Tiffany

 

 

 

“Fiddlesticks. Get off,” I said as I pushed Jagger away and scrambled to find my clothes.

“Tell me how you really feel,” Jagger said, his voice coated with sarcasm.

Finding my lace undies and pulling them on I stared at him. “What?”

Jagger, while dragging up his briefs and jeans, shook his head. “Nothing.”

Ugh, men. I gave him a perfectly good orgasm and now he’s cranky.

“Not nothing. What’s wrong?” I put on my jeans and secured them before readjusting my bra and top.

He shrugged and refused to lift his eyes to mine. But before I could say anything, there was a knock at the bedroom door.

“Tiffany? Is it okay for me to come in?” Henrik’s asked on the other side of the door.

I stared at Jagger waiting for him to give me something. Anything that would help me understand why he was upset with me.

Did he normally turn into an asshole after an orgasm? If so, I might have to look elsewhere for satisfaction. Like my dildo and vibrator collection. I didn’t go years and years without sex and not have something to keep me going.

“Fine.” I threw my hands in the air. I turned and walked over to open the door.

Jagger folded his arms and stared at my green and gray rug.

I found Henrik standing on the other side of the door with a smile on his face but it soon fell. He noticed the bandage on my arm and then glanced behind me at Jagger.

I knew Henrik. He was a man of few words and easily assumed the worst. He’s a lot better now, which I believed was due to Morgana softening his edges. But on occasion, the old Henrik reared his bitter head.

“What did you do to her?” Henrik almost knocked me back as he plowed past me.

“What?” Jagger said with the same angry glare directed at Henrik.

“You heard me.” Henrik grabbed Jagger by the shoulders and pushed him back against the wall.

I raced over and tried to pull Henrik off Jagger but he was like a boulder of muscle.

“Henrik, stop it. Jagger didn’t do anything . . . well, he didn’t hurt me.” I couldn’t help the blush that bloomed on my cheeks.

Henrik turned his head, his eyes wide. “What?” His eyes drifted down my body as the realization of what happened sunk in.

His grip relaxed but he still wouldn’t let Jagger go.

“I suggest you release me,” Jagger said with a growing smirk on his face.

Henrik turned his head back to Jagger, narrowing his eyes. “Fuck. You son of a bit—”

“Language!” I shouted as I put my hands on my hips.

“Yeah, only I can use words like that on her. And only when we’re alone,” Jagger said as his grin grew.

Henrik’s jaw tightened and I could tell he was about to explode but before he could, Jagger grabbed Henrik’s pinky finger from his shoulder. With what seemed liked very little effort, Jagger pulled back his finger.

Henrik cried out and he fell to his knees. Jagger moved in a flash and had Henrik pinned to the ground.

“I told you to release me.” Jagger’s knee was digging into Henrik’s back.

“Let him go,” I said.

With a smile, Jagger turned his attention from Henrik to me. The grin didn’t last as he sighed and released Henrik, getting up.

“Fine.” Jagger lifted his hands in the air as if to surrender.

Henrik slowly rose from the floor and I thought he was hurt, but based on the red of his cheeks I realized it was only his ego that took a hit.

“You two act like boys, not men,” I said and turned to leave the bedroom when I saw David standing just inside my room.

“David. How was your night with the guys?” I went over to give him a hug but he stiffened as I came near. “What’s wrong?” I asked as I pulled away from him.

 “What’s going on in here? What happened to you?” David touched my arm.

I closed my eyes and sighed. As shaken up as I was from the attack, I was more worried at how I would explain it to David. The way he was glaring at Jagger, I knew I had to explain what happened right away. I didn’t want David to think anything bad about the man who saved me.

“I was mugged.”

“No,” David yelled as his eyes began to water.

He stuffed his hand into his pocket and took something small and black out, rubbing it like it would help will away the tears. I couldn’t tell what the object was, perhaps one of his little ninja action figures he collects.

“What?” I heard Henrik from behind.

I turned but kept my hand on David’s shoulder. “I’m fine. Just got a scratch on my arm. Luckily, Jagger was nearby and saw what was happening.”

All eyes turned toward Jagger as he stood by the back wall.

“He stopped the guy, and the police arrested the attacker. Jagger saved me.”

Henrik’s hands ran through his hair as he shook his head. He turned to Jagger. “I’m sorry. When I saw that she was hurt and you were here, I thought the worst. Thank you for helping Tiffany. We’d be lost without her.”

I heard a gasp and turned to find my son with tears streaming down his face. Pulling him into an embrace, I held him as tight as I could.

“I’m fine, David. It’s okay.” I ran my fingers through his soft wavy hair and kissed the top of his head.

He was growing and becoming stronger every day, but David was always sensitive to other’s feelings. I remember him as a toddler watching cartoons, and anytime the characters started to cry, he did too.

“You need to leave this neighborhood.” Henrik put on his demanding voice.

“This is my home. Even if we did move out, our lease isn’t even up until the late autumn. Besides, this building has an elevator.”

“But you don’t need an elevator anymore,” Henrik added.

“But what about—” I stopped myself as I pulled away from David and stared at him.

“About me? I can walk now, remember?” David said fisting the object in his hand and shoving it back into his pocket.

That was true, but it wasn’t like he was running up and down stairs. His gait was still slow and he needed to continue to build his core for balance.

“I don’t know,” I said watching David with unease.

It was surprising how quickly David went from sad to irritated, but I should get used to it. He was a teenager now.

“Really? You know I’m not crippled anymore, right?” David raised his voice.

“David! Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that. We don’t use that word here.” I pushed my hands on my hips.

“You don’t think I heard what everyone called me?” David turned to leave the doorway and walked toward his bedroom.

“Who called you that? Because no one that cares about you would say that. Ever.” I followed him as anger pulsed through me in increasing speed.

He turned to face me at his bedroom, gripping the doorframe. “It doesn’t matter who said that because they don’t anymore. People treat me like a regular kid now. All the good and all the bad that goes with it.”

Even if David had to take his time speaking, it didn’t make his words any less impactful. “I like that. It was fine when those kids tried to steal my skateboard earlier this month because they thought I was like any of the kids there. But you . . .”

He swallowed as he got himself under control. “Mom, you still treat me like the boy with a body that didn’t work. Why can’t you see that I’m average? I’m just an average teenager and I love that.”

Tears were streaming down his face as he slammed the door. When I went to open his door, it was locked, so I knocked.

“David. Please, open the door.”

“Go away.” His muffled voice slipped through the cracks.

My hand slipped from the brass doorknob and I stared at his plain white door. Nothing decorated it and with a heartbreaking realization, I knew there wasn’t much décor in his room either. No posters or paint or colorful curtains. The most interesting, unique thing in his room was his red sheets. And I didn’t even know if he still liked red. David enjoyed the color when he was five, but I haven’t asked him since.

He was right. I treated him like he was just someone to take care of. That he had no thoughts or desires of his own. I only focused on what would keep him safe and healthy.

“I’m a terrible mother,” I said and thought I had whispered to myself but someone was behind me.

“No, you’re not.” Jagger’s hand came to my shoulder. It was warm and exactly what I needed so I turned into him. I let his arms wrap around me.

“Let me talk to him. He was up late and probably a little cranky from the lack of sleep and the mugging bombshell,” Henrik said as he placed his hand on my back.

I let Jagger walk me to the living room and we sat on the couch.

I thought about every time I lost my temper or told David I needed to use the bathroom instead of reading his favorite book for the tenth time or any number of things that would nominate me for the worst mother of the year award.

“Stop it,” Jagger said, placing his hand on mine.

“Stop what?”

“Beating yourself up. Mothers and sons fight all the time. It’s a rite of passage for a kid to slam their bedroom door in anger.” He smirked.

“But he’s right,” I said.

There was silence, and I raised my brow expecting Jagger to disagree with me.

That’s what people do when they are trying to reassure someone who is feeling bad about themselves. They tell them things like, “no, you’re gorgeous,” or “no, you were the best girlfriend he ever had,” or “no, you are the best mom ever.” Especially that last one. He really should be saying that one to me.

“Yes, David was right.”

I pulled back from his hand, frowning. My face burned as I stumbled and tried to stand. Jagger stood to help me but I waved him away.

“Don’t.” I took a breath as I straightened. “I may have coddled him a bit. And I may have been overwhelmed with having to take care of him alone. The only parent for the last decade. All the doctors and therapists and nurses that he required for ten years, I made the appointments and took him. I’m the one that spent hours and hours on the phone with the insurance company when they couldn’t fathom a child might need physical therapy or that he used up his oxygen supply for the year in July. Oxygen, to breath, to live.”

I took another breath trying to calm down. “That may have been my focus for ten years. But that’s all I know. He gained freedom with that surgery in January, and I couldn’t be happier for him but where does that leave me? I can’t just flip a switch and let him walk out that door when just six months ago he couldn’t even feed himself.”

Jagger took a step forward. “I understand, I do, but—”

“You do? That’s funny because last I checked, the one thing I do know about you is that you’re alone. Are you the sole caregiver for a person, young or old?” I raised my brows waiting for an answer but he looked away.

“I didn’t think so. I may not be a perfect mother, but I’m trying.” I took a breath and walked over to the front door, opening it. “I think I need to speak with my son, alone.”