by Xavier Neal
My eyes lift to his, away from the heart-shape I had been drawing on top of her stomach.
“Accommodations need to be made for her arrival.”
“So, make them.”
He hesitates to continue, “Our medical wing is in the guest house on the far end of the property near the peacocks-”
“I know where our fucking medical wing is located. What I do not know is why you are wasting your breath, my time and patience informing me of such trivial shit.”
“Everything we need is in the main house.”
“Transfer it.” Chantal slightly stirs in my arms causing my hold to tighten. “Whatever is possible. The rest we will deal with it as necessary.” I assume my response will send him off to do his job; however, he remains in the seat as if waiting for further permission to speak. “Cos'altro?”
What else?
“Our medical team will be strange faces to her,” he slowly reminds. “You know how she is about that shit.”
His concern surprises me.
Not because he cares.
But because it is a line of thinking I should be conducting.
Yet can’t.
“And, if you factor in…what…may have possibly happened on that island…,” Miko treads the lightest he can, “having a male examine her-”
I immediately growl at the notion.
“Sì.” His hand motions our direction. “That’s the other point I’m trying to make. Having a strange man pawing around down there isn’t the best idea for either of you.” He folds his fingers tightly together. “She’s been through enough shit. You’re…still…going through shit. I just think this next shit should be easier if possible.”
“You have a solution.”
“I have…a proposal,” he counters on a crooked smile.
The chosen phrase pulls my brow tightly together.
“I just need permission to…make it…possible and permission to handle the possible…complications it may cause, accordingly.”
My expression remains unchanged.
“And, I’m only asking because the last thing you need is me doing shit I wanna do causing you more…fucking…stress you can’t handle.”
There’s no stopping me from viciously biting, “Non mi parlare in quel modo. Non sono... debole.”
Do not talk to me like that. I am not...weak.
“No, ma stai iniziando ad avere i capelli grigi e non voglio essere incolpato per aver aggiunto qualcos'altro alla pila.”
No, but you're starting to get gray hair, and I don't want to be blamed for adding more to the pile.
His effort to lighten the load weighing on us both has me tempted to grin. “I am not.”
“Baby grays,” he teases. “In the back.”
“No.”
“Don’t tell me no. You can’t fucking see back there. I…I can see that shit. Thought about coloring it with a marker.”
“Sei un dolore nel culo.”
You’re a pain in the ass.
“Sempre. Finché la morte non verrà a darmi la dolce liberazione della morte…”
Always. Until death comes to give me a sweet release…
“Preferably in the form of a blow job.” Miko’s bright smirk lights up the dark space we’re occupying. “Not that I wanna die from a blow job, but during a blow job when I’m like…a hundred and two?” He happily nods. “Sì, that I approve of.”
An eye roll occurs prior to me sighing, “And, I approve of whatever accommodations you need to make for her evaluation and transition home to be as painless as possible.”
“Grazie.”
I offer him a single tip of the chin, tighten my grip, and rest the side of my cheek against the top of Chantal’s head.
While I wish it were me who were making the tactical and logical decisions in regard to her health needs, I’m grateful I, at least, have him to help. She was right when she said I didn’t thank him enough for all he does. Asked and unasked. The lengths he’s willing to go to for not only my happiness, but ours as a unit. I don’t know that I can survive losing him any more than I could survive losing her. However, the thoughts I am beginning to hate, more than everything else, are the ones revolving around the question of how do I survive if I lose them both?
How does a king rule without his most trusted leaders?
What good is a butcher without his tools?
Who is afraid of the lion that has lost his claws?
Chapter 8
Cold bony fingers start to curl around my wrist causing my eyes to fly open and me to snatch it away. “Don’t fucking touch me! Don’t you dare fucking touch me again you sick fuck!”
My body scrambles to get out of the bed I’m occupying only to have a firm hand grip my forearm to keep me place. Instinct pushes me to continue the fight.
To defensively attack.
Scream.
Attack again.
My body’s no longer paralyzed like it was when Mr. Raven first started touching me.
I couldn’t do anything other than to go somewhere deep in my mind where his fingers weren’t between my thighs…where he wasn’t telling me what a good little girl I was being.
No.
Now my body has all the motion.
All the movement.
I have to get the fuck out of here!
Somewhere!
Anywhere I won’t be touched again!
I manage to keep one hand from being captured and scratch the hand of the person pinning me to the bed. There’s a deep groan of discomfort followed by a grumbled, “Almeno la mia leonessa ha ancora gli artigli.”
That voice.
That. Voice.
My head whips up to meet a set of eyes I was starting to fear I might never see again.
A set I was worried I would forget how they looked.
Beni’s hazel gaze is riddled with so much pain, yet I can still see the special softness he only has for me.
I suck in a sharp gasp that causes my chin to tremble.
My chest to ache.
Tears sting the corners of my eyes as our stares lock for the first time in what I know is over a week.
“At least my lioness still has claws.” His translation is sweet. Quiet.
“And, can still fucking roar,” another familiar voice chimes in from the other direction.
There’s no reluctance to swing my attention the opposite direction to see Miko leaning against the far wall. “That shit made my asshole tighten up a bit.”
“Your asshole is not the first thing my fiancée should hear about when she wakes up.”
“Technically, she didn’t. It was like the third or fourth,” his best friend teases in a way that convinces the tears it’s alright to fall.
That I really am…
Home.
Unless…
Unless this is some sort of self-defense mechanism. This could simply be my mind putting me back in a place I’d rather be than forcing me to consciously live through the additional sexual torture that was promised to me.
Fear has my body shuddering once more, prompting Beni – or my mind’s hallucination – to speak again. “Sei al sicuro.”
You’re safe.
I know that phrase.
He said it to me the first time they rescued me.
Is that what happened?
Have I been rescued again?
How do I know this is real?
How can I tell the difference between a beautiful fabrication meant to instill comfort and the possible fact of no longer being another gutted human turned into a doll?
Beni’s grip slides down my arm to grab my hand. He tightly clutches onto it and uses the other to gently cup my face. More tears fall from my eyes each time his calloused thumb gives my cheek a loving caress.
Relief and reassurance rush to overrule any doubts that this isn’t real.
And, even if it isn’t?
I’d rather believe that it is.
I’d rather stay here in heaven than resume feeling ev
erything in hell.
“Mia Bella,” his tone is somehow both soft and firm, “I do not want to hold you down again. Mi fa male il cuore.” He pauses, takes a deep breath, and lets his hand fall back to his side, “It hurts my heart.”
My Italian is better than it was when we first met, yes, but it’s not good enough for my brain to interpret shit I’ve never heard him say before.
Which I haven’t.
I’ve never heard him say that phrase.
I’ve never even heard him imply it.
And, the travail in his tone is so foreign.
So…palpable.
He’s real.
This is real.
Fuck.
This is real.
“I will keep your hand,” Beni pauses to lift it up to his lips to plant a kiss on the back of it, “but I need you to allow Miss Paschen to draw blood from your other arm. There are follow up tests that need to be done. Tests to…,” he swallows an emotion he doesn’t want seen, “confirm the toxins in your system have been removed.”
“And, that they didn’t harm the embryo,” the female voice across from him adds.
“Thank you, Miss Paschen,” he retorts in a clipped fashion. “I was…getting there.”
My attention swings to her just in time to see the cringe she makes. “Oh…sorry.”
Embryo?
As in…as in a baby?
As in, I am actually pregnant?
Beni begins again, “Miss Paschen-”
“You can call me Jazzy, Mr. Bennett,” she warmly interrupts. “I really don’t mind.”
“E non mi dispiace la vista del suo culo in quei pantaloni,” Miko chortles.
And, I don't mind the view of her ass in those pants.
In tandem, Beni and I toss him looks of disapproval.
“Mio Dio, I didn’t think I’d miss that shit.” His finger waves back and forth at us.
“Miss Paschen needs to draw another round of blood and then she’ll send in Dr. Gregory who will…discuss your condition with you now that you’re fully conscious.”
Dread doesn’t hesitate to overtake my expression.
His hand lovingly squeezes mine. “I will not leave your side during any of this, Mia Bella. La mia parola.”
My word.
I swallow the lingering apprehension, give him a small nod, and slowly turn my right arm around for her to take what she needs.
Jazzy offers me a reassuring smile prior to proceeding.
Thank fuck it’s a familiar face coming at me with a needle.
Not sure how I would handle another strange female coming my direction with a sharp object.
Flashbacks to the moment I was pricked in the neck at the very point I had found hope fly to the front of my mind causing me to instinctively tense up.
“I need you to relax,” Jazzy politely informs. “I can’t…I can’t get what I need if your body is straining.”
Relax?!
Relax?!
Some…unknown…amount of time ago I was just being jabbed with a needle for essentially the same reasons though with a much more sinister overtone.
My fight response kicks in again causing me to jerk away.
“Mia Bella,” Beni states to collect my attention, “devi stare fermo.”
The statement isn’t translated by him but by Miko, “You must be still.”
I snap my face in his direction, words of disagreement on the tip of my tongue as I watch him slowly approach.
“Concentrati altrove,” my fiancé calmly commands.
There’s only a minor moment to cut him a glance before Miko’s speaking again, “Focus elsewhere.”
“Nella stanza…”
“The room…”
“La musica.”
“The music…”
“La voce acuta e irritante di mio cugino.”
Miko arrives at Beni’s side at the same time he says, “My cousin's irritating high-pitched voi-” The sentence is cut short, and his head swivels to glare at his best friend. “Fuck you. I have an incredible voice. È quella degli angeli.”
Seeing the corner of my fiancé’s lips twitch a smirk tempts me into doing the same. “What do you think, Mia Bella? Does he have the voice of an angel?”
Both of their eyes dance with humor that I know I would die without.
“Finished,” Jazzy cheerfully states, summoning my stare to her.
I didn’t even feel the prick.
Huh.
They pulled off the ultimate distraction…
Jazzy shows me the collected sample to reassure me of what she’s done and announces, “I’m going to get Dr. Gregory. She’ll be in, in just a moment.”
I nod my understanding, which signals her to make an exit.
Once the door shuts, leaving the three of us alone, Miko smirks, “Why didn’t you tell me the dog chick was so hot I’d wanna fuck the dog shit out of her?”
My face cringes in response; however, I’m not totally sure if that’s due to the phrasing or the idea of Miko dirtying up my innocent neighbor.
Jazzy’s seemingly wholesome.
Tight scrubs – I’m convinced Miko required her to put on – aside, I’ve never known her to wear anything provocative.
Not even when she’s had a date.
Or, what I think was a date.
Could’ve been a co-worker.
We aren’t exactly that level of close, which makes me wonder what the fuck she’s doing here.
And, just what the fuck is going on altogether.
Beni, thankfully, answers my silent interrogation, “Miss Paschen is here to assist Dr. Gregory during your recovery. We thought a familiar face might make the process more… sopportabile.” His free hand flails around the air unconsciously bringing more comfort to my system. “Bearable.”
Miko nods in support.
“She – like Dr. Gregory – has signed confidentiality paperwork and extensive contracts to ensure she remains silent about the information she hears or learns and anything she sees. Her silence, like her services, will be rewarded financially.”
“And, handsomely.” His second winks.
“He means that in reference to a high amount only.”
“Sei sicuro?”
You sure?
Beni promptly rolls his beautiful eyes that seem to be collecting more life back into them.
The more life they gather, the more secure I find myself feeling that this is reality.
That this is real.
That the worst shit is over.
“Our patient is fully conscious this time?” A bluesy female voice suddenly inquires. “Completely lucid?”
I want to ask how many times I awoke prior to this yet can’t seem to find my voice.
Maybe I’m not ready to hear it.
Maybe I’m worried about being able to speak without bawling in grief and relief alike.
Maybe I don’t want them to hear how broken it is.
How broken I am.
“Yes,” Beni replies on my behalf.
“She did wake up screaming again,” Miko casually adds. “Is that shit like…her new normal? Should I be warning the staff about it?”
She pulls her thick, wavy blonde hair to the side of her strikingly young face. “That may be something you want to consider. How her subconscious chooses to work through the trauma is unknown at this time; however, nightmares and night terrors are a possibility for the foreseeable future.”
There’s no ignoring the way Beni tenses in the corner of my eye.
I’ve been having nightmares?
Why don’t I remember them?
“Miss Brooks, I’m Doctor Alaina Gregory. I will be handling your medical care for the coming weeks.”
Weeks?!
What…what the fuck is wrong with me that I’ll need an onsite doctor for weeks?
Also, why does this woman look like she’s not a real doctor but plays one in a Porn Hub exclusive?
“I’m a concierge doctor. I only make house
calls. I tend to clients that require high discretion.” Her hands find their way to her white coat pockets. “It’s not my place to judge what is happening, what has happened, or what someone is going through. My job is simply to provide you with the medical attention you require and with the information you need. Confidentiality is more than just a clause to be followed in my choice of career. It’s the literal difference between life and death for me, so please, believe me when I say, whatever is discussed during our times together will not be repeated outside of them. Do you understand?’
I promptly nod.
“Now, I am aware of how young I appear to be – Mr. Bennett made his displeasure about that quite clear when we were introduced, while Mr. Tritelli made his interest in me painfully obvious.” She shoots me a wink that almost makes me smile. “Let me reassure you. I have the required credentials necessary to tend to you. My father is a plastic surgeon. My mother is a cardiologist. Operation wasn’t a game but a weekly test, and graduating early from high school not a surprise but an expectation. Medical school wasn’t an option, but the choice of what to do once I got out was.”
Holy. Shit.
“Mr. Bennett and Mr. Tritelli received the same explanation as well as were allowed to ask me follow up questions. Mr. Bennett’s were experience based, Mr. Tritelli’s…sexual led, although there was noticeable disappointment in his expression when he found out I’m not only married but a lesbian.”
“Estremamente deluso.”
Extremely disappointed.
“Do you have any questions, Miss Brooks, or shall we proceed to your evaluation?”
I simply nod again.
