Page 58 of Forgotten
“No. Okay, yes, once. In two years. But besides that, no. Never. This is all I’ve ever wanted.”
Ash’s brows shoot up.
Relief makes me giggle. It’s a sinister sound, but Ash is smiling at me and the truth hurts a little less. I worry for him a little less.
“I like that.”
After that day, it gets better. Not easy, just easier.
Ash tells me Winnie is due to start potty training soon, and together we make a list of supplies. Ash drives us to the store and we pick disposable nappies and washable training pants. When we get back and set up the little potty with its matching step stool for the sink, I have to sit down and count to ten. Then I count to onehundred.
I let Winnie pick her clothes for the day and always give her a colourful option and a black one, just to checkif she really is my daughter. She always picks colour, and I don’t feel any disappointment at all. I learn Winnie’s curls are softest after a shower, exactly like mine yet entirely different. I learn that after Ash sneezes once, it’s downhill from there.
“I’m okay,” he lies, hiding in the bedroom on Sunday morning. But it’s too late. Ash starts coughing, then Winnie starts coughing. Ash gets a fever, the baby gets a fever. Ash pretends he’s okay, Winnie cries and whines and calls out “Pa” and “Da.”
And this time, I learn that I don’t mind.
I cuddle Winnie, wiping her wet nose and tickling her sides. I make her a vegetable soup that she eats dutifully. I hold her against my chest until she stops crying and then some more, because she just looks so peaceful when she sleeps. I wish I had my phone near to snap a picture.
I just stare at Winnie and count every breath and hope she’ll feel better in the morning. With my good arm I carry her upstairs and sing her an old lullaby though she’s already asleep.
When I go back downstairs and Ash doesn’t allow me in the bedroom, I snap at him. “I’ve been around a sick child the whole day, I can handle your sorry arse.”
And so Ash does let me in. He looks miserable, wrapped in a thick blanket on the top of the bed. He’s wearing only a shirt and yellow boxers and when I touch his forehead, I’m relieved he’s not burning. I force him under the shower and when Ash makes a move for my dick, I push his hand away.
“Ashley,” I warn earnestly, but his blue eyes are glossy, lips parted.
“Please. I need-”
I try to resist him, I really do. “You’re sick.”
“Never too sick for your fat cock,” Ash enunciates the words ridiculously, and in 2024, it doesn’t make me laugh. It makes me hard.
So I push Ash against the shower wall, and he hooks a thigh around my hip because that’s the kind of cheeky tart Ash would be.
But Ilove him, so.
“No kissing.”
I try to set some ground rules, but Ash is grinding his hips into me and we’re both hard and wet and panting. Within minutes, I’m holding both our dicks in one hand and jerking us frenziedly. It’s messy and disconnected but Ash’s head is thrown back and he’s smiling and I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful.
I don’t want this to end, don’t want this to be lame and unsatisfying but then, Ash is hiding his face in my neck and his hand are finding my butt cheeks. Before I can think of how unknown and frightening this is, my back arches instinctively and I push closer, trying to keep my right arm as still as possible. It’s too much. The feeling of Ash’s index pressing against my rim, the cautious tapping and the short pause before I nod my head violently. Yes, fuck, please.
Ash has just managed to push one knuckle inside of me, and then I’m coming, and Ash is right behind me. His pupils are dilated and his face is contorted in anexpression of pleasure so breath-taking, I’ve never seen on anybody else. All because of me. And then, the no kissing rule is out of the window. I find Ash’s mouth and I slip my tongue inside, actively forcing my left hand to let go of our softening lengths.
“I love you,” Ash breathes out against my lips and he’s hiding in my neck again.
“I know.” I hold him until our skin gets pruny and I shiver, freezing.
The next day, I’m ill too. I wake up feeling hot and sweaty and I drag myself downstairs, legs heavy and brain foggy. Great. What a shit fucking morning.
Ash sends Winnie into the living-room with a thermometer and a message: “Pa’ toldu so.”
???
“Tell me something I don’t know. Something I couldn’t have forgotten. And don’t give me the, ‘we’ve known each other forever’. No excuses. Tell me a secret.”
Ash thinks for a while, his fingers tracing my skin. It’s the week after and I have been home for almost two weeks, with loads of progress physically but very limited progress mentally. Ash has been planning the university coursework for the upcoming semester, and even though he’s not left the house yet, the entire day has felt like a part of me was missing. And now he’s here, in bed, beside me and I never want him to leave the room again.
