Take Me Higher by Pamela Clare
Chapter 10
Megs leftMitch’s side to head back to the hotel, unable to get the smile off her face—until a reporter rushed her in the parking lot.
“I’m from Chalk and Rock webzine. How is Mitch Ahearn doing?” The young woman held up a smartphone, clearly filming. “Do doctors expect him to survive? Do you think he’ll live a normal life? Will he climb again?”
It took all of Megs’ self-control not to tell the reporter to fuck herself. Instead, she ignored the questions and walked quickly to her vehicle, the reporter following her, camera still raised, heels clicking on asphalt.
“Is it true that he’s going to be a vegetable now? The sheriff’s report said you were lead climbing when Mitch was injured. Megs, were you the person who knocked off the piece of rock that hit him?”
That last question struck Megs square in the chest.
She whirled on the reporter. “Jesus tap-dancing Christ!”
She grabbed the phone, deleted the video file.
“Hey, you can’t do that! That’s mine! Give it back!” The reporter was several inches taller than Megs and lunged for her.
Megs side-stepped her. “You can’t harass me on hospital property.”
A security guard had seen them and jogged toward them.
“To answer you, no, I didn’t knock down the rock that struck Mitch. It came from somewhere above me, hit the Roofs of Mordor, and broke into pieces, one of which struck Mitch. I was protected by the roof. He was further down, more exposed. But none of that means anything to you, does it? You’re not a climber. Those long, fake, glittery nails give that away.”
The security guard reached them. “What’s going on here?”
“She took my phone and deleted my interview!”
Megs handed the phone back. “My partner is a patient in the ICU, and I didn’t consent to an interview. She’s harassing me.”
The security guard pointed toward the parking lot exit. “This is private property, miss, and you’re trespassing. You need to leave, or I’ll have you arrested.”
“Thank you, Officer.” While the woman spluttered and raged about the First Amendment, Megs climbed into her vehicle and drove the short distance to the hotel, pulse still racing, her face hot with anger. “Damn it!”
Back in her hotel room, she took a shower to cool down and wash the smell of the hospital off her skin. When she was calm, she ordered from room service and booted up her laptop. She’d spent the past two days ignoring a world that wanted answers. The hospital press conferences weren’t enough. Unless the climbing community heard directly from her, reporters like this one would keep showing up.
But she wasn’t going to do this their way.
She called the Scarlet Springs Gazette and left a message for Wendy, offering her an exclusive interview. Then she updated their social media accounts.
“Mitch is improving ahead of expectations. We are grateful to the medical staff for the excellent care he is receiving. We have a long journey ahead of us, but we have many reasons for hope. Thank you for your good wishes. Also, I was accosted in the hospital parking lot this evening by a reporter from Chalk and Rock webzine, who asked insensitive questions and was removed by security. I understand that people are curious about Mitch’s accident, but I will not answer questions just because a stranger claiming to be a reporter chases me with a smartphone. Chalk and Rock should be ashamed. The climbing community is better than this. Meanwhile, we thank you for your continued support, and we ask that you respect our privacy.”
Little good that would do.
She’d just put her empty supper dishes outside her door when her phone buzzed. “Hey, Wendy.”
“I just got your message. First, I want to say how sorry I am—how sorry we all are—about Mitch’s accident.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that. Do you have a few minutes?” Megs told Wendy that the only way she would be able to counter speculation was to give someone the whole story. “I want that someone to be you and the Gazette. You’re our hometown paper, and you haven’t been chasing me through parking lots.”
“Good grief! Don’t tell me someone did that.”
“Yes, just a short time ago. That’s why I’m going on the offensive.”
“What can I do?”
Megs spent the next hour going over the climb and Mitch’s accident in excruciating detail, including the gear they’d used and how she’d self-rescued to that ledge while awaiting the Team. She left the details about Mitch’s condition vague for the sake of his dignity. “He’s in a coma, but he is showing signs of regaining consciousness.”
She thanked everyone in Scarlet for their donations and for all the ways they were contributing to Mitch’s recovery. “I want to give a special shout-out to the Team for helping the rangers at the Black Canyon to rescue him, and to Rain and Joe, who stepped up immediately to help and have made this hard time so much easier.”
Wendy asked a few clarifying questions. “Can I steal photos from your websites, or do you want me to drive down to take a photo of you?”
“Please steal. The Team website has some great photos of Mitch, too.”
“I can’t get this in tomorrow’s paper. We’ve already put it to bed. This will be on the front page of the Gazette the day after. Thank you, Megs, for trusting me and for reaching out. I’m sorry other reporters have been assholes. It isn’t part of the job description, despite what you must think.”
“I know—and thanks.” Megs ended the call and got ready for bed.
She was dog-tired as she crawled beneath the covers, but it was a long time before she fell asleep.
Mitch kissed Megs to wakefulness, his lips doing amazing things to hers.
She opened her eyes, saw that he was young again. “But you’re hurt. You’re in ICU in a vegetative state.”
He gave her a smile that made her melt. “This is an erotic dream.”
Okay, then. “Bring it on.”
He kissed her long and deep and slow. She relaxed into it, ran her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, savoring the hard feel of his muscles.
He was strong. He’d always been strong.
One callused hand found an aching nipple and teased her until she wanted more. Then he kissed his way down her throat and took that same nipple into his mouth, groaning as he began to suckle her.
Her hips jerked, pleasure building deep in her belly. Aching for him, she reached for his cock, found him hard and ready for her. “Fuck me.”
“Glad to.” He nudged her thighs apart, angling his hips and thrusting slowly forward as she guided him inside her.
God, it felt good.
They moaned in unison as he moved, his cock filling her, stretching her. But no matter how hard he drove into her and no matter how aroused she became, she couldn’t seem to come.
Mitch’s gaze met hers. “It’s just an erotic dream. Remember?”
Just a dream.
Megs awoke with a jerk to find herself alone and incredibly horny, an unbearable ache in her heart—and between her thighs.
Mitch.
It had seemed so real, as if he’d truly been there, kissing her, touching her, making love to her. But he was still in the ICU, fighting to live.
She closed her eyes, reached down to touch herself, trying to bring the dream back. Mitch wouldn’t mind. Of that, she was certain. He’s the one who’d encouraged her to masturbate, after all.
She imagined him there, pounding into her, her climax coming hard and fast. But there was emptiness in its wake—no Mitch to laugh with or to hold her. Nothing but cold, harsh reality.
She glanced at the clock on the nightstand, saw that it was just after six. She got up, took another shower, and ordered breakfast—an egg white omelet, sliced fruit, and coffee. She ate, dressed, and headed back to the hospital, this time parking near the ER and not outside the main entrance.
When she reached the ICU, she found the room with the young boy empty, the bed made. Had he gotten better or… She remembered the anguish on his parents’ faces and decided she didn’t want to know.
Mitch was in a semi-sitting position, the head of his bed raised, his eyes closed, the earbuds in his ears, the recorder playing.
She removed the earbuds, turned off the recorder, and leaned close to avoid being overheard by nurses standing near his door. “I had the most erotic dream about you. I had to take matters into my own hands afterward. I got so turned on—”
A beautiful black nurse with long braids walked into the room. “I’m Fabiola, an RN here in ICU. I’ll be Mitch’s nurse today while Debby’s off. I hear you’ve been helping Riana with his PT exercises and making recordings for him. That’s great.”
It didn’t feel like much to Megs. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s still running that fever, but his intracranial pressure is slowly dropping. That’s what we like to see.”
“He opened his eyes yesterday, but they’re closed now. Does that mean he’s going backward?”
Fabiola shook her head. “It’s normal for people in vegetative states to revert to a normal sleep schedule. He’ll probably open his eyes again here soon. I’ll be back to tend his vent shortly. There’s fresh coffee if you’d like some.”
“Hell, yes. Thanks.” Megs made her way to the coffee pot, poured herself a cup, and walked back to Mitch’s bedside.
She picked up the journal and recorder and sat in the chair beside him. “As I was saying, that dream turned me on so much that I had to handle things myself. I would much rather have been with you.”
She skimmed through the next several entries, laughing to herself. “You poor thing! You could’ve just gone and gotten yourself laid, especially when you went back to college. But you waited for me to turn eighteen.”
It dawned on her that perhaps he had gotten laid and hadn’t told her.
How would she feel if she discovered in his journal that he’d had a few one-night stands while he was away?
It wasn’t like Mitch to lie or omit something important.
Except that he had lied to Dean about the hostile hippie in the bookstore.
Megs didn’t have to think hard. If it turned out that Mitch had hooked up with women while he was away for his senior year, she would forgive him. She wouldn’t even mention it to him. He’d promised her that he wouldn’t date or have sex with anyone else, but that would be a tough promise to keep at the age of twenty-one. Besides, she’d been the only woman in his life since her eighteenth birthday, the two of them spending virtually every moment together. That was what mattered.
She chose an entry, smiling to herself. “Thus begins the Education of Ms. Megs Hill.”
Mitch sat next to Megs,who lay on her belly in her tent reading Our Bodies, Ourselves by lantern light. She had burned through the first several chapters, which touched on healthcare, exercise, drugs and alcohol, mental health, and healthy relationships.
“The health stuff isn’t very interesting. I know I have to brush my teeth. But the relationship stuff—that’s pretty deep. I hadn’t thought of those things. I guess I only had my mother’s fucked-up relationship with my stepfather as a model.”
“What about your real father?”
“He died in a car accident when I was seven.”
“I’m so sorry.” Mitch waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. “What’s the next chapter about?”
“Chapter Eleven is about sexuality.” She turned the page. “Sex with ourselves: Mastur… Mastur…”
“Masturbation.”
She looked up at him, both amused and confused. “How can people have sex with themselves?”
He tapped the open book. “Read.”
She shifted her gaze back to the page, read that section, and then moved on to the next one, which was titled Orgasm, the baffled look on her face telling him she had zero experience. “People touch themselves, and it gives them this orgasm thing.”
He wouldn’t laugh. He wouldn’t. “Yes. It’s more common to talk about men doing it. Haven’t you ever heard someone use the term jack off?”
She nodded. “That’s what that means?”
“Yes.”
“Do you jack off?”
Mitch coughed. “Sometimes.”
He did it a lot more often since meeting her, but he kept that to himself.
“Have you had sex with someone besides yourself?”
Mitch nodded. “I had a girlfriend my sophomore year of college.”
“Did she jack off, too?”
Mitch tried hard not to laugh. “I never asked, but I bet she did.”
Megs turned the page again and found a labeled anatomical drawing of women’s genitalia and a chapter about the clitoris. Pink crept into her cheeks. “It’s embarrassing to read this with you sitting there.”
Mitch chuckled. “That’s one sign that you’re not yet ready for sex.”
She looked indignant. “What does that mean?”
How could he explain this without feeling like a dirty old man? He wasn’t grooming her for sex—though he could see how someone might think that. She wouldn’t be eighteen for a while yet, and she needed to know this stuff regardless of whether she had sex with him in the end or not. He was giving her a chance to learn what no one had taught her from an authoritative source. He just also happened to be attracted to her—and in love with her.
Yeah, watch yourself, buddy.
He tried to explain in very mild and general terms. “For both people to find pleasure in sex, they have to be able to talk about stuff like this. If you can’t talk about sex, you’re not going to enjoy it.”
“Really?” Clearly, this made no sense to her.
“You need to know what you like, and you have to be able to tell your partner. Otherwise, he’s just guessing. Every woman is different.”
“Don’t men just know what to do? I mean, isn’t it obvious?”
“Sex isn’t something I do to you, Megs. It’s something we do together—and for each other.” He tried to find an example. “It’s like making someone dinner. If you don’t like liver and onions and I keep making you liver and onions, you’re not going to be happy. You need to tell me what you like so I can make that instead.”
“I hate liver and onions.”
He laughed. “Good to know.”
She seemed to accept his explanation and went back to reading. She was focused on it now, her brow furrowed in concentration. Mitch read the subject headings upside down. Communicating About Sex. Exploring Lovemaking. Oral Sex. Anal Stimulation. Intercourse. After Lovemaking. Variations in Lovemaking.
“This is complicated.” She turned the page—and froze.
Rape and Sexual Assault.
It was Mitch’s first impulse to close the book and tell her that she’d read enough for one night, but he held himself back, waited.
“I’m not as innocent as you think. If you read those documents, then you know.”
“I only glanced at them when I put them back in your tent. I saw that there was a case against your stepfather for hurting you.”
“Wayne didn’t hurt me—not really.” She kept her gaze on the page, her voice neutral. “He used to touch me in places he shouldn’t or walk in when I was in the shower and look me over. There were lots of times he touched me through my clothes—between my legs or on my butt or my chest—and then pretended it was an accident. I would push his hand away or tell him to stop. He acted like I was crazy.”
Mitch tried to keep his voice calm. “What did your mother do?”
“When I told her, she slapped me and told me to stop dressing like a tramp.”
“Jesus.” That was despicable.
“Then Wayne came into my bedroom one night and pulled his … penis out of his pajama bottoms. He grabbed my wrist and forced me to touch him. Then he told me to lift my T-shirt and pull down my panties. I kicked and hit him and screamed for my mother. She found him half-naked on my bed—and threw me out of the house. She called me a slut and said the problems in her marriage were my fault.”
Mitch struggled to take this in, rage hot in his veins. “Oh, Megs. None of that was your fault. He did hurt you. He was supposed to be a father to you, and instead, he abused you. So did your mother. She ought to have thrown him out.”
Mitch stopped himself from saying more. Megs didn’t need his anger. She needed him to listen. “Where did you go?”
“I went to my school and climbed up to an open window on the second floor.”
Mitch grinned. “Of course you did.”
She smiled, too. “I slept in the library. One of the teachers found me. She asked what had happened and called the police. She got me in touch with a friend of hers, a judge. The judge listened to me, told me about emancipation, and eventually granted my request to become an emancipated minor. That’s how I was able to drop out of school and get my GED at sixteen. I wanted to spend my time climbing.”
“I’m glad your teacher was there for you.” Then it hit him. “How old were you when this happened?”
“I was fourteen when I was finally emancipated.”
Fourteen?
Good God!
Mitch’s heart broke.
She must have been thirteen or younger when the abuse had started. That wasn’t long ago. She was only sixteen now. The sexual and emotional abuse were probably still fresh—an open wound that she tried to cover with steel and sharp edges.
“Thank you for trusting me with that.” Mitch took her hand, realized she was trembling. “I’m so sorry this happened to you, Megs. You didn’t do anything wrong. Your stepfather is entirely to blame. But nothing he or your mother did can change who you are. You are innocent—and incredibly brave.”
When she looked up at him, there were tears in her eyes, her fingers now clinging tightly to his. “Do you mean that?”
“I know it must be hard to accept when your mother blamed you, but, yes, I mean it. What your stepfather did was a crime, and what your mother did… That’s probably a crime, too. It’s unforgivable. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I hate them.” She spat the words, but fear quickly replaced fury. “What if Wayne reads those news stories and comes after me? He’s out of prison now.”
“You’re safe with me, Megs. If he shows up, Dean and I will rip him apart.”
Her lips curved in a wobbly smile. “Can I help?”
“You bet.”