Surviving the Merge

by C P Harris

“You need me to restore the balance between us,” Damon said. “You need to know that I am the one who does the conquering.”

  My trousers and everything else between met a similar fate. Towering above me, he vowed, “When I’m through with you tomorrow morning.” He paused to lick a trail from my chin to temple. Acknowledging my wide eyes, he confirmed, “Yes, this will take all night. It will be thorough, and it’ll be extreme. When I’m through with you, there will be no doubt in your mind that I would never betray you with another.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Yes, you do,” he said, with a finger against my lips. “I know you, my little lamb. He never meant anything to me. I didn’t know he existed because I was too consumed with you. I couldn’t smell his interest because my nose was so far up in you—literally and figuratively.”

  He gripped my hair, taking a deep inhale from my neck to behind my ear. I shivered involuntarily.

  “You were the only one I saw in that sea of people tonight. I didn’t understand who he was even after he’d said his name. Your soul, your heart, the light that shines from within you is my beacon. It brings me home. Fucking someone else is simply not an option for me. It’s an impossibility. Do you hear me?” His fingers tightened as his passion intensified.

  “Yes.” I swallowed. I felt drugged, as loose as liquid from his words of reassurance. I wouldn’t allow myself to feel bad for needing them. Not tonight. Like Damon said, we’d pick up the pieces after.

  “When I give my loyalty, it’s infinite, and you’ve had it since the day I laid eyes on you. You’ll have it until I’m here no more. I live for you, and I would die for you. Only you.”

  He stepped back, undoing his cuffs and rolling his sleeves up his forearms. It became abundantly clear I would be the only one unclothed. That knowledge made me feel more naked than standing there naked did.

  “When the sun rises, and I have to carry you from this room, up those stairs, and lay you in our bed, you’ll once again know who you are, and whose you are.”

  Hands flexing at his sides, he watched as the drop of clear fluid that pierced through my engorged tip traveled down my shaft. His cock swelled even further along his thigh: so long, so fat. His gaze flicked to mine, and the moonlight glinted off his blown pupils, casting light on his hunger. His need. I quivered. “Please...”

  “Back flat on the wood, arms raised above your head, feet spread flat along the edge,” he commanded.

  “Whose are you?”

  “I’m yours.”

  “And whose am I?”

  “You’re mine.”

  That was the last thing I remembered from that morning, asked of me by Damon as he untied my wrists and ankles from the table.

  Three weeks, two days, and six hours had passed since then. I’d never forget because after the most erotic night of my life, I experienced one of my most terrifying mornings.

  A shrill noise in my ear had startled me out of my sleep. I grunted, sitting up, wondering why I was getting a call at all. Disoriented, I glanced at the clock. After noting the late morning hour, I remembered that Damon and I had not too long ago gone to bed, after having been up all night.

  Damon covered his head with a pillow while I blindly reached out in search of the offending phone. A number I didn’t recognize. “Hello…” I said carefully, instincts screaming at me: this can’t be good.

  “Justin? This is Samantha’s uncle, Norman. She—she’s been in an... ac.. accident along State Route 86. Can you make it to the hospital?”

  “How—how is she?” I asked, throwing the sheet back, searching out anything to wear.

  “Get here as fast as you can, son.”

  I hung up and yelled for Damon.

  We dressed and left in a hurry. The car ride filled with a tense silence. He pulled up to the hospital entrance, and I jumped out of the car before it came to a full stop. Vaguely registering Damon’s muttered curse as I raced through the hospital revolving doors. Sprinting straight for the elevator bank.

  “Excuse me sir... sir... sir, you need to sign in!”

  I threw myself into the awaiting elevator and jammed the button for the ICU floor. Cursing the timer that prevented the doors from closing right away. “Come on, come on, come on.” I paced the small confines and counted down with each beep that indicated I’d passed another floor. My head snapped up at the almost silent ding, and as soon as I was able to, I turned my body sideways and squeezed through the opening. Too impatient to wait for the doors to part all the way.

  Grabbing the arm of the first person I saw in scrubs, I demanded, “Which way to the surgical waiting room?” I was directed down the hall and around the corner.

  I focused on the smell of disinfectant filling my nostrils, the white sterile environment surrounding me, the buzz of the overhead fluorescent lights, and the sound of rubber shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor. I had to. I couldn’t focus on the fact that a hundred feet ahead of me, Sam’s uncle Norman embraced Sam’s inconsolable mother as she questioned God’s reasoning. Her screams filled the corridor.

  My movements had been rapid since getting the call. But now, within reaching distance of my final destination, I began slowing down my steps as if the floor had turned to sludge. I needed to get there quick but was terrified of what news I’d arrive to.

  “Mrs. Bailey…?” I trailed off, unwilling to finish my question. I didn’t have the strength to face the possible answer. Please don’t do this to me, Sam.

  She quieted, tensing at the sound of her name. Raising her head from the crook of Norman’s neck, she registered that it was me and threw herself into my arms. “Justin, why did this have to happen? I don’t understand.”

  I held her, asking myself the same thing. She was supposed to be safely asleep at Max’s

  house. How could he allow this to happen? What... did happen? Norman witnessed the undisguised fear in my eyes. He saw the question that lurked behind my gaze. The one I didn’t want to ask but needed the answer to. I unconsciously squeezed Mrs. Bailey tighter, trying to absorb some comfort, even though she stood shattered.

  “She’s in surgery now,” he said. “She lost a lot of blood, and they had to resuscitate her twice on the way here. The doctors said they couldn’t determine the extent of her injuries until they went in. It doesn’t look good, Justin.”

  “No, she’s strong. She’ll hang on. We’ve got to believe that. We can’t give up on her.”

  “Yes, yes, you’re right. Of course you are,” he said, nodding absently, wringing his hands while looking toward the operating room doors. “I helped raise her, you know. Before her dad died, I promised him I would love her like one of my own.” He gave a watery smile.

  “You kept your promise. She knows that.” I tried to reassure him, but he placed his palm over his mouth and turned away.

  “They’ve been in there for so long, Justin. That has to be a good sign, right?” She looked at me like I had all the answers.

  “It means she’s still fighting. She’s not giving up, and we won’t either.” We all stopped breathing when the doctor came through the OR doors on the opposite side of the room, untying his surgical mask and making his way over to us.

  “Are you the family of Samantha Bailey?” he asked with a somber expression.

  “Yes, I’m her mother, this is her uncle, and this,” she pointed to me, “is her brother.”

  He accepted this despite the obvious. “The crash caused extensive internal damage. We had to remove one kidney and her spleen. There was severe non-arterial bleeding of the liver, so we had to do a procedure called perihepatic packing. In literal terms, this means we had to place padding around the site of the bleeding in hopes of stopping it. We couldn’t close her up all the way because we’ll need to go back in within the next few days, depending on how things go, to unpack it. The most concerning thing is the amount of fluid in her lungs. We’ve implanted a tube to handle most of the draining and also a breathing tube, as she’s unable to breathe on
her own at the moment. There’s heavy swelling to her knee caused by a break of the tibia. We’ve set the bone, but a close eye will be kept on the swelling. She does appear to have suffered some minor trauma to the skull. We won’t know the repercussions of that until she wakes up.

  “The helmet saved her from the worst of it. We’ve done all we can do. It’s up to her now.”

  The ringing in my ears battled with the pressure in my head. It sounded like I was hearing everything from underwater.

  The helmet... she broke her promise. How many times had I begged her to get rid of that bike? Offering countless times to help her get a car. She drove so recklessly.

  She’d told me during the fundraiser that she had to be back in Kisla first thing in the morning. I pleaded with her to take my car, knowing the fog would be thick at that hour in the morning. She promised she would come over from Max’s in the morning to get the key. She promised. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to her. How could she be so selfish? The building trembled, or maybe it was me.

  “Justin.”

  My teeth hammered against one another.

  “Justin…”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to calm my limbs.

  “Justin!”

  My eyes snapped open. I took my first full breath as if breaking the surface of the ocean. Damon stood in front of me with his hands gripping my shoulders. I wasn’t trembling—he was shaking me, trying to get my attention. How long had he been calling my name?

  “I’m... I’m…” I’d lost all feeling in my tongue. It lay heavy on the floor of my mouth.

  “It’s okay, baby,” he said, taking me tentatively into his arms. Awkward at first, but he relaxed in fractions, rubbing circles along my back and whispering that it would be okay. He placed soft kisses atop my head. “I’ve got you.”

  “I can’t lose her, Damon. I can’t.” I balled my fists and beat into his back. My tears collected in the soft cotton of his shirt, and... he held me. A memory resurfaced: Are you saying I have never held you before? Damon had asked one night.

  “I’ll never say it again,” I murmured for my ears alone.

  Ash stormed through the stairwell door with a focused determination in his stride. His lab coat flapped behind him like a cape. He came to a sudden stop, seeing me and Damon on the floor, hugging. “What the hell? I came as soon as I heard.”

  “She was riding that bike in the fog. Damn it, I’m so mad at her.” Releasing Damon, I stalked a few feet away, working both hands through my hair and then entwining them behind my neck.

  “Let me go see what I can find out,” Ash said.

  “The surgeon came out not too long ago and gave us the most updated information.” Shit, I completely forgot about Norman and Mrs. Bailey. Turning on my heels, I spotted them sitting in the waiting area across the hall. Sam hadn’t yet been brought out of the operating room.

  “I’m going to find out the unfiltered version. I’ll be right back.” He left without waiting for a response.

  Sensing Damon behind me, I leaned back into him, seeking his strength. He wrapped his arms around my waist.

  Ashton returned a moment later, but before I could tell him I didn't want the untarnished truth, the OR doors opened, and Sam was wheeled out on a gurney. We moved closer to Norman and Mrs. Bailey in order to get a view of her as they passed. Between the tubes, bandages, masks and machines, all I could make out clearly was her hair. We stood there silently as she moved further and further away from us. It took everything in me to keep it together.

  “The Bailey family?” a nurse inquired. She removed her surgical mask and hair cap.

  “Yes, I’m her mother.”

  “We’re going to get her all set up in a room, and then you can visit with her briefly. We ask that you not talk to her. We have her heavily sedated to keep her asleep. Talking to her may cause agitation.” She saw our mutual concern. “She’s a fighter. We’ll get you guys in there as soon as possible.” She walked off, and I enfolded Mrs. Bailey in my arms.

  A low whine and something nudging at my leg brought my head down. Two sad puppy-dog eyes stared back at me. “Hey, Pluto, what are you doing here?” I knelt down to scratch behind his floppy ears, peering up at Max’s approach.

  “He’s a service dog today,” Max said. “I came as soon as Ash called. I’m so sorry, Justin. She told me she was headed to your house for the car key. I should have known something was up when she insisted on driving around to your house instead of walking through the backyard.”

  “It’s not your fault.” That honor belonged to Sam. Damon watched me like a hawk. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d read my mind.

  I made introductions and filled everyone in on what I knew, the reason why the accident occurred. The mood was somber while we waited for word that we could go in and see her, nearly tripping over each other once we got the okay.

  Machines beeped. Tubes pushed air, fluid, and medication into her body. Tubes pulled fluids out of her body too. Red, yellow, and green neon lines rose and lowered on screens—and a contraption hooked to her finger caused numbers to raise and lower at an alarming rate on a monitor to the right of the bed. Tape held needles in place at the crook of her elbow and the top of her hand. The scariest thing of all was the imposing, whirring ventilator helping her to remain alive.

  Hooked up to so many things we were afraid to get too close. Fearing we would set off alarms or worse.

  No one talked. We had strict orders not to speak, and when Mrs. Bailey became overwhelmed with emotion, she dealt with it out in the hall. Norman too.

  She looked fragile. I wanted so badly to hold her hand. Her hands were just about the only thing visible, and it pained me to think about what she looked like under the layer of blankets and sheets. We were told that the first night out of surgery was the most concerning. If she was stable by tomorrow, they’d start discussing when to go back in to remove the packing around her liver and close her up. Everything else after that would be done in stages: removing the draining tube from her lungs and the breathing tube and bringing her out of her induced sleep. They’d assess the head trauma at that point. The scan didn’t show swelling to the brain, only light bruising. We were told this was good news.

  Damon signaled for me to come with him into the hall. We left Ash and Max to watch over her. “I’m not leaving,” I said defensively as soon as I stepped outside her room.

  “I wasn’t going to suggest you do. Ash was able to get us an empty room on the floor below. I’m sure her mother and uncle will want to sleep in here with her tonight. Max volunteered to run to the house and bring us a few things.”

  “Okay, good. Hopefully, we’ll be able to stay there tomorrow night as well,” I said. His lips thinned. He wanted to disagree with that plan, but before he said anything, I warned him, “Pick your battles, Damon.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, his jaw clenched. Coming forward to kiss my forehead, he gave in. “All right. Whatever you need—but if he can’t get us an empty room, then the topic of going home at least to sleep is back on the table.”

  I leaned back to argue, but he pinched my lips between his thumb and forefinger. “Pick your battles, Justin.”

  He called me by my full name more and more these days.

  A hand came to rest on my shoulder. “You guys go and get some rest. We’re going to settle in with her. I have your number; I’ll call you if anything changes, good or bad,” Norman said.

  I gave in, and I told Max he didn’t have to bother coming back. Ash gave us some scrubs and other supplies from the hospital to get us through until the later hours of the morning. I didn’t predict that I’d be getting any sleep, though.

  Changed, I got onto the small uncomfortable bed and lay on top of Damon. He’d spread his legs to accommodate me. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply at the feel of his rough hands plunging through my loose hair and scraping lightly across my scalp.

  Opening my eyes, I asked, “What’s change
d?” I held his gaze. He got what I meant.

  His fingers stilled for a moment while he took the time to think about his answer. Firmly curling his fingers in my hair, he peered deep into me and said in a hushed voice, “My pain is no longer the biggest thing in the room.”

  Running my fingers along his lower lip, I told him, “I love you.”

  “I know. Now sleep—”

  “But—”

  “Now.”

  I stubbornly rested my head on his chest and allowed his hands to anchor me.

  I didn’t recall dozing off, but the hustle and bustle of hospital activity outside the room door, along with the sun blazing through the window, woke me up. Damon still slept underneath me. I checked my phone. I had a text from Sam's mom, received ten minutes ago.

  Patting Damon’s cheek lightly, he roused. “The doctors are in with Sam. They’ll be providing an update on her condition soon.” I was halfway off the bed when he grabbed me, bringing me back down onto him. “Damon, we don’t have time for this,” I said impatiently.

  “We’ll make time. If there’s one thing we should take away from what happened last night, it’s that life is short. Nothing is too important for me to not take a second after waking up to show you what you mean to me.”

  With that said, he hugged me to him, burying his nose in my hair and inhaling.

  A knock at the door broke us apart. I glanced in that direction to see Ash enter with Pete.

  “Look who I found hassling the front desk to let him up without an adult present.”

  Getting to my feet, we met in the middle of the room. “Pete? How’d you find out?”

  “On the news. I’d recognize that bike anywhere, and they gave a brief description of the rider.” His voice rose as panic set in. “They said she wasn’t likely to survive. Why are they even allowed to say things like that?”

  Tugging him into a hug, I urged him to take deep breaths. “How did you get here?”

  “My bike.” His words were muffled by my shirt.

  Pulling back, I asked, unbelieving, “Your bike?” I didn’t want to hear the word bike again.