My Best Friend Emily Ch. 07

The reporter was nodding sagely. "So you think this is it," he said, "This is the way America is going to be."

"Yeah," I said, "Unfortunately. I mean, some people would say well Lisa would've just attacked you with a knife of something, but if she was coming at me with a knife I would've had that extra second... to... to try to stop her. With a gun, there's nothing you can do."

The reporter was still nodding at me. "Joe," he said, and I could sense a new topic coming. "Lisa's parents have publicly said some pretty... incendiary things. How would you describe your relationship with Lisa's parents?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "In-laws," I said. "I don't know. I didn't have a great relationship with them. We didn't really get along. We had some very different views on things."

"Do you consider yourself a religious person?" The reporter asked.

"Not really," I said, "I grew up Protestant. My parents weren't very religious. We only went to church on special occasions. Lisa's parents on the other hand are very devout born-again Christians. They tried to convert me more than once. Lisa had pretty much renounced her religion, and in some ways she was estranged from her parents because of it. I originally thought she abandoned Christianity because of feminism and the way her religion continued to promote the oppression of women. I only understood at the end it was because of her sexuality."

"Because she was bi-sexual," the reporter said matter-of-factly.

I nodded. "Homosexuality is a sin. She did tell me... near the end... that she considered asking to go to one of those 'camps' where they try to remove those impure thoughts from you. I guess I can only imagine trying to believe in something that is telling you that the things you are feeling are wrong."

"Lisa's parents have publicly blamed you and Emily for Lisa's actions," the reporter said, "What do you have to say in response to that?"

I found myself staring right into the camera. "I would say they were doing everything possible to blame everybody but themselves," I said, "For trying to force their fanaticism on her, for not understanding the truth about their daughter, her sexuality, and the struggle that she went through all of her life. That it drove her to depression, to suicide." I took a deep breath. I felt myself getting choked up. "There are so many 'if's'. If only this didn't happen, if that didn't happen. If only Lisa would've talked to someone, talked to me, maybe things would've been different."

"Is there anything else you'd like to add?" The reporter asked.

"Just to talk to people," I said, "Talk to your loved ones. Don't just assume that everything is okay. That they're not talking to you because they're strong enough to handle things on their own. Don't just let it go."

The reporter thanked me, the crew packed up, and they left. The check arrived in the mail sometime later. I won't tell you how much I got for my interview, but I will say that I donated it to a suicide prevention hotline.

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Emily picked me up from the hospital the day that I was released. I had her take me straight to the cemetery. Lisa's grave was unmarked. The headstone was still being carved. It was just a mound of dirt that still looked fresh. I asked Emily to wait in the car. I walked slowly up to Lisa's grave, and found that my legs could barely hold me up. I plopped down on the grass next to the mound of dirt. It was a warm day with a slight breeze. I found myself staring off at the trees in the distance, watching the leaves blowing in the breeze.

Lisa, my wife, I thought. The love of my life. Why didn't she trust me, I thought. Why didn't she share anything with me? Things could have been different. Things could have been so much different. I stopped thinking and just let my mind wander, remembering random things about her. Thinking about the future we could have had, that we wouldn't have. I started crying. I lost track of time.

Eventually I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Hey pal," Emily said. "You okay?"

I turned to look at her. I nodded. "I'm just remembering her," I said.

Emily sat down next to me. "We'll stay as long as you want," she said, taking hold of my hand, and we both sat there in the grass, staring off into space, lost in our own thoughts.

Eventually I had enough, and Emily helped me to my feet. We went to my house. I froze in the doorway. Emily said that they had to bring in a special cleaning company, but now it was like nothing ever happened there. I knew better. I walked inside slowly. There it was, right there. I thought. That's where I was when Lisa shot me. That's where Emily was. That spot right there, I thought, a chill running down my spine, that's where Lisa died. I didn't know if I could just go on living there, seeing it every day, knowing what had happened there.

Emily seemed to sense what I was thinking. "You can stay with me," Emily said, "Until you're ready to come back." I turned to look at her. It would be weird, wouldn't it? I come out of the hospital and stay with Emily? "You really shouldn't be alone right now anyway," she added. I hesitated. "I'm sorry for what I did in the hospital," Emily said. "I promise nothing will happen between us... until you're ready."

"Okay," I said to her, and walked slowly into the bedroom to pack up some clothes.

Emily was true to her word. She had a one bedroom apartment and we had to share her queen sized bed, but she kept her distance from me. She didn't kiss me, she didn't touch me. She didn't even say anything sexual or inappropriate, which was really out of character for her.

I found that now that I was out of the hospital I could hardly sleep. You got plenty of rest lying in the hospital all that time, Emily told me. It was more than that, I knew. I was anxious all the time. I could hardly sit still, but I had nothing to do. I hadn't gone back to work yet. I had six weeks disability to use and the doctor was insistent that I take it. He didn't want me doing anything too stressful. For me there could be nothing more stressful than doing nothing all day, I tried to appeal to the doctor, but he wouldn't hear it.

I wasn't allowed to drive either until I could move my right arm well enough and they were sure all of the heavy drugs they gave me were out of my system, so I had to rely on Emily to chauffeur me around. She had already gone back to work so I had to wait for her to come home in the evenings.

On my second trip back to the house I went looking for Lisa's notebooks and couldn't find them. I was horrified that Lisa's parents had gotten them or somebody had stolen them for some sick reason. I remembered the card the detective had given me so I called him. They were taken as evidence, he said. They are at the police station. The case is closed so you can come pick them up. Emily drove me there and I walked out with a box full of notebooks and her iPad.

I spent the next several days learning all about Lisa. I pored through notebooks full of diaries and stories, one-liners and poetry. The Lisa I read about was funny at times, angry at times, sad and depressed a lot. There were moments where she was self-deprecating, joking that she was glad that nobody would ever read this except herself. As a teenager she wrote about her feelings a lot, her anger at her parents and her siblings, her confusion about her sexuality. I felt a chill go down my spine the first time I saw her write 'I think I want to die.' She was a junior in high school at the time.

I went in chronological order as best I could. I reached her college notebooks, and saw the tear-stained entry about what she had done to her roommate, and shortly thereafter was her first suicide note. It was heavily edited, which was unusual, because most of her writing had very few words crossed-off or added in. At the bottom of the page she scrawled 'I don't want to go to hell.'

Lisa's first mention of me brought a smile to my face. 'I met a guy today,' she wrote, 'he is cute and smart and funny. He looked at me and I felt butterflies. I haven't felt that for a guy before.' I read on as I was mentioned more and more, and I struggled to remember our relationship from my perspective as I read about hers. 'I think Joe wants to sleep with me,' she wrote about us having sex, 'I always wanted to know what it would be like with a man. I think I will let him.' At the bottom of the page she scrawled 'I liked it.'

I read about her doubts about our relationship, about her guilt for hiding her sexuality from me. 'I know guys like it when women are into other women,' she wrote, 'But if this is for real I don't want him to think I'm a freak.' I was horrified to learn she was suicidal shortly before we were married. She wasn't sure if she could live her life as a straight woman, she wrote. There was a suicide note, written the night before our wedding. There wasn't another entry until after our honeymoon. There was no record of what made her change her mind, why she decided not to kill herself and marry me instead.

As the years went on she wrote about our relationship less and less. Sometimes she mentioned me happily, other times she complained about one thing or another that I did or didn't do. As I reached the end of her handwritten notebooks to where she started writing on her iPad, her writing also started to change. She wrote less and less of a 'diary' and started concentrating more on short stories. I recognized a couple as the stories that she did show me once. Others were weird, rambling stories that were obviously half-based on her, and me, and other people in our life. It was sort of science fiction, sort of fantasy. It went on and on for hundreds of pages and I was left wondering where she intended to go with it. It ended abruptly. She either abandoned it or never got around to finishing it.

Finally after days of reading I reached the end. She wrote a lot about the last two weeks of her life, and it was a jarring return to the types of diary entries that she had abandoned years ago. She wrote about that first day with Emily in great detail, the mud fight, the sex, everything. She wrote about it happily, and then the next day she sounded distraught. 'She's trying to take him away from me,' she wrote, 'I'm sure of it.'

Her writing showed her moods swung wildly from day to day. One day she was happy, one day she was scared; paranoid about letting Emily into our bed, about the things that she did and was doing, the next she was suicidal.

I reached the last day. Her suicide note was there. She wrote about how she couldn't go on living after the things that she'd done, how she couldn't go on living a lie, lying to the people she cared about most. 'I can hear Joe and Emily even now' she wrote, 'together having a good time without me. Let them be happy together.' She wrote about how she knew that killing herself would mean she would go to hell, but she didn't care. 'What would heaven be if I had to go on lying? Better that I can be myself in hell.' The most chilling thing was that shooting me and Emily almost seemed to be an afterthought to her. Her last words were 'we can all be together in hell forever.'

Needless to say I was shaken by what I'd read. I could hardly sleep or eat for days, but I still felt that it was right that I read everything. It was some small measure of closure for me, and I finally felt like I knew the real Lisa, and that I could start to move on. I put everything back into a box and sealed it. I wouldn't let Emily read anything when she asked to.

The day I got cleared to drive I got in my car and drove for hours, enjoying being alive and the freedom that was almost taken away from me. The following week I went back to work. I was welcomed back with a big office party. Everyone wanted to hear my story and see my scar. I obliged but I was eager to throw myself into my work. In some ways I felt it was all I had now.

After a couple more weeks I really started to feel like my old self again. I was still living with Emily, and we were still purely platonic.

"I think I'm going to put the house up for sale," I said to Emily over dinner one night, out of the blue.

"Really?" Emily asked. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I said. "I've been thinking about it a lot. I don't want to go back there."

"Okay," Emily said, "You're welcome to stay here as long as you like." She paused. "Do you really think you'll be able to sell it?"

"I don't know," I said, "I'm not sure somebody would just step up and buy a house like that, especially for what it's worth. I was thinking that maybe a builder would come in and want to knock it down, you know, start fresh with a new development of houses. The economy is better. People are buying houses again."

"You know best," Emily said flippantly, and went back to her pasta.

We were in the heat of the summer now, and that night may have been the hottest, most humid night of the whole summer. We climbed into bed together, me and Emily, as we had been for weeks, staying on our own sides of the bed. I couldn't get to sleep. Even with the AC unit and the ceiling fan on I was too hot in the boxers and t-shirt I was wearing. I could feel Emily tossing and turning too. She was just as uncomfortable as I was.

"Joe," she eventually whispered to me, "I can't sleep."

"I can't sleep either," I whispered back.

"Joe, don't take this the wrong way," Emily said, "But when it's this hot I usually sleep in the nude."

I paused. Could I sleep next to a naked Emily? I thought that I could. We had done a good enough job sleeping together for weeks now without having any kind of physical contact. "Go ahead," I said.

"You sure?" Emily asked.

"Yes, go ahead," I said.

I heard Emily climb out of bed. I screwed my eyes shut, telling myself I wouldn't look, but I found myself looking at her in the dim light. She was pulling off her t-shirt, pulling down her shorts. I could see her small breasts and her round buttocks. She climbed back into bed. I heard her sigh contentedly.

"Are you too hot?" Emily asked.

"Yeah," I whispered.

There was a long pause. "You should try it," Emily said. "You'll be much cooler."

What the hell, I thought, and I pulled myself out of bed. I pulled off my t-shirt and boxers. I felt my dick bobbing in the air. I happened to glance over at Emily, and I could see her peeking at me while trying to act like she wasn't. I could feel myself tingle, and I realized with a start I hadn't even been aroused in weeks. I was so distracted, first with Lisa, then with getting on with my life. Once I had gotten through Lisa's writings and gotten over the shock of what was in them, I had slept soundly for weeks. I hadn't had the time or privacy to even think about jerking off. I suddenly felt... horny.

I climbed back into bed beside Emily. "Emily," I said softly.

"Yes Joe?" She said.

"I think... I think I may be ready to move on," I said.

"What do you mean?" Emily asked.

I didn't answer her. Instead I turned towards her in bed. I placed my right hand on her stomach. I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

"Oh, that," Emily said, "Well, it's about fucking time."

I laughed as I moved closer to her. I kissed her face. I kissed her lips. We kissed for a long time, a slow, passionate kiss. I tugged on her lips with mine; she tugged on my lips with hers. I started to move my right hand on her body, settling on her breast. She gasped as I brushed my finger across her nipple. I felt it grow hard in the cool breeze of the ceiling fan.

"I want you so bad," Emily mumbled, and suddenly she was trying to push me over. We wrestled for a moment until I gave in and let her move me onto my back. She climbed on top of me, pressing her body against mine. "I'm not hurting you, am I?" She asked.

"No," I said. Gunshot wound or no, the answer to that question was and will always be no.

Emily showered me with kisses. She kissed my face, my lips, and my neck. She slowly started to work her way down my body, avoiding my scar but kissing my chest, my nipples, and my stomach. She started to go lower and I stopped her.

"Not that," I mumbled, "Not tonight. I want to make love to you."

"How sweet," Emily deadpanned, whether she really meant it or not, it was hard to tell. She moved until we were kissing again. "Whenever you're ready Romeo," Emily said.

I nudged her back onto her back, propping myself up beside her. I reached down with my right hand and slid it across her mound. I heard her gasp. I slid my fingers through her folds a few times, feeling how wet she was. "I'm ready when you are," Emily mumbled.

I rolled completely on top of her now, Emily spreading her legs wide as I moved in between them. I pressed myself up against her, aiming to enter her by muscle memory. I felt myself press up against her mound; I pushed harder and found myself pushing through the opening to her vagina. Emily sighed softly as I began to push myself into her. "Yesss..." she said softly. She lifted her knees in the air, giving me better access.

I knew Emily liked to be fucked fast and hard, but I wanted to take things slow. I pushed myself in and slowly pulled out again. I repeated and started a slow rhythm. Emily didn't protest. It had been a couple of months for me, for Emily too, and I wanted it to last. I wanted to enjoy myself. Hopefully she would enjoy herself too.

I thrust myself into Emily as far as I could go, and held myself there. Emily bucked her hips in response, pressing against me with her inner walls. Her hips fell against the bed again and I resumed my slow, steady rhythm. The hot humid night was causing us both to sweat and I could feel it on both of our bodies.

I pushed myself all the way in and held it there again. This time Emily threw her legs around me, changing the angle and pressing me against her G spot. She was bucking her hips now, gasping, and I realized that she was having an orgasm. I held myself against her, fighting my own arousal, letting her use my hard cock to get herself off. "Mmm... that was nice," Emily mumbled, "Very sensual. Now go harder."

I obliged and started a faster rhythm. In and out, in and out. Emily's orgasm had changed the feel of her pussy. It was hotter, wetter. I felt every thrust into her, the friction against the walls of her pussy. I was fast approaching orgasm and there was no way to hold back. "I'm gonna cum," I mumbled as I felt myself go over the edge, thrusting into her harder and harder. I grunted and Emily started crying out as I shot load after load of cum into her pussy. I could only imagine how much there was after all this time. My spasms stopped and I collapsed against her. We were a sweaty mess. It was wonderful.

"I love you Joe," Emily whispered into my ear.

I was so happy to hear it. After everything that had happened, I felt like there were possibilities again, a future for me and Emily. We could have the wild, experimental sex life I had imagined that I would have with Emily. Or, we could get married, buy a house and have children. Maybe there would be some combination of both. We were both only 30. Whatever would happen, we would be doing it together. "I love you too," I said to Emily.

We were silent for a while, just enjoying each other's company. Despite the sweaty, post orgasmic mess, I was starting to get sleepy. I was starting to drift off to sleep when she put a hand on my shoulder.

"Joe," Emily said, "There's something that I've been meaning to tell you."

"What?" I asked.

"Remember Angela, your nurse? She gave me her number and..."

The end?

*****

I hope you enjoyed this story. I know there wasn't much sex and there was a lot of disturbing subject matter, but hopefully you appreciated it for what it was. As always, any feedback is appreciated.