Sinning Again

by Heidi Lowe

  "Fractured ribs? Dear God." Her breath got caught in her throat when she put a hand to her mouth. Then a thought came to her, and she looked at Robyn with fearful eyes. "She didn't get bitten, did she?"

  "No, no," Robyn assured her hurriedly. "As far as I could tell, they were already fully transformed when they attacked her."

  Jean breathed a sigh of relief. That would have been too much to bear.

  "So what do I do now? I can't just sit here doing nothing while she fights for her life."

  "There's nothing you can do. She'll be in hospital for a few days, they couldn't tell me how long."

  "Then we get her moved here." She said it as though it was the best idea she'd ever had, that it was the solution to world hunger. "Yes, I'll get this room set up for her, hire private doctors, nurses, whatever she needs."

  "Jean, what she needs is to be in a hospital," Robyn said patiently.

  Jean knew this, but it meant they would be separated for an indefinite amount of time. The thought of that was unbearable. Lissa needed her the most now, and the law stood in her way. She wanted to sink her teeth into the necks of every congressman, or woman, who ever lived.

  "If I can't be there, then you have to be."

  Robyn had known she would be asked to act as babysitter, and she'd been prepared for it, looking on it as an extension of her job.

  "Whatever you need."

  TWENTY-SIX

  The worst thing about being attacked wasn't the crippling pain in my chest and lungs every time I took a breath, or the lacerations all over my flesh, or even the eye patch they said I had to wear for a couple of weeks while my eye healed. It was the hospital food!

  Up until then I'd thought it an urban myth, one of those stories that were repeated but never had any truth to it. I learned quickly, from the first meal of rock hard potatoes, barely cooked vegetables, all swimming in gravy so watery and flavorless, I thought it was water with food coloring.

  It was like that for three days, until I got moved to a private room, and even then the food remained bland, though edible.

  The private room, though, was like paradise. A welcome change from my mattress on the floor in my tight, little apartment. The en-suite bathroom was cleaned well every morning, just like my room, and I had a wall-mounted TV with all the cable channels, to peruse at my will. It was like the vacation I'd been dying for, only I'd literally almost died for it, and had the scars to prove it. Never mind the fact that I hadn't been able to sleep lying down, and that I'd been doped up on painkillers pretty much since checking in. It also hurt when I laughed, so Comedy Central was off limits.

  Diane, Raymond and Camille visited in turn, on different days. Raymond brought his long-term girlfriend Georgia along, who was way out of his league, something I whispered to him before they left.

  My room was filled with fruits, a couple of balloons, get well soon cards from the handful of people who I mattered to. Petr's teddy bear and chocolates were close by, on standby for when I needed something to cuddle, and something to get fat on.

  I was doing a crossword puzzle from a magazine Diane had brought me, when my door opened and Robyn walked in.

  "Another word for grumpy old man, beginning with "c", and has an "m" and "g" in it?" I said.

  She thought about it then said, "Curmudgeon."

  "Hey, it fits."

  She set the bouquet of red and white roses on my lap. "You can decide what to do with them." She peered around the room, we both did, at the numerous vases stuffed with roses. There were six in total, for each day that I'd been there.

  I laughed. "They won't give me any more vases. And they told me to ask her not to send any more flowers."

  "She isn't going to stop. Not until she can see you. There are much better things to spend money on."

  "You wouldn't understand," I said, and returned to my crossword. "The capital of Australia? I always thought it was Sydney, but that doesn't fit."

  She tutted. "If you're just going to ask other people for the answers, what's the point doing the damn thing? It's Canberra."

  "You're good at these," I said, writing down her answer. "Maybe you're in the wrong profession."

  "Believe me, I knew that the second Jean asked me to babysit her really irritating charity project who just won't go away."

  I laughed again, taking no offense. I knew that she probably did mean it, but that, at the same time, she meant me no harm. It was, after all, thanks to her and Nadine why I was still alive. Robyn had saved my life. She could have called me the worst name in the dictionary, but it wouldn't have mattered. When someone saves your life, they get a free pass to be a bitch as often as they like.

  She sat down, helped herself to some of my chocolates. She could have as many of those as she wanted, too.

  "When do you get out of here?"

  "A few days. But I'll need bed rest while I'm at home."

  "And your eye. How is it?"

  "Still blurry, but the doctor said that's to be expected. Should heal fine. So don't you worry your pretty little head." I loved teasing her. It had become my hobby, this back and forth where we teased and insulted each other, but nothing too serious. Although I doubted we would ever see eye to eye on anything, and knew that the petty bickering would persist, we had moved past the hatred.

  "She's getting the house ready for when you're released," she said, ignoring my efforts to annoy her. "She assumes you'll be recuperating at her house."

  What she was really doing was asking me, for Jean, if that was my plan. The big, cozy, warm and welcoming mansion, or the freezing cold studio apartment the size of a matchbox?

  "Well, if she's getting it ready I can't not stay there."

  She smirked knowingly. "Of course."

  "How's Nadine?" The great warrior who'd kicked werewolf butt wearing a skirt and heels! She was officially my new hero. She'd stopped by to visit once and promised to come back with some food from the restaurant, some real food, she'd called it.

  "Fine. Why?"

  "No reason, just... You do realize that you hit the jackpot with her, don't you?"

  "You and I are not friends, Lissa. And I'm not having that conversation with you," she said curtly.

  "I'm just saying."

  "Well, don't."

  I threw up my hands in surrender, chuckling. "All right, I won't say anything else about her." I picked up my magazine again. "Four down: In Greek mythology, she was the queen of the underworld. I feel like I should know this."

  Robyn sighed, didn't appear to give the answer much thought, and said, "Persephone. Do you know anything?"

  Dallas hadn't even called to see how I was. Sadly, that didn't surprise me one bit. It was well in line with her usual pattern of behavior.

  Not even a text.

  No doubt she and her raving pack of rabid, inbred family members were off licking each other's wounds, doing some recovering of their own. My only regret was that I hadn't done more damage, hadn't caught more of them in the eye with my mace.

  I didn't know whether she'd been among them that night, whether she'd been in on the trap, or whether it had truly been her birthday. It didn't matter much now, anyway. As far as I was concerned, this was her fault.

  It didn't stop me thinking that every time the door opened, it would be her, come to apologize. I wanted to believe that she wasn't all bad. Not for myself, but for her. Because if she really was the type of person who could befriend me, spend all that time with me, only to send me to my death, there wasn't much chance of redemption.

  The pain meds had me drifting in and out of sleep, sleep populated by fractured dreams of that fateful night. The television stayed on all day, every day, playing quietly in the background while I slept, ate, and slept some more.

  To say I went stir crazy sitting in that hospital room while my body healed itself, and overworked nurses flitted in and out of my room at my beck and call, was an understatement. I missed the dogs at work. I even missed the arrogant cats. I missed waking up and hav
ing somewhere to go and things to do. But most of all, I missed Jean.

  She hadn't called or texted either, but she'd done pretty much everything else. Getting me the private room, sending Robyn to check on me every day, with flowers and gifts and nice things to eat. Robyn was her proxy. She wanted to visit, Robyn told me every day.

  "You'd better hurry up and recover. She's driving herself crazy not being able to see you," Robyn had said.

  "Why doesn't she call?" I'd asked. "If she wants to know how I'm doing, she can speak to me on the phone."

  "It's not as simple as that, Lissa," Robyn had said, and I didn't understand what she meant. She didn't bother elaborating, to explain why a two minute phone call wasn't simple.

  And then I did understand.

  It was half an hour before the visiting hours were over for the day, and I was passively watching some Sandra Bullock flick I didn't know the name of, and stuffing my face with the grapes Robyn had brought earlier that day. There was a tap at the door so light I thought I imagined it. But it came again moments later.

  "Come in," I said. The nurses usually knocked louder than that, and came in even without invitation, if they didn't hear me respond.

  I saw the black cap first and didn't know what to make of it. Then the hooded sweatshirt. My first thought was that someone had come to attack me. But then the person looked up, showing their face.

  It was hard enough for me to breathe without this kind of shock.

  "What are you doing here?" I said, half-shrieking. Was she there or were the pain meds making me hallucinate?

  Jean closed the door behind her and rushed over to my bed. It was amazing how changing one's outfit could take years off one's appearance. She looked ten years younger, about my age. Fresh-faced, pale and beautiful. Beautiful despite the worry in her dark eyes.

  "Oh, Lissa." She removed her cap and perched herself on the side of the bed. "Oh, honey. My sweet angel." She was crying suddenly as her cold hands cupped my face, thumbed lightly over the wounds, the eye patch, my busted lip. She brought her lips to my face and kissed every laceration, every bruise on it, and I let her. Her tears trickled onto my face, watery-red.

  She pulled the bed sheet back, examined me, and kissed me wherever she saw a cut or bruise, as though her kisses could heal me. They did feel that way.

  "Look what those animals did to you. I'm so sorry, baby."

  "Why are you sorry? This isn't your fault."

  "I never should have let you think I didn't care, that I didn't love you. It was foolish, and childish, and, God, I never should have pushed you away. I didn't for one second stop loving you. I wanted you to think I did. But I should have stayed by your side, even if you did choose to be with another woman, I should have–"

  I took her hand in mine, and squeezed it. She peered at me with watery, anxious eyes.

  "You've got it all wrong. It's always been you, Jean. I never chose her. I couldn't even sleep with her. I've always been yours, and only yours."

  My words should have made her smile, but instead she sobbed harder, burying her head in my lap. She didn't realize how awkward her tears would look landing in that spot. People would think I'd had an accident of the monthly kind... But I let her sob quietly, because she needed it. This was why she couldn't call or text. The things she had to say to me could only have been said face to face.

  She was smiling eventually, when she sat up again and wiped her face with the sleeve of her top.

  "Look at me, falling apart as though I was the one they attacked." She held both my hands.

  "You shouldn't be here. If anyone catches you, they'll arrest you."

  "I had to see you. I couldn't go a day longer without telling you what an idiot I've been. I couldn't let you sit here thinking I didn't love you, that you're not the reason my heart still beats."

  "As much as I'm happy to see you, I don't want you thrown in jail, locked away from me."

  She kissed my hand. "I'll go in a minute. Just let me have this. Let us have this."

  She still looked at me with the same love and affection she always had, in spite of my beat up face. The doctors did say I would make a full recovery, but I couldn't have been a pleasant sight at that moment.

  "This new look really suits you," I laughed, reaching for the cap and putting it on her head. "It's kinda sexy. Like the rich girl who's trying to fit in with the street kids."

  She chuckled. "I look ridiculous, and you know it. But I needed some sort of disguise. How are they treating you here? Do you need anything? More clothes, more books, anything?"

  "No, I have everything I need. Well, now I do..." I pulled her into a kiss, which was difficult to do with her cap on, and my lips still sore. "And I know it's probably all kinds of inappropriate to say this, but I can't wait to get back to form so I can do all those things we used to do..."

  A slow, lascivious smile spread across her face. "I'm not sure I know what you're referring to. I think I need you to elaborate," she joked.

  "If I do that, I'm afraid I'll work myself into a frenzy. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

  She thought about this, then grinned. "I've never made love in a hospital bed. But I suppose that wouldn't be wise, seeing as I'm not supposed to be here."

  We heard voices on the other side of the door.

  "That's my cue to leave." She sighed and got up. "When you're discharged, you're coming home, where you belong, where I can take care of you."

  It wasn't a suggestion – it was an order. And home, just as Petr had said, was wherever she was. I would recuperate there, with the woman I loved once again looking after me. Because the world without her in it, without her protecting me, wasn't one I wanted to live in.

  I felt her parting kiss long after she'd snuck out of the room. And that night, I slept like a baby.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  I rolled my T-shirt up to my bosom, stared at myself in the mirror. The bruising to my chest had mostly vanished, but the pain was still very much present. The feeling of lack of air getting to my lungs was the worst part, and made worse by the fact that whenever I tried to breathe deeper, steal more air, I felt a shooting pain from my broken ribs.

  But it got less so as time went on, as the bones mended themselves.

  The stitches were gone now. Eighty-five in total, in six different places. In their place were sore red marks on my face, my stomach, my arms and legs.

  Saying goodbye to the eye patch after two weeks of wearing it, my eye fully recovered, was surprisingly sad. I had grown attached to seeing it on myself, and imagined myself as a pirate, wounded in battle. I thought it made me look pretty bad-ass.

  I let my T-shirt down and lumbered back to the bed, holding my ribs, though that was more out of habit than through pain. Reaching for the prescription painkillers – the little pills that gave me my codeine fix – had also become somewhat of a habit. I fully understood how and why people got addicted to this stuff. It made life a little less unbearable, and who didn't want that?

  As I was loading myself into bed, grimacing a little with the struggle and pressure on my ribcage, the bedroom door opened.

  "Let me help you, honey." Sandra quickly put down the tray of food and hoisted me into bed, with a strength I didn't know she possessed.

  "Thank you, but I would have managed."

  She patted me on the head. "I know, hun." She didn't sound like she believed me.

  She set the tray on my lap, lifted off the stainless steel food cover dome. I always looked forward to her meals; I never knew what type of delicious offering she would bring me from one day to the next. It was like having a top chef from a Michelin-star restaurant in the house, here to cook for me and only me.

  This evening's meal didn't disappoint. I dug in while she was still standing there, and ate like a homeless person.

  "You need anything else, just buzz for me," she said, as she did every time she came in. I'd only had to use the newly installed buzzer once in the ten days that I'd been back, and that was
right at the beginning. The fact was, Sandra never gave me the chance to call for her. She popped in all the time to check up on me during the day.

  "What time does the sun set today?" I asked, just as she went to leave.

  She looked at her watch. "'Bout half an hour. She'll come straight in to see you, don't worry." She smiled knowingly, winked, then slipped out.

  I ate in silence, devouring my meal and savoring every morsel. A brand new television had been bought and mounted on the wall, just like in the hospital. And some of my personal effects from my apartment had been brought back. Over by the window was the easel and paints from my studio.

  The room had been turned into my own room, even though it was actually Jean's.

  "I could have taken my old room, you know," I'd said to her the day I'd come home from the hospital, and she'd carried me up the stairs and into the bedroom.

  "I wouldn't hear of it."

  "You'll use any excuse to get me into your bed," I'd joked.

  I'd been recuperating in it ever since.

  When she did finally come in, I'd already finished eating and was playing The Sims on the latest handheld Nintendo device – a gift from Jean, because I'd once mentioned in an offhand remark that I wanted one. The console had come in very handy to quell my boredom. I could see how gaming all day could also become addictive.

  "I'm starting to get a bit jealous now, of a games console," she laughed when she came in. She kissed me on the cheek, stroked the side of my face, then sat on the bed beside me.

  I saved my game, switched it off and set it aside, before kissing her properly, on the lips, with lots of tongue. She smelled fresh, like almond shower gel. Her hair was a little damp.

  "You have nothing to be jealous of...ever," I said, staring deep into her eyes. I wasn't just talking about the console, I was talking about everything, and she knew it. She knew I was back; she knew I was hers.

  She stroked my face affectionately, her smile radiant, eyes watery, grateful. She was grateful for me just as much as I was for her. And even though my body was a mess, and my ribs were cracked, I couldn't remember a time when I'd ever been this happy.