by Olivia Ryann
“Arsen Aetós,” I breathe onto the glass. “He’s here, isn’t he?”
The nurse narrows his eyes at me. “Are you family?”
“Yes. Wife! I’m his wife,” I blurt out. Lying has lost its meaning here and now. The truth won’t stand between me and Arsen, not if he’s only lying a few dozen feet away.
The nurse clicks a few keys on the computer in front of him, then sighs. “He is here. He’s in critical condition… the doctors are still working on him.”
“What happened?” I ask, my voice cracking. “Is he going to be okay?”
Please, let him be okay.
The nurse’s forehead wrinkles. “I’m not qualified to say, hon. Have a seat over there, and when one of his doctors asks for you, I’ll let you know.”
I start to cry. “Shit. Oh, God. Okay.”
Jack puts his arm around me, steering me away from the reception desk. A door opens, and Damen comes out. He’s covered in blood and looking grimly determined. When he sees me, I have the distinct impression that he is sorry.
“You’re here,” he sighs. “The doctors ran me out of there. They were busy taking his shirt off and trying to see where he was hurt.”
Despite his expression, I still shrunk back into Jack’s arms. “What happened?”
“What happened? Your stupid boyfriend talked shit to…” He drops his voice to a whisper. “Our brother… And he got himself stabbed.”
“Dryas stabbed him?” I cry, drawing the attention of everyone in the room, including the nurse.
“Shhhh,” Damen says, glancing around. “Yes. But if anybody asks, he was stabbed by a stranger.”
“Why the fuck would I lie for Dryas?” I say, disbelieving.
Damen looks around again, clearly annoyed. He reaches out and grabs my wrist, trying to draw me toward the door. I violently shake him off, my jaw squaring.
“Don’t touch me!” I hiss. “I’m not going outside, so you might as well say whatever you have to say here.”
“Alright, alright. For fuck’s sake, I should have brought Bianka.” He rolls his eyes. “When Arsen wakes up—”
I fold my arms across my chest. “If. You mean if Arsen wakes up, don’t you?”
Damen makes an aggravated noise. “When Arsen wakes up, he won’t want the cops sniffing around our business. If you name the person that stabbed him, they’ll be more interested than they have any right to be.”
“I don’t care about that!” I snap.
Damen gives me a look. “No, of course, you don’t. How could Arsen have actually picked a girl that cares what happens to the family? It would go against the grain of who he is.”
An alarm goes off behind the door that Damen came from, the emergency room. I faintly hear an automated voice. “Code blue, room E13. Code blue, room E13.”
“Shit. That’s the room that Arsen is in,” Damen says, glancing up. “Excuse me? Excuse me, nurse? I’m going to need you to let me back in there. That code blue is my brother.”
The nurse glances behind himself, then presses the buzzer. “Stay out of the doctors’ way, okay?”
Damen and I are in lockstep as we race through the doorway and down the hall. He stops short, drawing my attention to a room filled with nurses and doctors. The room is separated from us only by a giant wall of glass. All of the medical staff are in motion, all attending to one person.
When one nurse moves out of the way, I can see Arsen, his face turned my direction. He looks pale, his eyes closed as one doctor tries to give him chest compressions. Everywhere I look, there are doctors and nurses touching his body, putting in IVs, propping his feet up for circulation.
“Code blue, room E13,” the eerie voice says. “Code blue, room E13.”
I see one doctor shaking her head, looking up at the large clock on the wall.
“No,” I whisper to myself. I move forward, my palm coming up to graze the glass window between me and the whirlwind inside. “Keep going. Keep going!”
Damen stands beside me, watching anxiously.
Slowly, the doctors and nurses stop working, backing off. They are all looking either at the only doctor still performing chest compressions or at the big wall clock. One of the nurses touches the doctor’s back, and she slows.
“It’s time,” the nurse says kindly.
“No!” I shout, banging on the glass. All the medical workers look up, frightened by the suddenness of my gesture.
“Can you go talk to them?” a nurse says to a doctor.
As I look on and bang on the glass wall, horrified, the doctor who was doing chest compressions calls out, “Time of death is 6:15 p.m.”
“No! No, I just found him!” I scream. I’m sobbing openly now, tears streaming down my cheeks unchecked. “No, you have to save him! You have to try—”
Jack’s big paw descends on me, dragging me back, away from Arsen. My stomach cramps suddenly and I hiss, drawing in on myself.
“Oh fuck! Oh! Oh, fuck! It hurts—”
Suddenly, I’m swarmed by doctors and nurses, the same people who were just moments earlier trying to save Arsen. The questions start.
“Are you okay? What hurts? Get a wheelchair…”
I collapse into the wheelchair, not even able to answer their questions beyond the fact that I am pregnant and yes, I think something is very wrong inside my stomach. I’m sobbing too hard, thinking of how Arsen and my mother looked exactly the same as they died.
I refuse to believe it.
No.
I won’t believe it.
He can’t be dead. He can’t be… just gone.
I hugged him just this afternoon. I kissed him, cherished him, only hours ago.
What happened?
Eventually, I am given an oral sedative. An oxygen mask is forced on me, and I’m checked into the ER. I’m forced to lie on a gurney, to take slow breaths.
Do they not realize that my — what would I call Arsen… my everything? Did they not realize that I just lost my everything?
The sedative makes me woozy and calm… but it’s a little like someone pressed MUTE on my emotions. They’re still there, they are just much quieter than before. I lie there on the hospital bed, tears tracking down my face.
How could this have happened? It seems surreal.
I notice that Damen has disappeared. That’s more than fine with me. Jack sticks close to me, staying me by side the whole time. Even when I am given a cup and told to pee in it, he holds the door open, shielding me from intrusive eyes.
I sleep a little, although if you’d offered it to me, I’d have turned it down. When I wake up, the whole staff has changed. The hospital is humming along as if Arsen never died just hours ago in the very next room.
I cry again, curling in on myself, great gasping sobs. My cramps are gone. But so, too, is Arsen.
What direction is my life taking, if it will no longer be shaped by such a strong and sure man? I press my hands against my abdomen, uncertain. I’m afraid for myself, and for my unborn child.
By the time I stumble out of the ER, with Jack putting my coat over my shoulders, I feel like someone has hollowed me out with a spoon and left me to dry out and blow away.
“Where would you like to go, ma’am?” Jack asks.
“Back to the apartment,” I answer, my voice reed-thin. Because that is the last place that I was with him… and the only place that he left for me.
I stare out the window, hurting so much that I’m almost numb, and try not to think at all.
21
Fiore
I wake up in our bed, warm and safe. I remember things in a jumble; a story I want to tell Monster, the fact that I am pregnant, that we probably need some more coffee beans. I stretch, the tee shirt that I’m wearing without anything underneath sliding up my body.
Smiling, I know exactly who I should present my naked ass to, with the awareness that cupping and fondling will be forthcoming. Rolling over onto my side, I face Monster.
Only he’s not there. An
empty space greets me starkly, his side of the bed still made up.
That’s when I realize that Monster died yesterday.
I sob out a breath, my heart hurting so damn bad I don’t know to do with myself. It’s a physical ache as much as it is a psychic one. I lie in our bed, crying out all the tears that I have to cry just now.
He’s never going to touch me again. I’m never again going to lie in his arms, feeling safe and cared for.
I’m alone and lost, somewhere deep in my own ocean of grief. I know that there are other people who probably care about Arsen Aetós, but I still feel the solitude very sharply.
I’m without a companion or lover, forever.
The magnitude of that statement, the permanence of it, shakes me to my core. I wallow in it for a while, crying and watching the sun ascend to its place high in the sky, then begin to drop again.
In the afternoon, I have to get up. I have to pee. I’m desperately thirsty, drinking water right from the water pitcher in the fridge with the door open. I know I should eat something, if not for me then for the baby, but…
I just can’t.
I settle on making some tea instead. While the water boils, I set up my tea bag and get the jar of honey out of the pantry. I discover that having my hands busy is a blessing of sorts; while I’m pouring the water and steeping the tea bag, I can only focus on that.
It doesn’t lessen the loss or blunt the feelings. But it makes it bearable for those few minutes, those precious minutes while the tea sits. I stir in a spoonful of honey and sip the tea cautiously. It’s a taste of sweet and mellow, reflecting sleepy jasmine and the sharp note of green tea.
It needs a little milk, I decide. Still holding the cup, I open the refrigerator. I pour a little bit of milk in my cup, swinging the door closed again.
And then I drop the cup, staring at the man right in front of me. Tall, dark, handsome as sin. The teacup shatters everywhere, instantly forgotten.
“Monster?” I whisper, putting my hand to my throat.
Am I seeing things?
But no, Monster steps toward me, his expression guarded. “Hello, Fiore.”
My thoughts are a mess. I gape at him. “You… but you… I saw you…”
I take a step closer, wincing at the porcelain shards underfoot. I need to touch him, to see if he’s real. I reach out and touch the solid flesh of his chest. Looking up at him with wonderment, I realize I’ve started to cry again.
“You’re real?” I ask, perplexed.
“I am,” he rumbles. Glancing down at my feet, he frowns. “Let’s talk somewhere else.”
He sweeps me up in his arms, though I’m still dumbfounded. How is this possible?
I saw his last moments.
I saw the doctor declare his time of death.
I watched as he died.
He carries me to the living room, setting me on the couch.
I grab his shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. A kiss, the simple gesture of love that an hour ago I never thought I would get again. My tears flow, and I simply let them.
He takes control of the kiss, his tongue rolling against mine, sweeping my mouth mercilessly. I mewl into his mouth, feeling pathetically happy. I’m so weak for this man, beyond needy. I want him… I need him.
I grip him, my movements frantic. I also have so many unanswered questions.
Why? How? I need answers. Pulling back, I wipe away my tears, and then I slap him right in the face.
Though he clearly wasn’t expecting the slap, he doesn’t move to retaliate either.
As Monster perches on the couch on his knees, he winces, moving a little stiffly. I sniffle, wiping at my eyes.
“How? How did you… what, fake your death?” I ask, growing more agitated. “And why?”
Monster purses his lips, taking a seat next to me. He examines my feet, wiping away spilled tea and a little blood. Again, he winces, reaching for his ribs. It’s clear to me that he’s been wounded there, so at least him getting stabbed was real.
“When Damen and I were in the ambulance, he whispered that if I wanted out, this was our chance. I realized he was right. The doctors and nurses that attended me pulled the glass from my wound and stitched me up. Then…” He looks down, showing the first sign of shame I’ve ever seen him display. “Damen went to tell you. You had to think it was real, so other people would believe it.”
“Who? Who was watching?” I ask, frustrated.
“All of New Orleans was watching. And the people that need to be convinced that I’m dead, the people that would hurt you, they are currently holed up, trying to figure out their next move.”
That doesn’t make me feel a single bit less used. “I could kill you myself right now. I ought to. Did you know that I was hospitalized for a while yesterday, on account of having terrible cramps? I thought I was losing the baby!”
I slap his arm to punctuate my words. He looks pained.
“I’m sorry. If there was any other way to keep you safe…”
“You could’ve hurt our child!” I say, my brow drawing down. “You should’ve told me.”
“There was no time,” he insists, catching my hands in his. “It’s not like I planned for Dryas to stab me.”
I resist, still angry beyond explanation. “What would you have done if you had come back, only to find out that grief caused me to lose the baby, huh?”
He releases one of my hands, spreading his hand over my stomach. He looks at me, his grey eyes guileless. “I would’ve mourned. We would’ve mourned, together. But we are lucky, so we don’t have to.” He pauses, then arches his eyebrow. “Right?”
I stare at him for a few more seconds, then exhale slowly. The warmth from his palm is slowly sinking into my skin. I may be so mad at him that I can’t think straight, but there is no denying that I love it. I love him. “Yes. We were lucky.”
“And we don’t have to worry about New Orleans. Damen has agreed to oversee the rest of the takeover until we agree that I ought to return.”
Tossing my head, I am indifferent about that fact. “I don’t care. I only care about you, and about the baby. I need you both to be okay. I need you both in my life. You hear me?”
Monster — Arsen, I remind myself — leans in to embrace me. And I let him.
More than that, I cling to him, my tears dampening his shoulder through his shirt. He holds me close and pets my hair.
“Don't cry,” he murmurs into my ear. “I can’t stand to see those tears and know they’re because of me.”
I raise my head, seeking out his mouth, and press mine against his. He kisses me passionately, making my senses tingle. I bury my fingers in his hair, breathing him in and kissing him at the same time.
He’s okay.
My Monster is really okay.
I’m not alone after all. And soon, in just half a year, I will have a new life to hold close. A new soul that Arsen and I will bring into this world, together.
The kiss grows hot, and I pull back, breathing hard. I look at Arsen.
“Take me to the bedroom,” I demand. “Show me how much you missed me.”
He grins wickedly and presses his lips to mine, lifting me up in his arms.
22
Fiore
Six Months Later
Early in the morning, I wake with a groan. I have to pee again, which is unsurprising since the little girl in my womb has been awake all night and it feels like she’s pressing right on my bladder. Flipping back the covers, I lever my pregnant body out of bed, getting up with difficulty.
Dressed in a flowing ivory caftan that Arsen hates, I pad to the bathroom. I pee like a racehorse, knowing already that this will only satisfy me for an hour. God, I loved being pregnant until I reached thirty-eight weeks.
But in the three weeks since then, I have come to view my pregnancy as being overly long and my little girl as being… not an unwelcome guest, but definitely one that is about to overstay her welcome. Swollen feet and hands, stretch marks, backaches…
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And don’t even get me started about the things I can’t eat or take. Forget alcohol, no one told me that I can’t eat unpasteurized cheeses or take a Tylenol. I can’t wait until I’m not pregnant anymore. I have dreams about all the French brie and hot dogs and NyQuil I’m going to put in my body, possibly all at once.
I’m not even going to talk about how excited I will be to wear my old dresses and jeans again. I might start to cry if I think about it for too long, which is another wonderful thing that no one told me about.
As I’m walking back to bed, though, my little girl kicks. My heart flutters, and I settle a hand on the shelf that the top of my belly has become. My lips twitch, and I know that excited as I am, I would not have missed out on this for the world.
When I climb back into bed, Arsen rolls over, looking at me sleepily. “You okay?”
I nod, turning my body around and presenting my butt to him. He groans, my ass managing to turn him on, though I’m personally disgusted by myself. He kneads the flesh of my ass, grinding his cock between my cheeks. I’m instantly wet, hormones flying all over the place.
I whimper, pulling one of his hands to my super sensitive breasts. His touch is gentle, pulling my caftan up and caressing my breasts lightly. I moan, already needy.
He pulls my caftan over my head and casts it aside. I sit up straight and reach up to him; he kisses me eagerly, nudging me back onto the bed. He kneels over me, his lips roaming to my neck, my collar bone, my exquisitely tender breasts.
“Ohh,” I breathe, my fingers plucking at the tee shirt he fell asleep wearing.
I feel shy, my hands covering my huge baby bump, but he’s having none of that. He grabs both of my hands, pinning them above my head, looking down at me.
“Do you even know how fucking hot you are?” he asks. He kisses my lips slowly. “I’ve wanted you so badly all day, Fiore.”
Arsen releases my hands, his fingers toying with my pink nipples. He looks at me, maintaining eye contact as he takes a nipple in his mouth. I squirm; his tongue abrades my nipple and it feels so damn good.
