Twisted Little Games

by Dee Palmer

  “Babies? If this is a joke, it’s really not fucking funny.” Logan stiffens, and I wince over at the sudden tightening of all my tummy muscles as my guts twist and roll at the doctor’s cruel words.

  “Why would it be a joke?” The doctor straightens to his not so considerable height, but still manages to hold his own against the new wall of both Logan and Atticus shoulder-to-shoulder and fuming. “Perhaps you two gentlemen should step outside and give Miss Parker and I a little privacy.” He turns back to me. His words aren’t making any sense, blood is rushing in my ears so damn loud it’s not helping, and my heart feels like is going to explode. “I’m sorry, Miss Parker. I assumed you had told the father, and I definitely jumped to the conclusion that one of these gentlemen was the father since they haven’t left your side.”

  “I’m not pregnant Doctor. I’ve had a hysterectomy.” My eyes spring with tears and a surge of sorrow chokes the words as I let them out of my mouth.

  “Excuse me? No, that can’t be right.” He briskly shakes his head, a deep line furrows his brow, anger or confusion I’m not sure but he snaps his hand out to retrieve the chart that is immediately being offered to him by one of the students.

  “She had one when she was…” Logan looks at me, pain etching his dark eyes, his jaw clenched, forcing himself to speak on my behalf. I’m sinking, spiralling down. “She was attacked when she was nineteen. She had emergency surgery. The only way to stop the bleeding was to perform a hysterectomy. So whatever tests you’ve done they’re wrong, understand?”

  “I’m sorry Miss Parker, truly I am, only that’s impossible. The tests aren’t wrong. Look.”

  “You’re upsetting her; stop fucking around.” Atticus steps in front of Logan, both men have their fists clenched so I’m not sure who is the calming factor. The doctor is trying his best to diffuse the situation, and all I can do is endure this new level of hell. What I wouldn’t give to hear those words one day when the brutal reality is I never will, never; not in my future and certainly not today.

  “No!…no. Please make it stop.” An unearthly guttural cry escapes from the back of my throat. A pain so deeply ingrained in my soul it rips me apart, something deep inside, something dark and unbearable consumes me. The doctor flips pages of paper over on the chart he’s holding and turns it to face me. Time suspends as my blurry eyes focus for a split second and my world spins out of my control. Two fuzzy images as clear as the constellation on a dark night make no more sense that his ridiculous claim. I can hear my pulse peaking at maximum speed on the monitor in the room. It’s so damn fast, yet it seems to slow to a painful thump-thump in my chest. I close my eyes as every muscle in my body explodes and I scream in silent agony; every fibre, every nerve, every cell in my body is shredded with a seizure to end all seizures.

  “What happened?” I’m asking but my voice sounds a lot like Logan. Oh, it is Logan. Why can’t they hear me? Why is it so dark? Am I dreaming? I want to wake up. I want to know what the hell is happening.

  “We’re not sure.” A female voice, softly spoken, her tone trying to comfort where her words are failing. “She had a seizure. The scan showed she’s had some swelling on the left side of her brain but there’s no damage that we can tell. We’ll know more when she wakes up.”

  “When will that be?” Atticus’s voice I recognise, and I know from the distinct tone he’s worried, the edge is sharp, almost hostile.

  “I’m sorry Mr Kraus, Mr Mathews, I wish I could answer that. She’s had a massive shock, on top of major surgery, her brain has decided to shut down for a bit. She’ll wake when she’s ready.”

  I’m ready…I’m so ready! I can feel tingles up my arms as the nerves try to fire the muscles into action, a wave, a twitch, anything to let them know, I’m ready. Nothing.

  “Can she hear us?” Logan asks, and it kills me that his voice catches. Yes, yes, I can hear you.

  “We don’t know for sure, but its standard practice to assume all coma patients can hear, and it certainly won’t do any harm reminding her what she missing by staying asleep.”

  “And the babies, they will be okay while she’s sleeping?” This is my worst fucking nightmare, but at least they are asking the questions I want to hear the answers too, just as much as they do.

  “We are keeping a close eye on them, but they are strong. She’s taken good care of them so far even if she didn’t know it. They will be fine. They simply need their mother back.”

  “They’re not the only ones,” Logan says.

  The nurse replies, and I can almost hear her swallow down her own sad take on this sorry situation. “Quite.”

  Her footsteps fade, and all I can hear is the steady beep of the heart monitor.

  Wait, don’t go! What babies? How the fuck am I pregnant if I don’t have a womb? Wake the fuck up, Tia!

  I’m screaming at myself, frustration and fear suffocating my fragile breaths. I’m awake. I can feel it. I can hear them, I’m cognisant enough to ask questions I desperately want answered, but my useless fucking body is holding me hostage. The irony is thick, I survived a life threatening stab wound, massive blood loss, and a castle collapsing on top of me but this silent impotence, this is what’s going to kill me.

  “Shhh baby…shhhh.” Two different voices are at my face, their hands holding mine and their loving touch indistinguishable from each other. This might be a fresh hell, but with them here at least I’m not alone. I sigh and feel the calming wave of their nearness wash over me.

  “Well, that answers that question. She can definitely hear us,” Atticus says, his warm mouth presses to my cheek, his lips curve against me in a barely there smile.

  I can feel you too.

  The bed shifts again as they both lie either side of me. They must be balanced right on the edge or this is the world’s biggest hospital bed. I smile. God I hope I smile because their touch feels so good. I can feel strong hands trace like feathers across my cheek, around my ears, and boop my nose. “Can’t you, princess? You can hear every word. Can you feel this too?”

  His lips press softly against mine, and a tear trickles from my eye, down my face, along the juncture of our lips and seals the kiss.

  Yes…yes I can.

  “You can can’t you?” Atticus breaks the kiss when Logan speaks, and fresh lips replace the salty kiss that Atticus and I shared.

  Wake the fuck up, Tia! I want to shake the life back into me. Look what you’re missing, lying here like a useless sack of crap. Wake the fuck up and participate!

  It’s been a three weeks since I closed my eyes and decided not to wake up. I didn’t make that decision, my brain did, and I fucking hate my brain right now. This is like purgatory. I know it’s been a whole three weeks because Atticus and Logan tell me each day. They change my clothes, wash me, talk to me and each other. Play chess across the bed and make me howl with laughter and frustration. I don’t move a muscle but they know they affect me. I blush at their banter, my heart rate rockets making the monitor I’m attached to spring to life when they touch me, and at my lowest points I cry a single tear every once in a while.

  Atticus has been doing my exercises and threatening all kinds of kinky treats if I just open my eyes. I’ve opened them a hundred times over in my head but the blackness surrounds me like a thick winter coat on bright summer day, irritating and unnecessary.

  “How is she?” Logan asks his voice is filled with misplaced optimism.

  “Sexy as fuck and stubbornly refusing to wake up and give me head.” Atticus retorts.

  “I thought you were supposed to be the classy one.”

  “I’ll cry out ‘God save the Queen’ when I come if that makes you feel better,” he quips.

  “You not mentioning anything to do with sex and my girlfriend would make me feel better.” Logan growls, but I can hear the seriousness in his tone is missing its edge.

  “My girlfriend.” Atticus clarifies.

  “Our girlfriend.” Logan offers, and in my mind’s eye, I can see the
wickedly wide grin stretching his perfectly soft lips when he agrees. Wait, that’s not my minds eye, that is my actual eye. I blink rapidly and the bright light hurts but I relish the pain. I’m eager to take in the vision before me. Atticus has placed my good leg back and walks around to the end of the bed where Logan is looking at what I assume is my chart.

  “I wish I understood all this crap.” Logan flips a few pages up and lets them flutter back. He replaces the board at the end of my bed and wanders over to the window. Atticus follows and I can’t help smiling at the easy way they seem to be with each other. There’s certainly no visible tension, stiff body language or even much distance as they stand almost shoulder to shoulder regarding the same view. It’s so very strange, and I can’t help watching the spectacle for a little while longer.

  “She’s in good hands and when I get her home she’ll be in even better hands.” Atticus pats Logan’s shoulder, and Logan snorts out a flat, humourless laugh.

  “Get her home? What makes you think she’s going home with you?”

  “Because I can take care of her. It’s a large flat and will be easier for her to get around on one level until she’s fully recovered.”

  “I can take care of her too and trust me, she’s going to want to come back to our home.” Logan emphasises the last word, and I can feel his affection for the term like a warm, familiar blanket. Our home. “And honestly Atticus, I don’t think she’s going to give a flying fuck how big your flat is—”

  “She’s coming home with me.” Atticus swings round and squares up to Logan. They are angled slightly away from me so I don’t get the full effect of the standoff, but I can feel the surge of testosterone and anger as it hits the room like a seismic wave.

  “Over my dead body.” Logan grits through his teeth, and all that easy camaraderie from earlier vanishes, and with it, my desire to remain silent.

  “Don’t I get a choice?” My voice sounds as rough as it feels, scratching its way from the back of my throat and out into the small hospital room. It’s barely above a whisper but they heard, and the stunned silence that greets me is unnerving. They are both rooted to the spot and I’m about to pinch myself because I’m worried this might be some drug-induced dream when they both rush across the room. Four strong, sure hands race to touch and caress almost every inch of my body, leaving a wake of tingles and an irrepressible smile on my face. This isn’t a dream; this is heaven.

  “Tia! Tia are you okay?” Atticus’s hand settles on my cheek, his eyes wide, bright blue and piercing into me.

  “Does anything hurt? Can you feel this?” Logan’s hands sweep the length of my legs, skimming my torso with lightning speed until his thumb and finger stop on my arm and he secures enough flesh to pinch.

  “Ow! Yes, I can feel that.” I flinch away as much as my limited mobility will allow.

  “And this.” Reassured by my smile and reaction, Logan uses his fingers to hone in on more sensitive spots, with a mix of tender strokes and teasing tickles. At the same time, he moves close enough to press his lips to my cheek and Atticus does the same.

  “Yes…yes.” I giggle-sigh as I’m peppered with a dozen kisses over every part of my exposed neck and cheeks. I feel dizzy and adored and in no rush for them to ever stop, but they do.

  “I’ll get the doctor. This is great!” Logan beams at me and pushes himself upright. He steps back from my side and is about to turn away when I shake my head, wiggle the fingers of my hand in the cast and motion for him to come close again.

  “Wait! Wait, Logan, please don’t go.” He is instantly at my side before I finish my sentence, concern etched on every tired line on his brow and around his dark eyes. “Can you give us a minute before they start with more tests? I’m okay; I just need a minute,” I explain, and some of the worry seems to lift when his shoulders drop. He lets out a deep breath, nods, and flashes a knowing smile filled with relief.

  “Of course. Would you like some water?” He perches carefully on the other side of the bed.

  “Yes, that would be great, my throat feels like I’ve been chewing on sand for three weeks.” Taking the cue I gave myself, I try to swallow and the raw burn makes my eyes water.

  “You had a tube in there for a while and not speaking for so long is going to affect your speech for a bit.” Atticus explains, taking the cup of water from Logan. Atticus is seated on my good side, with my one free arm and break-free leg. All the same, I’m a little shaky and he helps me steady the glass to my lips, before handing it back to Logan.

  “You sound sexy as fuck, T.” Logan grins suggestively and I cough on the little water I had in my mouth.

  “Yeah, I’m smoking hot in this sexy arse gown, arm and leg in casts, black and blue and…” I pause and smooth my hand over the slight mound on my abdomen unable to finish my sentence.

  “Pregnant.” Logan states and threads his fingers with those of mine that are peeking from the edge of my cast. Atticus shuffles to get a little closer, and taking my hand in his, he encloses both of his firmly over mine. Time seems to freeze as I look at Logan and then Atticus; Atticus then Logan and, they return my gaze like I’m the only person on the planet. No, even that’s a gross understatement. They look at me like I’m the only person in the whole damn universe.

  “It’s true then? How? How can that even be possible?” My voice wavers, not from disuse but from the swell of emotion coursing through me. I draw much needed comfort from their closeness.

  “What actually happened when you were in the prison hospital, Tia?” Atticus asks and Logan nods, clearly wanting the same information. I suck in a deep breath and try to recall. Self-preservation meant I buried it all, deep. It wasn’t anything I ever wanted to think of, so I didn’t. I told Logan about the attack, but what happened after, well, what was the point reliving it through words. It was my nightmare, and I wanted to forget. Now though, everything has changed and its time to delve…deeper.

  “I…I was only semi-conscious after the attack.” I speak after the few long, silent seconds I needed to compose myself. “I had emergency surgery, and when I woke, they told me I had had a hysterectomy.” I swallow, and the pain in my throat is nothing as I recall each agonising revelation as it was told to me. “They said it was the only option to save me. I had lesions and massive internal bleeding. I was told I would always be in agony from the damage so they did what had to be done. I didn’t argue. At the time I was too out of it to take it all in and after, well, what good would it do? It was done. I was in prison and no one cared.” I draw in a stuttered breath, and taking a moment before I can continue, I drink down the comfort and love that surrounds me. I need it. “I had a follow-up consultation with the doctor that performed the operation. It was awful. The doctor was clinical and cold, he wouldn’t even make eye contact. He didn’t explain anything, he orated like he was giving a seminar. I wasn’t a frightened young woman, I wasn’t even a patient, I was a member of his audience. He told me I had one working ovary remaining, which meant I didn’t need to be given any hormone replacement therapy and I would most likely start the menopause in my mid thirties. I might need to take tablets then. He didn’t give me an internal examination, he pressed around my tummy a bit and then signed me off.”

  “You never sought a second opinion when you were released?” Atticus’s tone is incredulous and even sounds accusatory.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong here,” I snap. Tears spring to my eyes, too fat to contain, and flow on to my cheek.

  “Oh god, Tia, I didn’t mean that.” He looks mortified and is quick to soften his tone, but he continues to muse out loud. “It’s just, a major surgery, you’d think you would know your body.” I ease myself back, creating a little space to face him.

  “Can you feel you don’t have an appendix Atticus? I mean, apart from the scar…would you know? Unless you went back for a scan, for all you know your little appendix could be sitting in there this whole time. I was told I had a hysterectomy, why would I question that? My periods were
always light to non-existent, and it wasn’t like I was sexually active. I had no reason to go to a doctor, no reason to doubt what they told me. And regardless, why would anyone lie about giving a nineteen-year-old woman a hysterectomy, least of all a doctor?” The pitch of my voice escalates with every righteous declaration until Logan pulls me back from the brink with his deep, commanding voice.

  “I think I can answer that.” The tears that had started to trickle, now dry with the comforting squeeze of Logan’s hand. “I managed to track down the doctor who performed the phantom hysterectomy.” His jaw pulses, and his thick brows knit together, forming a dark and furious expression. I feel like it should be me confirming him, as he struggles to swallow and force the words out. “He was struck off, sued for gross negligence. There were many victims of his incompetence,” he bites out and roughly runs his hand through his hair, disgust and rage distorting his features. I squeeze as much of his fingertips as I can, and he offers a placatory smile before he continues. “Shortly after you were released, it was discovered he had given thirty-four misdiagnoses and claimed to have performed surgeries when in actual fact he did little more than a D & C. Records were misplaced, partly completed or not filled in at all. On the day you had your surgery there was another lady, Tiara Palmer, and your records were actually combined with hers. It wasn’t until the court case that they discovered you were actually two people.”

  “How was I not told? If there was a court case, wasn’t it in the papers?” I feel sick. I’m not sure if I had much colour to begin with, but I feel it drain from my body.

  “It was in the paper, Tia. I read the papers and must have missed it. All potential victims were sent a letter by the prosecution. Your probation officer said he had forwarded all posts, but you know yourself, you stopped getting mail after the first year. It slipped through the cracks, Tia. I’m so sorry.” Logan’s hands cup my face, and I can see he means every word. He is sorry, like this is somehow his fault.