My Billionaire Stranger

by Shae Black

  Yea because his eyes are closed. Reality check Imani, get back to work!

  As I have been compelled all week, I lean close to Marcus’s face and whisper softly, “It’s Imani again; your sister thinks you like me, funny huh?”

  I look up at the monitors; no change in heart rate, so much for that experiment. Time to get this guy adjusted in bed, I move him carefully with the turn sheet but not too far as his leg is still in traction. He’s heavy, solid muscle fills the bed top to bottom. He could really use a bath; the nursing assistants on the night shift usually do this to ease up the day shift’s load of work, our assistant isn’t here tonight though. I can’t help but smile, I’ll be happy to take on this particular task. I’m trying my best to think clinically about giving Marcus a bath but it’s impossible. His bruising is turning yellow and the knot on his head is significantly smaller; his face is even more angular now that most of the swelling has gone down and I realize he looks even more like Elena then I thought before. That’s what I’ll concentrate on, how much he looks like his sister, that has to decrease the sex appeal doesn’t it…? Yea right… I gather up what I need for his bath and run some warm water in a washbasin and make sure his blinds and door are closed. I start by gently washing his face; he has more than a five o’clock shadow going on today. I’ll save shaving for tomorrow night, something to look forward to, unless he wakes up of course. I caress the dark hair that hangs on his forehead with the back of my fingers, brushing a thick curl from his face I resist the strong urge to run my fingers through all of that thick soft brown hair. I feel like it’s Christmas day and I’m unwrapping a gift as I fold down his sheet and work to remove his hospital gown. While washing his chest I revel in feeling every abdominal muscle through the thin washcloth. ‘Keep it together Imani, he’s just a patient, he’s just a patient’, I chant in my head. Oh who am I kidding; he is so much more than a patient to me. I’m having feelings for him and I’ve never actually met him. ‘All right Imani now breath take a deep breath in, blow it out.’ I pat him dry quickly, ashamed for taking so much time and staring inappropriately at his chest. In the back of my mind I’m thinking I need to check on my other patient, make this snappy…. I continue down his arms to his hands, and I wonder how it must feel to be held by these arms, touched by these fingers.

  Moving the sheet slightly further down past his waist I groan and roll my eyes to the ceiling. Oh my God, he has the V and it’s pointing straight at the part of his body I’m most apprehensive about. He is absolutely exquisite, a perfect human male specimen. I finish washing and drying him above the waist and move the sheet up to work a clean hospital gown back onto him. I cover him; my heart is racing and I can hear my pulse swooshing in my ears, ‘Get a grip woman! More deep breathing…’ I move to finish by bathing the leg that isn’t in a cast. Another example of perfect anatomy, defined and long, lean muscles cover him from head to perfect toe. I’m a foot woman and he has smooth lovely feet, I’m weird about feet, it’s just a thing. I’m sure there’s a name for my foot fetish; they have a name for everything these days. I can tell he must have regular pedicures, no dry skin or calluses for this guy. I’m meticulous washing his leg and foot and between his toes, I wouldn’t want him to wake up and think I’d been neglecting this feet!

  The toes of his other foot are peeking out the end of his cast; there is too much swelling to get to those for now. When I cover him with the scratchy hospital blanket I feel guilty for not cleaning around his catheter and all the other parts below his waist but someone else is going to have to do that, as much as I hate the thought, I just can’t right now. I care about this man and I’ve been touched without consent before, all I can think about is what if he feels assaulted? I did kiss him after all and I have no idea how aware he is. It’s part of being a nurse, and I’ve done it a thousand times, but usually the patient is aware of what I’m doing and they know it’s necessary. It’s not life threatening right? Yes that’s good, keep rationalizing with your self-Imani; it’s not neglect… not really. ‘Oh yes it is’ the logical side of my brain says. I wish that side of my brain would shut the hell up. I should have had another nurse help me turn him to wash his back but my selfishness won out; I’m not sharing him with anyone, I’ll get to it tomorrow…. I gaze down at my work and I’m satisfied. He looks like the metrosexual that I suspect he is when he’s awake and smells clean of soap, a huge improvement over the lake water stink that he was covered with. I could stand here all night watching him but I need to see my other patient. Logical brain chimes in with an unwelcome comment ‘She is dying you know Imani, others need your attention here too.’ I turn the lights down in the room a bit and open the blinds that lead to the hall so I will be able to see him from out there. Mind lost I lean down and speak to him in a quiet voice, “You’re all clean Marcus, you can wake up any time, I’m waiting for you.”

  When I go back to work, and I mean really working and not gawking, I alternate my time equally between Marcus and my shooting victim all night; she isn’t doing well, it won’t be long now, I’m glad her family is here with her. We don’t usually allow so many people in an ICU room but in this case, what’s the difference? When you work in this department for a few years it’s not unusual to become a little callous, and in cases like this we are basically providing hospice care, it’s over for her, there’s no hope. When the day crew arrives and I have to turn over my obsession to another nurse… another woman I hate the idea so much that I find myself wishing for a double shift. I want to stay near him, which reminds me of Elena’s comment about the effect I have on Marcus’s heart rate. I click through the electronically recorded vital signs and compare notes from my shift with those of other nurses during other shifts. Oh my God she’s right his pulse elevates whenever I’m in his room, it’s directly correlated to my presence. His heart rate goes from 70 b.p.m to 100 b.p.m whenever I’m with him. She was right, he knows I’m there, no, no, no…. it’s not just me, I’m sure this happens whenever a nurse is in his room.

  Double-checking back through his chart and no, it’s only me. His heart rate was exactly the same all day long yesterday, the night shift results are all over the place though, and I was his nurse! Ok, so maybe it’s because I’m the only one that talks to him intimately; yes, that has to be it. Tomorrow night I’ll test it out; I’ll just come in and chat with Elena without talking in his ear, and I’m sure when I match the times up this will all have been a coincidence.

  It has to be, he’s unconscious Imani, it’s all a silly coincidence. God I hope not…

  Chapter 5

  I’m so heavy, or fuzzy maybe, it’s like walking through water waist high on the beach. And it’s dark here, wherever ‘here’ is. Darkness as black as ink engulfs me, I can’t see my hand in front of my face, if I could even lift my hand at all. Maybe I’m dreaming… am I even alive? If I’m dead, this has to be hell; a man like me would never end up in heaven. I’m so fucking confused, someone is speaking to me softly, beautiful murmurs float in and out through my clouded mind but I can’t make out the words. They calm the raging storm going on in my head…the feminine voice is unfamiliar, soothing and pleasant. I need her voice to survive somehow; I know this one thing for sure. I try to hold on to the fraying edges of consciousness but it drifts away… NO! FUCK…. I need something to hold on to! That voice…. I know it’s the key to my survival, my way back… stay with me! I scream silently until I can’t hold on any longer and I unwillingly succumb to the darkness until her voice is gone again…

  Is that? Yes she’s back; I think I’m back. She is telling me something… focus damn it… what is she saying? Her voice floats in and out like the waves of the ocean; every time I try to reach out to her she slips away, what the hell is happening to me? I detest my lack of control over whatever is happening! I think she’s telling me that she is taking care of me…. is that what she said? No one takes care of me, and that is exactly the way I like it. My dark thoughts disconnect me from her…NO, no, no…come back! Shit,
I hate being vulnerable and dependent on anyone but this woman’s voice is undeniable she draws me in. Yes… she is taking care of me, that is definitely what she’s saying, but who the hell are you and what has happened to me that I need to be taken care of?

  Pain… yes pain… finally something I am familiar with, this I can relate to, this is something I can firmly hold on to. The pain in my head my God, it’s indescribable, I’ve felt literally thousands of types of pain but this… this is misery. Her voice plunges through the darkness again, she is saying something about cleaning a wound, what? I must have been in an accident… yes that’s it; pieces of the puzzle are starting to fall into place. I was driving wasn’t I? Yes… we were forced off of a bridge. Shit, Megan…. I remember her floating in front of me…. we are under water, or is it the sluggishness of my brain tricking me? No… no we were underwater, it was Megan, her hair was floating around her face, she was looking at me with expressionless brown eyes, her beautiful skin was as pale as a ghost, soulless…empty…. fuck I can’t hold on any longer, I mentally clutch at the edges of what little sanity I have left but it’s no use, the darkness swallows me up again.

  Warm hands touch me, she’s speaking to me again… so softly, I wish she would talk louder damn it! Hang on to the pain; my leg, my head, they hurt like hell. I don’t know what’s happened but I grip tight to familiar sensation of pain. Someone is touching my face… no, not just touching, scratching… shaving, someone is shaving my face… what the fuck, no one has ever shaved my face, and I don’t like the foreign feeling of being cared for… wait… no, this is good. Mmmmm her soft touch and warm breath linger on my skin, her soft lips press against mine… is she kissing me? If I focus hard I can decipher what she is saying now, Imani, her name is Imani. she is going to take good care of me….I don’t fucking want to be taken care of!

  Wake me up Imani!! If you want to do something for me, wake me the fuck up!!! Furious and exhausted I plead with her, wake me up Imani, damn it wake me up…. but she doesn’t, she can’t. My begging weakens and she’s gone again…

  After another commercial break in this fucking horror flick I am aware of Imani’s presence again. Whatever she’s doing feels fucking good… I can’t wrap my mind around it but I know I am missing out on something. I can smell her; she’s a mixture of cotton candy and clean linen. She’s touching me, slowly, my face, my arms, hands, my chest…Part of me wants to reach out and grab her wrists to stop her; no one touches me without my permission. The other part of me yearns to restrain her and put my mouth all over her; shit I need to wake up, why can’t I wake up? Will it always be this way, is this how I will spend eternity? Paying for the sins of my life trapped in a body that is vulnerable with no control? That would be the perfect hell for me; Marcus Castillo doesn’t do vulnerable or controlled. She’s working her way down my body to my leg and now my foot…. fuuucck lady I love that. She’s getting me hard as fuck, I wonder if she’s going to take care of that part of me as well?

  I am grateful that she’s keeping me clean; I happen to be very particular about cleanliness, some call it obsessive and maybe it is but I would never admit that to anyone other than myself. I want her to stop, I want her to do more, I want control of her. Fucking wake up!!!

  How long have I been here? It feels like fucking forever…. I can hear voices but they’re so far away. One of them is a woman, not my cotton candy laced Imani, but another familiar voice… Elena! Shit if my sister is here this must be bad, very bad. She would never come unless I were dying… shit am I dying? Terror rocks me, the idea of my life ending used to be appealing but now….now that I have heard the voice of my angel, felt her fingers on my flesh, inhaled her sweet scent I know without a shadow of a doubt, I am not ready to leave.

  I have not lived my life in such a way that my death would lead me to a better place, which means I am going straight to hell. Oh no, no, no, this is NOT happening; fight Marcus, give yourself time for redemption, time to meet Imani, and see if her face matches her magnetic beautiful voice. Another voice begins to float through my brain fog, this one is a man; Elijah? Am I hearing this right? Yes, that is Elijah; what the fuck is he doing here? And why is he talking to Elena? I can’t make out their words, they are too far away, that fucker better be taking care of my business while I’m wherever the hell I am or so help me I’ll kill him when I wake up! He will…. he knows better than to let anything fall through the cracks, he’s more than aware that his very life is on the line working for me. I’m ruthless with my employees. That is what makes me so successful, fear motivates people.

  Fear is motivating me now, but the pain is distracting; I need to find a way out of here, where is my Imani, my savior? She’s coming back; hold on, I just need to hold on until I hear her voice again. She’s the only one who can bring me back, the only one I want to go back for.

  Chapter 6

  It’s my third night in a row with Marcus and I’m stressing about being off for a few nights. I won’t have the reassurance of his even breathing; I won’t have full access to his body or the hope that when he wakes I will be the first person he sees.

  I pop a K-cup in my Keurig, wait the 5 seconds it takes to brew and pour way too much creamer in my travel mug. To most people I’m ruining the true taste of coffee but I don’t care, it’s the way I like it. My drive to work is monotonous but quick, one of the perks of working nights is the lack of traffic and great parking spots.

  I have a plan for tonight; I’ve made a few playlists on my iPad for Marcus. I brought my ear buds with me to play them for him, it’s a risk, I have no idea what kind of music he prefers. I don’t want to bombard him with sounds that irritate him so I’m going to monitor his heart rate while I play the music, and maybe I’ll try just playing it in one ear. I struggled when choosing the music, one playlist is classical and soothing; nobody hates classical do they? One playlist is titled ‘Relaxing Sounds of nature’ it’s comprised of rain, ocean, jungle and bird sounds; I listen to it while I’m falling to sleep. The last is filled with my favorites, a wide variety of love songs, classical, jazz, Latin and alternative music. I listen to almost any genre.

  I haven’t asked anyone if I can do this and I’m not going to, it just feels right. I have a strong unexplainable urge to do anything it takes to wake him up. It’s as if he’s calling to me through the atmosphere for help.

  It’s a slow night I like it. It gives me more time to look at Marcus. I’ve memorized his skin, every scar every birthmark and freckle, the nearly invisible crows feet at the outer corners of his eyes as well as a place on his cheek where I imagine a dimple forms when he smiles. His scars are threatening, for such a perfect body it’s been battered and abused and not only by his most recent accident, there are a lifetime of scars spattering his skin.

  He is in bad need of a haircut but I can’t do it with him immobile. I shaved his face earlier tonight; Elena brought his toiletries to the hospital today. He has the most delicious smelling shaving products. His shampoo and skincare products smell purely masculine, not overwhelming, just enough to make you want to be closer to him. Usually my male patients just use what the hospital provides, they smell clean but Marcus smells of spearmint and eucalyptus. The labels on the bottles are in a foreign languages, I recognize the French and Italian but none of the others.

  Switching on my iPad and find the classical playlist, gently I place an ear bud in his left ear and the other in my own to test the volume. I set the music low just in case this causes him distress before I remove my ear bud and place it on the bed. I move about the room, giving his scheduled medications and doing range of motion exercises with his arms and unbroken leg. Constantly watching his face for any sign of pain I work his muscles and monitor his heart rate. I also watch closely for any reaction to the music. There is nothing extreme, but I swear his face looks more relaxed, less severe, his scowl isn’t as pronounced. When I’m finished I arrange Marcus’s covers and hospital gown until he looks comfortable. As I’m about to move to my
charting station I swear I see him move a finger on his left hand! Oh my God! I swear I’m not imagining this! I watch closely for more but there is nothing… I think I’ll pull up a chair and sit with him, but before I do I speak into his ear, “I know you’re trying, I saw you move. Don’t give up, I’m waiting for you.”

  Another small twitch of his hand…. oh this is good….maybe I should call his doctor, maybe I should keep talking or turn the music up, down, shit I don’t know! My heart thumps in my chest I’m so nervous, excited and a little scared. I wait… and wait… but that’s it. Still as a stone he continues to sleep. I am so disappointed, but I have a few hours left in my shift so I sit and keep watch. Three hours go by; it’s almost time to go home, I’ve called the physician to inform him of Marcus’s progress. He wasn’t impressed but I am, I know it won’t be long until I can finally meet my mystery man. Today leaving is more difficult than ever. I wish I could crawl into bed with him and be there beside him while I sleep my day away. Anticipation eats away at me, it’s going to happen soon, it has to be soon.

  The drive home is dismal and rainy, as usual; this is Seattle, it’s nearly always raining here. I’m amped up and I know I won’t want to sleep when I get home so I stop at the glass blowing factory and pick up my light and the vase Dax made. Marcus will be awake soon and his room is so drab it needs a shock of color. The ICU doesn’t allow much due to the risk of infection, but the vase will be perfect. At home I dump my purse on the floor and remember I’m supposed to go out with my girlfriends later tonight for drinks. Usually I’m pretty excited to have a girls’ night out, but tonight I really just feel like curling up on the couch and watching T.V.

  My phone rings in my pocket on cue, its Lana; shit, no chance of bowing out of girls’ night out unnoticed now.