by Ashley
Red. Blood. On his hands, on the floor.
“No!” Zyir shouted. “What did you do?! Fuck!” Carter’s eyes were still open, but blood covered one side of his face. He groaned. “Bro, stay with me, Carter! You gon’ be good, baby. You gon’ be good.” Zyir pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed 911. Before the operator could even ask him his emergency he shouted, “I need an ambulance. Now!” He kept the call connected so the operator could trace their location. He realized his face was wet and wiped his face with the back of his hand to find that it was his own tears. “Just hold on, fam. They coming for you, man. They coming. They coming.”
* * *
Zyir sat in the waiting room, rubbing his hands together anxiously as he leaned over in his seat. He hadn’t called anyone. Not Miamor, not Monroe, not even Breeze. He didn’t know how to tell them what he had just witnessed. Never in his life did he feel such stress. He was sick. Carter had tried to end his own life. Damn. Shit was bad. He had been waiting for hours. Carter’s blood had dried to a dirty brown on his clothes, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t leaving until he knew his friend would be okay. It wasn’t until this night that he realized how deep their bond ran. They were brothers—not by blood, but the love was just as strong, and to lose Carter would be like losing a piece of himself. Carter was the one who had taught him how to be a man. He taught him how to get money and how to weed out the snakes. He ingrained in him that family came first. Damn, big homie, Zyir thought as he shook his head in disgrace.
Carter’s doctor walked into the room, and Zyir tried to read his expression. Was it grim, hopeful? Zyir couldn’t tell. He stood. “Is he…”
“The bullet grazed his left temple. It’s a pretty deep graze, but the bullet didn’t penetrate,” the doctor explained.
“Why was there so much blood?” Zyir questioned.
“Any gunshot wound is going to give you profuse bleeding. He lost quite a bit, but we gave him a transfusion and treated the wound.”
“So he’s good?” Zyir asked in disbelief. He’d seen the blood with his own eyes. He’d heard the shot.
“He will be. He is very lucky. A fraction of an inch to the right and it would have killed him,” the doctor said.
Zyir watched the doctor begin to walk away and stopped him. “Doc, I want to make sure something like this doesn’t happen again.”
“We have a counselor set up to speak with Mr. Jones as soon as he is awake,” the doctor informed him.
“Nah, we need a little bit more than that,” Zyir admitted, his chest feeling hollow as he thought, devastated by the night’s circumstance.
“What did you have in mind?”
* * *
The world came into focus as Carter’s eyes opened. He grimaced as he felt an intense pressure in his head. “Hmm,” he groaned as he attempted to sit up. He tried to turn on his side, but was halted when he felt his left wrist jerk in restraint. For the first time he noticed that he was bound to the bed. His right arm was free, but his left kept him in place. He pulled hard against it and then looked around the sterile room. I’m in the hospital, he thought. He reached up and felt his bandaged head. The previous night came rushing back to him.
The door opened, and Carter saw Zyir walk in. For the first time, he didn’t know what to do or say. All the power, all the influence, all the money meant nothing. He was just a man with a broken soul. “What is this?”Carter asked, referencing the restraints.
“I saw something last night that I never thought I’d see,” Zyir said. “You just need some time to regroup. Get your head right.”
“Where am I?” Carter asked.
“This is the psychiatric ward of the hospital. I had you committed under suicide watch,” Zyir said.
Carter’s jaw clenched, and anger danced in his eyes. “You just need a little time, my G. A little rest,” Zyir said. “I didn’t call nobody. I’m the only one who knows you’re here.”
For that fact, Carter was grateful. “I’m good, Zy. Shit got out of hand last night, but I can handle it. Come on. Get the fucking doctor and take this shit off. This feeling too much like handcuffs for me,” Carter reasoned.
“You can’t leave here until I sign you out, Carter,” Zyir said. “And I’m not signing anything until I’m sure you’ve had time to clear your mind. Last night wasn’t you. I understand the pressure. It don’t feel right going back to Flint thinking you gon’ do something reckless again.”
Carter looked at Zyir proudly. It was a full-circle moment. Zyir had absorbed Carter’s philosophy like a sponge and now he was the one standing strong while Carter was buckling in grief. “I’m back, I’m fine. The alcohol and the silence. It…”
“No explanation needed, fam. I was there with you. I know what you lost … what we all lost,” Zyir said in a low tone as his eyes drifted off in thought momentarily. “I’m only signing you out if you agree to get help. Someone live-in. A therapist or a cleaning lady—hell, a stripper…”
Carter chuckled at that one. Zyir continued, “Anybody to keep an eye out on you.”
Carter nodded. “You have my word.”
“Let me go get one of the doctors to come and check you out … move you off this floor,” Zyir stated. He turned to the door.
“Yo, Zyir,” Carter called. Zyir turned. “Why were you in Colorado, anyway? You didn’t come to my door to peel me off the floor. You need something?”
Zyir remembered what had brought him to Carter’s door in the first place and he was filled with sorrow. “Nah. I’m good. Everything’s smooth. Just wanted to see how you were holding up,” he said. “Glad I got there when I did.” Carter knew him well enough to know that he was lying, but respected him too much to call him out on it.
“Yeah, me too,” Carter replied. Carter watched Zyir walk out of the room and then lay back on the bed, closing his eyes.
The physical pain he was in was excruciating, but he was grateful for it. It served as a distraction from the emotional war that was waging within him. He didn’t know how to feel. He was angry that Zyir had interfered, but filled with regret for taking the actions in the first place. Carter knew that if Zyir let him stay in the seclusion of the mountains, eventually the depression he felt would surmount to the point where he put himself out of his misery, and next time he wouldn’t miss. He hated to admit it, but therapy was essential to him right now. He needed to hear someone tell him that it was okay to keep living. He knew he wouldn’t divulge all the details, but just having another person around him daily would make it easier to cope.
Carter didn’t sleep that night. He stayed up, mind racing, heart pounding, head banging as he gazed out of the hospital window. The amber-and-orange hues that appeared with the rising sun captivated him. He had never taken the time to truly appreciate the marvel of it, and he realized he would have missed it had Zyir not shown up at his door. His heart and soul had never been so conflicted. His grief was tormenting him. At that very moment he just wanted to hold his wife. He wanted to touch her, to smell her, to hear her voice. Damn, I miss you, ma, he thought. He couldn’t help but wonder where she was. Was she hurting? How was she doing with it all? Did she need him?
A rap at the door interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to find Zyir entering with a woman. Her brown skin was flawless and accentuated only by the faintest shade of pink blush. Her long hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail that fell down her back. She was thin, with a model’s frame. Her beauty spoke for her before she ever opened her lips, and Carter appreciated it as a fine work of art. In all her splendor he couldn’t help but notice her eyes. They were plain, just a dark shade of brown, but the smile that hid behind them took his breath away.
“Carter, this is Samantha Dean,” Zyir said, introducing him.
“Hello, Carter,” she said with a smile as she crossed the room. “I’m in psychiatric care. I wanted to meet you. Zyir says you have some things you need help with sorting out. I’d be more than happy to help you with—”
“Psych
iatric care?” Carter questioned. “I’m not—”
“Crazy?” Samantha finished for him. “Well, good, because I can be sometimes.” She chuckled. “One of us should have a level head, no?”
He smirked at her wit. “Look, Ms. Dean.”
“My friends call me Sam,” she replied.
“We’re friends?” Carter questioned with an amused look on his face.
“We could be. I’m a good listener,” she said. She walked closer to him, invading his space with her Chanel perfume. She reached up, smiling at him with her eyes as she checked the bandage on his head. “You’re in pain,” she whispered.
“It’s okay,” he replied.
“I wasn’t talking about the gunshot wound,” she said. She removed the dressing and retrieved a new one from the cabinet in his room. She quickly tended to his injury, then continued. “Let me help you.”
“I’m not into all that psycho shit, ma. I’m good. I had a moment.…”
“Psychiatry isn’t always about being crazy. Sometimes life just becomes too much. You lost your child. That could eat away at any man, especially a good one. I’m here if you need anything. Even if you don’t want to talk about that. Maybe you need someone to talk to about the weather.”
A deeper laugh escaped him this time. “The weather?”
“The weather,” she confirmed. She went into her white jacket and came out with a card. “You can call me anytime. Day or night.”
Carter didn’t respond, but he accepted the card and watched as she walked out of the room. When she was gone, he looked at Zyir. “You couldn’t bring her to the house, my nigga? Got me in here, ass-out in a hospital gown,” Carter said.
Zyir chuckled. “My fault,” he replied.
“You know how to pick ’em, don’t you?” Carter said. “No man can be that close to a woman like that and think about anything other than living.”
“I figured you would appreciate the aesthetic,” Zyir shot back with an amused smirk. “Let’s get out of this mu’fucka.”
* * *
“It was good to see you, Zy. Real good,” Carter said as they locked hands and pulled each other in to show love. It was an unspoken thank-you, an unneeded appreciation that he extended for Zyir saving his life.
“Always, bruh, always,” Zyir responded. He turned to see Sam’s car pulling up to the cabin. He felt uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. He wished he could turn back the hands of time to fix things before they ever got so out of control, but life didn’t work that way. “I’m out of here. Keep your head,” he said.
Sam walked up the stairs carrying a box of her things, bypassing Zyir. “See you around, Mr. Rich,” she said.
He didn’t respond, and she made her way up the walkway to Carter. “You never said the job required me to live here,” she said with a bright smile. She looked around at the massive, snow-covered chalet. “I could get used to this.”
“Come on in,” he said. “I’ll show you to your room.”
* * *
Breeze walked into the hospital, her heart beating out of her chest. Something’s not right, she thought. She was indeed pregnant. She had peed on ten different sticks to confirm it. It was times like this she wished she still had her mother. Why couldn’t she just be a regular girl? With a regular life? With a regular man and parents who were alive and well? Breeze was terrified. She was with child and she was bleeding. That didn’t quite add up, and she had no one to call for guidance. She had contacted her doctor and he had told her there was most likely no need to worry. A little implantation bleeding, he had said, but Breeze’s intuition was telling her otherwise. She hadn’t told Zyir yet, so she couldn’t call him. Besides, he was off visiting Carter, anyway. He couldn’t get to her right now, even if he wanted to. So she did the only thing she could think of and went to the emergency room.
With every step she took, she could feel the bleeding get worse. It was like life was slipping out of her.
“Excuse me. I need to see someone. I’m pregnant and I’m having some bleeding,” Breeze said. Her mouth felt like cotton, and she was hot … so hot. Even in the dead of winter she was burning up. “I’m sorry … I just need to sit … for a min—”
Breeze turned to find a chair, but before she could even take one step, everything went black.
She awoke on an ultrasound table. A nurse stood on one side while a man in a white lab coat and scrubs sat in a chair on the other. “Welcome back,” the man said. “I’m Adam. I’m an ultrasound tech. We’re going to have a look at your baby. The nurse is going to jot down some information so we can actually get you checked into our system. Okay?”
Breeze nodded, slightly dazed.
“What’s your name?” the technician asked.
“Breeze Rich,” she whispered. “Is my baby okay? I noticed blood.…”
“Well, let me take a look while you give the nurse all your info,” he said. He sounded happy, optimistic, confident. That’s a good thing, right? she wondered. The calmness of his voice soothed her. He took out a cold, clear gel and applied it to her lower abdomen as Breeze gave the woman the details she needed.
Breeze was so nervous, she held her breath as the ultrasound technician placed a scanner on her stomach. He rolled it all over the gel as the image of the inside of her uterus appeared on the screen. Breeze gripped the sides of the table she lay on. Tension filled her body.
“Okay, we’re going to do a vaginal ultrasound—okay, Breeze?” he said suddenly.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“I just need to get a better view,” he said.
He put her feet in stirrups and spread her legs as he stuck a long wand into her womb. “Just relax. Try to stay still,” he coached.
Doom filled her body. Although the tech kept telling her everything was fine, she just sensed that something was wrong.
“Do you see anything?” she asked, her voice cracking as a tear escaped her.
The wand slid out. Silence.
“Could you go get the doctor?” the tech said to the nurse. There was no alarm in his voice, yet still, Breeze’s stomach was in knots.
A woman came in and washed her hands. She was moving so slowly that Breeze thought, It can’t be anything bad. She would be rushing. She would be moving faster if something was wrong.
“Hello, Breeze. I’m going to take another peek,” she said. Breeze nodded because she was unable to speak. Fear seized her. The doctor put on a pair of gloves, wrapped a plastic covering over the wand, and put it back inside of Breeze. No matter how gentle they were, each time they invaded her, it hurt.
Minutes felt like hours until finally the doctor pulled it out and snapped off her gloves. “Breeze, you’re experiencing an ectopic pregnancy. There is no heartbeat. The fetus is stuck in one of your fallopian tubes. We have to remove it or it may rupture.”
Remove “it.” Fetus. No heartbeat. It wasn’t an “it.” This was her baby. This was supposed to be her and Zyir’s first child. “Are there any other options? Is there any way to save my baby? This is a baby you’re talking about. You talk like it’s a thing.… It’s a person. It’s my little person,” she said, becoming emotional.
“I’m sorry. This is the only option. If we don’t operate, it will rupture and you will bleed out,” the doctor said. “Call the OR and let them know I need a room, stat.”
Everything was happening so fast. She was being stripped, put into a hospital gown, her hair was covered, all while she cried. Before she knew it, she was on her back being rushed down the hospital halls.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.… She counted the passing ceiling lights as they rushed to the operating room. The chill of the room when they entered immediately made the hair stand on her arms. Her teeth chattered. They lifted her onto a metal table. The room smelled.… It smelled so much like nothing that it reeked. A mask went over her face.
“Okay, Breeze. Count down for me from ten,” the doctor instructed her. Breeze wanted to slap the woman’s smiling face. What
the hell was she smiling about? This was a tragedy. She was about to close her eyes with a baby in her womb but wake up without one. This isn’t right, she thought, but before she could even protest, the anesthetic put her to sleep.
* * *
When Breeze awoke, she felt an emptiness that she had never experienced.
“You’re going to be fine. Your surgery went very well. We removed your left fallopian tube,” she heard the doctor say. She felt the woman putting the blood-pressure jacket on her arm.
“What are my chances of getting pregnant again?” she asked.
It was then that the doctor’s friendly expression changed. Breeze saw the look of hesitation … the look of uncertainty … the look of fear. “What are my chances?” Breeze demanded. She didn’t know why she was angry at the doctor. This wasn’t her fault.
“About fifteen percent,” the doctor replied. “But there are options. We are coming out with new technology every day.…”
“Leave,” Breeze said as she turned her head to stare out of the window.
“Mrs. Rich—”
“Get out!” she shouted.
The doctor and the nurse retreated from the room, leaving her to have one good, long cry.
She knew she had to get it all out of her system. Zyir would be home in a couple days. He couldn’t know about this. She wasn’t going to tell him that he had chosen a defective wife. She was so glad she hadn’t told him about the pregnancy yet. He didn’t deserve this type of disappointment. The pain she felt was suffocating. No. She would shoulder this burden alone and by the time he returned, she would put on that same smile that the doctor had given to her. She was going to lock this secret deep down inside and pray for a miracle.
CHAPTER 7
His hands on her body caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. He knew her body. He was its conductor, and the sounds of her moans, the musical score. “I love the shit out of you, ma,” Carter whispered in her ear.
