by Emerson Rose
What are we going to say? I don’t want you to be reported to the police.
I hand it over, he reads and I wait for a sign of panic, anxiety, something. He doesn’t react at all, instead he relaxes back into the uncomfortable chair beside my equally uncomfortable gurney. I reach out and tap his shoulder urgently and when he looks at me I raise my eyebrows in question.
“I’ve got that covered, don’t worry. That’s my job, remember? Everything is fine, nobody is going to accuse me of anything.” How does he know that? And what am I supposed to tell the nurses and doctors when they see my neck?
I’m forced to trust him when the ER doctor enters the tiny stall and they begin to speak in Italian. Great, I can’t talk and now I can’t understand what the hell anyone is saying either.
This is precisely why I didn’t want to be treated in a foreign hospital. In an environment where things are usually familiar I feel vulnerable and helpless. It’s a hospital with clinical surroundings, the smell of bleach, the soft buzz of the lights overhead, but I’m just as much an outsider as any patient.
“He’s going to get a CT scan, like you said.” Marcus informs me after a few minutes of back and forth with the doctor, whose name I still don’t know.
He approaches me without speaking and performs an examination, occasionally asking Marcus questions. Don’t these people believe in translators? I know in general what he’s looking for and what he’s doing. Maybe Marcus told him I’m a nurse so he doesn’t think he has to translate.
I wonder what kind of story he’s telling this man. It must be really good because there are no signs of suspicion from Doctor No Name.
When the doctor leaves, I wonder where Elena and Enrique went off to.
“They went to get coffee,” he says out of the blue.
How he knows what I’m thinking all the time I still can’t figure out but it’s becoming bizarre.
“I know what you’re thinking. They aren’t big on translators here. We gave them all the information they needed and I told him what happened. He ordered the appropriate tests according to Enrique, and if everything is okay we can go home.”
Well, isn’t that neat and tidy? This shit wouldn’t fly in the States, no way.
I’m too tired to complain, though, and I’m starting to feel a little better. My throat doesn’t feel as swollen and my headache was wiped out the second Marcus slid into the bed naked behind me a couple hours ago. Going home sounds like an excellent idea, where ever home might be.
A young woman knocks on the door and enters the room with a wheelchair. We load up and head out for the scan. I want to say something to Marcus about his end of this deal, my proof, but I’ve run out of paper.
We enter a small room with lockers, and the nurse says something to Marcus and waves her hand toward the door. She’s telling him he can wait outside while I change into a gown. Ha, fat chance. He’s not having any of it and after a few rather stern words to the poor woman, she leaves us alone and he helps me change.
I am capable of doing this myself but I chalk it up to guilt and let him do his thing.
“I like to help you,” he says, as if I’ve spoken my last thought out loud. I’d call him a warlock or a sorcerer if I had my voice.
The next few moments are déjà vu, not that long ago I was changing Marcus into a hospital gown for a CT of his brain.
“You don’t have a bra or panties, why is that?”
I turn to face him after he ties the back of my gown rather tightly shut and he presents me with the paper and pencil that he’s been hoarding.
Where is my phone? And I was in a hurry.
“You were in such a hurry you couldn’t put on panties and a bra?” I find it interesting that he ignored the part about my phone. I take the paper from him again.
It’s a long story. Phone?
“I have it, why do you want it? And I’d like to hear the long story about you being in such a hurry that you left your panties and bra behind.”
What is he, the underwear police? I’m starting to feel the weight of this long stressful day and my patience is wearing thin.
I could text you much easier than writing with this fucking paper and pencil.
He reaches into the pocket of his coat and hands me his phone. “Use mine, I want to hear the long story.”
Good grief, I text him a message as if I were sending it to myself.
Dr. Bava and Elena were watching me. I knew they wouldn’t allow me to leave the house in my condition so I locked myself in the bathroom and threw on the clothes hanging on the hook on the back of the door. Then I demanded that they take me to you. Happy now?
I hand him the phone and after reading my message he looks relieved. I can’t believe he thinks I had time for a quickie with a stranger in Italy between being strangled and coming to his childhood home.
He raises his eyes from the phone and I shake my head.
“What?” he asks, but the nurse returns as if on cue and whisks me away for my scan, Marcus right on her heels.
He can’t possibly think he needs to be in the room with me for this, can he? Yes, he can, but he doesn’t. I’m surprised when he hangs back in the waiting area.
The nurse assists me onto the chilly table and I lie down with my head in a half circle piece of foam. She tells me to hold still and disappears.
A voice comes over the intercom in the room and asks, “Are you comfortable?” in a thick Italian accent. I nod and he reminds me to stay still, to which I do not respond to prove I understand.
The table slides through the doughnut hole while clicking and whirring noises fill the close space around me. I close my eyes and try to relax and stay still.
When it’s over, my nurse returns to help me off the table. I happen to glance at the glass window where the operator of the scanner controls sits. Sitting next to the technician, relaxed and leaning back in his chair as if he belongs there, is Marcus.
I can’t say I’m surprised. If I’ve learned anything about him, it’s that he needs to be in control of everything all the time.
Back in the locker room I hurry to dress myself before he can make it back. I’m buttoning my jeans when the door opens behind me a few minutes later and I jump like a startled jackrabbit.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says with more meaning than just a casual apology for startling me. He still feels bad about this afternoon. He knows I wouldn’t be standing here if I believed that monster had really been him. He knows he could have lost me forever.
He holds me captive with his sad green eyes for a moment and I mouth to him the words, ‘I know.’
I wish there was a way for me to make him understand that he doesn’t need forgiveness because he hasn’t done anything wrong. But even if I had my voice I wouldn’t be able to convince him. He’s going to welcome any pain or guilt or misery related to this incident forever.
In fact, that is my biggest fear right now. I think he is going to try to end our relationship because of what happened today. I think he’s giving up. He’s trying to sever the thread that connects us instead of reinforcing it with trust. How quickly he forgets that we’ve been there and done that. It didn’t work. Now I am going to have to summon the strength to fight for both of us.
Giving up is not an option in my book because for us giving up would be double suicide. We can’t live without each other and there’s no going back, what’s happened has happened. Now it’s time to go forward and fight.
Forty-Seven
Back in our little corner of the triage area Doctor No Name tells Marcus that my CT scan is within normal limits. Elena and Dr. Bava have returned and I’ve never felt like such an outsider as they discuss my condition amongst themselves in Italian.
When I’ve had enough, I poke Marcus hard in the arm, which hurts me more than him. I point at his pocket where I know he has his phone.
He hands if over and the others quiet down as I text. I’d like to know in ENGLISH what the fuck is going on please!
Marcus reads my message and I see the tinniest smile on his lips before he translates what they have been discussing.
“Dr. Dioli is asking about your medical history. We didn’t tell him about any of your surgeries and he could tell from the scan that you’ve had facial reconstruction. Naturally he was concerned.”
I feel the color drain from my face and a chill runs through me. Sometimes I forget that my body tells my secret. On the inside it’s impossible to miss the pins and screws and implants that were used to put my face back together.
Marcus responds via text so that our conversation stays private.
I told him you were mugged as a teenager, nothing else. I promise, and he accepted my explanation.
I text him back. Thank you for not telling anyone.
He reads and scowls at the screen.
“Of course,” he says, sounding insulted.
A few minutes later I’m signing discharge paperwork and we’re leaving.
“We aren’t going back to Angelica’s house. I never intended to stay there for more than one night. I only wanted to show you where she lived. I have a house on Lake Como that we are going to now.”
I don’t know why I’m surprised. No matter how much wealth he exposes me to it still blows my mind.
It’s almost two in the morning when we turn off the road to a path lined with lights. At the end is yet another piece of real estate worthy of a grander title than “house.”
His home is built into a hill on our left and Lake Como spreads out into the dark on our right.
I sit up when he reaches for the handle on the door. I’ve been quite content leaning on his shoulder dozing since we left the hospital. He reaches in to help me out and a cold gust of wind blows across my face.
“Let’s get you inside,” Elena says, and my knight in shining armor sweeps me off my feet.
“Good God, Marcus, she can walk you know,” she says, rolling her eyes as she steps away from the car. True to form, Marcus continues up the path with me in his arms ignoring his sister’s outburst.
I look over his shoulder and shrug giving her my most exasperated look. She smiles and Enrique brings up the rear with a chuckle.
The porch supports a small terrace above the front door with two large porch columns. The view of the lake from that terrace must be breathtaking during the day.
Maria and Mr. Black greet us at the door.
“I plan on staying here for a while. I thought you would be more comfortable with familiar staff,” he says, when my mouth pops open.
I smile at Maria and the worried furrow of her brow relaxes when she smiles back. Mr. Black nods his head in my direction and I offer a small wave, which is more than he deserves if you ask me. I’m still miffed at him for the security breech in Seattle. A lot of pain and misery could have been avoided if he had been doing his job.
I glance around, but Marcus is focused on getting me to bed and offers no tour on our way up a winding staircase to the second floor. At the top of the stairs he takes a left and we make our way down a long hall dimly lit by rose-shaped wall sconces to his bedroom.
I can’t believe the bed doesn’t have a canopy. That’s a first. It’s an enormous commanding focal point as always, but it’s more modern and definitely not an antique.
None of this furniture reflects Marcus’s personality; quite the opposite in fact. The headboard is covered in quilted navy blue velvet. The entire room’s color scheme is made up of gold and blues and very dark wood. It says masculine and luxurious, but what it doesn’t say is Marcus. It feels like a strange stray from Marcus’s trademark purple.
“Your things are in the bathroom,” he says, pointing across the room to an open door at the right of the bed.
Then he points at a set of double doors on our left, “Clothes are in the closet there. There is an entire bureau full of panties and bras in there as well,” he says pointedly, as if I were a regular ditcher of underthings.
He stands me on my feet next to the bed and moves gracefully around the room switching on lamps and straightening the already immaculate room.
I sit on the bed and he disappears into the closet. I carefully take off my boots and let them fall to the floor. I have a feeling I’ll never see them again. He will surely burn them the first chance he gets.
The bandages on my feet could use changing, or at least removing, as they are loose from putting the boots on and taking them off several times today.
I scoot back onto the bed and begin unraveling them, the cuts sting but already they feel better. Marcus returns with a silk nightgown, panties, and my phone. Oh, thank you God, my phone.
I’ve felt so detached from the world. I can finally text my family, or anybody else I need to communicate with since it’s the only way I can for now.
“Stay right there. I’m going to get a first aid kit and take care of your feet.” He hands me my phone and I hold the power button down to turn it on.
First, I check for any texts I’ve missed and there are none. Marcus must have contacted everyone I’ve ever known and told them I was on vacation. I sigh and lay it on the bed next to me.
Marcus returns with the most elaborate first aid kit I’ve ever seen in my life. It reminds me of a mini crash cart at the hospital.
I mouth the word, ‘wow.’
“I have to be ready for anything,” he says.
Like what, heart surgery? I want to ask.
“I don’t like hospitals. I’d rather the physician come to me and this way he has everything he needs.”
Hmmm, okay, makes sense. I guess.
That reminds me of his half of our deal and I pick up my phone.
Where’s my proof?
I tap him on the top of his head while he is crouched down wrapping my feet in fresh gauze and show him the screen.
“In the morning. I want you to have a good night’s sleep; it’s been a terrible day, Imani. Please.”
I blink, taken aback by his use of the word ‘please’ and cave.
Okay.
I show him the screen, he nods in approval and finishes bandaging my feet.
He helps me change and tucks me in like a five-year-old. He still hasn’t made any indication that he is coming to bed, so I pat the empty place next to me and raise my eyebrows.
“I have some work to do. I’ll be right down the hall if you need me, third door on the left from here. Keep your phone and text me if you want.”
I nod and he turns off all of the lights except the one on the night table next to me. He still doesn’t like the dark, and I’m OK with that. This house is drafty and a little creepy. If he hadn’t left it on I would have.
Marcus slips his hand into his pocket and brings out a prescription bottle with my name on it. My sleeping pills.
“I forgot to ask if these were safe after… after what happened today,” he says, avoiding my eyes.
I hold out my hand. I’ll never sleep without them, so safe or not I’m taking them.
“Are you sure?” He hesitates and I snap my fingers and open my palm wiggling my fingers impatiently. He hands them over and I swallow my only hope for a few hours of peaceful sleep.
“Now I know how you felt the night I demanded my sleeping pills after blacking out.”
If I could make a sound, I’d snort and say ‘how does it feel?’ As it is I can’t, so I purse my lips and tilt my head to the side.
He leans down and kisses me softly on the lips and a wave of panic rushes through my chest. I reach for my phone on the bed next to me with one hand and grab his wrist keeping him there with the other.
You’re not going to disappear, are you? You won’t leave me, will you?
He reads my message and calmly sits on the edge of the bed facing me with a blank expression.
“I won’t lie to you, Imani, I considered it. I know it’s dangerous for us to be together but I simply can’t bring myself to do it. I’ve brought in more staff, I informed security to be within twenty feet of us at all times in case so
mething happens again. I don’t want you to be vulnerable if I have another black out.”
That seems reasonable. I think.
“Okay? Can you sleep now?” I search his eyes for any sign of deceit. I don’t know how to read him well enough yet. I have no choice but to trust him.
I sit up and hook my finger inside the collar of his shirt and pull him toward me. I press my mouth on his and kiss the hell out of him. The air around us is supercharged with desire. I have no control when it comes to Marcus. The kiss turns into something more, something intense, almost desperate. Tears spring to my eyes as our mouths collide. Our hands are everywhere one second and nowhere the next. He moans pulling away and popping our pleasure bubble.
“Baby, you have to sleep. I’m only going down the hall to my office, I promise. Now sleep,” he says, with a resonance that rules me.
Now I’m all worked up and he’s leaving me to shuffle papers and check his email. I’m disappointed but I also know he’s right; he’s always right, damn it.
He places one last soft kiss on my forehead and I admire his fine backside as he strolls away.
Forty-Eight
Being startled awake brings my heart straight into my throat. I try to scream. Nothing but a hoarse rasp escapes my lips and my panic is compounded.
“Miss Jefferson, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Please, wake up, it’s imperative that we make sure you are safe.”
Safe? Mr. Black? What the hell is going on, where am I? I try to focus in the dim light but my mind is thick with sleep and medication.
“Imani, please, you need to come with us,” Mr. Black says again. What is he talking about? I search the sheets with one hand for my phone keeping an eye on Mr. Black. There is another man with him but I can’t make out his face. He’s closer to the door like he’s guarding it.
After a few seconds of rooting around in the bed, I find my phone and show it to him.
