by Jemma Grey
I slept through most of the flight but when we landed I was awake and fully aware. Eric lived in England, and for a while that amazed me. As soon as we stepped off the plane, Eric's entire mood shifted. He was suddenly tense and more alert than he needed to be. He wrapped a hand around my waist protectively, leading me outside to where a black limo was waiting. The driver was already lifting my suitcases into the car. Eric scanned around us for a brief minute, then opened the door for me. I quickly climbed in and a minute later he did the same.
My eyes were closed but I could feel his eyes on me. “You're staring at me,” I commented without opening my eyes.
“No,” he said, and in my head I saw him smiling the smile I'd grown used to. “I'm looking at you, continuously.”
At once, I opened my eyes and faced him, surprised he was quoting me. “Well, you're freaking me out.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“You should really stop asking me that question,” I
said avoiding his next question. “Every time you do, I'm gripped by the sudden urge to run away screaming.” At this he let out a light chuckle and this time I didn't just see sparks fly, I saw a whole other world.
“You've been... distant with me. Can I ask why?” I took a deep breath and then looked up at him, deciding to play stupid. “What are you talking about?” I asked frowning.
“The last two days, you've hardly said two full sentences to me... What is going on, Jen?” He took my hand and held it in his.
“I've been busy packing,” I answered. “Jen, you can tell me anything. Our deal was that we would talk to each other.”
“There's nothing to talk about, it’s all done. Everything's already been planned out,” I told him, feeling a lump rising in my throat. My heart ached and I was fighting the tears so hard that my throat burned with the effort.
“I tried to-” he began but before he could finish I put a finger to his lips, shutting him up.
“I know,” I was becoming frantic now. “I know you didn't want this either, and I know that you tried Eric,” I said closing my eyes. “But I can't help blaming you. It's you that I'm marrying, and you're going to be my husband. Eric it's you...” I trailed off horrified at what I had said. I would not blame him now if he hated me.
“It's okay,” he whispered squeezing my hand as he pulled me closer. I didn’t pull away from him; instead I leaned into his chest feeling at home here – loved, protected, safe... But at the same time the thoughts of being trapped loomed in my head.
“I'm trying,” I muttered into his chest, both to him and myself. “I really am... and I'm so sorry.”
“I understand, Jen... there was a time when I hated you. I didn't know you then, but I knew of you... and I hated you because... well I knew one day I would have to marry you...” he trailed of, and I raised my head to look at him. “I understand exactly how you feel.”
Eric gave me a few minutes and then asked “Ready?” I didn't know what he was talking about, but I nodded anyway and he opened the door, getting out of the limo, dragging me along behind him. It was dark outside probably around 11PM.
My breath caught at once when my eyes adjusted, and I took in the scene around me. There weren't words to describe the place. Eric and his family didn't live in a house, they lived in a mansion, one that had been plucked right out of a fairytale and was made for royalty. It was old, like the family house that is passed down from one generation to another. Only this place had to be dated way back to the early centuries.
We were at the end of a long driveway that was lit with lamps at both sides. At the other side of the limo was a huge fountain that the driveway went around, so cars could turn and then drive back out. The fountain itself was an elegant black widow spider with crystal clear w ater flowing out of its legs. Eric took my hand then and began leading me to the house.
Inside was even more breathtaking. The first room I stepped into was the foyer. It was huge, with wooden, curved staircases at both ends that met at the middle of the room. The floor was layered with wood colored tiles, and the walls looked like they were made of wood too, but as I passed my hand along the wall closest to me, I realized it wasn't. The material didn't feel like it should, it was too cold.
“Where are we?” I asked, my voice seeming to echo through the giant room.
“Home,” he breathed out, and I could tell he missed this place. “Well, one of them,” he sighed.
“You really live here?” I asked in pure disbelief. Who and what where the Wilsons? “Wait,” I said before he could answer, “what do you mean one of them?” I asked. We had reached the staircase now and it too wasn't real wood.
“My parents own houses all around the world. We moved around a lot, but this is where I spent most of my life. Most of my friends are here...” he clarified.
“Where are your parents now? Are they here? And your sister?” I asked to fill the silence. “It must be great having a sister,” I said speaking to myself now.
“My father is in...” he hesitated a moment, thinking, “some other country and I think my mom and Christy are up stairs but who knows, their schedules change a lot.”
“Oh,” I said.
“So you want a sister?” Even though his back was to me and now we were in a dimly lit corridor, I could tell there was an amused smile on his face.
“Yes,” I nodded knowing he couldn't see me. “I've always wanted a sister, but growing up in Trinidad with Kris - she's my best friend - kinda made up for not having one,” I smiled.
“You miss her, don't you?” he asked and again I nodded.
“Of course I miss her... she's my family. I loved living in Trinidad.”
“So why did you leave?” I could almost hear the frown in his voice. Memories I didn't want flooded back immediately and I swallowed, forcing myself to say the words.
“I left... after Daren's funeral...” I trailed off. “I couldn't stay... Leaving home was like finding a way to... to not drown, I guess...”
“Jen... you don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to...”
“I know,” was all I said. Sometime during our conversation, we'd stopped walking and was now standing directly in front of one of the many doors along the corridor. Eric pushed it open and then gestured for me to go in first, immediately switching on the light.
“My room,” he announced as I forfeited his hand, walking into the room. The first thing I noticed about Eric's bedroom was how neat and tidy everything was. It even smelled clean, not the overpowering type of clean, just fresh. The room almost looked cold, like it didn't belong to anyone. Everything was too perfect and straight as if no one really lived here, either that or Eric Wilson had an OCD problem.
On one side was a huge built-in wardrobe that went from wall to wall and ceiling to floor. The bed was in the middle of the room and at the other end were two doors. One was opened, revealing a small balcony and the other I was guessing opened to a toilet and bath. There was also a bookcase, stacked neatly with CDs and books. I walked up to that. It was the only personal thing in the entire room.
On the very first shelf was a stereo and CDs. There were stacks upon stacks of CDs, all bands I listened to, arranged alphabetically by artist, then year. Eric definitely had OCD. Just as I was about to pull a random book out pain crippled me and I was suddenly on the floor, curled into a ball.
My vision blurred as seconds later another, stronger wave of pain washed through me. Everything around me was in chaos. I heard an ear piercing, child-like, horrified screamed from somewhere inside the house, and then blood came pouring out of my mouth. This only lasted for a minute and then darkness engulfed everything around me and after, nothing…
6
I felt hands on me, touching my shoulders and face, and acting instinctively, I felt my own hands, heavy against the rest of my body, fighting them. I was in the dark and I didn't want to be touched. I shoved and pushed them away, but they always returned, no matter how hard I fought.
�
��Open your eyes, Jen,” a voice I recognized said. It sounded worried and pained but I didn't know why. I couldn't make sense of what it was saying, but it was beautiful even coated in worry. “I'm not going to hurt you,” it said again and this time instead of hearing a mixture of blurred hums and sounds, words began to take form. I listened and after struggling against my heavy eyelids again and again, I finally opened them and the world blurred into focus.
Everything around me was smoky, as if somehow the world had been blanketed by a cloud of heavy, thick haze. Dizzily I looked around and found myself in Eric's room. “What happened?” I heard myself mutter, but the voice wasn't mine. This voice was strange and distant; more of a moan than a voice.
“You fainted. Are you okay?” He was worried and panicked, and hearing the intensity in his voice made me want to tell him everything. Just for a moment I wanted to tell him the truth, that I was far from okay, that I’d stopped taking my medication and I was dying.
“Jen answer me,” he demanded when I didn't respond, his voice going hard now. In one of his flash movements he cupped my face between his hands and the suddenness of it made me jump. “I can have a doctor here in five seconds.”
“I'm fine Eric,” I whispered hoarsely, attempting to sit up - I was lying on Eric's bed - and seeing this he helped me up.
“You don't look fine. You were spitting out blood for fuck's sake, Jen.”
“Looks can be very misleading Eric,” I told him looking up at his face now, willing him to believe me. I fought against the wave of pain and desire to lie back down. I had to show Eric I was fine.
“Jen, you fainted… that's not normal and with your health...” he trailed off. He wasn't frantic anymore but the worry hadn't gone, and I believed it would never leave his head. I got the feeling from now onwards Eric was going to be watching me like a lion would watch its prey. I had slipped up and now he saw me as a sick, unhealthy girl.
“Eric I'm sick. I have been all my life,” I paused wondering which direction I should go with this. I wasn't sure what I was going to say but I knew I had to make him believe me. “At the same time though, I'm just like everyone else. Those little miracle pills your father makes ensures that. I'll faint or throw up, I'll have nosebleeds... there'll be days when I feel like crap but it doesn't mean my body is failing...”
“Are you sure you're okay though?” he asked, his icy blue eyes intense and studying me. My only response was a slight smile as I nodded. The seconds dragged on, his eyes never leaving me, then finally Eric nodded and relief flooded me. “But as soon as my dad gets back I'm having him look at you.”
I grabbed his face, just as he had cupped my face before, pulling him down to my side until he was sitting inches from me. “I'm fine,” I whispered smiling at him and in response he smiled back, but it didn't touch his eyes. It was just that, a smile.
“Okay,” I finally nodded, hoping to ease his worry, if even just a little. The check up was going to be a problem, but I was too exhausted to dwell over it at the moment.
“Tell me about it,” he said after a long while of staring at me. I dropped my hands from his face and began playing with the cast on my arm.
“I thought you knew for some freakish reason,” I admitted.
“No,” he shook his head. “I've always known you were sick, but never cared enough to want to know any more than that...”
“So what changed?” I asked raising my head to look at him.
“I met you...” he whispered. “Everything changed.”
I was silent for a long while and the seconds dragged on, guilt riding me. How much guilt could the human body stand? I felt it over Daren and Brandon's death, and that alone was crippling. Now I was feeling it over Eric too. He cared for me and in the end I'd only hurt him.
“So are you going to tell me?” he asked when I didn't answer.
“It’s something called aplastic anemia. The bone marrow in my body can't produce blood cells. There’s no solid cause, but doctors think it happens when the body's immune system is attacking the stem cells, so without those little pills, I could die from the common flu or bleed out from a wound that isn't fatal.”
“So you have a very severe case of it...” he trailed off frowning.
It wasn't a question, but I found myself answering anyway. “Yeah,” I shook my head. “My body can't make red blood cells nor white or platelets...” I knew what his next question would be - it was always the same questions in exactly the same sequence - so before he asked, I answered.
“I've had blood transfusions and other drugs that's supposed to help. I've been through immunosuppressive therapy - that's where they weakened my immune system. They all worked for a while,” I shrugged.
“How can you be so casual about this?”
“Because this is my reality...” I explained. I grew up knowing these things just as other kids had grown up knowing if they wanted to see the sun they had to look at the sky. “Its kinda funny, actually,” I laughed. My own body was attacking itself. The white blood cells that were supposed to fight infections were instead fighting me.
“No, Jen, it's not funny,” he frowned, looking at me as if I was a serial killer.
I took a breath and forced myself to stop laughing. The smile was still on my face though. “That's what everyone says but,” my smile grew brighter and bigger, “if you rob a bank and your pants fall down, laugh at it. Let your hostages laugh too because life is funny.”
His lips curled up and he let out a small chuckle. “See?” I asked grinning.
“Where did you hear that?”
I stopped and wondered for a moment. “I have no idea,” I laughed, “maybe Daren.”
“Would you tell me about him, what he was like?”
I didn't answer right away. I wasn't sure if I would be able to, but I would try. I didn't want to keep everything to myself anymore. I was tired of it. “He was funny,” I smiled involuntarily, remembering all the times he'd made me laugh so much I’d literally cried. “He was very impulsive, and an amazing driver. Daren could probably drive anything that had wheels...” I spoke each word carefully and slowly.
“He wasn't afraid to hurt my feelings. He would tell me if I was wrong or being an annoying pain,” I laughed at this too. The memories were too sweet not to. “He was straightforward and the only person who knew I was sick, and he never treated me like I was. Not once had he looked at me with pity or guilt or sorrow... To him I was just me…”
“Daren was the first person I was comfortable enough with to tell anything to and I knew no matter what he would never leave me... I could scream at him and he’d just shout back that I was being a bitch. We fought a lot,” I smiled, “about crazy stupid things. I miss fighting with him... I missed everything about him…”
“Now it’s like drowning...” I swallowed. “Everything reminds me that he's gone, and I'm left here alone stumbling around lost and confused with nothing and no one who understands,” I told him as the tears spilled out and ran down my face. I wiped them away instantly. Eric's eyes were glued on me and I realized then I wanted to make him understand. I don't know why but I needed him to. “I can't breathe properly... it’s like there's no release. You said there were cracks and dark spots running through me and you're right Eric... I am so damaged and so broken that it’s taking everything I have left in me to hold myself together. Every day I pretend to be fine - to be okay because when I stop pretending it’s going to break me...”
“You loved him...” he realized and I sat there frozen, my brain unable to form a single thought, too stunned by how fast Eric had figured it out. “You still love him...” he trailed off looking at me, studying my every move. His words came out precise and slow.
I opened my mouth to say something - to deny the truth - but no words came out. They were trapped inside me, somewhere hidden and dark. All I could force out was one syllable “I... I...” Finally I gave up and looked down at my fingers.
“It’s okay, you don't have to say
anything... I understand... But tell me this,” he took my good hand, gently closing his fingers around my wrist. Then his other hand went up to my neck. “This scar, how did you get it?” Eric gently began to pass his thumb along the base of my throat, where I knew there was a very faint, thin line.
“You see that?” I asked stalling his question. I freed my wrist and brought my hand up to meet his at my neck. I then held his hand in mine and carefully removed it from touching the scar.
“I do,” he waited.
I looked up at him deciding whether I should lie to him like I usually did when people asked. A second later I heard myself say, “I'm not going to answer that.”
“Why?”
“I don't want to lie to you...” I replied truthfully.
He was silent for a while. “Then don't lie,” he whispered.
“I can't”
“Why?” he repeated
“Eric I'm not ready to talk about it...”
Eric nodded, but other than that he didn't respond. A part of me expected him to push me to tell him, and I was glad when he didn't. I wasn't ready to talk about that scar or the night I'd gotten it. I didn't think I would ever be ready. “Thanks for understanding,” I told him, yawning against my will.
“You should probably sleep,” he said immediately and stood up from the bed, standing at its side. “I'll show you to your room; it’s across the hall from mine.” He held out a hand to me, but I didn't take it. “You know, just in case you have the uncontrollable urge to see me in the middle of the night and have your way with me,” he grinned. “Just so you know, I don't mind being taken advantage of,” he added with a an exaggerated wink.
