At This Moment (Of Love and Madness #1)

by Karen Cimms

  “I thought it was a euphemism.”

  She threw her hands up in the air. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

  He shrugged.

  “Let’s just say this wasn’t my finest day. I was hurt, humiliated, had to borrow money from my best friend to have this little, albeit expensive, procedure done—in Harlem, no less—and then, I got to bounce around on a hard bus seat for a half-hour before I could drag myself into a smelly taxi for the last leg of my trip home. And you’re upset it took twelve hours.”

  “If I’d known you’d be so late, I would’ve picked you up.”

  “I had no way of reaching you.” She hung her coat on the rack and headed for the bedroom. “I need a shower. My hair smells like cigars.”

  “Wait,” Billy called after her. “Aren’t you gonna show me?”

  She gave him a coy smile. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

  He tore his T-shirt over his head and began to unbuckle his belt.

  “No.” Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a small bag. “That.”

  She tossed it across the room.

  When he opened it, he groaned.

  “Exactly.”

  Kate took her time. She showered and washed her hair. Then she blew it dry so she’d look her best. Not that he deserved it, but she was enjoying making him wait. When she finally came out of the bathroom, he was sitting on the bed wearing his new thong and a goofy grin.

  “Took you long enough,” he said, trying—and failing—to sound annoyed.

  She stood in the doorway, wrapped in a towel.

  “Why are you smiling?” She tried to look stern. When she signaled for him to stand, he did, holding his hands over his crotch. “Uh-uh. Hands at your sides.”

  When she caught a glimpse of the state of his arousal, she had to press her lips together to keep from laughing. “I guess you really like your present.”

  “Funny. I showed you mine. Let’s see yours.”

  She tightened her hold on the towel, suddenly feeling shy. If he laughed, she’d be mortified.

  “C’mon.”

  “Don’t laugh.”

  “I promise.” He held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  “You gonna act like a Boy Scout?”

  “Hell no.”

  The towel fell, and he was on her like a rocket. He snatched her up and deposited her in the center of the bed, then covered her with kisses, working his way down for a closer look.

  “I guess you like it.” She giggled.

  “Oh, yeah.” His voice came from deep inside his throat. “Jeez, Katie, you didn’t even get a landing strip.”

  She raised up onto her elbows so she could see his face. “The fact that you know what that means is pretty disturbing.”

  “Sorry,” he said, swirling his tongue around her navel and not sounding sorry at all.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “A day? You have sex several times a day?”

  Kate focused on not throwing up all over the examining room floor.

  “Usually,” she croaked. “At least twice a day.”

  The doctor scribbled in her chart. Kate shivered and tried to keep from doubling over.

  She had woken early that morning, burning up with fever and impaled by sharp pains in her stomach. Not wanting to wake Billy, she had curled up on the bathroom floor. As the pain grew worse, she pressed a towel against her mouth to keep from crying out. That was how he’d found her.

  “What the hell?” He’d squatted beside her. “What’s wrong?”

  “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “That’s the stupidest—” When she let out a small cry, he picked her up and carried her back to bed.

  “What hurts?” he asked, setting her down gently.

  “Here.” She waved her hand below her abdomen. After making sure she was comfortable, he’d gone into the kitchen and began calling doctors until he found one who would see her that morning.

  The relief she’d felt a few minutes earlier at seeing the doctor was a woman vanished. She stared at her strawberry pink toenail polish, now chipped and worn.

  Dr. Landry set down the chart and folded her arms. “How many partners?”

  Kate looked up, confused. “What?”

  “How many men do you have sex with each day?”

  Nerves made her feel like laughing, but what the doctor was implying wasn’t at all funny. She felt frozen.

  “Are you sexually promiscuous, Miss Daniels? It seems you have cystitis, or what we sometimes call honeymoon cystitis. It’s often triggered by frequent intercourse and the introduction of bacteria into the urethra. It’s also possible to contract it if anything unclean is inserted into the vagina. How many partners do you have sex with each day, and has anything other than a penis been inserted into your vagina?”

  Kate winced. The pain was almost preferable to this interrogation.

  Dr. Landry continued.

  “Ironically, the use of condoms can also spread the infection. I assume, being as sexually active as you are, you’re using condoms.”

  “Not exactly.” Her face was on fire. “I was on the pill, but . . . um . . . If you can give me a new prescription, that would be great.”

  “The pill isn’t going to protect you from sexually transmitted diseases, Miss Daniels, especially if you have multiple partners, or your partners have multiple partners.” She flipped through Kate’s chart. “You didn’t complete the section on drug and alcohol use.”

  “My boyfriend filled it out. I’m really not feeling well.” She rocked back and forth, trying to keep her mind off the pain.

  “We won’t be much longer. Do you drink alcohol?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “How often?”

  “Couple times a week, more or less.”

  “I don’t suppose I need to point out that you’re only eighteen, if that.”

  She squirmed under the doctor’s gaze.

  “Drugs?”

  Kate stared at her feet and nodded.

  “Which?”

  “Which?”

  “Yes. Which drugs are you using?”

  Nervous fingers folded pleats into her paper gown. “Some pot. Some other stuff, pills sometimes. And something in a capsule.”

  Dr. Landry jotted notes into her chart. “What kind of capsule? Something you swallow?”

  “No.”

  “Amyl nitrate?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Do you break it open and hold it under your nose?”

  She nodded.

  “Miss Daniels, I need to write you a prescription for the infection and one for the pain. I can’t do that because I don’t know what kind of drugs you’ve been taking or if I can trust you not to drink alcohol while you’re taking the medication I prescribe.”

  Kate squirmed under the doctor’s harsh gaze.

  “Would your boyfriend know what drugs you’ve been using?”

  “I guess.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Billy Donaldson.”

  Dr. Landry opened the door. “Naomi, could you please bring Mr. Donaldson in here?”

  While they waited, she listened to Kate’s chest, took her pulse, and then had her lie down on the table while she palpated her abdomen. She was helping Kate into a sitting position when Billy entered.

  “Oh, you.” Dr. Landry scowled. “Not one woman on my staff, save Naomi there, has gotten one bit of work done since you walked in the door. Now I see why.” She snatched up Kate’s chart. “Well, I’m not enchanted, Mr. Donaldson, but I do have a few questions.”

  Billy stiffened and jutted out his chin.

  “Do you and Miss Daniels live together?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you her sole source of support?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She doesn’t work for you in any capacity?”

  “Work for me? She’s my girlfriend.”

  “How old is Miss Daniels?”

  “Eig
hteen.” He looked at Kate curiously.

  “Miss Daniels tells me the two of you are extremely sexually active.”

  A sardonic smile played across his lips. “Yeah. So?”

  “She’s also admitted to drinking and drug use.”

  Billy’s jaw tightened and his nostrils flared. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Kate.

  “Don’t intimidate my patient, Mr. Donaldson,” Dr. Landry said. “I won’t tolerate it.”

  “Wait a minute—”

  “No,” Kate gasped, wrapping her arms around her waist. “It isn’t like that.”

  The doctor continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Mr. Donaldson, your girlfriend has cystitis. It can be caused by frequent, vigorous, and often rough sex. She has an infection and needs an antibiotic and something for pain. I can’t prescribe those medications if I don’t know what type of drugs she’s been using. You can either tell me, or you can take her home as is.”

  Billy glared at her. “Since when?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You want to know what drugs. I asked you since when. What do you want to know?” He seemed as irritated as the doctor.

  “Why don’t you just tell me—and Miss Daniels, since she seems to be clueless—what drugs you’ve given her? At least this way, she knows what she’s dealing with.”

  The muscles pulsed along his jaw.

  “Quaaludes, Seconal, amyl nitrate, coke.” He hesitated for a second. “And pot.”

  The doctor wrote it all down in Kate’s chart, then looked up at him.

  “How old are you?”

  “Almost twenty-four.”

  “So old enough to know better?”

  Kate cringed.

  “Look, I didn’t come here for a lecture,” he snarled. “We’re here because she’s sick, and if you’re gonna write her a prescription, then write the fucking prescription. If not, just say so, and I’ll take her where they’ll care more about what’s wrong with her and less about what I’m doing.”

  “You think I don’t care about her?” Dr. Landry took a step toward him, looking like she was about to drive her finger into his chest. “Then you’re sadly mistaken. If I didn’t care, I’d have written those prescriptions already, and maybe they would’ve interacted with some drug that might still be in her system. But that’s not happening on my watch.”

  When she turned to Kate, she regained a mantle of professionalism.

  “When was the last time you took any type of drug, Miss Daniels, legal or illegal?”

  “I took an aspirin this morning,” she said, softly, “but it didn’t help.”

  Dr. Landry looked at Billy.

  “She smoked pot about two or three days ago.” He looked at Kate for confirmation. “Other than that, we split a popper over the weekend.”

  “That’s it?”

  “For her.” He glowered as the doctor pulled out her pad and scribbled two prescriptions.

  “Get these filled. Take them as soon as you get home. This one is for the infection. Take it for seven days. This one’s for pain. You should feel a little better by tonight. I’m only giving you enough for two days. If you still have pain after that, call me. In the meantime, no drugs or alcohol of any kind. I’d like to see you in two weeks to follow up and for a regular checkup. We can talk about birth control then.” She pointed her finger at Billy. “No sex until this clears up.”

  Billy shot Kate a look of utter shock. “Birth control? You’re not on birth control?”

  “What?” The doctor stopped in the doorway. “How long have you two been together?”

  “Three months,” Kate said miserably.

  “You’re having sex like a couple of rabbits and you haven’t discussed birth control?”

  “I thought you were on the pill,” Billy said, raising his voice.

  Kate opened her mouth, but Dr. Landry interrupted.

  “Mr. Donaldson, do you know what they call men who assume their girlfriends are on the pill?”

  He shook his head, his eyes still fixed on Kate.

  “Daddy. They call them daddy.”

  Kate wished she could disappear inside her paper dress.

  Billy glared at the doctor. “Are we done here?”

  “See Naomi on your way out and make an appointment for two weeks.”

  After the door closed, Billy grabbed Kate’s clothes and thrust them at her.

  “If she thinks we’re coming back, she can kiss my ass. Get dressed. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  It was hard not to cry as he helped her into her clothes. He squeezed her arm a little too tightly as he led her down the hall. When the receptionist asked about scheduling a follow-up, Kate hesitated.

  “Don’t expect me to come with you,” he snapped.

  She promised to call in a couple days.

  Billy didn’t say a word as he helped her to the car, nor did he speak while they drove to the pharmacy to drop off her prescriptions or as he helped her into the apartment.

  “Do you need help getting undressed?” he snapped.

  She did, but she wasn’t about to say so.

  “Before I pick up your prescription, I’ll go to the store and get ginger ale. That should help with the nausea. You want anything else? Soup?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes or no, Kate? I don’t read minds.”

  “Soup, please.” She tried to keep from trembling. “I’m sorry,” she said as he grabbed his keys.

  “What?”

  “I said I’m sorry.”

  “For what? For getting sick? For letting me be humiliated by that rabid doctor? For not telling me you aren’t using any fucking birth control?”

  “I thought you knew,” she cried.

  “You’re right.” He threw his hands up, frustrated. “I should’ve asked. I just assumed you wouldn’t wanna get pregnant. Jesus, Kate!” He stepped toward her, then stopped. “This is what I get for shacking up with a goddamn kid.”

  He stalked out of the apartment. The echo of the slamming door hurt as much as his words.

  By the time Billy returned, Kate was buried under the covers, shivering uncontrollably. Her face was pale except for two bright, pink triangles on her cheeks. The deterioration in her appearance was startling. He touched his lips to her forehead like his grandmother would do. She was on fire.

  In spite of his still pulsing anger, he tried to be gentle. “Katie, you need to take off these blankets until your fever goes down. You’re too warm.”

  She made a low, mewling sound.

  “C’mon. Just for a little while. The pills should kick in soon. Then you can have them back. That sweatshirt has to come off, too.”

  He helped her sit, then pulled the sweatshirt over her head, yanking her hair in the process. She didn’t complain or cry out; she just looked at him, her big, sad eyes shining like glass. Then she lay down, shivering. He pulled the sheet over her, then lay beside her, curling himself around her when she continued to shake.

  Eventually her body stilled and her breathing grew even. When he was certain she’d fallen asleep, he rolled away and stared at the ceiling. He’d used her like his own personal playground, and now she was paying the price. Guilt wedged itself in beside his anger.

  Careful not to wake her, he slipped out of bed. He grabbed a beer, then picked up his unplugged guitar. Practicing was out of the question, as he was too agitated to focus. Watching TV didn’t help either. He needed to get out of there, needed some distance. He’d never been angry with her before, and he didn’t like it. He needed to leave before he said or did something he’d be sorry for.

  Before leaving, he stood over the bed. She was in a deep sleep. Her forehead was still warm, but she was no longer burning up. He pulled the quilt over her shoulders, then left a note on the bathroom mirror in case she woke while he was gone.

  It was almost midnight when he returned, his anger dulled courtesy of Jack Daniels, Molson, and a sympathetic bartender. Kate was asleep, wrapped cocoon-lik
e in the quilt.

  He rubbed his hand over her shoulder. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Little better,” she mumbled.

  “Here. Take these.” He held out the pills and some water. She did as she was told, and within a few minutes, she fell back to sleep. He took a few aspirin himself to ward off a hangover, then shucked off his clothes and climbed into bed.

  He stared into the muted gray light coming through the window. He was too drunk for much coherent thought, but that didn’t stop him from mulling over this mess. It was not totally her fault. He had made the decision—or the lack of a decision, if he was being honest—to skip condoms. He wanted nothing between them. Fucking her had been amazing from the first time, and he didn’t want it to feel any different. And she’d told him she’d gone to a clinic or something, had started on the pill. He’d just assumed she’d kept up the prescription. Or something.

  Maybe he should have worried more about the “or something.”

  Angry, muffled voices penetrated the bedroom walls. Somewhere in the building, a couple argued. Kate’s back was to him. He didn’t like being angry with her. He used enough energy being angry with the rest of the world. She was the peace he hadn’t even known was possible.

  A horn blasted outside the window. The voices grew quiet. Still, he couldn’t sleep. Frustrated, he rolled toward her, curling himself tight against her back. He kissed her hair.

  “Damn you, Katie,” he whispered into the darkness.

  The next morning, he was sitting on the couch watching TV when Kate shuffled into the living room wearing nothing but one of his T-shirts, her hair still messy from sleep. It was a kick in the gut when she hesitated, looking as if she wasn’t sure it was safe to go near him. He raised his arm, and she curled into a ball beside him.

  “Any better?”

  She nodded. “What’re you watching?”

  “I Love Lucy.” He handed her his mug of coffee. She took a sip. When he offered to put on a fresh pot, she shook her head, then rested her cheek against his bare chest.

  “You know,” she said, running her hand over his stomach, “if you keep walking around naked, it’s gonna be a lot harder not having sex for the next few days.”

  He looked down at her. “She said you couldn’t have sex. She didn’t say anything about me.”