by Emerson Rose
I turn Diamond in my hands and lay her on the bed. Please, Marcus, wake up, I miss you terribly, you’re not fighting hard enough, damn it. You know I won’t live without you, right? Why are you doing this to me? I need you, Marcus. You’ve made all of these plans to take care of me when you’re gone. I feel like you gave up a long time ago.
But I’m telling you right now, it’s not happening. You go, I go. So, that means I have to do something terrible if you don’t fight for me, for us. You’ve tricked me into being your wife, so my first wifely demand is for you to wake the fuck up.”
I squeeze his big hand hard and pray a power-packed prayer to God that he can hear me and that God can hear me. I hold his heavy lifeless hand to my lips and turn it over to kiss his palm.
“Got ‘em!” Elena sings, clicking back into the room, waving scissors in my direction but her face dims when she realizes she’s interrupted an intimate moment.
“I’m sorry. Do you need a few minutes?”
“No, I’m fine.” I carefully lay Marcus's hand back on the bed and swipe the fresh tears from my cheeks.
“Let’s see what he’s hiding in this bear.” Elena grabs Diamond and turns her over, scissors ready to open the seam but I grab her wrist and stop her from making the first tear.
“What if it’s something bad, something illegal?” I whisper.
“He’s supposed to be the leader of the Mob, you know?”
“Oh, stop, Imani. He’d never put you in any danger hiding something poisonous or illegal in there. Let’s just open it!”
“Okay, but if it’s something illegal you better know how to sew that thing up so nobody knows we opened it.”
She waves me off flippantly and begins to pick at the stitching with the point of the scissors until she’s got a three-inch hole open in Diamond’s back.
Before she goes any further, she looks up at me to confirm I’m still on board with seeing what’s inside and I nod yes. After a minute of poking around with her long delicate tanned fingers, she freezes. “What? You got it? What is it? Come on, Elena, get it out. Let me see!”
“Oh, Imani, it’s definitely not illegal.”
Her face lights up with a thousand-watt smile as she removes Diamond’s secret. I gasp and cover my mouth with my hand. No way, this isn’t real.
I’m torn between elation and heartbreak. He is going to be the death of me; wicked and angelic this man holds my heart, threatening to burn it into a pile of ash if he doesn’t wake up.
Seventy-One
Elena pulls a soft blue Tiffany’s box from the hole in Diamond’s back, and I know immediately what it is.
Before I can stop her, she’s opened it to show me my wedding rings. Both of us gasp simultaneously this time and I feel a fluttering in my tummy. An exquisite round diamond surrounded with rose gold and smaller diamonds, the band is constructed of diamonds in typical Marcus Castillo style. Big and lavish, so unlike me but somehow exactly right.
He must have had this planned from the first week we met. That’s when he gave me Diamond; he has been expecting this all along. He must have been, there’s no other explanation for hiding the rings in my bear, he wanted me to have them if he… I can’t even think it, I shake the notion from my thoughts. Glancing back toward the bed I watch as the ventilator continues breathing for him, fluids flow into his veins, all of this keeping him alive, keeping my hope alive.
That’s my husband lying there. He may never wake up to tell me he loves me again, to touch me and smooth my hair behind my ear, make my heart stop when he smirks. He may never boss me in that irritating but sexy way, worry for me or hold me tight to make me feel safe, cherished and loved. He may never make love to me, set my skin on fire, or shock my core with the electrical charge that satisfies me like no one else.
I’ve never said the words, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness or in health but I would have, if he would have asked me. I pluck the rings from the box and slide them on my finger without a glance to see how they look. I don’t care. I care about what they represent: everlasting, undying, faith-filled, and irrevocable love.
I lift the sheet that covers my husband and slide in next to him, careful not to disturb any of the many leads and tubes. I tuck myself under his arm, holding it against me as he would if he were awake.
This is what he wanted: marriage, me by his side, partners facing all that life has to throw at us, and it has thrown a lot.
“I’m here for you forever, no matter what. I’ve found my rings and I’m wearing them. You didn’t give me the chance to accept a proposal but I’m telling you I would have said yes without a second of hesitation. I promise to be your rock, in good times and bad, I promise to never abandon you, to support you and care for you. I will accept you for whoever you were, who you are and whoever you will be in the future. Let no man separate what God has joined together.
Marcus, you lit a fire in me that brought a part of me to life I didn’t know existed. Don’t blow it out. Those are my wedding vows to you. Now I just need you to wake up so we can say ‘I do’ to each other and live happily ever after.” I hear Elena sniffle and tissue being whipped from the box next to the bed.
“I’ll leave you two alone for a little while. Come get me when you’re ready.” I open my eyes and Elena is standing on the opposite side of the bed, eyes red rimmed and nose running.
“No, stay, I just had to say that to him. You don’t have to go.” I turn and kiss him on the cheek, slide out and rearrange his covers.
I slide my hand into his and brush a wayward wave from his forehead and allow myself the pleasure of running my fingers through his thick dark hair. I grab it at the top of his head and whisper to him.
“Don’t you dare leave me here alone.”
“He won’t leave you, I know it. He’s never had more to live for. Right, brother?” She strokes his arm affectionately as tears trail down her cheeks.
“I guess it’s time for the wedding reception. Let’s eat.”
She finishes setting up dinner and we sit opposite each other at the rolling bedside table.
“It smells so good.” I take a bite, “And it tastes even better.” The pasta melts in my mouth and my twisted-up stomach begins to settle.
“From the sounds of your stomach, I made it just in time. You’re noisy.”
“Yeah, I know. The only time I eat is when you bring me food. Anything else is subpar now.”
“Oh, stop. Thanks, though. Marcus was always better at cooking than me.”
“Hey, Imani, have you seen a strange lady around here? She doesn’t really fit in with the usual visitors and I’ve seen her in the lobby but never visiting anyone.”
“No, what’s she look like?”
“Kind of mousy, short, slight. Hair looks like she chopped at it with sheep shears, no makeup and a little crazy in the eyes.”
Yikes. I’m glad I haven’t seen anyone fitting that description.
“No, I haven’t seen anyone but I did have a weird experience in the bathroom my first night here.”
“Yeah? In the bathroom? What happened?”
“Some whacko lady asked me for a cigarette, from inside the stall, can you believe that? Smoking in a hospital, don’t people know how dangerous that is with all the oxygen?”
Elena pauses, fork midair. “She asked you for a cigarette?” “Well, not exactly, she said something about smoke and I just figured, you know?”
“Did she mention the color of the smoke?”
“I don’t remember. Why?” Something’s bothering her. I’m not gonna like this.
“When I was coming in the front entrance the other day, I saw the woman I just described. She said something to me about having dark smoke inside of me when I walked past her. She made my blood run cold, Imani; totally freaked me out. Then today I swear I saw the same woman coming off another elevator onto this floor. She didn't speak to me. Actually, I don’t think she even saw me.”
I place my fork acros
s the corner of the plate and lean back in my chair to think. What exactly did she say to me in the bathroom? Something about dark smoke. Yes, now that I think about it she said nearly the same thing to me; it has to be the same woman.
“I do remember now that you mention it. She told me I didn’t have the dark smoke. I just figured she was asking for a smoke. Who do you think she is? She creeped me out, too.”
She squirms in her chair before hitting me with yet another blow of information that I don’t want to hear.
“Imani, the night you went to Dominus with Marcus and had to be rushed home, there was a woman in the club with a knife. Security spotted her with night vision cameras, she was coming up behind both of you.”
A knife? The woman who broke into my bedroom in Seattle had a knife, and she was short and slight. It could be the same woman, and if it is, she’s been close to us. I can feel the blood draining from my face as I begin to tremble. The food in my stomach churns begging for escape.
Thankfully, there is a garbage can next to the bed. I lean over and vomit the only thing I’ve eaten in nearly twenty-four hours.
“Oh my God, Imani, I didn’t…” Her apology is cut off by the sound of shrill alarms and a heart monitor screaming for attention. The line on the screen goes flat; he’s coding.
I have been an ICU nurse for over ten years and have run more codes than I can even remember. I’m supposed to know what to do. But, in this horrible sickening moment, I’m a wife not a nurse and I’m frozen.
This isn’t supposed to happen; he’s supposed to fight for us and wake up. The room fills with nurses and doctors in seconds; all doing exactly what they are supposed to do, but I can’t move.
My heart cannot continue beating without his. He’s dying and so am I. I watch as a nurse shoves Elena out the door but they can’t move me so they slide my chair to a corner out of the way with me in it.
I watch them frantically perform CPR, pushing drugs into his IV, shouting orders to each other and unsuccessfully attempting to save his life, my life.
Mercifully my crazy mind assists me in escaping the harrowing scene before the pain can set in, before the grief can consume me. The room blurs and tilts until I’m plunged into the dark again. This time I pray it will be forever. There is no surviving without him. He goes, I go.
Part Three
Seventy-Two
The best part of my day is when I open my eyes, and for a few blissful seconds nothing is wrong, no one is gone, no one has died. I have not been left alone with a broken heart and an empty soul.
Moments later, my head clears and I blink the sleep from my eyes. That’s when the pain begins in my chest. It plows through my body like a freight train into every cell, saturating me absolutely. A lump forms in my throat and, incredibly after such a long time, tears still spring to my eyes.
I lie silently on my back this particular morning and take a deep breath and hold it. I consider holding it long enough to pass out so I can wake up again and have those few seconds back. But I don’t. The sadness far outweighs the happiness of those seconds, my heart can’t handle repeating it again.
My arms feel like concrete. I can hardly raise them to wipe the tears from my cheeks. I stare up at the canopy of Marcus’s bed, our bed. Now it’s just my bed. I wait for the crushing hopelessness that I know is coming, and I squeeze my eyes tight when it does. Just like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. I roll to my side, pull my knees up to my chest and sob for the loss of my best friend, my only lover, and my husband.
I thought I was dying when Marcus and I were separated. I couldn’t have been more wrong. This is much worse than death. This is a special kind of torture. It’s an unending unyielding all-encompassing agony.
When I ran away from Marcus I still held a tiny ember of hope in my heart. I had the comfort of knowing he was still a part of this world. He was somewhere tangible and I could return to him if I couldn’t bear the pain anymore.
An ocean of water has been poured on that ember. He is nowhere. His perfect, beautiful body is buried deep in the cold ground of the Castillo family cemetery. His soul has gone wherever souls go.
I used to believe in heaven and hell. I thought we all left the earth and traveled into the light to be with God.
God.
How could there be a God? How could there be an entity that leaves one of his beloved creations broken in overwhelming pain?
I will never again touch or be touched by his strong hands. I will never feel his warm breath on my neck when we lie in this bed, naked after making love.
How could he leave me? There is nothing left for me here.
He goes, I go.
I told him a hundred times. He knew. He promised to try, and he didn’t try hard enough. I used to be angry. I screamed and tore my hair out. I hated everyone until there was no hate left in me. My body hurts and my bones ache. I want Marcus any way I can have him. I want him, even if I have to die to get him back.
I’m in a bad place, and I don’t have the strength to care. I’ve held on for longer than I planned. My family keeps begging me to get out of this bed. I can’t even look at them. The pity in their eyes makes me sick so I stopped looking. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. It’s time to go.
“Imani, Imani, don’t cry, baby, I’m right here. Look at me, honey.” I kneel down next to my beautiful wife. Why is she crying? What is happening?
The noise in this room is deafening. Alarms are screeching, nurses and physicians are scurrying around yelling commands and medication doses.
Someone over there is in trouble. It must be someone Imani cares about. I can’t put the pieces of the scene in front of me together. I don’t feel right. Something isn’t right.
“Imani! Listen to me! What is going on? Damn it, answer me!”
Why isn’t she answering me? I have never raised my voice to her. She isn’t even flinching and I’m yelling right into her ear. If she won’t tell me I’ll go see for myself.
I stand and glance toward the beehive of activity surrounding the bed. Elena is crouched down against the wall outside the room with her hands covering her face sobbing. What the fuck is going on?
“Doctor, what’s happening?” I say to a physician when he rounds the end of the bed. His focus is on the patient and he doesn’t answer.
Somebody in this place is going to tell me what the hell is going on. I approach the bed and peer over the shoulders of two nurses and see another on her knees in the bed with the patient performing CPR.
This guy is dying. No wonder Imani and Elena are so upset, but who could it be?
I don’t remember anyone being in the hospital. Actually, I don’t remember much of anything at all.
I move back a step as the nurses switch places. The one slipping off the bed has sweat dripping off of her face from the exertion. She must have been at this a while.
Another nurse takes her place and when she moves, I step in closer. Who is the poor soul in that bed fighting for his life? Who it is that my family is crying over?
For a split second, I see the face of the dying man. His body jerks with every pump of his chest, his skin is pale and ashen but something about him is familiar. I blink and try to focus. No, this isn’t right. That man looks exactly like me but I’m not in that bed. I’m standing right here. This is not happening.
My vision wavers and I feel weightless as the noise around me becomes steadily louder.
I’m floating, unattached and hovering over the hospital bed when suddenly that light sensation evaporates, and my feet are rooted to the floor. I stand and watch in utter bewilderment as my body stabilizes. A monitor above the bed shows that my heart has begun to beat, my heart.
I have a brain tumor that much I do know. Maybe this is a hallucination caused by the tumor? That has to be it. This is a huge, very realistic, elaborate hallucination.
Imani is standing now, clutching her chest hyperventilating. I try to go to her, but she still cannot see me. Not this
me, she sees the me in the hospital bed. The return of my heartbeat has stopped her tears.
Elena rushes to her side and embraces her. She is where I want to be, holding Imani, comforting her, loving her. I thank God for my twin sister right now more than ever. Elena and I have had my differences. But, since Imani drifted into my life on a whisper and conquered my challenging spirit, I have had nothing but appreciation and love for her.
I watch as they move to my side. Imani lays her head on my chest and reaches up to cradle my face. As soon as I see those delicate familiar hands touching me, I feel her damp tear stained face against my chest, her hands on my cheeks.
Don’t leave me now, baby, don’t give up on me, I was listening I swear. I heard what you said.
You go, I go, and I am sure as hell not going anywhere.
Seventy-Three
I hate nightmares. They have been a regular part of my life for so long I should be used to them, but I’m not. I take sleeping pills to ward them off but their effectiveness has decreased over the years.
I used to be able to sleep six or seven hours in peace. Now I can only go for three or four. I don’t wake up when the medication wears off. I wish I did.
Instead I become aware of my dreams again. I’m never lucky enough to have the warm, soft, happy dreams that most people experience. Mine are terrors tied to the horrible memories of my past twisted into distorted, mangled scenes.
I wake soaked in sweat and tears, frozen on my back in an uncomfortable cot. It takes a minute to reorient myself to my surroundings and when I do overwhelming relief encompasses me.
It wasn’t real. Oh God, thank you. It wasn’t real.
We’re still here, both of us. I look over and there he is, lying as still as always but alive, still alive. I pull the sheet around my body and struggle from the cot into his bed. The need to feel his warmth is immense and the magnetic pull between us is stronger than ever.
