He gets my message and shuts up.
When I’m certain he’s not going to object again, I turn to Eli’s dad. “You calling Sam, Drum?”
His lips press together, then he answers, “I have to, don’t I? Eli’s her son. She’s going to be so fuckin’ worried, Olivia.”
Sam and Mom have been looking forward to this trip forever. They’ve got tickets to a top Broadway show. I hate that their time away will be ruined.
Small talk dies as no one has anything productive to say. An hour or more passes, then Dr de Souza appears. He nods toward Amy, then at me. Then shakes his head at my dad and Drum.
“What’s the verdict?” Drummer gets in before me.
“Patient confidentiality.”
I bristle. “I’m his wife. I need to know—”
The doctor gives a short laugh. “No, I don’t mean I can’t talk about what’s going on with him, it means, he won’t speak to me. Every time I asked him about what could have triggered him, what went on in the last few months, he throws one term at me. Club business.” He shakes his head. “It’s not unusual for someone to be reticent about sharing at this stage, but I’ve not heard that term before.”
As Dad snorts and shakes his head, the doctor tilts his head toward a chair. When I nod, he sits. Elegantly he crosses one leg over the other, and steeples his hands under his chin. “He is very agitated, and it’s undeniable he’s reached a mental crisis today. I’ve given him a sedative to help him relax. I’m also going to prescribe a short course of antidepressants.”
“Is he going to get better, Doc?” Drummer asks, adding, “I’m his father.”
The doctor considers his words carefully. “I have every hope that he will make a full recovery. But he does need to open up. The issue is getting him to the place where he’ll talk so we can see what the root of his problems are.”
“And if he starts to talk? How long until he’s better?” I ask.
“Hard to say. People recover at their own pace. Could be a month, could be three, could be less, could be more. Could be he needs support long term.” The doctor’s hands come down to rest on his thighs. “He wouldn’t, or in his mind, couldn’t, provide any details to me. One thing’s for certain, he’s become overwhelmed, unable to cope with life. Before I can give a prognosis, I need to know more about what’s happened to him, whether what he doesn’t believe he can handle can be changed, or whether he’s got to learn to accept things as they are. What were the triggers? Not just today. From what Amy said, this has been creeping up for a long time. I noticed he’s recently been injured, but he wouldn’t explain how he got that way, so I’m unable to say whether that was a trigger or not.”
“What do you suggest, Doc? How do we proceed from here?” I notice Drummer avoids any explanation or offers the information Eli was beaten out of the club. But then, I suppose, Eli’s problems started long before that.
Dr de Souza presses his lips together. “We’ve got to get him talking. Sometimes it seems too hard, too painful. Sometimes it takes a while to get to the bottom of what kicked the crisis off. I, or one of my colleagues will need to see him and get him to open up. I’ll get some sessions set up at the hospital.”
“Would it help if I came with him?” I ask.
“Or me?” Drummer offers. “If he keeps saying ‘club business’, I can tell him when it’s not.”
Dr de Souza nods. “It could well be useful if you sat in on his sessions if Eli’s happy with you being there. In the meantime, he shouldn’t be left alone.”
“You think he’s a risk to himself?”
“You’ve got to understand he is in a world of mental pain right now and isn’t thinking straight,” Dr de Souza explains. “That’s why I’d prefer him on a ward so we can watch over him.”
“We’ll do that,” Drummer says firmly.
The doctor stands, his expression showing he doesn’t like it, but has to accept the decision. “I’ll set up his appointments and let you know about them. In the meantime, try to get him talking. If he won’t talk to me, see if you,” his eyes go to Drummer, then land on me, “can get him to explain when he first started feeling like he couldn’t cope.”
Amy also gets to her feet. “I’ll see you out,” she says.
She follows the doctor through the door. When she doesn’t immediately return, I suspect she’s talking about medical stuff with him, or thanking him for coming, the manners which, in my concern for Eli, I forgot.
“I’ll talk to him,” Drummer states firmly as his hands toy with his beard.
“He hasn’t been speaking to me,” I point out. “What makes you think he might talk to you?”
Drummer catches my eye. “I can talk to him on different levels. I’m his dad, I know everything about my son. I was also his prez, there’s nothing about the club he can’t talk about with me.”
“Whoa.” I hold up my hand. “He’s not even a member of the club anymore. He walked away and talking about it might be the last thing he needs. From what he’s said, he never wanted the position as VP.”
“That’s what he said,” Drummer agrees. “But there doesn’t seem to be anything on the outside that he wants.”
“There’s more to it.” Dad jerks his chin toward Eli’s father. “And we need to find out what if we’re going to help him.”
“Was it me?” I run my hands over my stomach. “Was it my getting pregnant?” My eyes fill with tears which I’m determined not to shed.
The door had opened while I was talking, and Amy clearly overheard.
“Did Eli want children?” she asks, coming to sit beside me.
I nod. “Yes. Definitely. We might have pre-empted things a little…” Dad snorts, and I toss him a glare. “But Eli was over the moon at first.”
Drummer ignores him. “We’ve got to get to the bottom of what’s driven Eli to where he is now, as where he’s at isn’t a good place for any man. He’s got no club for support, no job and a wife who’s having his baby. I doubt things worked out how he planned.”
“He didn’t plan,” I say. That’s the point isn’t it? Now I think he just wanted to get away, with no thought about what would happen after that. “What happens if he won’t talk to me, or to you, Drummer?”
Dad sits forward and bows his head. After a moment he looks up. “Least you can do, Drummer, is explain the club would be happy with him talking to the doctor. If you tell him you’ll go with him, he can be confident any secrets shared will be those you’re happy for him to give away.”
“What about me?” I waspishly ask. “I’m his wife.”
Both Dad and Drummer turn their heads my way and say at the same time, “Club business.”
“What should I do, how can I help him?” I try to push my annoyance at not being involved down, realising it’s not just hearing what they don’t want me to, it’s that Eli has always been programmed never to talk about the club to me. That way old ladies are protected. Though it’s maddening at times, it does make sense. My suspicion is that he’s using club business as an excuse not to talk at all. But I suppose there could be something he’s done for the club that’s playing on his mind. How can I help, though, if I don’t know what’s wrong?
“Be his wife, Olivia. He’ll need you,” Amy says, understanding my position. “He’ll need to be kept calm. Encourage him to rest or just watch TV. That’s the best you can do for him right now. Show him you’re there for him.”
And no more badgering about him getting a job, or reminding him of his responsibilities, I suppose. For a moment I wonder whether he would be better off on a psych ward with people who know what they’re doing around him. But I keep that to myself. Drummer would never go for that. He wants to be in control of the situation.
“Rob left a script for his medication.”
“I’ll go get it.” Dad stands.
When he leaves, I go to sit with my husband. Eli’s resting, a sleep induced by whatever the doctor had given him. I just watch, wondering where and how it al
l went wrong, and whether there’s really a chance we can get through this.
Does it help knowing Eli’s not been pushing me away because he doesn’t want me, but because he’s ill? No, I decide, it does not. I might be the cause of his problems.
Dad returns with the medication, then leaves, saying he’ll be back in the morning. Drummer relieves me from my sentry position, telling me I need rest myself.
But in my bed, I turn my face into the pillow to stop Drummer hearing me cry. All I can see is my husband rocking and wailing in that gutter and remember feeling so helpless when there was nothing I could do for him.
I don’t feel much better now.
Chapter Fourteen
Eli…
I’ve just woken with my mouth feeling dry, and my bladder full, but I lie still trying to remember just how badly I’ve fucked up.
Yesterday I did something so stupid I groan just thinking about it. My memory is hazy, which is a blessing. I can recall waking with the thoughts that I was an immense failure, and how that is affecting my wife and I couldn’t shake them. My uppermost concern was that I didn’t want sex.
I’d toyed with the idea that I’d become bored with Liv, that maybe I was born to be like my father, unsatisfied unless I was fucking everything in sight. Unlike him, I’d only experienced one pussy. My memory is that hadn’t left me unsatisfied, so why don’t I want her anymore? Why doesn’t the sight of her make me hard? Why have I no desire to see her under her clothes? Is it that she’s pregnant? Is it me, or her?
Yesterday I’d seriously thought about going into town and finding a whore and seeing what, if anything, I’d been missing, but the thought hadn’t made my dick do anything other than lie limp against my thigh. But still I rode into town, thinking maybe if I see someone I like, my bike and my leathers—now looking naked without the club patches—would be enough to get me a ride of a different type. At the very least it would prove whether my cock was still working.
It was a half-hearted idea, and one which I found I couldn’t follow through. Oh, I’d seen a few pretty girls, but none that made my cock stir.
It’s me, not her, I’d thought as I rode. Here I was, a twenty-five-year-old man in my prime, and I couldn’t get it up anymore. I’d ridden aimlessly, eventually coming across an adult store. I’d stopped. What spurred me on, I don’t understand, but suddenly I was focused on going inside. Maybe adding toys into our sex life would bring back the spark?
But the more I walked around looking at stuff stocked on the shelves and hanging on the walls, the lower I’d become. Nothing was turning me on. Handcuffs? Nah. The thought of restraining Liv, not exciting at all. Ass play? Nah, though I used to like it as I recall. Vibrators? Gag? Hell no, I liked what she could do with her mouth and those little sounds she’d make while I was fucking her. Or, at least, I had.
When I realised I was getting odd looks, I began to pick up some items without really thinking what they were, how I’d feel using them or whether they’d give Liv pleasure.
I’d paid. At least I was functioning sufficiently to do that.
That’s the last thing I remember. I think I blacked out. I’d been only vaguely conscious of people arriving. My dad and Olivia’s had been a surprise. The journey back to this house—I can’t call it home, it doesn’t yet feel like that—is a blur. I didn’t analyse why Drummer and Wraith had turned up—part of me wondered whether I was dreaming.
All I remember thinking is that I can’t go on like this.
Is eating a bullet the answer?
I can’t leave Liv alone.
No, I can’t do that. Not when she’s having my kid.
How the fuck will I be a father?
The feelings of being a failure I had woken with began to overwhelm me. The thought of speaking to anyone, too much. My head feels like it’s imploding. This life is like a carnival ride and I want to get off, but the roller coaster keeps moving, and no one will make it stop.
I vaguely remember Amy trying to talk to me, but I was unable to answer so I let Liv speak on my behalf. Then there was a man asking questions, but his voice droned on, and I gave him the response that usually shuts people up. He’d given me a shot, and I became woozy and sleepy.
For the first time in months, powered by medication, I slept all night.
What worries me is that my memories of the day before are so clouded, I don’t think I was in control of what I did. What if I hurt Olivia? What if I hurt my kid?
I can’t summon the energy to face the day ahead. I’ve no explanations to offer if anyone asks me. I’d gotten rid of that man—he was a doctor, wasn’t he?—by coming up with some club business excuse, but honestly, it was an instinctive response. I can’t have anyone probing. I’ve been trained from birth not to share with outsiders anything about the club. And my life’s tied up in it as much as anyone’s could be. Even though I’m no longer a member, I won’t betray my family.
I’d like to lie hiding under the bedcovers forever, but my need to piss is all-consuming. Unless I wet the bed like a kid, I’m going to have to move, and going to the bathroom means I might run into Liv.
I open my eyes, stretching automatically, yawning and simultaneously farting.
“Fuck, some things never change.”
Abruptly I turn my head, my eyes glaring on the man chuckling. It’s my dad, and I wonder why he’s here, and why he’s amused and not still angry with me for shitting on everything he’s ever lived for. But some things take precedence over satisfying my curiosity.
I sit up, feeling groggy as though I’ve got a hangover. “I need to piss.”
Ignoring his presence, I slide out of bed naked as the day I was born. Grabbing a pair of boxers, I step into them as I go out into the hallway, and make my way to the family bathroom a few strides away.
I sigh with relief as my discomfort is eased. While I’m emptying my bladder, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I barely recognise myself nowadays, even my eyes look dead.
I look away, then frown. I’ve been brought up to keep my eyes open, to notice little discrepancies which might make the difference between life and death. Something out of place might mean a stranger’s been where they shouldn’t have, so I immediately see something’s missing.
We normally use the en-suite adjacent to the master bedroom, but that’s just got a shower. In here is a bath which Liv likes to take advantage of, so she duplicates some of her stuff, including the razor she uses to keep her legs smooth. It’s not in its normal place.
Slipping my cock back into my boxers, I flush, wash my hands, then open the medicine cabinet. Her spare razor blades are also missing.
Frowning, an explanation comes to me. I begin to suspect, were I to go looking, my knife and gun would also not be where I normally keep them.
Do they think I might harm myself?
Wasn’t that exactly what I’d been thinking earlier? That this life has become too hard. That this pain, these feelings of inadequacy might lead me in that direction. Is there really any other way out? If I can’t live with myself is it right to ask Liv to do so? If I was out of the way, she could move on and be happy. She deserves so much more. She doesn’t deserve me. Not when all I do is hurt her. And if I succeeded in pushing her away, there’d be nothing left for me. Another woman could never take her place.
“You alright in there, boy?”
Christ. Those words, that tone, shoot me right back to when life was easier, to when I was just a kid. When carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders was something not yet familiar. For a moment I wish I could return to that time and do things differently to change the direction my life had taken.
For an answer, I open the door and glare.
The pain, the despair and fear in my father’s usually stern eyes has me reconsidering my anger, and replacing it with sorrow instead. He’s just one more person I’ve let down and made hurt.
“You want to eat?”
I shake my head. “I’m going back to bed.”
<
br /> “Nah,” he contradicts. “You’re going to get dressed, eat, then we’ve got to get to the hospital. You’ve got an appointment with the doctor today.”
“I’m not seeing a shrink,” I tell him. “Talking doesn’t help.” I couldn’t find the words to speak to anyone.
Dad takes a deep breath and lets it out through his nose. “We need to do something, Eli. You can’t go on like this.”
That’s for certain. I stay silent, not answering, not really knowing what to say. I’ve gone so deep, I can’t see how I can dig myself out. Perhaps a permanent escape is the only way.
“Please, Eli. Go get dressed.”
I push past him, go back to the spare room I’m using, and slide onto the bed and bury myself under the covers. I hear some rustling, but turn on my side, ignoring him. Something drops onto the bed.
“Get fuckin’ dressed.”
Again, I don’t respond.
“Drummer,” another voice comes, patient, not angry. “He should take one of these.”
I feel the bed dip as someone sits on it. The familiar feminine scent which reaches me tells me exactly who it is.
“Eli, babe. You need to take this tablet,” Liv says patiently.
Take a tablet. Okay. If it shuts them up and makes them go away, I don’t give a fuck what’s in it. Cyanide, I hope. I half sit, pick up the glass of water from the bedside table, and take the capsule she’s holding out, placing it in my mouth and swallowing it. I then lie back down.
“Babe. You’ve got to go see the doctor.” When I remain silent, she tries again. “Please, Eli? For me? Just try?”
“Not going anywhere,” I mumble.
“Drummer?” she asks softly.
“Eli,” Dad snaps. “Get some clothes on, or I’ll drag you out of here undressed. I don’t give a damn as long as we get you to that doctor.”
I’d like to see him try. Perhaps when I was a kid he could manage it. Not now, I’m as tall as he is and younger. Maybe he should attempt it? I could lash out, hit him, hit something.
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