by Zoey Derrick
"I know that's not the case," he says, cutting me off.
I finally look at him. His hair is slicked back in the same way it’s been the other times I’ve seen him. His eyes are blue and warm, and there is a half smile playing at his lips. He’s looking down at me, making me feel small at five feet, two inches. He has to be at least six feet tall. Broad shoulders. His suit today is gunmetal gray with blue or black pinstripes — I can’t tell which. His shirt is a beautiful lavender color with a darker purple tie.
"How do you know I'm not an addict?" I ask softly.
He smiles at me, warm, genuine. "Because you've come to return the tip money I left you last night."
My jaw falls open. "How" — I swallow hard — "did you know?"
His smile fades a little. "Why else would you come down here?"
I close my mouth and look down at the floor. He says it almost as if my being here is unwelcome, but he has a point and his ability to read me is really scary.
"Since you haven't eaten since last night, I'm going to take you to lunch."
I feel my face flush bright red, both in anger and complete irritation. "That is not why I'm here. I've survived my entire life fending for myself, I don't need some rich, hot-shot businessman buying me food."
I reach into the pocket of my bag and pull the folded-up paper from it. I thrust it toward him. He refuses to take it. Tears of frustration trickle down my cheeks. "Damn it, Mikah, take it." I push it at him again, and again he refuses. "I'm not a damn charity case. I don't need your money or your food."
The bell chimes. We’ve finally reached the skyway. As soon as the doors open, I drop the folded-up paper with his money in it, bolt from the elevator and turn left, hoping and praying I can get away.
"Vivienne, stop," I hear him say behind me. I keep going, walking quickly but not running. Yet. I'm trying hard to not make a scene.
But he doesn’t seem to care about that. He catches me quickly. Spins me around. I grab hold of his arm so I don't go sprawling onto the floor.
My stomach, on the other hand, has its own agenda. I cover my mouth quickly as my eyes dart around, looking for a restroom or at the very least a trashcan. I spot a trashcan about ten feet away.
I try in vain to free myself from his grip. "Damn it!" I bark at him. "I'm goin—" I swallow back the bile that's rising up my throat. "Throw up," I whisper. His grip immediately loosens on my arms and I dart to the trashcan.
He's there in an instant, pulling back my hair so that I don't vomit on it. Due to the empty state of my stomach, it doesn't last long, and I slink to the floor against the wall, drained and exhausted. Resting my head against the wall, I close my eyes. I feel a cool hand against my cheek and I flinch. A completely involuntary reaction.
"You should really go to the hospital," he says quietly as he pulls his hand back.
"For what? Ain't nothing they can do."
"In less that twenty-four hours, I've watched you faint and now vomit into a trashcan. You need to go to the hospital."
Oh for fuck’s sake. "Damn it, Mikah, no. I don't need to go to the hospital. I'm pregnant, not diseased."
A harsh growl comes from between his lips. Thank God. Nothing scares a man away like the words I’m pregnant. I stand up, ready to try to leave again, knowing full well that he won’t follow me this time.
I catch one last glimpse of his beautiful face. "Goodbye, Mikah," I say and take a step away from him.
SEVEN
I'm finally able to make it to the skyway and cross over to the next building. I follow the signs to an elevator and push the down button. A few other people join me in waiting.
I hear Mikah's voice talking to someone. "She went this way. You can't miss her – she has bright red hair, long, down to the small of her back."
I sink down into the crowd a little bit. The people around me are very pointedly staring at me. It's obvious that they know he's talking about me.
"Damn it, Vivienne," I hear him say, farther away this time.
Finally the elevator arrives. I'm quick to jump in. The rest of the little crowd follows behind me and I push G for ground level. Please, let me get out of here and on the bus before he catches up to me.
It takes but a few moments before the doors are opening on the first floor. As soon as they do, I see Mikah across the lobby, frantically looking for me. I draw my hood up over my head, hoping it’ll hide my red hair. But it's a pretty day outside, and the hood may draw more attention. Damn it. I look to my left and spy an exit. Phew – I can slide that way and avoid him.
I put my head down and start moving along swiftly. All of a sudden I hear a man shout, "Blake!" followed by a whistle and the snapping of fingers far too close to me. I speed up.
I’m almost to the exit when a hand wraps around my upper arm. The grip is hard, painful. As he spins me around my hand comes up reflexively, hard and fast, and connects with his cheek.
"Shit!" he spats as his head snaps to the left with the impact of my hand. "Damn it, Viv, don't fight me."
"Jesus, Mikah, I'm—I didn—" I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes as I watch him rub his cheek. Regret fires through my heart as I realize that coming here was a really bad mistake. The tears spill over and I try to pull away from him.
"Hey, it's alright. I took you by surprise." He pulls me back toward him and wraps his arms around me.
I come completely unglued. Tears begin streaming, hot and heavy, down my cheeks as he cups me against his chest. Embarrassed by my lack of self-control, I push against him, trying to pull myself out of his arms.
"Vivienne, please, it's alright. Don't run."
The tears come even harder, stealing what little strength I had to begin with, and my legs begin to shake.
I give in to his embrace. It's strangely comforting being in his arms. I feel safe and protected, like nothing I've ever felt before.
With his hand over my left ear and my right pressed tight against him, I can't make out what he's saying, but I can feel the vibrations of his voice. He lifts his hand and says very gently, "I'm going to pick you up."
"No...no, no, no," I whine, but my protest is weak, and he ignores me. Sweeping me up off my feet, he walks through the doors I had been trying to get out of and onto the street. "Please, put me down."
"Not a chance, sweetheart. Not a chance." He shakes his head. "Not until we're in the car."
"Car? What car? No. Mikah, stop. I have to go to work." My protest falls upon deaf ears. I hear a car door open, and Mikah gracefully slides in. It's not until I'm inside that I realize that we're in a limousine. I want to protest more, but I know full well I'm going to lose the argument.
Then panic sets in. I don’t like being locked into such a tight space. My body starts to shake again, harder than before, as my panic level rises.
"Hey." He pulls back to look at me. "Vivienne, what's the matter?"
I slip out of his grasp and crawl down onto the floor of the car. My teeth chatter, I'm shaking so bad. "T-t-tight...s-space. Claustro...ph-ph-phobic. Too...dark," I finally manage to say as images of the hot dark closet I’d spent several days in swirl inside my mind.
"Red, hit the lights and windows."
"Yes, sir."
Suddenly light floods into the limo and I can feel a cool breeze flowing in from outside. The shakes reduce to a slight tremor.
Mikah leans forward on the bench seat, almost as if he is going to join me on the floor. He reaches out for my arm and I flinch away at the contact. He hesitates momentarily then tries again. This time I don't flinch, and he begins to gently rub my arm. I find myself soothed by the caress.
"Why are we in a car? Where are we going?" I finally manage to ask.
"We're in the car because I want some privacy with you. We'll stay here until you're ready to go. Then I'm taking you to H.C.M.C."
I stiffen and pull away from his hand. I slide back against the bench opposite him and pull my knees to my chin, steeling myself.
"No. I told you, no hospital."
<
br /> He reaches out toward me, but I shy away and he stops. "I just need to know that you're alright. Okay?" He looks down at me. His eyes are comforting, warm. "Please, Vivienne?" His voice is pleading, but not insistent. A hint of desperation.
My heart starts to pound and my skin tingles. I look away from his face, not wanting to see his reaction to what I’m about to tell him. I know what I will see and I can't stand the sight of pity in someone’s eyes when they look at me. But he has to know why taking me to the hospital wouldn’t help me.
"If I go to the hospital, I will lose my job because Bartie is an ass-hat and he won’t care where I am. I'm malnourished. My blood sugar is low, and I have high levels of anxiety. There, sir, is your diagnosis. And you know what they will do? They will run a battery of tests on me that I can't afford just to tell me everything I've just told you. Then they’ll tell me that I’m not taking proper care of myself. That I should eat regularly and get plenty of rest, which are completely unreasonable expectations given my circumstances. They will make me feel shitty and useless. Then they will send me home to a closet-sized apartment with no food, a half-ass thing the landlord calls a mattress, and no way to pay my rent or buy what little food I have been able to afford because I will be without a job. So what’s the point?"
I don't need to look at him to be able to gage his reaction. "Mikah, I work shit hours at a shit job for shit pay. I live in an overly shitty apartment and have no means of changing that fact anytime soon. So this is me, who I am. You're just going to have to deal with the fact that you can’t save me." I start crying again, completely out of control.
"Jesus, Vivienne, why won’t you let me help you?" His voice is soft, sincere and - more than anything - sad.
"Because! You have more important things to do than worry about some poor, pathetic, pregnant chick who works at a diner you stumbled into the other night. I've already told you — I've made it on my own, I will continue to make it on my own. Just like I always have. Please, Mikah.... Please respect that," I plead with him.
"I...Vivienne, I can't. I respect you for everything you've done, but you need more than you can provide for yourself. It's not just you that you need to worry about. I want to help you. And your baby." He takes a long, deep breath.
Guilt floods through me as I take in his words. "If I go to the hospital, get checked out, will that be enough for you? Will you walk away when I'm done?" I plead.
"I can't promise that."
"Damn it, why not? Mikah, you don't even know me."
"Vivienne Alison Callahan. Born September second, nineteen ninety, Boston Hospital. Born to mother Rebecca Callahan, father unknown."
I lift myself up onto the leather seat of the bench I’ve been leaning against to put as much distance between us as I can manage.
"Do you want me to continue?"
I shake my head. "Just because you know those facts does not mean you know me or who I am.” Good God, he went digging for my history. Why would he do something like that? “You've known me less than three days. How on earth were you able to find that out?"
"I'm not sure you really want me to answer that." I glare at him. "When you flinched away from me after you fainted, I took off because...because..." He looks away from me. "Because I was afraid we would end up in this situation. In a car, heading to the hospital, with you feeling as though I'd trapped you in here."
My heart clenches tight.
"Please, Vivienne. Do this for me? There are reasons that I can't explain. It's not pity or charity. It's..." He pauses and looks back toward me. His eyes are warm, sincere. "It's a need that I don't understand. So please, let me help you."
"I..." I take a long, ragged breath.
"I understand your pride, your determination. Hell, I even admire it. But don't you think it's time you deserve a break? You deserve a chance to step back and take a break. Please, Vivienne, let me help you."
"Alright. I'll go," I say. I feel exhausted, emotionally drained. I barely register the fact that the car is in motion, but we're moving.
I realize deep down that he's right. I need to get checked out — at least for the baby’s sake, if not my own — and honestly this might be the only way.
EIGHT
I'm brought out of my reverie when I hear Mikah shift in his seat. I look out the window and see the hospital as we pull into the parking lot. He leans forward and grabs my hand. This time I don't flinch away from him; I let his fingers slide in between mine.
"Come on. Let’s go have you checked out." He smiles at me as the car comes to a stop. Tiny crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes, and I can tell that the smile is genuine.
"So can I say now that hospitals terrify me?"
His door opens and he starts to climb out. "Yes, you can tell me. But one of the biggest differences between your other trips here and this one is that you're not alone."
I can’t believe I've agreed to let him take care of me. I'm not entirely sure what this is all going to imply, and it scares the hell out of me. I've taken care of myself since I was about six and my mother could no longer care for me.
When we enter, Mikah walks straight up to the nurse at the emergency care registration desk. "Mr. Blake. What can we do for you today?"
My heart sinks. They know him? How many other girls has he brought here?
"It's not me. Ms. Callahan is in need of some medical attention. She fainted last night." I roll my eyes. "Can we have her checked out?"
"Certainly. Ms. Callahan, why don't you follow me?" I look at Mikah, who is smiling reassuringly at me. I glare at him.
"What?" he mouths.
"Have you done this before?" I hiss.
“Done what? Come to this hospital?”
"Brought some lonely, practically homeless chick here?"
The shock that crosses his face tells me that I've said something offensive to him. "No, Vivienne, I don't go around preying on fainting, helpless women. I am the majority shareholder of this hospital."
My jaw clenches. Oh. But my pride won’t let my anger fade so easily. "I'm sorry," I say, looking stonily into his eyes.
"You know, for being as small as you are, you put up one hell of a fight." He laughs a little. "Come on." He tugs at my hand, pulling me toward the nurse.
Twenty minutes later, I'm tucked into a room and getting into an open-back hospital gown. The cold material touching me makes me realize that I’m super sensitive, a live-wire. It reminds me of getting sick, when my skin is achy from catching a cold.
I lie back against the cold mattress and pull the blankets up to my armpits as Mikah enters. Suddenly I’m exhausted. My eyes feel like sandbags. Mikah takes a seat in the chair next to the bed, and I slowly close my eyes.
I wake up a few minutes later to the sound of Mikah’s voice. He’s talking to someone. "She fainted last night after eating a meal. Something I'm guessing she hasn't done in some time."
"Why not?" A female voice. "On purpose?"
"No, no. Nothing like that."
"Okay. Well, we will do some blood work. And I recommend an ultrasound. You know this isn’t the first time she's been in here, right?"
Oh, no. I stir in the bed and open my eyes.
"Hi, Vivienne. I'm Dr. Alston." She extends her hand to me.
I try to sit up, but I'm weak with exhaustion. Suddenly there’s a whirring noise and the top half of the bed starts to rise.
"Thanks," I mutter in Mikah's direction.
Then I notice a tugging underneath my gown. I look down at the wires coming out at the neckline. My eyes follow them towards the vitals monitor to my left. Turning my head back towards the doctor I notice the clip on my finger.
I extend my hand to Dr. Alston. "We've met before," I say, hoping Mikah doesn’t ask too many questions.
"Pleasure to see you again. Mikah tells me you fainted yesterday after eating?" I nod. "Can you describe for me how you felt right before?"
"I was irritated,” I said, darting a glance at Mikah. “Then I sto
od, the room spun and I realized that I was falling. The next thing I remember was waking up on the floor."
"Any headache after you fainted?" I shake my head. "Have you been dizzy since then?" I shake my head. "What about vomiting?"
"Twice."
"When?" She's looking from me to Mikah and I don't understand why.
"Once this morning, as soon as I woke up. Then again about an hour ago." I don’t feel the need to add that a nightmare about that abusive asshole of an ex-boyfriend was the reason for my vomiting.
"I spun her around this morning, before I found out she was pregnant, and she vomited into a trashcan in the skyway downtown."
The doctor just nods and writes something else in her notepad.
"I throw up nearly every morning," I add.
"Do you remember about how far along you are?" I shake my head. I’ve tried to forget everything related to the last time I was here. "Okay, here's what we’re going to do. I want to draw some blood and start an IV." My stomach churns at the thought of not one but two needles. "We need to get some fluids and some vitamins in you. Okay?"
I shake my head. "I don't like needles."
"I understand, but it is the fastest, best way to get you rehydrated. I can tell from the bluish veins in your arm that you're very dehydrated. You're also very malnourished. We need to check your blood sugar and run a few other tests. I also want to have an ultrasound done. This way we can take a good look at what stage in the pregnancy you are.” She gestures to my stomach. “Can I take a look first?"
"Does he have to stay?" I ask, nodding in Mikah’s direction. Some things are better done in private.
"I just want to do an external examination, but if you want him to leave..." She looks pointedly at Mikah.
"Vivienne, if it's okay, I'd like to stay." His hand lightly strokes the back of mine. I flinch at the unexpected contact. I look at Dr. Alston.
"Mikah, why don't you give us a few moments alone,” she says. “When I'm done you can come right back in here. Okay?" Mikah shoots a glance at me, then looks back to the doctor.
