he's the one that drove her to it."
Charlotte sucked in air between her teeth, a sharp sound of disapproval. Even my father had to admit that was too harsh.
He shrugged in deference to Charlotte. "I never liked him for Sienna. They were not a good match. He was going nowhere and trying to hold her back."
"That doesn't mean he doesn't deserve to know," I argued. "Sienna loved him."
"Sienna didn't love him," my father countered. "She thought he looked good in pictures. I never heard one conversation where they ever agreed. They argued before every date."
"Only because they always did what Sienna wanted," I said.
"Right, exactly. A man needs to have a little bit more of a backbone, don't you think?" my father said.
"Enough backbone to make a phone call," I said.
Charlotte bit her lip to stop a bubbling laugh. My father scowled but a short sparkle of admiration lit his eyes. I had no idea where the sharp backtalk was coming from, but I hoped it could yield results.
"I raised two daughters. I wouldn't know the first thing about having a man-to-man chat with your sister's boyfriend. What if he cries?" my father said. He went to the side cupboard and poured himself another glass of whiskey. "How about you call him and I won't ground you for sass?"
"You can't ground college students."
My father shrugged again and walked out without another word.
"Don't worry," Charlotte said. "I'll finish the sugar cookies. You have a phone call to make."
I went up to my room and paced around, turning on every light. Sienna had once told me the secret to phone interviews was to talk while you looked in the mirror. She said it made you sound more natural, more relaxed, like it was a normal conversation with another human instead of disembodied voices.
I brushed my hair, pinched a little pink into my cheeks, and put on a light layer of lipstick. I couldn't talk to Owen looking like a grief-stricken zombie urchin – if I could manage to talk to him at all.
We used to talk on the phone in high school, quick chats before I handed the phone to Sienna, but later calls about video games. Sometimes, Owen called to ask my opinion about certain games or to talk through a new strategy. The calls kept up through college, so I had his number in my phone.
The last call had been about a week ago. It started off about Dark Flag and his magazine interview. Then Owen had asked me about classes. We had talked for over two hours about me leaving UCLA.
"Come to Vegas and we'll chat more," he had said.
Well, I thought, I’m back in Vegas. This conversation was just going to be far different than anything I had dreamed.