Run Ch. 05

This story is a bit wordy and fairly long, so if you are looking for immediate gratification, you might want to look elsewhere. It contains heterosexual and lesbian sexual activity.

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The following story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between actual persons, living or dead (or just confused) is entirely coincidental. Please do not copy/redistribute the story, in part or in total, without the author's permission.

This story takes place in the entirely fictional city of Springfield, California, so don't go looking for it on a map. And in my little fictional world, there are no unwanted pregnancies or STD's, except as plot driving devices. The author encourages the practice of safe-sex.

This is part of an ongoing series. Please check out earlier part(s) for background and character history.

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"Run" Part 05

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Darkness was a funny thing. It seemed to hold whatever you were afraid of, even though you couldn't see it. It is the screen you project your nightmares onto.

Pat Baker saw nothing, and that was her fear. She was used to seeing her brother's smiling face. She was used to watching him run. She was used to him being there to cheer her up just through his love of life. His life was over, and her attempt to end her own life had apparently failed.

But as frightening as the dark was, she was even more scared of the light. She refused to open her eyes and see her father's disappointed gaze. She had tried so hard all her life to keep him happy and off of Buddy's back. He was probably trying to figure out how this little "episode" was going to affect his plans for her. She doubted her mother was there at all. She was probably grieving for the child she had actually loved. Her uncle might be around. She knew how much that he had wished that she were stronger.

Then she thought of her friends, if they still were in that category. She had become the psychopath everyone had thought she was when Keith had been dared to talk to on that one fateful afternoon. She had almost begun to believe that life would get better. He was probably at home right now, thanking his lucky stars that he had discovered the truth about Pat before it was too late. About then, one of Pat's headaches arrived, gnawing into the part of the brain right behind her eyes with vicious teeth and causing the blood in her temples to beat with an unholy rhythm. She tried to block it all out, squeezing her fists and her eyelids, trying to banish the pain back into the darkness that had sent it. She heard a distant beeping grow louder . . . the kind of beeping that accompanied a thin green line with period spikes marring its surface. Then she felt something cool inside the veins of her left arm and the pain subsided.

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In the light . . .

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Mary and Reginald Baker were asleep on a couch in the lobby nearby Pat's room. Lyle Baker was walking the off-white hallways trying to get some circulation back in his legs. Tobias was leaning against the nurse's station, making small talk and trying to dig for information. Keith and Todd and Gail had just returned from the cafeteria. Much to the chagrin of his school and team, Keith had decided to forsake the second game of the playoffs to be there when Pat woke up.

They sat down, and Keith glanced at Mrs. Baker. He had said some unkind things to her just before Buddy died which he now greatly regretted. She might not have been a great mother to Pat for whatever reason, but she had been a great mother to Buddy. And to be faced with such tragedy and then try and come to terms with her daughter's suicide attempt was more than she deserved. Mr. Baker . . . Keith really couldn't sympathize too much. He had frozen when his son was dying and his designs involving his daughter had been self-absorbed and self-centered. But mostly, Keith was concerned about Pat. Her spirit had died with her brother, and Keith had no idea how she was going to make it through, if she were inclined to even try.

"Hey," Lyle said as he walked over. "You really should go to your game," he chided the young man he had come to respect greatly. "The doctors say there's no telling how long she'll be out. Even after getting her stomach pumped . . ." He stopped. It had been a horrible process to watch. "She was exhausted and stressed and who knows what else."

"I wouldn't be any good to the team right now anyway," Keith said. He had pitched like shit in the first game. He had been in shock over Buddy's death. It was almost ironic. Everyone had thought it was when she twisted his arm that Pat Baker would keep Keith out of the game. It had taken something a lot more extreme. He had just quoted a "family emergency" and had spent as much time as he could in the last twenty-four hours at the hospital. He looked over at Pat's parents, then stood up and whispered to Lyle, "What's going to happen? I mean, how do you think they're going to handle this?"

"I don't know," the big man replied. "This was too much." The big man was choked up. "Buddy . . . now this. I know you don't think much of them, but I know Reginald loves Pat, and Mary was trying to remember how. And before you get harsh with them," he said softly, "remember that their only remaining child is tied to a hospital bed."

Keith sighed. "I wasn't going to pick a fight. When Pat comes out of this, that's the last thing she'll need." He and Lyle noticed Tobias was waving them over.

"I think she was awake," the butler said as they gazed in through the glass. "I saw her clenching her fists and . . . It's something she does when she meditates, particularly when she's got headaches. I've seen her in the kitchen doing it when she has a migraine." He covered his mouth with his hand and mumbled, "I should have done something. I should have told her parents what they were doing to her."

"We all should have done a lot of things," Lyle said. "But we get a second chance to do them now. Let's not blow it."

"Is she awake yet?" came a tired and feminine voice.

"Hey Mary," Lyle said, hugging his sister-in-law. "No, but Tobias think she may have woken up for a second. She's gonna live."

Mary was staring at his chest. "What did I do?" she asked. "I let my son die and drove my daughter to this."

Keith stiffened his spine. "Buddy lived a long time because you both loved him so much. It's the same reason Pat's in . . . in there. Buddy loved his sister. Can you be strong enough to do the same?"

Mary glanced at him, her tear-stained eyes questioning him. Then she let go of Lyle and walked into the hospital room, pulling up a chair and taking hold of her daughter's hand.

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In the darkness . . .

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Pat felt something warm. It made her want to cry. Her brother used to hold her hand sometimes when he knew she was feeling like crap. She knew it wasn't him. She knew she couldn't keep her eyes closed forever, as badly as she wanted to. So she cracked them open.

It was her mother in the room with her. Mrs. Mary Baker hadn't noticed that Pat was awake yet. Pat glanced at the window and saw her Uncle Lyle, Keith and Tobias staring in the window. They most DEFINITELY noticed she was awake. They slowly walked inside, obviously nervous. That was when Mary realized something was up. Tobias left to wake up Reginald while mother and daughter locked eyes on each other.

"What . . ." Pat started in a raspy voice, "are you doing here?" Her tone was empty.

"Pat," Mary replied, her eyes, face and voice pained. She went to hug the girl who tried to turn away, finding herself constrained by a series of belts and buckles reserved for those patients on suicide watch and might be a danger to themselves. So she turned away from her mother as best she could.

"Get out," Pat said, still very hollow. "You don't want to be here," she said, then paused, and continued, "and I don't want you here."

"Patrice," came a voice from the doorway, "Honey," Reginald said.

"You too," she whispered. "Both of you . . . out. I don't want to look at either of you." She closed her eyes, preferring the darkness. "I don't want you to see me."

"What are you talking about?" her father mumbled. "Sweetie, you're sick and you need help."

"You don't give a damn about what I need. Just what you want."

"That's not true!"

"OUT!" she screamed, bringing doctors and nurses running. "Get them out!"

"Sir . . . ma'am, I think you might want to step outside."

"She's our daughter!" Mr. Baker shouted.

"She needs rest and you're distressing her," a doctor said.

"She doesn't need rest! She took a bottle of sleeping pills for God's sake!" Mr. Baker screamed.

For the second time in two days, Reginald Baker was punched in the face. This time, it was Keith doing the honors.

"You stupid son of a bitch!" the young man shouted. "How completely . . ." Keith couldn't think of anything that quite summarized how angry he was. The punch had done a pretty good job of that. Reginald and Keith were both "escorted" to different areas of the hospital to cool down by hospital security. Everyone had forgotten about Pat in the scuffle, which is what she wanted. Except not quite everyone had left.

Mary Baker still sat at her bedside. A nurse touched her shoulders, indicating it was time to leave. Mary was crying softly.

"I loved him too," she said, touching her daughter's hand before letting herself be led away.

Pat could see Gail and Todd and Tobias and Lyle staring at her, quite obviously anguished. Her mother was still crying as she was led away. She could hear her father and Keith screaming at each other up and down the hallway until they were out of sight from each other. Then a nurse closed the blinds and turned out the lights, giving Pat the darkness she so desperately thought she wanted. But this time, the blackness held no nightmares or promises or fears. It just existed. It certainly didn't seem to hold any answers. But after a while, it at least offered her some temporary oblivion.

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The next morning . . .

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Lyle had called his company and told them he was going to take an emergency leave of absence. It had been decided the previous evening, admittedly begrudgingly, to let him be the family liaison and Pat's legal representative until she was considered to once again be in her right mind. Reginald Baker had been forced to swallow his pride when the doctors reminded him that her recovery was the most important thing. Mary Baker was struggling to cope. She wanted to wrap her arms around her son for comfort, but he was gone.

Keith had been sent home under threat of arrest for assaulting Mr. Baker the night before, but had been given permission to come by after classes if he promised to behave himself. Gail and Todd also had to go back to school, but promised to come by as soon as they could. They'd let the principal and Pat's teachers know that she wouldn't be in for a while due to a medical emergency. And it was Gail who had an idea about what might help Pat that everyone had agreed to.

"Lyle Baker?" asked a redheaded woman.

"Yes?" he replied, standing up.

"I'm Dr. Carolyn Martin. I'm from Pat's school. We met briefly at the tournament? Gail asked me to drop by."

"Thank goodness," Lyle said, shaking her hand somewhat energetically. "The kids said she might talk to you. Lord knows she ain't talking to anybody else."

Carolyn couldn't help but notice how tired this mountain of a man looked. The woman's mother looked completely disheveled and at her wit's end, while Pat's father was pacing the halls with a blank look on his face. "How is she?"

"She's stable," Lyle said. "She's out of harm's way . . . well, physically at least. But she won't let her parents in to see her. When I go in, she just doesn't say anything. I . . . I don't understand," he said. "I know it must be hard . . . losing Buddy," he said, his voice choking. "But this . . . reaction . . ."

Carolyn put a hand on the big man's arm as Pat's parents approached. "I'll do what I can. But the decision to survive or not is going to be up to her."

"What do you mean?" Mary Baker asked.

"I don't know if she told you," Carolyn said clearly, "but I've been counseling her at school. At first it was just because she had behaved aggressively, but then she actually came by just because she needed someone to talk to. I quickly realized just how smart and how special she is. But her entire life had been based around one thing for a long time. Now she's lost it," she added, and then looked at the parents. "And I'm so very sorry for your loss. I can't imagine what this last week must have been like for you."

They just nodded, and then Reginald spoke. "Do you think you can help her?"

"Yes. I can't tell you about what she and I talked about, but I will tell you that I believe that based on those conversations, I believe that there's fight left in her."

"Then please . . . get her to talk to us. Get her well," Mary said, her husband nodding.

"Very well. We'll make arrangements with the hospital administration to let me act, at least for the time-being, as her official 'therapist.' I promise you, I'll do everything I can."

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A little while later . . .

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Pat opened her eyes again. She had been awake for a while and knew someone was in the room. She heard the breathing and smelled a familiar perfume.

"Great," she said tiredly. "More talking?"

"I doubt it," Dr. Carolyn Martin said. "I suspect you'll go silent again. Pain seems to be elevated to something almost honorable when it's called 'suffering.' Suffering is something you can hold on to when everything else is missing and it's something you get to do quietly. I've never been through what you're going through and I won't pretend to. But everyone, sometime in their life, feels pain or suffers in ways that YOU couldn't imagine. You're different Pat. Everyone knows that. But being different alone doesn't make you special."

Pat looked straight ahead. "Thanks for the fortune-cookie-lecture Doc. You can leave now."

"Actually, that won't work with me. By permission of your family and the hospital, I'm your legally appointed psychiatrist. It's up to me to decide if you're intellectually and emotionally capable of rejoining society and won't be a danger to yourself anymore. If I'm not convinced, then you're considered incompetent and you go into the psychiatric ward until I say otherwise."

Pat just stared.

"And so begins the silence. You're not like other girls. I doubt you're trying to figure out how to lie to me so you can get loose. You're not much for lying. You're going to try and wait me out. But you won't," Carolyn said. "Because I care about you."

"Shut up," Pat growled.

"There are a lot of people who care about you these days. People who see you for what you are."

"SHUT UP!"

"A beautiful young woman who, for the first time in her life, is in more pain . . . more suffering than she can handle alone."

"You don't know what I'm capable of!"

"No. No one does." Carolyn drew a deep breath. "But Buddy did."

Pat's next explosion died on her lips. The pain dwelling behind her eyes finally pushed tears to the surface. "I . . . I . . . " Pat fought to control herself, even though it seemed to make her head feel like it was going to explode.

Carolyn stood up. Pushing Pat more at that point wasn't going to do any good. "I'm going to go ahead and let you think things over. I need you to believe me when I say this will get better. You'll hurt over what happened. You lost someone you loved and you wouldn't be human if you didn't hurt. But I don't think your brother would have wanted you to be in this state. You'll never forget him. But someday, thinking back at the time you shared will make you smile instead of cry. But before that happens, you're going to have to decide to get better. And there are a lot of people waiting for that to happen."

Dr. Martin stroked the forehead of the young woman who obviously need to cry but wouldn't let herself. "I'm going to leave my phone number at the nurse's station with instructions to let you call anytime you need to. Or call your folks or your uncle or your friends. Call Keith. Even if you don't want to talk, it might be nice to have a shoulder to cry on. The nurse will bring you a speaker phone if you want." She kissed Pat on the forehead and then left.

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That afternoon . . .

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Lola peeked her head in through the front door. Carolyn had called in sick after visiting Pat, so Lola had decided to run home and find out what happened. She found her girlfriend lounging on the couch in her terrycloth bathrobe with a bottle of wine and a glass. She wasn't drunk . . . Carolyn had never seen the point of achieving that particular state of being. Rather, she was trying to relax.

"That bad?" the Hispanic cutie said, picking up Carolyn's legs, sitting down and then placing those legs in her lap.

"Pretty bad," the redhead replied. "It's never a good time for a decent person to die, but the timing couldn't have been worse. I think one of the reasons that Pat is hurting so bad is that having friends reminded her what it was like to feel good. Before . . . I don't know. She might have just repressed it all. Not good, but I don't know if she would have tried to kill herself."

"You'll help her," Lola said as she proceeded to give her lover a foot rub, which was quite obviously appreciated. "You help the helpless. You're like . . . like . . . like Superman with a Ph.D."

Carolyn smiled. "Sometimes, even Superman needs help. I've got you. I know I can trust you. She's so uncertain. She's got parents with a history of emotional distance or disdain, an Uncle who's a good man but can't always be there, and friends that . . . well, that she's just not use to having."

"But she's going to be alright?"

"I . . . I think so." Carolyn took another sip. "Enough talk," she whispered. "I need you. Just . . . just make love to me tonight."

Lola touched her lover's face. Then she took the bottle of wine and Carolyn's glass and set them to the side of the sofa. The two just stared at each other for a moment. Then Lola leaned in and their lips made contact, sending small jolts of electricity racing back and forth.

Lola realized how frazzled Carolyn must be. She didn't want to play any of their usual games. She just needed gentle contact. Lola could handle that. She placed her hand on the back of Carolyn's neck and held their heads together so their lips never had far to travel. There was no need for the immediate exposure of skin. There would be time enough for that.

They broke their kiss with a gasp. It was then that Lola leaned back and let her girlfriend's educated hands unbutton Lola's work-shirt, exposing a white bra and smooth light-brown skin. Lola took Carolyn's hand and placed it about the outline of the bra, right over Lola's heart.

"This is yours," she said.

Carolyn pressed her head to that spot, wrapping her arms around her lover and pulling her close.

'Such a delicate thing,' she thought, listening to Lola's heart. 'But so powerful.' She kissed the skin over Lola's heart as she unhooked her bra and took a long slow draw at one of those dark little nipples.

Lola let her shirt and bra fall away, stroking the good doctor's hair while that tongue ran circles around the soft flesh of her breast. Carolyn cupped the smallish entity and lifted it, presenting the nipple for more convenient suction. Lola was quite pleased with the sensation.

Carolyn let her robe fall open, letting her full chest be exposed. Lola licked her lips and then applied those lips to those tits, returning the favor of Carolyn's attentions. And she sent one of those tough hands down to untie the belt of Carolyn's robe, pulling it until the entire robe could fall open. Then Lola rubbed Carolyn's hot pussy, inserting one finger while rubbing her hand in small circles. Lola's lover's skin was already flushed with excitement and need, and Lola would fulfill every one of those needs.