Destiny Gift

by Juliana Haygert

  “Tell me how you know my name.” He glanced down and I followed his gaze. His hands still shook. He hid them behind his back. “Have you been following me?”

  “You don’t know me?” My voice, barely audible, sounded both hurt and hopeful.

  He tilted his head. “Nope,” he said, then turned toward his car again.

  “Wait,” I called as he opened the door. “Don’t go. Please, ju—”

  “Gotta go.” He cut me off. A second later, he was inside his car and backing up.

  Unable to move or breathe, I watched Victor leave the garage—leave me—as if I were some revolting parasite.

  Chapter Nine

  I cried myself to sleep.

  Raisa noticed I wasn’t well and didn’t force any information out of me. Even if she managed to make me talk, would she have understood?

  My alarm clock blared early in the morning, warning me it was time to get dressed and go to class. I didn’t. Instead, I went to the hospital. Perhaps I was just deluding myself, but I had to try again. I couldn’t let Victor, a real flesh and bone Victor, escape so easily. Besides, I knew too much about him and I could use the information to find him.

  At least I had an excuse to go there since, with all that had happened, I had forgotten about taking my curriculum in when they had asked for it the previous day.

  Once at the hospital, I checked in with the receptionist and handed her my curriculum. Taking advantage of the moment, I asked to visit Bianca Gianni, Victor’s Italian grandmother. The receptionist confirmed my suspicion that his grandma was real too. She asked if I was a family friend. I lied, saying that I was, otherwise she wouldn’t have told me that Mrs. Gianni had been taken for an examination but should be back to her room, on the eighth floor, in about an hour.

  So, everything he had told me in my visions was real? Why? I figured I didn’t have time to waste mulling over that. I took an elevator to the eighth floor to wait for him there. He was bound to show up at some point, and I didn’t care if I missed my classes or my job to speak with him again.

  On the eighth floor, I dismissed the wooden number shining brightly on the wall and walked down the corridor, looking for Mrs. Gianni’s room. It wasn’t far.

  I raked through my mind, trying to recall another episode in my life when I had been this nervous. Besides my brother’s funeral, no memories came.

  To steady the trembling of my body, I leaned against the white wall, letting the anesthetic smell filling the corridor fill my lungs. Maybe the drugs would help calm me. They didn’t. I tucked my sweaty hands inside the pockets of my hoodie—another ineffective attempt to calm my senses.

  Expecting to see Victor, each door that opened, each new footstep that drew closer, each new voice that crossed the corridor caused my breath to catch. I knew he would have to pass through this place sooner or later. I had to have patience.

  Not much time had passed after my arrival, when I saw an old lady with white hair and bluish-green eyes being brought in by a nurse in a wheelchair. I had never seen or spoken to his grandmother in my visions, but he had showed me pictures of his family, and those eyes were enough proof that this woman was his grandmother.

  I was shaking again. Holy hell, there she was. She was real. Like Victor was real. Everything I knew about him was real. I still couldn’t believe it.

  I heard a heavy sigh and turned toward it. It was Victor. He was leaving the elevator down the hall and coming toward his grandma’s room. He had seen me and didn’t seem happy about it.

  He wore faded jeans, a T-shirt, and a thin jacket. Too casual. I shook my head. The fact that my dream Victor and this real Victor were exactly the same physically, while their clothing styles and posture were the opposite of each other still boggled my mind.

  He came to a stop before me. “You again.” There was disdain in his tone. I cringed.

  “How are you?” I managed to ask and immediately felt silly. I had planted myself here in this hallway for over an hour waiting for him, and when he finally arrived, I didn’t know what to say. Though I really did want to know how he was. The last time I had seen him in the flesh, he’d been jerking on the floor of the hospital’s garage, in pain. “What was that … ah … before …?” I trailed off, hoping he would understand what I was referring to.

  He shrugged, his sea-green eyes still staring at me with suspicion. “I don’t know. By the way, how do you know my name?”

  I twirled a lock of my hair around my index finger as I considered my answer. I wanted to answer him. I wanted to be honest, but he would never believe me.

  As if my answer would pop out of the walls, I scanned the hallway.

  At the end of the corridor, a nurse left a room and entered another.

  “The nurse,” I almost shouted, hoping he wouldn’t notice my sudden lie. I avoided his inquisitive eyes. “I heard a nurse calling you earlier that day.”

  His deadpan expression hid his thoughts and didn’t let me know if he was buying it or not.

  “What did you do to me last night?” he asked, crossing his arms. God, I hated how his voice and his posture were so guarded and mistrustful. I wasn’t used to it.

  “What do you mean?”

  “When you touched me, the shock and the pain went away. How did you do that?”

  “I don’t know.” This time I wasn’t lying. I really didn’t know. He frowned, clearly still suspicious. “Seriously, I have no idea.”

  His shoulders stiffened. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”

  My eyes widened as I retreated a few steps, trying to avoid his toxic tone.

  Yes, he looked like my Victor—the same voice, the same hair, the same face, the same mouth that had offered me smiles that had rendered me breathless many, many times. I wanted to touch him, to embrace him, to tell him everything was going to be okay. Maybe if I touched him, he would remember me and he would want to touch me too.

  I came closer to him, looking deeply into those wary green eyes, my fingers itching to stroke his skin, to feel it smoldering under my caress. But I didn’t. He was like my Victor, but he wasn’t my Victor. The Victor from my visions would never speak to me like this. He would never snap at me. No, no. My Victor loved my company, loved to hear me sing, loved to embrace me and inhale my scent.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice croaking under the heavy pressure inside my chest.

  Then, I walked away.

  At first, each step was heavy and slow, but as forlorn tears spilled over and shook my body, my pace increased until I was running. I ran as if the strides could erase the agony slowly consuming me.

  How could I have been so blind? How could I have believed Victor truly existed and that he loved me? Why had I tortured myself by looking for him? I knew the answers to these questions. If I could make one wish, I would ask for my dream Victor to be real. When I’d seen a guy that could be his identical twin, I thought my soul’s wish had been fulfilled.

  It had been too good to be true. Nobody could be so lucky. Still, I couldn’t believe I found the guy that looked like my Victor—but he would never be my Victor.

  ***

  I had to stretch the not-feeling-well lie for a few more days with work since I didn’t have any strength to get up from my bed. Adam was livid for having to fill in for me, while Raisa and Olivia were left worrying.

  On a Friday, after I spent three days in bed barely eating or speaking, the girls called Cheryl.

  “I heard you’ve been hiding in here since Tuesday,” she stated. My face was buried in my pillow, but I felt the bed wobble as she sat next to me. “You’re not eating, you’re not going to class or work, and you aren’t speaking to your friends.”

  Through the pillow, I smelled them. Cinnamon rolls—my favorite snack.

  “That’s not fair,” I mumbled.

  Cheryl chuckled. “I’ll use all weapons available to me.”

  Grunting, I turned to her and instantly saw the giant-sized cinnamon rolls on a plate beside her. Th
ey were still hot, with extra sugar coating. The way I liked. And the fact that I was starving added to the temptation.

  “God, you’re playing dirty,” I kidded. My first joke and my first half-smile in nearly five days.

  She passed me the plate. “I’m glad you decided to talk to me.”

  We sat in silence while I ate. It wasn’t an awkward silence though.

  “Thanks,” I said after I devoured three rolls. I was feeling better and cozy. I guess it was Cheryl’s presence, her sure self and kind smile.

  “You’re welcome.” She offered me a mug of coffee I had missed earlier. “So, what is this all about?”

  Where to start? Or, a better question, would I even tell her? Here I was, in the privacy of my room, with a woman who was both a friend who wanted to help and a psychologist. I could take advantage of this opportunity and open up for the first time ever. But was I brave enough for that? I wasn’t sure.

  I decided to give it a shot, to open my mouth and let the words come out naturally.

  “I-I …” I stuttered, not ready to confess how insane I was out loud. I tried another route, not far from the truth. “I met a guy.” I swallowed hard. “I feel very, very attracted to him, but he has been sort of rude to me. He hasn’t let me get close.”

  “Hmm. All of this because of a guy?” She smiled. “Tell me about him.”

  I stood and smiled. “He’s gorgeous. Perfect. His hair is dark blond, and he is very tall. And his body …”

  Cheryl chuckled. “It’s easy to see when you are nervous or excited.” She pointed to my hair. “You start doing that thing with your hair and don’t even notice it.”

  I looked down at my hand near my shoulder, where my finger was entwined in a strand of my hair. I hid my hands behind my back, holding them together to stop my nervous habit and to steady their trembling. Still smiling, she beckoned for me to continue.

  I took a deep breath and plunged on. “Well, I just feel this pull, this incredible need to be near him. I talked to him on Tuesday.”

  She seemed surprised. “How was it?”

  My brows contracted. “He was rude actually. And that’s why I’ve been hiding in here. Maybe my reaction was a little childish.”

  “Oh, Nadine, if you feel like you should be with him, then don’t give up. Go after him. Show him you are a great girl. Show him what he’s missing.” Cheryl sounded like a motivational speaker.

  At her tone, a reluctant smile appeared on my face. “Cheryl, I’ve never heard you speak like that before.”

  “Well, I believe that when you think you found the one, you shouldn’t give up easily.”

  I had always wondered if she’d ever been in love. I started whirling my hair again, but stopped a second later. I had to stop with this habit. “And you, Cheryl? You’re talking like you know the feeling, but I’ve never seen you with a guy, and you’ve never spoken of anyone special.”

  Her silver eyes became dull. “I lost the love of my life many years ago.”

  “Oh my God! I’m so sorry.”

  “I’ve never told anyone. I don’t think I’m ready to go looking for another romance. The truth is I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

  I reached for her hand and squeezed it. “I think I understand.” If Victor kept rejecting me, I figured I’d become bitter and alone fast.

  “The past is past.” She perked up. “Now, we must do something about your case.”

  I chuckled at her renewed spirit. “What do you suggest?”

  “Find out where he will be, what he will do. Be there, stare at him, practice some provocative moves with Raisa. I’m sure she knows all about those. Nadine, you have to try.”

  My chest still ached from Victor-not-Victor’s rejection, but what Cheryl said was true. I had to try. I truly felt like he was the one for me—at least the one from my dreams—and until I was sure this Victor was not the one I thought he was, I wouldn’t give up.

  Chapter Ten

  Somehow, Adam found out I was feeling better and, after talking to our manager, informed me I was to work double shifts on Saturday and Sunday to compensate for the days I’d missed during the week.

  As a result, when I arrived home Saturday night and was invited by Raisa to go to the club with her, I had to refuse. I felt exhausted and useless. There was no way I could go out, even if there was a possibility of the real Victor being there. As it was, I found out on Sunday he’d been at the club with two classmates.

  “He’s totally hot, but Nad, please, he has this permanent I’m-mad-with-the-world look.” Raisa also told me a few girls tried to talk to him, and he turned them down. “I think he was rude to them.” Then she mentioned how his stance was stoic and detracting at the same time. “He doesn’t look like a bad boy. He just looks antisocial and annoyed.”

  So I wasn’t the only one he mistreated or the only one who noticed how his posture shouted “back off.” That was sort of a relief.

  When the hospital called me to schedule an interview, my hands started sweating. There was a big chance I would run into Victor there, and despite the fact I wanted to see him and talk to him, I didn’t know if I was ready to face him yet. But there was nothing I could do. I needed this job. I agreed on an interview time, right after my shift was over on Monday evening.

  Destiny or not, I literally bumped into Victor’s grandma when I left the human resources office after my interview.

  “I’m so sorry, ma’am.” I grabbed her arm to steady her. Bianca Gianni was old and fragile, with a neat white bun and gentle wrinkles adorning her still beautiful face. Sadly, she was alone. No Victor.

  “I’m fine, dear,” she said, her parched tone revealing how sick she really was. But she found the energy to smile at me. She wasn’t as tall as her grandson, but she was still much taller than I. “I was close to the walls and doors. You know, in case I trip.” She chuckled and I grinned.

  Hmm. Ideas sprouted in my mind. “Do you need any help getting somewhere?”

  “No, no, dear. I’m just stretching my legs. I get tired of spending most of my day in these damned hospital beds.” Her dull laugh became a couple of dried coughs. “I apologize for my inappropriate words.”

  “No need to apologize.” I stepped back, letting her pass me and get on with her walk. If what my vision Victor had told me was right, she stumbled over her feet all the time, and I would be there to offer her my arm for support.

  Not even ten seconds later, Bianca did trip and, when I offered assistance, she accepted it.

  “There aren’t many nice young ladies around anymore,” she said with a gentle smile. Oh, if only she knew.

  “You know,” I said, prepared to use bribery to find out what I wanted to know while we strolled through the hospital’s sterilized corridors. I had a chance to prove if all I knew about the Gianni family was right. “I was on my way to the cafeteria to buy a cocoa cappuccino. Would you like one?”

  Her green eyes brightened. “I would love one,” she exclaimed, then lowered her voice. “My grandson would kill me if he knew I had one. You see, I shouldn’t eat chocolate or drink coffee. And certainly not both at once.”

  I chuckled at the old lady’s enthusiasm. I loved the fact that during one of my visions, Victor had commented how it was hard to keep his grandmother away from chocolate and coffee and some other things she shouldn’t consume in excess.

  My heart rate rocketed. Oh God, it was true!

  “I won’t tell him if you don’t,” I whispered, and she eagerly agreed, looking like a child who was about to get a new toy.

  After getting cocoa cappuccinos, Bianca and I sat at one of the cozy internal gardens the hospital had built after the darkness had taken over. By then, we had formally introduced ourselves, and she had told me about her illness—like in my visions, she had stomach cancer.

  “I don’t think I have much time left,” she confessed, seated by my side on one of the wooden benches. She had on a heavy wool coat, but she looked cold. I considered getting her i
nside, but she seemed so relaxed next to the living plants. “I try to be strong, you know. I have to. Otherwise, I don’t know what will become of my grandson.”

  To keep her talking, I pretended I didn’t know what she meant. I asked questions I knew the answers to just to make sure we were talking about the same Victor. “Where are his parents?”

  “Oh, they died when Victor was thirteen, dear.” Her voice was strained. “My husband, my son, and his wife were in a store that was robbed. The criminal became nervous and shot everyone.”

  I nodded, recalling when he had told me about it. “I’m so sorry.”

  I was going to ask more, but a shadow fell over me. I glanced back and found Victor glaring at me.

  “Grandma.” His tone was dangerously low. “What are you doing outside? And with a stranger?”

  “She isn’t a stranger,” Bianca said. “Her name is Nadine, and she’s a nice young woman. She’s in the NYU pre-health program and just had an interview for a position within the hospital.” His grandma sounded like she was trying to sell him on me. I didn’t like it. And, from what I could see, neither did Victor. She turned to me. “I apologize for his behavior.”

  “You don’t need to apologize for me,” he retorted. “I’ll apologize when I think it’s necessary.”

  “Then at least be polite,” she chided him. I guessed that was a regular situation, seeing as she had raised him since his parents’ deaths.

  He puffed up but remained quiet.

  “I’m sorry,” I muttered, smiling feebly at Bianca. “It was nice meeting you.”

  “Oh, it was nice to meet you too, dear.” She reached out and patted my face. “If you ever come around again, I wouldn’t mind your visit.”

  My weak smile widened, but it was short lived since Victor’s glare made my whole being wilt.

  Afraid of answering, I just nodded. “Goodbye,” I said.

  I stalked away, wanting distance from this rude, cruel Victor whose sharp voice I could hear behind me. He reproached his grandma for talking to me and for trusting a stranger. Even as tears brimmed in my eyes, I hummed to myself to mute his offensive words. How could the two Victors look so alike yet be so different?