88: Crazy, Hyperactive, Argumentative Self

Ginger

      Pam! I scream in my head and sit bolt upright in bed. Two more seconds pass, and I'm up, getting dressed, wanting to go to the hospital to see my best friend.

      Last night, Desmond had to give me a sedative to get me to calm down, but I'm wide awake now.

      "Ginger, why don't you call and find out what's going on first?" Desmond asks in a grouchy voice from his bed. I spend all my time here at his house, and I'm planning on selling mine.

      "I'm going there whether or not she's awake," I state resolutely and continue getting ready. I try to put on my shoes while still standing, and I lose my balance and fall over. Guess that sedative is still in me somewhat.

      "Well, wait for me. I'll hurry up and get dressed. You're not driving yourself," he growls like a bear.

      "Fine. Hurry up. I'll go make coffee," I offer while he grumbles about crazy, hyperactive, redheaded women. "Love you too!" I call out facetiously on my way down the stairs.

      Honestly, I have no earthly clue why I love him. He's a jerk, but I love him. I think it might be because when he's not a jerk, it's really wonderful, and his jerkiness isn't unbearable. Most of the time, I can laugh at it.

      Not to mention the sex is incredible.

      I tap my foot in an irritated fashion while I wait for the coffeemaker to hurry up.

      "I keep telling you; tapping your foot doesn't make it work faster," Desmond teases when he walks into the kitchen, and I turn around to give him an impatiently peeved look. He purses his lips, takes a step in my direction, and wraps his arms around me before he says, "She'll be okay."

      "I want to see for myself. I don't want to make a phone call. I don't want to hear someone else tell me. Even if she's somehow able to talk on the phone, I want to see for myself. I can't just do nothing!" I fidget while he steadfastly holds me.

      "And we're going; stop worrying." After I reach for the finally finished coffeepot, he scolds, "No coffee for you."

      "What?! I need coffee! I'm still drowsy. That's why I'm fighting it like this. I need the coffee to help fight it. I have to get to the hospital. You said we could go in the morning, and it's morning. I need that coffee, and so help me, if you don't get out of my way,-"

      "You'll what?" he challenges and folds his arms in front of him with a smirk.

      "Desmond!" I scream. "Give me that damn coffee!" I burst into tears.

      "Okay, okay. Shh." Instantly, smart-ass Desmond has been replaced by my compassionate fiancé, and I find myself back in his arms while I bawl out all my fear and helpless frustration. "Even though I'm going on record as saying that I think it's a bad idea given your current state, you can have some coffee. I'll put it in one of those thermos cups, and we can take it with us."

      I mutely nod, remembering how scared I was yesterday. There I was, being completely self-centered and wanting to finally tell everyone I was engaged, and Pam was suffering. Then she collapsed, and all I could think was that the last thing I talked about with her was me, me, me.

      Now that I look back on it, I can easily understand Desmond's demand that I take the sedative. I was a nutcase.

      "I don't have to have the coffee," I mumble complacently.

      "After you fought so hard for it? Take it. If you start losing it again, we'll do something about it. I'd rather you get what you want than you freaking out again."

      "I love you," I say, take his face in my hands, and kiss him quickly.

      The smirk returns, and he says, "Lucky me."

      "You know it."

      You know those people that walk their dogs and how the dog pulls on the leash while not caring that it's simultaneously gagging itself? That perfectly describes Desmond trying to keep me from sprinting across the parking lot when we get to the hospital.

      Three-oh-nine, three-oh-nine, three-oh-nine, three-oh-nine, I mentally chant.

      "What if they moved her?" I ask Desmond as we ride the elevator.

      "Then we'll find out where she went," he answers patiently.

      They didn't. After I lightly tap on the door twice, I hear Simon say I can come in.

      Pam sits up in the bed, looking like death warmed over. Dark circles surround her eyes. She looks like she's been knocked out by a prize fighter.

      "Hey," she says and forces a smile.

      My eyes dart to Simon for a moment, and I notice he looks exhausted. I wonder how much he's slept.

      "Hey," I repeat back, at a loss for something else to say. Going back to the dog allusion, I'm now the dog that chased a car and has actually caught the car it chased. What do I do now? I stand here mutely, unmoving.

      "I'll be okay, Ginger," she tells me sweetly, and I cry again.

      She reaches out for me, and I walk over to the bed to hug her gently. I have never, never, ever seen Pam so much as sick with a cold. She's… magical like that, so this is a shock to see her so fragile.

      I hear from her how she lost the baby, and we both cry together before purposefully changing the subject to when she might get out, where Jeremy is… anything but the lost life.

      "You're a mess," she tells me while trying to wipe under my cheekbones.

      I playfully roll my eyes. "I know. I don't know what I was thinking by putting on makeup. Habit, I guess." More like something to do on the car ride over here.

      I end up insisting to fix her hair into a pretty braid before Bryce and Erin walk in. Pam looks grateful now that I helped her appearance somewhat for Bryce's sake. She's very protective over her little brother, even if he's not so little anymore, and I knew it would bother her for Bryce to see her like she looked when I'd walked in a few hours ago. I tell her bye for now and let her visit with her brother and sister-in-law. Oops! No. I mentally laugh now. Well, it's only a matter of time anyway.

      Desmond stands talking on the phone in the empty waiting room. "Listen to your conscience. What's it telling you to do? … Well, that's selfish. … Yes, I know that." He turns around and sees me, and he cracks half a smile before getting an irritated expression on his face again. "Exactly! That's why you have to do this! … Tell me how that makes sense then, please, because I don't understand it."

      Quietly, I have a seat in a nearby chair and listen to Desmond argue with someone, wondering who it is but knowing it's not my business.

      When he hangs up, he angrily looks at his phone and says, "Ginger, I love you, but I will never understand what makes women think the way they do. What a selfish, vindictive bitch." He looks up, and his eyes widen suddenly. "Not you."

      "I was going to guess as much," I say with a small smile.

      He sighs, sticks his phone in his pocket, and walks over to me with his hand out. I put my hand in his, and he pulls me to standing before wrapping his arms around me.

      "You look much calmer now," he points out.

      "Yes, and I'm very tired all of a sudden." I rest my head on his shoulder. We rock back and forth a tiny bit, and I say, "I thought you weren't working today."

      "You know me. Workaholic. Since I had a minute, I hoped to catch her off guard with her not expecting to hear from me today," he explains before letting out a breath like he's trying to shake off some stress.

      "Let's go get some ice cream," I say, and he laughs.

      "My earlier statement still stands." He chuckles again before he says, "All right."

      While we eat the ice cream, I fill in Desmond about everything about Pamela.

      "She's crushed; I know she is," I say sadly.

      "But she can have another one, right?" he asks.

      "Yeah, when her body heals enough, but it's not the same." I turn my cone to keep ice cream from dripping everywhere. When I turn to look at Desmond, I see him staring at me with a contemplative, calculating expression. "What?"

      "Do you want kids?" he asks outright.

      For the second time today, I'm shocked dumb. I feel my eyes widen as I stare at him.

      "Your ice cream is melting."

      "Do you?" I ask instead of pay attention to my ice cream.

      "Let's talk about it in a minute. Finish your ice cream first." He puts the remaining end of his cone in his mouth, finishing it.

      "You expect me to eat while waiting for a conversation like that?!" I squeal.

      "Your cone is quickly becoming a real mess," he says, staring at my hand.

      "You don't want them, do you," I state more than ask.

      "I didn't say that."

      "You implied it."

      "No, I didn't. I just asked you if you wanted them. Eat your ice cream, Ginger."

      I glare at him and take the cone in my other hand before purposefully smearing the ice cream all over my fingers. His eyes darken before he suddenly grabs my wrist and brings my hand to his mouth, and he licks the ice cream off them slowly, watching me watch him. With my free hand holding the ice cream cone, I bring it to my mouth and very, very slowly circle my tongue around the top of the ice cream. He stops what he's doing and watches me.

      Two can play at this game.

      "Mmmmmm… this is really good," I tell him.

      He says in a low, careful, quiet voice, "We're in a public park. If it weren't public, I'd have you bent over this bench in three seconds."

      "It'd take you that long?" I taunt and give the ice cream another sensual pass with my tongue.

      "You know, surprisingly, it's not very crowded right now, and this is somewhat shaded from view…"

      "Can't you get arrested for doing that?" I ask with a smirk.

      "Only if you get caught," he counters, and the look in his eyes makes my panties want to drop to the ground of their own free will.

      "Hm. Guess we'll never know," I say, shrugging with fake nonchalance.

      Before I can react, he takes my ice cream cone, shoves it in my shocked, open mouth, and carries me over his shoulder off into the nearby wooded area. Sonofa… Now I can't argue with him because my mouth is full of ice cream cone! I still let him know how much I 'appreciate' being man-handled.

      "Three seconds, even though we don't have the benefit of the bench," he says as he jerks my panties down, turns me around, pushes me over, and drives himself into me.

      I fight the cone out of my mouth and say, "That was five."

      He tightly grasps my shoulder and leans forward over me to say into my ear, "Better be quiet. You don't want to get arrested, do you?"

      I have to clamp a hand over my mouth and hold onto a nearby tree with the other while Desmond roughly fucks me. I love listening to his breathing when he gets close. It's so damn hot.

      He lets me enjoy my orgasm for… three… seconds before he gets consumed by his own.

      Once we've fixed our clothing, he turns to me, grabs my face, and kisses me wildly.

      Later, he says, "To answer the question, I don't know. I hadn't really thought about it, but now that I have… Look at us. Look at me. Can you see me being a father? My parents were assholes. My adopted parents are assholes. It's not like I've had a good role model."

      I run my finger over his goatee that got some ice cream on it when he kissed me. "Yes. I can see you being a daddy. Look at me also, since we're doing this. My mom is in jail for killing my dad. I didn't have great parents either, but all around me are great parents. Pam and Simon, for one. Then there's Troy and the strong bond he has with his mom."

      "Yes, but us?" he asks in a pained voice.

      "You don't want them," I state.

      "I'm scared to death of being a father. I don't want to destroy some poor kid's life." He looks worriedly down at me.

      "Give yourself more credit. But if you don't want any, I'm fine with that. I'm scared too. I just want you." I try my best to smile reassuringly.

      "You're going to change your mind. Deep down, you want them."

      "If I do, I don't want one for a long time, so we'll be fine."

      He holds my face in his hands. "I don't want to disappoint you later on."

      "As long as you stay you, you can't. Who else can put up with my crazy, hyperactive, argumentative self?"

      " 'Put up with'? Those are the reasons I love you," he says, smiling widely, and I have to kiss him, sticky ice cream still on my lips and all.