by Emerson Rose
I open my eyes and look at his upside-down face.
“You’re crazy bossy, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” One corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk and my head swims with conflict. I should be furious with him, I am furious. Is it possible to want to kill him and kiss him at the same time? I have missed him so badly. He is so close and tender and loving and attentive. God, my head is a mess.
He continues to pamper me until I am indeed sparkling. When I am out of the tub, dry, teeth brushed, and sitting on the bench again, he leans in close to my ear and whispers, “I’m going into the kitchen to get dinner.”
He straightens up and turns to leave. On his way out, he taps the top of a box of tampons on the vanity.
What the…? I slide my hand between my legs and find the string to a tampon. He didn’t… oh my God, yes, he did. How in the hell did I sleep through that? That’s humiliating, I can’t imagine that all going down.
I shake away the scene forming in my head and groan. Boundaries, we have got to discuss boundaries.
I take care of my feminine hygiene myself, wash my hands, and tiptoe across the cold stone floor and crawl into bed where the sheets have been changed and the comforter pulled back.
The bed is frigid; goosebumps break out all over my skin when I pull up the covers. I wrap my arms around my knees and tuck my chin against my chest to hold in my body heat. I didn’t know it got this cold here.
I always imagined sunny, warm days and people wandering the streets eating gelato or riding tandem bicycles through narrow streets lined with ancient buildings when I thought of Italy. It would help to know exactly what area of Italy we’re in. My guess is somewhere in the northern part of the country like Milan or maybe Turin.
I snuggle under the down comforter and wait for Marcus to bring dinner and more importantly, himself. It’s weird being the one in bed while he cooks and cares for me. It’s a total role reversal. Just months ago he was lying in bed vulnerable, requiring round-the-clock care from me. Now the tables have been turned, and I am powerless, sick, and at his mercy.
The talk we need to have about my past isn’t going to be easy. Kidnapping me from the hospital was a monumental breach of trust and if he can’t understand that, I don’t know where we go from here.
And how long does he plan on holding me? Is he going to drug me every time I want to go home? He said I can’t run from him here, but if I’m not a prisoner I can go home as soon as I’m well enough.
My emotions are all over the map. Literally, they’re stretched from Seattle to Italy. We aren’t on vacation. I didn’t come here willingly; he has stolen me from my hospital bed and smuggled me into a foreign country so he can keep me all to himself.
The smell of a fire burning and the sensation of hands tightening around my throat jolt me from sleep. Fucking nightmares, you’d think three days of sleep in the hospital and however many hours it took to fly to Italy from Seattle would have been enough.
I sit bolt upright in bed and take in my unfamiliar surroundings. The canopy curtains around the bed have been drawn back and tied with thick grey ribbons around the posts. The whole room is visible.
Marcus stands next to a small fireplace at the opposite end of the modest sized room where the fire pops and snaps. His forearm is on the mantel with his head resting on top of it while he pokes at the fire with an iron rod. He looks like he’s a million miles away. I don’t even think he’s noticed that I’m awake.
I quietly lie back down and curl up on my side. Without looking in my direction Marcus speaks to me as if I’d never been asleep.
“Are you ever going to forgive me for this? What we have is undeniable, Imani. I am never going away so it behooves you to. It was the wrong way to go about it, I’ll admit that, but I was desperate and I don’t do desperate very well at all.”
He has no idea that my heart has already forgiven him, it was never angry but my mind was livid and it still is. He’s right about one thing, the way he went about this was wrong, very wrong.
I roll onto my back and flop my arm over my eyes. “Marcus, we have to talk about what happened to me. I need you to understand exactly how wrong this was.”
He continues to poke at the fire with a little more force behind each jab but he doesn’t turn and face me. I peek at him under my arm and watch his body tensing up. His knuckles are white from gripping the mantel and the muscles in his back are pulled tight between his shoulders.
“Imani…”
“No, Marcus, you have to know so you’ll understand what I went through. You have to realize that this can never happen again. Believe me, I don’t want to tell you any more than you want to hear it.”
“I doubt that,” he says flatly.
“Please, if there is any hope for us we have to get past this. I can forgive you, but not without knowing that you will never do anything like this again and after I tell you I will be.”
He props the fire poker against the stone surrounding the fireplace and pushes his hand through his hair while he pinches the bridge of his nose with the other. He squeezes his eyes shut and scowls.
“Marcus, are you ok?”
“Yeah, just a headache, it’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing.” He just traveled sixteen hours on a private jet in compressed air with a tumor the size of a lemon growing in his brain. If he has a headache, that’s not nothing.
I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off.
“Dinner is getting cold,” he says, gesturing at a silver tray on the bureau.
He’s just plain avoiding the subject now and that makes me more suspicious. His head really hurts; it’s easy to see even from across the room that he’s suffering.
He steps away from the fire and picks up the tray. I’m no longer interested in pasta or desserts. I watch him close the distance between us fighting to hide his pain. I scoot back against the pillows and make room for him to place the tray on my lap anyway. That’s how it works with Marcus. I give him what he wants and he lets me in little by little.
The food smells like heaven, and my empty stomach growls. I wonder how long it’s been since I’ve eaten a real meal? I can’t remember; no wonder I’m so damn thin.
“It smells delicious. You made all of this?” I ask, perusing the selection of Italian cuisine in front of me. I’m impressed; he hasn’t simply cooked for me, he took the time to dress the plates and make a lovely presentation.
“I own restaurants, I cook,” he says, shrugging his shoulders like everybody can whip up a four-star meal in their kitchen. “I’m not bad at baking either. I’ll pack some pounds on you before you know it. I want to start working out together as well, when you have the strength of course.
Working out. Wow, it’s been a long time since I’ve been to the gym. My life is totally off track. Over the past few months I’ve fallen in love with a man in a coma. I’ve quit my job of ten years to take care of a virtual stranger. I moved out of my apartment and into a castle. I moved out of said castle. I fell into a deep depression and got sick only to be kidnapped by a crazy man who steals people when he sees fit, loves fiercely, and puts the fear of God in everyone but me.
“I’m sure it’s not necessary to ask, but do my parents and my boss know I’m out of the country?”
“Yes, you are correct; it is not necessary to ask. But since you have - yes, of course they know.”
“So, everyone knew about this but me?”
He reaches out to tuck a loose tendril of hair behind my ear, and I flinch and pull away. He frowns at me and his eyes fill with disappointment.
“You haven’t forgiven me yet.”
“No. I told you, talk first, forgive after.”
He heaves a deep sigh and grabs a linen napkin from the tray tucking it into the collar of my tank top. When he does, I flinch again. I can’t help it, it’s involuntary, but this time he ignores it.
“Eat. Go slow. I don’t want to clean up any more vomit today.”
> “Then we talk?”
“Yes, Imani. If it’s the only way you will forgive me, we will talk.”
I start slow but, after a bite or two, I know why he is filthy rich. He is an incredibly talented chef. If his aunt were still here today, I would kiss her and thank her for passing on her craft to her nephew.
Marcus was right; I will be packing on the pounds if I eat food like this for long. Note to self, request some fruits and vegetables in the future.
While I eat, Marcus pulls a chair next to the bed to watch me carefully. He doesn’t say anything but he nods in approval occasionally when I eat what he deems to be enough of a particular dish. Usually something chuck full of carbs.
I haven’t come close to finishing anything on my plate but I’ve done the best I can. Nausea is starting to creep back into my stomach and I’m not interested in any more vomiting episodes.
We communicate through quick glances, lifted eyebrows and head nods until I’m done. He removes the tray and places it on a table by the window.
Aside from the mild nausea, I’m feeling much better than I can remember feeling in, well, in weeks, I guess. I relax back into the mountain of pillows on the bed.
I’m surprised when Marcus returns to the edge of the bed, peels off his t-shirt and slides out of his jeans.
“Marcus, I thought we were going to talk.”
He moves like a panther across the bed and slides under the covers next to me.
“You talk, baby. I’ll listen but I’m not going to like this and I need to feel you close to me.” He raises the comforter and glances at the empty spot on the mattress next to him.
“Scoot,” he says, and I sigh and roll my eyes before moving over and tucking myself under his warm chiseled arm where I used to sleep.
When he envelops me in his arms, relief and a feeling of being home washes over me. It’s an experience I’ve never had before; it’s like he is my addiction and being in his arms is my fix.
I don’t want to talk about bad things. I don’t want to tell him about my past now that I’m safely snuggling next to his familiar warm body.
He was counting on this. He thought he could weaken my resolve with physical contact. This is going to be one time where he doesn’t get what he wants.
I have to tell him my story. He pulls the comforter up over my shoulder with his free hand and we lie wrapped in each other’s arms soaking up the moment that we have both been craving for so long.
I have to break the spell. I have to dive in and get this over with.
“I’m sure you’ve guessed that they raped me. All three of them did repeatedly. They were squatting in a dilapidated, run-down old house that smelled like mold and urine. That’s where they took me.
I feel his chest expand behind me when he inhales a deep breath but he never lets it go. Every muscle in his body coils but he doesn’t speak so I continue.
“They put a mesh bag over my head in the van and bound my hands and feet with rope. They kept the bag on for one day and a night I think. I’m not sure, it was hard to keep track of time.
I kept thinking as long as I didn’t see them I still had a chance at staying alive. I never complained or asked them to remove it. But eventually they took it off and that’s when I started to give up hope.
They beat me, shattered nearly every bone in my face. They cut my hair off with a knife in chunks down to my scalp in some places and taunted me with it. They hung me by my bound hands from a pipe that ran the length of the room and stabbed me.
Most of the wounds were shallow and meant only to cause pain and torture me, but one was deep and close to my kidney.”
Marcus has a death grip on me. He hasn’t taken a breath since I started talking but I can’t quit now.
“I started blacking out off and on. I was bleeding heavily from the knife wound in my side and the pain was unbearable. One of them unhooked me from the pipe and I thought it was finally over.
It wasn’t.
I have to stop for a moment. The memories are overwhelming. Every time I allow them in I relive it all over again. After a shaky breath, I start again.
“I’d given up hope of surviving. I was praying for death but they kept me right there on the brink for what felt like forever.”
The police said I was there for three days. On the third night they took a break. I think they were going to a dealer to buy more drugs. I heard a door slam when someone left.
I was barely conscious, but right before I passed out again I heard a crash and people yelling my name. There were heavy footsteps running in and out of rooms opening and closing doors.
They were searching for me. Someone heard me screaming when they walked by the house earlier and called the police. I don’t remember much after that; I know a man dressed in black cut me down and when I woke up I was in the hospital.”
When I’m done, I take another deep breath and realize that my grip on Marcus is as tight as his on me. He begins to breathe again. He held his breath through the entire story.
Silence hangs between us while I wait for his reaction but he’s not moving. I can’t stand it anymore, I have to know what he’s thinking so I loosen my arm from around his abdomen and prop up on my elbow to see his face.
I was expecting rage, fury, pity, anything but what I find.
His eyes are closed and tears are streaming down his face. My heart shatters into a million pieces in my chest. What have I done?
Sharing this with him was too much for him to take. He has his own demons to fight and now he has mine as well. He told me he didn’t need to hear what happened to me. I thought he was trying to protect me from the pain of telling him but now I see he was protecting himself from knowing the horror I endured.
“Oh God, Marcus, I’m so sorry. I didn’t, I wasn’t…” Shit, I don’t know what to say now. It’s too late to take it back, all the cards are on the table. He either accepts me and my baggage, or not. I won't survive if he doesn’t.
“Sorry? What on earth could you be sorry for, baby?” he says, opening his misty green eyes. The pain I see in them is devastating.
“I’m sorry I told you. I thought it would help for you to know. It was a terrible idea and now I can’t take those visions out of your mind.”
He sits up, gathers me into his lap arranging the blankets so I am completely protected from the chill in the room.
“Do not ever apologize for doing something you need to do to make yourself feel assured in our relationship, Imani, ever. Do you understand?” I nod and look down into my lap while he brushes the curls off of my face that have escaped my braid.
“I love you more right now than ever. You’re a warrior queen. No woman I’ve ever known has endured what you have and come out on the other side with such courage, strength, grace, and beauty, inside and out.”
Hot tears spring into my eyes and fall onto his bare arm that’s wrapped around me.
I guess in a way I am a warrior. I fought like hell and I won the battle against those bastards.
“Don’t cry, baby. You’ve cried enough. I’m here to protect you now, forever. I will do whatever it takes to keep you from shedding another tear.”
Well, shit, leave it to him to say exactly the right thing at exactly the right moment.
“I won’t cry if you won’t,” I say.
“Alright, agreed,” he says, pulling me away from him to wipe my tears with the sheet. I sniffle unattractively and a small understanding smile creeps across his face followed instantly by the wink that always makes my tummy flutter and my heart skip a beat.
“Sleep now, baby. You need to rest and get well so you can set me free from the misery of keeping my hands off of you.”
“I’ll promise to sleep as long as you promise to hurry up and make me strong and fat.”
“That is the easiest promise I will ever keep. Am I forgiven now?”
“You were forgiven the second I saw your face. I could never stay mad at you, no matter what you do.”
&
nbsp; His face relaxes and he lowers us back down in the bed. I hike my thin leg up over his hip and wiggle in as close as I can get. His arms surround me and we lie together peacefully for the first time in months.
A seed of hope takes hold in my heart that maybe, just maybe, everything will be alright.
Forty
I made it through that first night, barely. I ushered in the day at four a.m. accompanied by a nightmare like no other. I should have known talking about my past would bring them roaring back, especially since I didn’t take a sleeping pill.
I slip out of bed and gasp when my feet hit the chilly floor. Why is this damn house so cold? I tiptoe to the bathroom to shower off the cold sweat, but before I switch on the light I remember there is no shower. I’m not in the mood to soak in a tub. Surely the house has another bathroom.
I pad back to the bed to decide what to do next and wrap my arm around the post at the foot of the bed and stare at the smoldering fireplace. I don’t want to go wandering around the house alone but I really need to clear my head.
I have no idea why I thought I could get past my mentally connected partner unnoticed, and of course I haven’t.
“What are you doing?” he asks in his rough, sleepy voice.
“I had a bad dream.”
“And?”
“I wanted a shower but you only have a tub. Is there another bathroom?”
“Why do you need to shower? I thought we had you all cleaned up before bed last night?”
He rolls over to climb out of bed. When he passes over the damp sheets on my side of the bed, he answers his own question.
“Do you want some help? I’ll show you to the other bathroom. Where are your socks?” he asks looking down at my bare feet.
“Socks? I didn’t have any on when I went to sleep.”
“I put them on for you,” he says, rummaging around in the sheets. “I should have given you your meds, but you have been drugged so much in the past couple days I thought it would be good to clear your system. Ah, here they are.”
