by Emerson Rose
One tear slips down my cheek, only one. I turn my face into his hand and kiss his palm. He is so poetic sometimes. I’ve forgotten how he softens my heart with his declarations of love.
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“Okay, I won’t worry. Okay, I’ll calm down. Okay, we got this.” His trademark smirk plays on his lips, and he guides me up into his lap.
“That’s my girl.” He strokes my hair and I hop up and step back.
“I shouldn’t be on your lap. Too much stress isn’t good for your head.”
“My head was enjoying the stress actually.”
He winks. I sigh. Men… no matter how much they love, adore and respect a woman, they are still men.
I continue to pack our belongings. I may be handing over our worries but he never said anything about fear, and I’m still afraid. We need to get out of here… tonight.
Eighty-Six
I haven’t been in Italy six months and the house on Lake Como already feels like home. Marcus is my home now, wherever he is, that’s where I call home.
The house is quiet. Marcus promised Doctor Lorenzo that he would stay in his mini- hospital, but I knew that was bullshit the second the words left his mouth. I have insisted, however, that he not be allowed to walk all the way to our bedroom on the second floor.
Maria set up a room on the main floor as close to the front door as possible. It’s not actually a bedroom; in fact, I remember it being a den or a sitting room, but you’d never know that now.
A huge four-poster king sized bed has become the focal point of the room now and the couches have been removed. Two large wardrobes were brought in and placed on either side of a bump out window that faces the back yard. There is still a built-in entertainment center with a theater sized screen and even an en-suite bathroom. Maybe this was supposed to be a bedroom, after all.
Maria went all out decorating. I don’t know how she got all of this accomplished so fast. We only called this morning saying we were coming home but then again she knows Marcus well. She’s probably had this in the works for a while what with his history of leaving hospitals against medical advice.
She arranged cream-colored roses in a vase on the night table and placed Marcus’s personal photographs and his favorite books around the room. The bedding is deep purple and gray coordinating with the drapes. And to top off the glam, a gorgeous chandelier hangs from the high ceiling over the bed. The decor is very Marcus, I have to hand it to her, she knows what he likes.
“Oh God, a normal bed,” he says when we pass through the thick mahogany double doors.
“Yes, and you’re going to get right into that normal bed, you’ve had enough excitement for one day. I’m already starting to regret bringing you home early.”
It was all I could do to keep him from going directly to his office. And then he tested me again suggesting we go to the kitchen and make sandwiches.
“Oh, you love that I am home. You know you do.”
Okay, I can’t deny that. “It is good to look at something other than the four walls of your hospital room, I’ll admit.”
“Oh, I’m wounded.” He gasps and holds his hand on his chest where I’ve supposedly stabbed him in the heart with my words. “You only wanted to escape the hospital.”
“Oh brother, I think that the tumor must have been suppressing a dramatic streak.”
“Hmm, maybe so. Life is boring without a little drama.”
“A little drama? Come on, Marcus, our lives have been pure one hundred percent proof drama since we met.”
“Has it been that bad, baby? Do you wish you had never met me?” He bats his long eyelashes and reaches out from where he sits in his wheelchair to take my hand.
If he hadn't just had surgery, I’d be tackling him down onto the bed for a good tickling. I’ve never seen this side of Marcus. He’s so lighthearted and free spirited; it’s refreshing, and a little odd.
“You’re a nut, and for the record, no, I have never wished that I hadn’t met you.” I feel like I should say more.
Like that he gave my stagnant life a jump-start. Or that he is like a stick of dynamite blasting down the walls I built around my lonely heart. Or maybe that he has given me joy and hope and love and more happiness than I ever thought possible. But I don’t.
There is plenty of time for that later and I’m enjoying the lightness of this moment. Not to mention that deep declarations of love made standing in our bedroom would take us down a road he’s not physically ready to travel yet.
In the coming weeks our limits will be tested. A lot. It’s not easy denying what comes naturally and historically we haven’t exactly been known to mind our Ps and Qs.
I’m already having trouble convincing him to rest and he has meds to take, physical therapy, and lots of rest ahead of him. I’ll be here to help every step of the way, and it will be worth every single second.
“Good to know, Mrs. Castillo. No regrets?”
“No regrets. Not even one. Let’s get you into bed.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
“Oh no, Mr. Frisky, you know better.”
“And your point is?”
I sigh and hitch my thumb toward the bed, “Get in.” He mischievously cocks his head and lifts his eyebrows but I ignore him. I have to. “Wait, sit here while I arrange the pillows so you can sleep propped up.”
I push his chair up next to the bed and he waits without complaining. I go about pulling back the heavy duvet and plumping and propping pillows against the padded headboard.
The sheets smell like softener when I pull down the bed. Maria must have put them on directly out of the wash right before we arrived. I love that smell.
“Okay, all set.” I turn around to help him up and catch him grimacing. The happy-go-lucky man from seconds ago is gone and pain is written all over his face. I slide my phone from the pocket of my jeans to check the time. His pain meds were due an hour ago. I curse myself silently for not paying closer attention to the time.
I watch him pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger giving himself away.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re hurting?”
“I’m not.”
“Yeah, whatever.” I move between his legs and he looks up at me while I unbutton his shirt. I watch my fingers while he watches my face. He burns through me with his stare, but I concentrate on the buttons.
When I reach the last button with my hands dangerously close to his lap he grabs my wrists. I look up and curse silently to myself when he uses his powerful stare to make me weak.
He’s doing it. After all the warnings and instructions from the doctors and nurses, he is directly defying their orders to stay calm and quiet.
“Marcus… you need rest, pain medicine…,” I whisper weakly.
“I need you.” He takes my hands and I bend until we are eye to eye. He wastes no time pressing his mouth on mine. He nips at my lips and caresses my tongue with his, igniting a need in me that is much too dangerous to fulfill.
His hunger overpowers me when he takes it further, pulling me to my knees between his legs. The kiss becomes more urgent, our breathing erratic, he moves my hand to cover his solid length between us. He is encouraging me to go to a forbidden place when he positions my other hand on his chest, dragging it tortuously down every ripple of his abdominal muscles.
I am his puppet, and he’s running the show. I know I have to stop before we get lost in that space between reality and ecstasy, where only he and I exist and nothing else matters. He tenses and everything stops just long enough for me to escape his spell.
“We can’t do this, you know we can’t…,” I whisper and scramble out of his reach but he isn’t stopping me. Something is wrong.
He is holding his head with both hands squeezing his eyes closed. “Fuck, Marcus, why did you have to go and do that? Shit, shit, shit.”
I slide the shirt from his shoulders and toss it on the floor. I squat down and re
move his shoes and socks and lean in sliding my body under his arm. Using every ounce of my strength I help him stand.
He’s shaky and his eyes are still closed as I steer him toward the bed. I hear him count quietly to himself, on four we arrive at the edge of the bed. He’s counting his steps, learning the new room as if he were blind.
This poor man will probably expect blindness every time he gets a headache for the rest of his life. I back him against the mattress and quickly unbutton his jeans. I work them down, and he sits when he knows they are free of his feet. I help him lift his legs and swing them around until he is finally in the damn bed. Before I can pull the covers up he turns away from me onto his side with his arms and legs in the fetal position.
I’ve never seen him lie this way or sleep in this position, ever. Seeing him so vulnerable scares me to death. I pull the duvet up and quickly press a kiss to his shoulder before I make a beeline for the bag of prescriptions we picked up on the way home.
I dump the bag of bottles at the foot of the bed and begin to search for the pain medication he was supposed to take at five o'clock even though it’s now six fifteen. The damn medication names and doses are in Italian. Okay, I can figure this out, I know meds, I’m a nurse, right?
I open a bottle. The pills don’t look like any pain pill I’ve ever seen. I go on to the next and the next before I grab my phone and pull up an app that identifies prescription pills.
This helps me determine quickly the medication he needs, identifying each pill by the letters and numbers stamped on them.
Marcus hasn’t moved or said a word. I grab a bottle of water from the night table and crawl across the bed. “Marcus, baby, you need these, open your eyes for a second.”
“I can’t, help me,” he says and I place the pills into his open mouth and hold the water bottle to his lips while he swallows them.
“I’m sorry, God, I’m so sorry. I knew better.”
“Shush.” He’s shushing me? I’m trying to comfort him and as usual he is doing the same for me. He spreads his hand out flat on the mattress and pats the spot next to him. His movements are tight and controlled. He’s trying to avoid jostling himself and causing more pain. I screw the lid back on the water and toss it behind me before shifting softly onto my side mirroring his position.
“Don’t leave me,” he whispers.
“Never.”
I lie for hours watching him breathe. His eyes dart back and forth under his lids when he enters REM sleep. The medication takes effect and he relaxes when the pain evaporates from his body. He stretches out on his back and his fists unclench.
He is beautiful. I could watch him forever. His hair is growing back already. His entire head is covered with a dark shadow that will soon be a thick mane of soft curls again.
I scoot closer and rest my hand on his chest. A muscle in his jaw ticks when he dreams and his full lips part just enough that I can feel his warm breath on my face.
I watch, and I watch, and I watch until I hear the soft tinkling of my phone alarm reminding me that it’s time for another round of meds. I hate to wake him. He looks so peaceful, but if I don’t he could end up like he was earlier, miserable and paralyzed by pain. I slide my hand up his bare chest to his shoulder.
“Marcus, you have to take some more medication. Wake up.” He inhales a short burst followed by a deep shuttering breath and exhales before lazily opening his eyes. He looks at me as if he’s still in a dream for a moment before blinking away the sleep.
“Where are Yes and No?” he asks.
I screw up my face and consider the dose of his pain meds. Did I give him too much? And then it hits me, the kittens. Crap, I forgot all about them. Maria has been taking care of them for a long time they won’t even know us.
“I’m not sure, what made you think about them?”
“I had a dream. We were under the bed, you were smiling and they were playing in your hair.” He reaches out and slides a stray curl between his fingers. “Let your hair down.”
“What?”
“Take your hair out of that braid, you never wear it down anymore. I love your hair.”
I sit up and cross my legs facing him and unbraid my hair.
“It’s a mess. I haven’t been able to keep it nice at the hospital.” I work my fingers through the curls fluffing it out and bringing some forward.
“Beautiful. Now call Mr. Black and find your kittens. And tell Maria I’m starving.” Music to my ears, he’s hungry, yes.
I flash him a huge smile, and he makes me squirm with his smirk and a wink. Lord, the things that combination does to me. I turn and start to scoot off the bed but he grabs my hand before I’m out of reach. I look back over my shoulder and he mouths I love you before he releases me.
“I love you more.” I love him deep down in my bones.
“Never leave me …”
“Never.”
Eighty-Seven
I’ve been awake for hours sitting with my arms wrapped around my legs and my chin propped on my knees staring at Marcus, waiting for him to wake up.
Yes and No are curled up with him. Yes is in the bend behind his knees and No is in a ball with his head upside-down near, but not touching his chest. I can’t believe how much they’ve grown while we were gone.
And what’s even more interesting is how they have taken to Marcus. Both of them were immediately drawn to him. They crawled all over his chest and nuzzled their heads under his hand demanding to be scratched, and not a second glance at me.
Guilt ridden from all of their attention, he kept pushing them toward me but to no avail. Both of the little boogers ignored me and made their way back to him. I attribute their behavior to animal instinct. They sense that he’s not well and they want to make him feel better. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.
When my bones begin to ache, I leave the bed and slip on a robe to go check on breakfast with Maria. I grab my phone off the entertainment center and drop it in the pocket of my robe on my way out the door. Neglecting my friends isn’t my style and it’s high time I paid them some attention. We need to have a get-together. I miss girls’ night out. We haven’t had one since the night Marcus woke up from his coma and I left them dangling after one drink to rush to his side.
I’m not counting the disastrous taco and movie night that never happened at mom’s house when I was a hollow version of myself. That was a disaster, not a girls’ night out.
I shoot a group text to all of them and apologize for the long period of silence. I give a brief explanation of what’s been going on, very brief. I promise them dinner and drinks at our house when we return. Everyone but Clair responds enthusiastically.
I wonder how she’s doing. Clair is my most mysterious friend, I’ve never really connected with her, she keeps to herself and suspect she has secrets. We all have them but I think Clair’s are dark, maybe like my own.
By the time I reach the kitchen I have tentative plans for lunch when we get home and the smell of bacon and toast wafting through the air is making my stomach growl.
“Ah, Buenos Dias, Señora Castillo.” I stop short at the sight of Mr. Black and Elijah sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast, Black with a newspaper in his hands and Elijah’s laptop open next to him.
“Well, good morning. What’s everybody doing here so early?” Black smiles a friendly smile, which feels really weird. He recently accepted that my feelings for Marcus are real and irrefutable but I’m not used to his new attitude yet. He returns his attention to the paper and Elijah stands and pulls out a chair for me next to him.
“Good morning. How are you?” Elijah asks, and Mr. Black glances at him with raised brows.
“And Marcus, of course, how is Marcus this morning?” Poor Elijah stumbles, trying to fix his one-sided greeting.
I worry my lip for a moment and hope there hasn’t been a misunderstanding between me and Elijah. He has to know how devoted I am to Marcus.
“I’m great, Elijah, thank you for
asking. And Marcus is fine, too. He’s sleeping… with the cats.” I open my eyes wide and giggle. Who would have ever thought big, tough, scary Marcus would cuddle up in bed with a couple kittens?
Elijah smiles and shakes his head. “I wish we were still watching you two on the monitors, that would be a sight to see,” he says. Black glances out of the corner of his eye again, this time not as obviously but I catch it just the same.
“So, why’s everybody here this morning?” I ask again.
“Well, since I live here, I believe she’s speaking to you, Elijah,” Black says. I look back and forth between the men sensing a bit of tension.
“Oh, well, I’ve got some things to go over with Mr. Castillo this morning. I need his signature and the green light on a few projects.”
I roll my eyes, “Elijah, don’t you think you could call him Marcus? You’ve known each other for years; you’re friends.”
Elijah wipes his mouth with his napkin and tosses it on the table in front of him.
“He’s my boss. He will always be my boss. We’ve been over this before.”
Mr. Black looks satisfied, a little smug even. What’s going on with these two? I sigh and lean back to allow Maria room to slide eggs onto the plate in front of me.
“Thank you, Maria, and whatever, Elijah.”
“Coffee?” he asks dodging my comment.
“Yes,” I say making it clear that I am annoyed. Why can’t those two just be both friends and work together?
“I don’t think he’s up to doing a lot of work just yet.”
I watch him pour my coffee into a cup that says The Bride on it and sets the cup down in front of me adjusting it perfectly so I can read the words.
“What’s this?”
“Maria,” he says, nodding in her direction. She looks over her shoulder and grins wildly and I can’t help but laugh. She’s something else.
