How To Write A Short Story
Author: Eric Moffat
SESSION ELEVEN
“Douglas…” said a calm, caring voice from the doorway. I couldn’t see who was speaking to him, but Lucy’s hand in mine strengthened my resolve to watch. “Douglas, what are you working on?”
“My… report,” he mumbled almost incoherently. Holding a hand to his forehead for a second, he started typing again. “I have to finish. Have to finish…” The door shut with a clang, and we turned as the one beside us opened quietly.
“As you can see, he’s… not well.”
“Did he go crazy or something?” I asked, squeezing Lucy’s hand. She had run to my room, flinging herself upon me, tears streaming down her face when she received the call. Needless to say, I stopped cooking her dinner and we headed right here.
“Stress, would be my initial answer,” the woman said, taking a seat at the table. Douglas continued to type on the keyboard, staring off into space as he sat on the bed. His fingers were moving slowly as he tried to focus on what was happening, but he wasn’t even aware that we were in a hospital.
“Is he going to be okay?” Lucy asked, whispering quietly as she sat down across from the doctor. “He’s… he and I…”
“It’ll be some time. We want to move him to Blue Meadow.”
“Where’s that?” I asked, slowly taking a seat beside her. I must’ve been hurting Lucy, because she didn’t take my hand back in hers—I clenched my own instead. This was all so new and scary, I wished Mom or Dad would hurry up and get here.
“One city over,” said the doctor. “In Birmingham. He’s muttered something about being there, working to get there, so it might be a good idea of us to transfer him there.”
“And if it isn’t?”
“We’ll take the proper caution, I assure you.” The doctor smiled, looking to me carefully. “Has he been suffering like this for long?”
“Once, about six weeks ago,” I said, looking down to the table. “Pulling late nights, but he was working for a promotion. I didn’t… he seemed tired? But he was resting up, getting better, coming home at a regular time again. And then this.”
“Okay. Miss Jones, did he seem particularly, uh… mean?”
“No. He was just tired.” Lucy looked back to the window, but he was gone, moved out of the way. “I was worried, but he kept saying he was okay. Then he just didn’t come home, and I panicked, thought he had finally broken down.”
“Guess he had,” I muttered, pulling Lucy in closer to me. I wasn’t so upset, myself, but Lucy looked ready to break in half—I hated seeing her like this, but even after crying, she was still pretty. And sexy—she was always sexy.
“Alright. We’ll call if there’s any change.”
“Thanks.” Standing up, we shook hands, and I led Lucy out of the room, down the halls, into the elevator and out of the hospital. She wiped her eyes daintily, sighing a little, touching my arm. “Sorry if I hurt you, in there.”
“It’s fine.” She flexed her fingers, smiling a little. “You sure have a strong grip, though.”
“Yeah, uh… just scared me, is all.”
“Come on, let’s go back home.”
That sounded like a great idea, and as I drove, Lucy flipped through her phone. She would smirk or giggle from time to time, typing back furiously fast, sending things off without any concern for me. All I could think about was getting Doug back safely.
“Hey, Lucy?” I asked as we pulled into the apartment complex, walking slowly up the steps. I held the door open for her, but she didn’t answer. “Lucy?”
“One sec.” She held up a finger, kept typing, giggled, and sent the text before looking back up to me. “Yeah?”
“I… I should go back. You know, wait until my parents get there.”
“He’ll be fine, and besides.” She drew a finger underneath my chin, flicking my head back a little. “You still need to finish cooking.”
“B…” I wanted to tell her that I needed to go back, and yet, suddenly I didn’t want to go back. I wanted to stay, and cook for her. “Y-Yeah, you’re right.”
“Good boy.” She giggled, hopping onto the couch as soon as we were inside, letting me get back to making her dinner. Taking the pan from the back burners, I placed it on the front again and got the vegetables frying up nicely when my phone rung.
Reaching for it, I checked to see who was calling.
“Don’t answer it,” Lucy said idly from the couch. “It’s not important.”
Mom was calling, but Lucy was right—it wasn’t important. I let it ring as I continued to fry the veggies, placing them to one side as I grabbed the eggs, mixing them in a bowl and pouring them in a new pan.
“It’s ready,” I called a moment later, flipping her omelette onto a plate perfectly, topping it with a garnish of parsley and pepper. She didn’t move off the couch, so I brought it to her, with a fork as well. She looked at the coffee table beside her, and I left it there for her.
“Go run me a bath,” she said, scrolling down a page on her phone. “And get me a glass of wine; the good stuff, not that cheap shit.”
I nodded—she was taking this much harder than I was. Heading into the bathroom, my phone rung again, but it wasn’t important. When the water was nice and hot—but not scalding—I let the tub fill up and went to go pour her the wine.
I opened the pantry, and pushed aside the cheap wine we kept for dinner parties or whatever, grabbing a nice Chardonnay from the very back. Opening it, I let it breathe for a moment, glancing back at the phone. Mom, again—definitely not important.
Bringing the glass of wine into the bathroom, I handed it to Lucy as she snuggled down into the bathtub. Her breasts looked so beautiful underneath the water, and when she lifted one leg out to me, I held it reverently. Until I was told to, she never let me worship her feet, but that was because I wasn’t worthy enough.
“You’re such a good boy,” she giggled, taking her leg back under the water. When she glanced at my crotch, I felt such elation—maybe tonight, she’d let me pleasure her again—but then she frowned.
“Oh, right, haven’t done that yet.”
“Done what?” I asked, curious, glancing down at my crotch as well.
“Never mind, it’s not important.”
I grinned at her and nodded—of course it wasn’t.
“Robby?” she asked sweetly, batting her eyelashes at me. “Can you do me a small favor?”
“Yeah, anything.”
“I don’t mean to be such a burden…” she sighed, taking my hand in hers. I knelt down beside the tub, smiling warmly as she moved closer towards me. I moved closer as well, staring into her deep blue eyes. Those deep… foggy blue eyes…
I woke up quickly from my place at the kitchen table. I must’ve fallen asleep after making her dinner—there were nine missed called from Mom and Dad on my phone. As soon as I picked up the phone to call them though, Lucy emerged from the bathroom, naked and wet and grinning.
My phone rang out into the apartment, but I ignored it—the beautiful girl standing naked on my bed, watching me as I licked her feet, was way more important than my parents.