by Emerson Rose
I was in the hospital with a virus and a high fever that I couldn’t fight off due to my grief-stricken state after leaving Marcus. Mom and Latoya were there but I felt guilty and sent them home to sleep.
My nurse came in to give me my sleeping pills and that’s it. I can’t remember anything but snippets of being transported in a SUV with a female driver and the strong arms that carried me through a cold storm.
The only thing preventing me from leaping off of this bed is fear. The drugs have worn off; I can wiggle my toes and move my arms but no one is here with me. I guess if you’ve been kidnapped and put on a plane the person responsible isn’t too worried about you getting away. Still, shouldn’t someone be watching me, waiting for me to wake up? Marcus can’t be flying the plane if he is really the one responsible; he was here with me the last time I was awake.
Something inside of me shifts and a strange calm in the middle of this absurdity comes over me. I think it’s my mind protecting me from something awful and sordid. I need to figure this out if for no other reason than to save my sanity, which honestly after all of this might already be gone.
A small door at the end of the cabin opens, interrupting my thoughts. Marcus’s massive body fills the space between the cockpit and the fuselage. I sit up straight and slowly shake my head back and forth refusing to accept what’s going on.
“No, no, this isn’t happening, you did not do this,” I say holding up my hand palm out. He’s frozen, surprised as if he didn’t expect to find me here.
Here… where the hell is here anyway?
I drop my hand into my lap and flop back into a nest of pillows. Every emotion possible twists and tangles inside of me. Anger, betrayal, and oddly relief floods every cell of my body.
The only logical reasons to kidnap a person are ransom or revenge. Now that I know who my kidnapper is, the fear and panic that’s been gripping my soul subsides.
I need to know why. I lift my eyes and find Marcus is still staring at me like he’s waiting for me to make the first move.
“Where are we?” I ask with a trembling voice. I sound afraid and I hate that because I’m not afraid anymore. I am furious. I want to start screaming and never stop. Of all the things he could have done to get me back, he chose an unforgivable trigger like kidnapping.
He’s still standing there staring at me like a deer in the headlights.
“What the fuck is going on, Marcus? Explain to me why I’m in a jet thousands of miles away from the hospital and my family and my home. We were done! That woman was after me, you sent my things back, it was over,” I yell, gasping for breath.
“I. Can’t. Breathe.”
I hold my hands over my ears, squeeze my eyes shut tight and scream.
Maybe, just maybe, if I scream loud enough and close my eyes tight enough this will all go away. I’ll be transported back home with my parents and Red sitting on the couch watching a mindless sitcom on television.
I feel his strong arms circle my shoulders and I thrash and pitifully attempt to fight him off.
“Shush, baby, it’s ok, you’re safe. You’re with me, it’s alright. I’ve got you,” he says, nuzzling his face against my neck while he strokes my hair.
I’m pathetically weak but I continue to struggle like a sick kitten in his hands. I know I’m not making any headway; it’s ridiculous to waste my energy but I’m too proud to give up.
A woman's voice comes from behind him softly asking him a question. He answers her confirming the dosage of a drug I recognize.
I open my eyes to see who the woman is and find my friend and co-worker Courtney standing behind him. She’s pulling medication up into a syringe.
What the hell is Courtney doing here? This has to be a hallucination, none of it makes sense. Before I can ask, she steps around me and injects the drug into my IV tubing. Out of nowhere, I feel the effects of the medication and the pitiful fight I was putting up vanishes like smoke. Marcus lowers my limp body against the pillows.
He places his big, soft hands on either side of my face and rests his forehead against mine with his eyes closed. I wish he would open them so I could read his emotions. I feel the vibration of his voice against my skin but I can’t hear what he is saying. My mind is shutting down, reacting to the tranquilizer Courtney put in my IV.
I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. I can’t focus on his words. His soft lips brushing against mine are the last things I feel before the dark takes me. They don’t know that when they put me out like this it doesn’t keep the nightmares away.
Wrong combination of drugs, you assholes. Now I’ll be stuck inside nightmares that I can’t wake from because of the medication flowing through my veins. This is another form of agonizing torture and captivity, but instead of being trapped inside a house or an airplane, I’m trapped in my mind.
This is the third time in my life that I’ve been taken hostage. I was kidnaped in an alley behind a bar when I was nineteen. A few months ago, a stranger in the ICU of Seattle Trinity Hospital kidnapped the most important part of me, my heart. And now, that same man who is far from a stranger to me now, snatched me from my hospital bed and tucked me away on a jet off to who knows where.
Thirty-Nine
The smell of food cooking fills my nostrils and I roll over tangling my legs in a soft comforter before reality comes rushing back.
I sit up to look around an unfamiliar room, my head spins and nausea hits me hard. Bathroom, bathroom, I need a bathroom now. A door to my right seems like the logical location. I try to swing my legs off the bed but I don’t make it any further than the edge before I vomit onto the grey stone floor. I retch sour bile over and over and tears spring to my eyes.
And this is how he finds me.
My hair veils my face sticking to the beads of cold sweat on my forehead while I clutch the sheets on the edge of the bed.
The man responsible for my current condition, the one I am savagely angry at, approaches reaching out to scoop the damp hair off of my face. I jerk away and he tries to move me back onto the bed.
Never have I known a person to be so completely implacable, he knows no boundaries, no limits.
“Don’t touch me, you kidnapper!” I yell.
His eyes widen and he removes his hands stepping away from me.
“Kidnapper? Imani, you can’t possibly… well, I guess you would believe that, wouldn’t you?”
“Seriously, Marcus, you never thought of that? It never occurred to you that this could be the worst fucking idea ever? Kidnapping and drugging your ex-girlfriend from her hospital bed! You do remember what happened to me, don’t you?” I yell, my voice is cracking and my body is trembling.
He has no idea what he’s done. His forehead wrinkles and he squeezes his eyes shut tight.
It’s time he knew my past, all of it, not just the abbreviated version. I need to make him understand the seriousness of what he’s done and I have to do it now. I take a deep breath, shake my tense arm muscles, release the sheets, and flex my fingers in a monumental effort to calm down and tell him my story.
“Marcus, I need to tell you about my attack. You’ll never understand the enormity of what you’ve done if I don’t.”
He pushes his hand through his thick hair and turns his back on me, pacing a few steps away before returning to his original spot. He shakes his head back and forth and points his finger at me and says decidedly, “Maybe later. I’m going to help you get cleaned up first.”
I sigh heavily and acquiesce. I know him well enough to know that I’ll get nowhere if I oppose him.
“Okay, you can help me clean up but then we talk. It’s the last thing I want to do right now, believe me. I’m so pissed at you you’re lucky I’m weak or I swear I’d find a way to kill you.”
He crosses his arms over his chest and holds his chin with one hand. He regards me silently for a moment like he’s trying to figure out what his next move is going to be.
Without a word, he leaves the room and returns with
a bucket and cleaning supplies. He fills the bucket with hot water in the bathroom and begins to work at cleaning up my vomit but not before I catch the satisfied twitchy smirk he’s trying very hard to hide.
He always gets what he wants and he knew he’d won the fight before it began. No matter how angry I am with him, he knows I’m addicted and it’s only a matter of time before he gets his way.
He hands me several wet wipes from his cleaning caddy. I snatch them from him and without looking at him, scrub the sweat and puke from my face. I hand them back like a child handing their mother their stale gum or a bite of rejected food. His lip twitches and his nose crinkles when he accepts the wad of wipes. He holds them out away from his body when he walks into the bathroom to toss them into a square wastepaper basket.
I watch him gracefully return to the bedside in his bare feet. He is wearing my favorite soft worn out jeans. God, he looks good in those jeans.
It doesn’t dawn on me until I watch him squat down at my feet and begin to scrub the floor that he’s not using crutches anymore.
I’ve never seen Marcus walk without help from crutches. He is more commanding and domineering, if that’s even possible. I’m dying to say something but I know initiating conversation will seem like forgiveness to him and he is far from forgiven, yet.
I’m weak and my stomach is in knots but I still feel that undeniable thread that stretches between us. It connects us in an otherworldly way like magnets drawn to each other powerless to deny the attraction.
I watch his shoulders strain against the teal blue t-shirt he’s wearing. Every muscle in his back and arms flow in perfect unity as he works. It’s not easy but I look away from him scouring the stone floor so that I can take in my surroundings. I want to know where the hell we are but I’m too stubborn to ask.
The bed I am in is a queen-sized canopy similar to the one in my room at Marcus’s home in Seattle. Instead of light fluffy gauze, this bed has heavy white curtains that are pulled shut all the way around except for the side facing the bathroom.
A large window behind Marcus is covered with long grey drapes that are open a small crack. A sliver of light streaks across the room and over Marcus’s back.
That’s all I can see from my vantage point. The room is obscured from my view by the canopy curtains surrounding the bed.
I flop back against the mound of pillows and take a deep breath. Yuck, I need to brush my teeth. How long has it been since I brushed my teeth?
Marcus finishes with the floor and disappears out the bedroom door with the bucket. He returns, and I think I may have my bearings back enough to make it to the bathroom, with his help of course. I agreed to let him help me get cleaned up, and he will no doubt, hold me to it.
He stands at the edge of the bed and places one knee on the mattress causing it to dip under his weight and subsequently I lean toward him. He slides one arm under my knees and the other behind my back, scooping me up into his arms like I’m nothing.
I tuck my hands in my lap refusing to touch him. I am beyond mad and he magnifies that anger when he smiles and chuckles at me for being stubborn.
“I’ll bet if you were standing up you’d be stomping that adorable little foot of yours, wouldn’t you?”
“Fuck you.” Did I just say that out loud? Hell yes, I did. Marcus raises an eyebrow in surprise. I don’t usually swear like that but when a Cheshire cat smile spreads across his face, I know I’ve stepped into it big time with that particular curse.
“Oh, believe me, Imani, when I fatten you up and get you healthy, I’ll fuck you alright.” His words are crass but his confidence and the cocksure air about him is an absolute turn on and that really pisses me off.
In the bathroom, I use what little strength I have left to wiggle out of his arms and onto my feet. I back away from him and yell, “You… you… fuck. I’m so mad at you right now I can’t even talk.”
“Then don’t.”
I can’t be in the same room with him anymore.
“Get. Out!”
“No.”
“Yes!”
“Imani, no, you’re weak and sick, I’m worried about you. I love you.”
I sag in defeat. Marcus, one million - Imani, zero. He’s won as usual and he knows it. He gathers me into his arms when tears of frustration spill from my eyes and stream down my cheeks. He sighs and helps me to a small padded bench next to a gorgeous clawfoot tub.
He kneels at my feet in front of me. I bow my head and let my hair veil my face. I feel his hands on my ankles, smoothing over my calves to my knees and up my thighs where they stop. A shiver zips up my spine from the cold air, my lack of clothes, fever, and the adrenaline rushing thorough my body as a result of his touch. He lifts my chin with one finger putting us eye to eye.
I stay still but shift my gaze over his shoulder into the bedroom behind us. I must look like a starving wild animal with my tangled sweaty hair and ninety-eight-pound frame and I’m sure my breath is making him as nauseous as I feel. I cover my mouth with my hand.
“I’m hideous, don’t look at me,” I mumble against my palm.
“You are not hideous, baby, you’re sick, and that’s my fault. I never should have left you alone for so long. I thought you would come out of it. I don’t know why, though. I was dying inside, too.”
I sniff and he reaches behind me for a tissue.
“Blow,” he says like I’m a two-year-old, but I do it.
“You didn’t leave me, I left you,” I say with a hitch in my voice.
“Yes, you did. But I knew you were leaving and I allowed it. I didn’t want you to but I thought it would be easier if you worked through it all on your own. I wanted you to come to grips with your fears and come back to me willingly. I severely misjudged your stubbornness, so fucking stubborn,” he says, shaking his head back and forth.
“I love you, too, you know,” I say. “You make me furious and confused and scared, but I love you.”
He leans forward, pushing between my thin legs, and with one arm around my waist and the other on the back of my head, he guides my face into the warm curve of his neck.
I breathe him in and my life begins again. My quiet, broken heart begins to heal and I hold on tight to the familiar magnetic pull between us. I can’t live without him. No matter the danger or the insanity that comes with our relationship we belong together.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until I feel his arms tighten around me.
“We are going to be ok, baby. Don’t cry. Remember, I told you nothing could touch us as long as we are together?”
“Mmhm.” He leans away from me and places his hands on either side of my face to wipe away my tears with his thumbs. He kisses the tip of my nose, and I cringe.
“Bath and teeth.”
“What?”
“I need to give you a bath and you need to brush your teeth, then back to bed with you.”
That sounds like a good plan to me, but I still have no idea where I am, or what the hell is going on. Marcus is like a snake charmer seducing me with his voice and his forest green eyes while he keeps me from focusing on the matters at hand.
His hands are still on my face when I grab his wrists and narrow my eyes.
“Where am I, and why was Courtney on the plane?” He removes my hands effortlessly and places them in my lap before he stands to prepare a bath.
“We are in Italy at my Aunt Angelica’s house. I needed a medical professional because you’re sick. Courtney came with us to keep you comfortable. She is on her way back to the States now,” he says nonchalantly. Like flying me half way around the world drugged with the assistance of one of my closest co-workers is a common everyday occurrence.
“Italy. You fucking flew me to Italy? Why, Marcus?”
He twists the handles on the tub and plugs the drain. The water begins to fill while he pulls bottles of this and that from a built-in behind him. He stacks two large, thick bath sheets on the counter next to the sink and props his ass against the
vanity. He crosses his arms over his chest, and I squirm under his sharp stare.
“Because you can’t run from me here.”
My mouth pops open with his admission. He uncrosses his arms and closes the distance between us in two quick steps. He squats down and takes ahold of the hem of whatever I’m dressed in. Between vomiting and trying to figure out where I am I haven’t even looked to see what I’m wearing.
“Up,” he orders, and I raise my arms while he drags a satin nightgown over my head, leaving me naked and chilled.
“Let me take care of you, baby. No more worrying. It’s my turn to help you.”
I’m too tired to argue. I wrap my arms around his neck when he lifts me up and lowers me into the bath. A layer of steam rises from the surface of the hot water and I sink down until it touches my chin.
“Mmm,” I moan with appreciation. How does he always know what I need? The heavenly scented water seeps into my skin and my anger and shock evaporate along with the steam.
He pulls the bench seat to the head of the tub behind me and leans over the edge next to my head. “Good girl, relax,” he says, sliding his hand under the water down between my breasts to rest on my belly. He pauses for a moment and sucks in a deep breath before dragging it back up to my neck where he lifts my chin to tip my head back. An antique ceramic pitcher painted with lavender roses magically appears in his other hand. He dips it into the water and pours it carefully over my head wetting my hair.
I close my eyes and hear the click of a bottle opening. His fingers begin to massage the lavender scented shampoo into my hair until I am so relaxed I could slip underwater and drown.
He repeats the process twice followed by a thorough conditioning, after which he twists my hair into a fat wet braid and gives it a gentle tug.
“Better?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“We aren’t done yet. I still have your body and your teeth. You’re going to sparkle when I am finished with you. I have something prepared for dinner, you’re going to eat and go to bed.”
