by E. S. Carter
Yes, I was blind to a lot of things with Bella, but isn’t that what love does to you, makes you blind?
My gut churns; am I repeating the same mistakes with Lilah? Am I purposely ignoring her deceit because what I don’t know won’t hurt me?
Yes. That’s exactly what I’m doing and it stops. Now.
“Mum,” I call into the kitchen as I grab the keys to the banana mobile from the hook by the front door. “I’m just heading to the bank to try and sort out this mess; I’ll be back later.”
I didn’t wait for her reply and I left the house with a renewed purpose, slamming the front door behind me.
The bank is my main destination, but I’m going to get there via a trip past Lilah’s building. It’s time to face up to things, and I know that Lilah isn’t Bella, but I also know I deserve more than a blurred version of the magic I feel when I’m with her. I want it with crystal clarity, not tainted with even the smallest untruth.
I pull up to the curb on the opposite side of the road to Lilah’s building and shut off the engine, waiting there in silence. This feels wrong; not wrong because I’m spying on her, but wrong because I’m not prepared. In all the stake out films I’ve ever seen, the hero always has an accomplice, one who brings snacks and a handy pair of binoculars.
I root around in the glove box and come up with a pocket sized pack of tissues, a black biro pen and some cough sweets. Unwrapping a sweet, I pop it into my mouth and suck until the menthol flavour burns my tongue, never once taking my eyes off Lilah’s building.
Around twenty minutes pass, the roof of my mouth has menthol burn, and I’m breathing so deeply through my nose that I can smell the cookies from the bakery down the street.
Cookies, now they would make the perfect stake out snack.
My hand is just about to open the door as I check for traffic in my side mirror and then pop it open a few inches. Yelling from across the street catches my attention immediately.
“Get your fucking hands off me! She’s my wife; nobody can stop me from seeing her.”
Wayne. The prick who banged my car window the other day is currently being restrained by two security officers from Lilah’s building.
“You’ve been warned, you’re not welcome here, so move along or my colleague is going to call the police and have you removed.” The larger of the security guys all but growls in his face, but Wayne is undeterred.
“Fucking call them! You can’t keep a man from his wife, she belongs to me!”
Anger curls in my gut as I watch this pathetic excuse for a man flail around trying to extract himself from the bigger guy’s hold. The urge to go over there and make sure he never comes back here again, burns in my gut but my head tells me that it will only make things worse and for once, I listen to my head.
“Call the police.” Nicola’s voice brokers no argument as she comes around the corner of the building and witnesses the scene in front of her.
My eyes flicker from her to a still restrained Wayne and back again. She looks venomous.
“Get your weasley arse away from this building and never contact my sister again, do you hear me?” She punctuates the last four words with a forceful prod to his chest. “By this time tomorrow there will be a restraining order with your name on it, so do everyone a favour and fuck off once and for all.”
Wayne’s eyes turn evil, and even from my vantage point in the car, I can see the hate spewing out of his every pore.
This time, I don’t hesitate. I’m not going to stand back and watch what is about to happen, despite the man being restrained, I know it isn’t going to be good.
By the time my foot hits the opposite curb and I’m only a few feet away, I hear, “Watch your fucking mouth, you whore,” and witness as Wayne attempts to lunge towards Nicola. The big guy holding him back only just manages to keep his hands on him, but that doesn’t stop Wayne from hurling a mouthful of spit right into Nicola’s face.
What. The. Fuck.
My next view is of Wayne’s sneering face, right before I draw back my fist and punch the fucker smack in the nose, breaking it instantly and causing a fountain of blood to erupt with volcanic force.
The blow stuns everyone, including me, for about three seconds and time seems to stop. Then, almost like a switch has been flicked, Wayne rears back on an almighty roar and smashes the back of his head into the security guys face, who is luckily, or maybe not for him, still restraining him. The height difference means that he misses his nose but splits his lip and knocks out one of the bloke’s teeth.
Then all hell breaks loose.
Wayne is on the floor in less than a second. Both security guys pin him down, one secures his flailing legs, the other, kneels between his shoulder blades and presses his face into the concrete.
Sirens blare, and I turn to see Nicola standing there in complete shock, spit still running down her face and dripping onto her clothing.
I walk slowly towards her, not wanting to spook her. “Are you okay?” I ask as I hand her a pack of the tissues I found in the car earlier.
She hesitates before opening the packet and wiping the slime from her face, grimacing as it seeps through the tissue onto her fingers.
That is her undoing; she throws the used tissue onto Wayne’s back before leaning down into his face, “Every part of me wants to hock the biggest greeny my lungs can muster and spit it into your ugly, pathetic face… but I’m better than you, she’s better than you and you know it. You had something perfect, someone you were unworthy of and instead of cherishing that, you chewed it up and spat it out.” She bends even lower so she can make eye contact with him before continuing in a voice laced with strength, “My sister is a survivor. Meningitis may have taken her leg, but it never took her, yet you think that you can come along and break her when a deadly disease tried to and failed. You’re pathetic. You’re nothing more than a germ. In fact, you’re Gonorrhoea; a painful itch with some discharge that can be cleared with a single tablet. You disgust me. Stay away from my sister. This is your final warning.”
In one fluid movement, she stands and walks away from the still cursing man on the floor, just as the Police pull up with their blue lights flashing.
I pay no attention to anything that’s going on. All I can hear is ‘Meningitis’ and ‘taken her leg’, and I don’t snap out of my stupor until an officer walks over to me and informs me that I need to come to the station to make a formal statement.
In a haze I do just that, following the squad car all the way to the station with Wayne’s head visible in the back seat. Watching him sneering and yelling as they cuffed him and all but threw him in the car, made me wish I could punch the fucker again.
I park in a space outside the station and watch, almost absentmindedly, as the officers haul a still struggling Wayne from the back of the car and into the building.
I’m still staring at the station entrance when a light tap on my passenger side window grabs my attention.
It’s Nicola. She has on different clothes, and her hair is damp from a shower. I look down at my blood spattered t-shirt and cut knuckles, and finally realise how bad I must look, but I don’t care. I just need the truth before I walk through those doors and a face possible assault charge.
I lean over and open the door for her to get in, but before her arse has a chance to hit the seat, the words spill out, “Is Lilah in hospital?”
The door slams behind her, and she turns to look at me.
Lilah’s face looks back, only it’s Nicola’s; the differences are subtle, but they are there.
“Yes.” She doesn’t elaborate.
“Does she have meningitis?”
“No.”
Great, one word answers.
She blows out a long huff then continues, “Listen, Harry. Lilah is going to kill me if I tell you, so you’re going to have to ask her these things, because I value my life, plus I love my sister and it’s not my story to tell.”
She hands me a slip of folded paper, which I he
sitate to reach for.
“It’s the address of her hospital. I’ll call and make sure you’re on her approved list of visitors, but if you want the full story, you need to ask her.”
I take it from her, careful not to touch it with bloody fingers.
“Thanks.” The word is soft as it leaves my lips. I’m still trying to piece all this new information together with the Lilah I know.
“Don’t thank me yet. I have more to say.”
I look up into eyes almost identical to the ones I’ve wanted to drown in.
“You treat her any differently to the way you have been, and you will answer to me,” She says, an edge to her tone that I don’t wish to deny.
I nod.
“She’s Lilah, the same Lilah. Not broken, or defective, or frail, or weak. Just Lilah. See it, but more importantly, make her feel it. If you can’t, you can walk away now.”
“I’m not walking away.” The words rush from my mouth.
She assesses me for a few moments, judging the truth to my words, before saying, “Good”, then leaving the car.
I watch her walk into the station without sparing me another look.
Broken.
Defective.
Weak.
All words I’ve felt about myself over the last year or so, but never with Lilah.
I’ve never felt those things when I’m with her.
Whole.
Connected.
Complete.
That’s how being with Lilah makes me feel.
Now I need to make her feel it too.
It’s been two days since I heard from Harry and I’m bored out of my brain. The only time I get out of my bed is for my physio sessions, and even then I give a half-hearted attempt at effort.
Something doesn’t feel right, but I don’t know what.
My parents visited yesterday but Nic text saying she had too much on with work to stop by. I know how busy she is and the long hours she works, but it’s not like her to only send a text. Generally, if she can’t visit she’ll call and chat to me, but not yesterday.
So I’m wallowing while eating junk food. Who needs modern medicine when a packet of Monster Munch and a family bag of Maltesers cures all.
I’m searching for a stray Malteser that I seem to have lost down my bra when a polite cough breaks the silence of my room. I look up, with one hand still rummaging around in my boobs, expecting it to be a nurse, but it’s not.
Harry stands in the doorway to my hospital room, with a large bouquet of flowers in his hands and a wary smile on his face.
I freeze, my fingers have just found the melted ball of chocolate, right next to my nipple but they release it immediately and my hand flies out to cover my stump with the bed sheets.
“W-what… I mean, h-how are you…” I stammer, unable to find the words as my heart beats erratically and my cheeks flare with embarrassment.
“I think the word you’re looking for is, Hi?” He smiles, walking slowly into the room and placing the beautiful arrangement of flowers on the table in front of the window.
My brain whirs at a mile a minute.
How did he know where to find me? Who let him in here? Does he know everything?
“I’ll be right back; I’ve just got to get something from the hall.”
I gape like a goldfish drowning in oxygen. My metaphorical fishbowl was drained of water the same time my heart was drained of blood.
Seconds later I hear some light clattering and Harry comes back into the room pushing a food cart in front of him. On the top are large serving platters covered with silver metal cloches and beneath I see a large green bottle chilling in an ice bucket, next to a glass domed covered cake.
“W-what’s all this?”
He pushes the cart up to my bed and drags an armchair from the other side of the room, looking up at me with a soft smile on his face.
“I couldn’t wait any longer for our date, so I thought I’d bring it to you.”
I have no words.
I’m panicking because of the fib I told, I’m dying inside a little that he obviously knows about my leg and the fact I also hid that from him, but I’m also blown away by his thoughtfulness.
“A drink?” He tilts the chilled bottle to the side, just like a waiter, and carefully places two champagne flutes on my rolling tray.
“I… can’t…”
“It’s non-alcoholic, I already checked with your Doctor and he told me everything else was fine, but not to bring you alcohol. So, you can.” He gives me that soft smile again, the one that makes the creases around his eyes deepen. I’ve come to think of it as my smile, and I like it a lot more than I should.
“Thank you,” I all but whisper as he hands me a glass of bubbly liquid.
He takes a sip from his glass and motions for me to do the same. Crisp, sweet bubbles burst on my tongue, and if he hadn’t told me it was alcohol-free, I would never have guessed.
“It’s perfect.” I offer him a smile but it’s short lived, as I glance down towards my missing leg and shuffle awkwardly.
His hand on mine stills me and I look into a face that is devoid of judgement, even though I deserve it. What I see instead is acceptance, understanding and a glimmer of hope.
“I was going to wait until we’d eaten to have this talk, but I think it’s something that needs to be said now.” He looks from our joined hands to my face, then follows the shape of my thigh underneath the covers, until his eyes rest on the empty space where the rest of my leg should be.
“I understand why you didn’t tell me,” his words are soft yet his voice strong.
“I understand wanting to just be… you. Not a lesser version of yourself, or the you that you wish to be, but the you that makes you… whole, normal even.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my features devoid of emotion and when he looks back up to my face, I feel bad about my feeble attempt because he wears his feelings for all to see.
“When I look at you, I just see Lilah. The Lilah that took my breath away even when wearing a bunny costume, the Lilah I still wanted to see again, even after she took me to a gay biker bar,” he smiles wryly at me, “the Lilah who saved me from the goats of Satan.”
I can’t help but smile back. When he reminds me of all our encounters it sounds ridiculous.
His eyes leave mine for a second, and he gazes out the window before turning back to me, his face a mixture of agony and complete honesty.
“The thing is, I knew you were hiding something from me, and I let you. I let you because I know what it’s like to enjoy just being with someone without having to worry about being rejected because you’ve lost something.”
He looks back down at my leg, “You may feel less of a woman because of what you’ve lost, but let me tell you, you are all woman. Sexy, confident, funny…”
I feel myself blush at his words and he reaches out to touch my hot cheek with his fingertips.
“Don’t feel ashamed of who you are; you are perfect.”
I am perfect.
No man has ever told me that before. Wayne told me I was a freak, that me and my stump deserved to be in a circus show. He said that I was ugly, that he struggled to get it up when he looked at me and that no other man would ever want to touch me.
When Harry looks at me, I feel none of those things. I feel wanted, desirable, alive… those were the feelings I didn’t want to lose.
“In the spirit of honesty, now that you know how I feel about you, I need to tell you something about me that makes me feel…less.” He breaks eye contact once more, again fixating on our joined hands and the motion of his thumb rubbing over my knuckles.
I want to tell him he can tell me anything, but I think the words need to come from him without prompt.
His thumb stops its movement and he slowly raises his head to look at me once more.
“I’m a testicular cancer survivor. Thirteen months in complete remission.”
I flip our hands over, wanting to gr
asp his more firmly and give him the comfort he’s freely offered me.
“That’s great news.” It is amazing news. I’ve heard so much about testicular cancer through things like Movember and I know it’s such a delicate topic for men.
He smiles but it’s fleeting. “Thanks. I… uh… well it came at a bit of a cost.” He motions to my stump, “A bit like surviving Meningitis did for you.”
I scrunch my forehead up in confusion, not understanding what he could have lost, until it dawns on me.
“You had to have one removed?”
“Both.” He looks away. “I had both testicles removed.”
I know exactly how he feels, then it dawns on me that maybe I don’t.
I didn’t lose, what in essence, makes me a woman. I lost a limb, one that can be replaced and has similar functionality. What he lost cannot be repaired with a prosthetic. Yes, the shape can, but not what I imagine they represent to a man; fertility, virility, manliness.
“I want to say that I know how you feel,” I squeeze his hand tightly, “but, in all honesty, I don’t.” I begin to rub my thumb over his knuckles just like he did to me a few moments ago. “What I will say is something a very cool, very wise and very handsome man said to me… Don’t feel ashamed of who you are, you are perfect.”
His head whips around and he looks at me, like really looks at me.
“I hope you can wait for your food, Bunny Girl because if I don’t get to kiss you in the next few seconds, I may just lose my manhood. Seeing as you already know I’ve lost my nuts, you really don’t want to be a witness to any more of my emasculation.”
I tug his hand, pulling him towards me, “I only heard the word ‘kiss’ so less talking, more action.”
He leans forward, a twinkle in his eye, “Are you always so demanding?”
My exhaled ‘yes’ is lost in his mouth as he kisses me so completely, that I swear I feel it all the way to my toes, even the ones I lost.
This, right here, is what it feels like to be whole.
His tongue dances with mine, his lips so soft and warm that I want more. Always more.
More lips, more licks, more nips, more shared breaths. More.
He places one last kiss on my bottom lip and I swear I whimper when his mouth leaves mine. His shuddery exhale as he slowly pulls away sends goosebumps over my skin when it hits my kiss-wet lips.
