Falling Into You: The Complete Naughty Tales Series

by Nicole Elliot

  “How’s her concussion?”

  The darkness sucked me under before I could hear anything else. The panic in Dean’s voice broke my heart. I could remember getting in my car. I could remember being excited about going to see him. I could remember pulling out into the road.

  But I couldn't remember anything else.

  It was dark. Too dark for my liking. I always needed some sort of light. That’s why I left my curtains open at night. The only time I could handle the dark was when Dean’s body was against mine. I could sleep in the dark so long as he was there. And sometimes, he was. I’d come to from my darkened dream-state and feel him holding my hand. Feel him caressing my cheek. Feel him massaging my legs and moving my joints and making sure I didn’t develop bedsores. I knew I was in the hospital. And I knew it was bad. Moments of searing pain shot through me sometimes whenever Dean moved me, and I tried so hard to talk to him. To signal to him. To move something to get his attention.

  It was like being present in my body but not having control.

  And I didn’t like not having control.

  After I lost my parents, my need for control grew. Became greater than I could’ve ever imagined. And that's probably why my career skyrocketed the way it did. Controlling a model’s movements and controlling the tempo of the fashion shows and helping to control the model’s frames of mind during rehearsals… I craved it. Longed for it. Woke up just to be able to do it again. It made me feel powerful. Strong. Purposeful in my actions. I couldn’t save my parents and I couldn’t hold onto Grace and Emilia when they got married to the loves of their lives.

  Everyone slipped away eventually, so control was all I really had.

  Until now.

  “You need to wake up, okay sweetie?”

  Emilia.

  Is that why my room smells so good? Oh, I love your flowers. They’re the best.

  “You need to wake up and stop giving this sweet man at your side such a heart attack, okay?”

  I felt Emilia slip her hand into mine, but I couldn't squeeze. I couldn't hold it back. Fuck. Why couldn’t I move?

  “I’ll be back with some more flowers tonight, okay? Your favorite. Tulips and carnations. Such an odd combination. But you’ve always been an odd one, Ivy.”

  I felt something wet fall to my skin.

  Was Emilia crying?

  Don’t cry. Please. You’ll make me cry.

  But even though sorrow hung heavily in my chest, nothing happened. No watery eyes. No shaking hands. No weakening of my legs. Nothing.

  It was like my emotional state was completely disconnected from my physical state.

  I slipped back into the darkness and there was nothing. No dreams. No sounds. No laughter. No presence. Just a dark expanse of nothing that rattled around in my body. I hated it. I couldn't stand it. I wanted to sit up in bed, rip the I.V.’s from the tops of my hands, and get back home. Get back to Dean. I wanted to throw myself at him and strip him down. Kiss him everywhere and make him beg for me. I wanted to feel like a woman again in his arms. I wanted to force him to love me the way I knew only he could.

  Dean.

  Where was Dean?

  I needed Dean.

  I felt a hand slip into mine before something warm fell against my cheek. I wanted to turn my head. Turn my lips into the familiar sensation. There he was. My Dean. My precious, strong, entrancing Dean. I tried to move. Tried to speak. Tried to open my eyes.

  Fucking move, you dumbass hand!

  “I don’t know if you’re in there, Ivy.”

  I’m right here, Dean! I swear! Just… fuck!

  “I don’t know much of anything right now.”

  You know me. You know me so well, Dean. I’m right here. I haven’t left. I promised you I wouldn’t leave you. I haven’t left you.

  “It’s been two weeks…”

  What?

  “Saying that just… hurts, Ivy.”

  I’ve been in this hospital for two weeks?

  “I’ve been doing some research. Studying up on comas and things like that. There are many theories that talk about how outside stimuli can sometimes provoke an internal response. You know, re-hardwiring of the brain and such.”

  That’s it, Dean. Use that glorious mind of yours. Help me get out of this and I swear to God, once I wake up you’ll never be left alone again.

  “They say the best thing is to read to someone. To find a book and just, start reading. Would you like that?”

  I would love that.

  “I um… I have to work. I… have a shift.”

  Don’t go. Please don’t leave me. I’m scared, Dean. And I’ve never admitted that to anyone before. But I’ll admit it to you. I want to admit everything to you. How you make me feel. How I perceive myself when I’m around you. How you light up my life in ways I never thought possible.

  “I don’t want to leave you.”

  Then don’t. Fuck ‘em. Do what you want, Dean.

  And then, the darkness swept me under again.

  I felt exhausted. Torn. The pain was getting better, but I wasn’t. I knew that, and I couldn’t tell anyone. I could hear the pain in Dean’s voice, but I couldn't take it away. I heard my doctors and nurses talking around me, rattling off words I didn’t understand, and I couldn’t even ask them to explain themselves. The darkness was thick, and I felt more disconnected than ever. More out of control than I could ever explain.

  I needed sleep.

  I felt so tired.

  Two weeks of fighting. Two weeks of screaming in my mind. Two weeks of lying helplessly in a bed with my hips aching and my legs cramping and my body healing. But I couldn't fight any longer. I didn’t have the energy to. Every time I fought, the darkness swallowed me whole. Like it was trying to prove a point. Prove that it was stronger than me. And usually, I fought back. I showed my ass and beat it to the punch no matter how much of me it took.

  But maybe this time I couldn’t fight.

  Maybe this time, it would take all of the strength in me to succumb to the power of the darkness around me.

  Is that what was necessary?

  Did I just need to… let go?

  I didn’t know if I was dying. Everyone always said their loved ones knew when they were dying. My parents knew when they were dying. But I didn’t know. I didn’t think I was dying. I didn’t feel like I was dying. So maybe my body hadn’t given up on me yet. But continuously fighting with myself would get me nowhere. If I was conscious-- if I could move-- the doctor’s number one recommendation would be to rest. To take off work and sleep and recuperate.

  So maybe I needed to do that anyway.

  Maybe I needed to relinquish the control I was trying to fight for and succumb to the darkness.

  Maybe the darkness wasn’t something to be afraid of. Maybe it had healing properties I didn’t know about. Maybe the darkness wasn’t some looming entity in the distance that threatened my life, but a healing pool of navy blue I refused to see through my own biased lens. I’d attributed darkness to bad, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe darkness wasn’t good or bad. Merely a state someone had to get through in order to come out of the other end.

  And if I refused to delve into the darkness, I wouldn't be able to come out on the other end.

  “She’s completely unresponsive, Doctor Anderson.”

  “Isn’t there anything we can do?” Dean asked.

  “We can keep her comfortable. She’s already been transferred. But at this point, that’s all we can do.”

  “There has to be something else.”

  “There is nothing else, Dean.”

  “There has to be something else!”

  I couldn’t take it any longer. Dean’s frustration. My frustration. The doctor’s solemn words. I refused to believe them. I refused to believe I was beyond all hope. No one was ever beyond hope. If there was anything I believed, it was that. No one was ever beyond the scope of help, myself included. I had no idea how I was going to get my body to do what I wanted it to do again, but
I was certain as to what I had to do.

  What my body needed from me.

  I imagined myself folding my arms across my chest. Standing at the side of a dark pool of sludge that kept reaching out for me. My hands were shaking and I felt my panic attack rising again. It was hard to breathe and tears streamed quickly down my cheeks and my neck. Never in my life had I experienced such fear. Such hesitancy. Such isolated anger. I felt a tendril of sludge wrap around my waist as I flexed my toes upwards, allowing my body to fall back.

  Back into the pool of sludge.

  Back into the darkness I’d feared for most of my life.

  Back into a section of my life I refused to entertain because it meant spiraling out of control.

  I felt myself falling. Sinking. Drowning. I felt the sludge wrapping around my body and covering me until I could no longer see anything. It was warm. Hot. Sizzling with energy. The voices of my doctor and of Dean faded into the background and I was dragged under once again. Only this time, I wasn’t standing on the edge. I wasn’t gazing off into the horizon. I wasn’t cooped up in my apartment as I looked over the endless expanse of an oncoming storm.

  I was adrift in the middle of it. Suspended in the thick of it. Surrounded by the crashing sludge as it poured down my throat and choked off my own air supply.

  And instead of fighting the panic, I let it wash over me.

  I let the darkness I’d been so afraid of finally take hold of my mind.

  If this was the only way to get back, I would do it. If this was the only way to see Dean again, I would do it. If this was the only way to heal, then I would do it.

  Anything, if it got me my life again.

  Anything, if it got me Dean again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dean

  A neurology bed was above my pay grade, but it’s what Ivy was eventually moved into. I wasn’t technically her doctor any longer, but I’m not really sure if I ever was. I still had access to her files, so on my breaks during work I was checking up on her. Taking a look at her vitals. Reviewing her blood tests. Sitting with her and waiting.

  Every day, Emilia brought flowers to her room. And on the days Emilia wasn’t working, I went into the flower shop and got them myself. We became pretty close. She’d deliver flowers just before her lunch break, then she’d sit and talk with Ivy. Tell her about Tristan and how the flower shop was going. How wedding season was kicking their ass and how she couldn't wait for Ivy to wake up. Apparently, Ivy volunteered her time to come in during the week when she could to help cultivate the flowers in the back.

  I learned so many things about Ivy listening to those conversations.

  I learned that she was the propelling motion behind Grace taking another shot with Hayden. I learned she gave a lot of advice to Emilia during midnight phone conversations after her and Tristan had fought. I learned she wanted a family. As many children as she could possibly have so if something ever happened to her, they wouldn’t be alone.

  I learned so much about this woman, and it reminded me of how little I knew about her.

  I worked a double-shift before I finally got off work. One of our doctors called in sick, and I was the first to jump in and offer my time. It meant being around Ivy more. Being able to check up on her more. Because I couldn't call in and get status updates like regular family, because I wasn’t. I felt that it was my job. My responsibility. Ivy was lying in that bed because of me, and she had dear friends of hers that wanted to know how she was doing. So I used all the strings I could pull to always get updated information, then I would call each and every one of them to update them on Ivy’s condition.

  But lately, not much was changing.

  “I brought a book,” I said as I sat down beside her. “I thought you might like it. It’s not as heart-pounding as the one we just finished, and I figured it would be a nice break from all the mystery and mayhem.”

  I looked into Ivy’s face, taking in her pale skin. The rhythmic beeping of the monitors were the only sounds that filled the room. Sounds I wished would die away so I could imagine her voice in my head. I leaned back into the chair and crossed my leg over my knee. I tried to seek solace within the flowers that littered Ivy’s room. Tulips and carnations and daisies and daffodils. Roses and lilies and orchids in every color imaginable. The room felt vibrant and alive, and I wished Ivy would open her eyes, so she could see it. So she could smell it.

  So she could take it all in.

  I looked down at the book in my lap and the first paragraph broke my heart. I really thought Ivy was the one. The woman I was meant to be with for the rest of my life. And now, there was a chance she would never open her eyes again. Never experience her career again. Never take in the sight or smell of flowers again. This book was going to be a hard one to read. If the first paragraph was any indication of how this book would go, then I was in for an emotional ride.

  “I never should’ve looked her way,” I began. “I never should’ve smiled at her or asked her for her name. Looking back on it, I never should’ve even gone into that coffee shop. I should’ve stayed home, made my own cup, and wallowed in my own self-pity. But something dragged me out of the house that day. A tug in the pit of my gut guided me to that coffee shop. And the second I set my eyes upon her, I was done. My life was no longer my own and my spirit was no longer alone. I’d found my second half. I’d found the woman for me. And as she ordered her double-nonfat mocha cappuccino and grabbed her chocolate chip cookie, I took her in. Because I wanted to remember that moment fully. I wanted to remember the moment I met my wife.”

  I stopped myself in my tracks and gathered my thoughts. No. I couldn't read this book to her. I needed another one. Any other book besides this one. I closed the front cover and shut my eyes, trying as hard as I could to keep my emotions at bay. Forever Thine. That was the name of the book. It should’ve given the subject of the book away, but in that moment in the store down the road I hadn’t thought about the subject. Or the summary on the back. Or the trajectory of the book.

  All I thought about was that tug I felt towards its cover. The plain navy blue hardback cover with the letters of the title impressed in gold lettering. The cover didn’t stand out. The author’s name was unknown. It was just a book on a shelf that didn’t attract anyone or anything. There were no pictures. No dedications. Just a title and a story hidden within the walls of the book.

  Maybe that was why I was drawn to it.

  Maybe that was why my hand plucked it off the shelf.

  Because it seemed to be a metaphor for how I’d lived my life.

  Isolated. Unintriguing. Alone.

  “I wish I could be stronger,” I said with a whisper.

  Tears flooded my vision as I looked back up into Ivy’s pale, sunken-in face.

  “I wish I could be stronger for you,” I said. “I wish I could take your place, Ivy. Put myself in that bed instead of you. You’re there because of me. You’re there because of my want to see you. A joke between the two of us that went way too far.”

  I dabbed at the corners of my eyes before they dripped onto the book in my lap.

  “I’m the one who should be in that bed, not you. You bring such a light to this world, and I feel it lacking with your eyes not open. I miss the music of your voice and the timbre of your words. And all I’m asking you to do is wake up, Ivy. Wake up. I can do the rest. This hospital can do the rest. Anything you need to recuperate, I’ll get you. Anything you need to make yourself feel comfortable again, I’ll provide. Just wake up. Wake up, Ivy. That’s all you have to do.”

  A desperate plea from a desperate man. That was what I was. Desperate. I looked up towards the door and watched one of the nurses come in, and the look she gave me was nothing short of pathetic. I knew that look. I’d given it to so many families of so many patients. It was the ‘I’m so sorry’ look mixed with the ‘I know what’s coming’ look. The nurse didn’t even think Ivy would wake up. And that thought scared me. The nurses in this hospital were always so op
timistic. Always so caring and loving and bubbly.

  So if the lifeline of this hospital didn’t think she would wake up, what hope did I have?

  What hope did Ivy have?

  My hands trembled around the book as I looked back down at it. What did I have to lose by reading this to her? I had nothing else. No other choices. I was out of all the options and left with only the research I’d done in my spare time when I couldn't sleep.

  Sleep.

  What was that again?

  I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose.

  I scooted the chair over to the side of the bed and took Ivy’s hand. Her skin was cold. Her touch was lifeless. I massaged every joint in her hand, bending and moving everything as it cracked underneath the ministrations. I worked up her fingers. Up her wrist. Up her entire arm. I stood to my feet and moved around to the other side of the bed and did the same thing with the other side of her body. I moved to the foot of her bed, wiggling each toe and massaging the bottoms of her feet. I worked my way up her calf. Her thigh. Moving every joint and making sure her muscles didn’t stiffen or atrophy. A nurse came in to help me. To move the joints that were closer to areas she might not want me to be. I steadied her torso while the nurse moved and flexed her hip joints.

  Then, we turned her over onto her side so I could massage her back.

  No muscle was left unattended. No muscle was untouched by either myself or the nurse on duty. We slowly lowered her back to the bed before I knelt onto the side of it, then my fingertips worked behind her neck. I slowly rolled her head, making sure not to tangle myself up in her tubes. I massaged her scalp and ran my fingers through her soft tendrils, and flashes of our time together came racing back to my mind.

  Her curves.

  My hands upon her hips.

  Our lips connected.

  Her glorious smile while we shopped and decorated my apartment.

  I removed my hands from her. All of the memories were too much for me to bear. I smoothed her hair away from her face before I sat back down, my hand threading back into hers. I placed my forehead against the edge of the bed as the nurse left the room, and the heaviest sigh I could’ve conjured fell from my lips. My life felt empty again. There was a hole in my heart I couldn’t describe. Ivy had touched a part of me that had been dead and gone for so many years, and the aching I felt in the pit of my gut make me nauseous.