Temptation

by Smeltzer, Micalea

  And, of course, my mind can’t help but think about what could’ve happened? It was so close to that point. One more minute and this would’ve ended differently, and that’s … terrifying. Timing really is everything.

  I shiver and Siva turns the heat up in the car thinking I’m cold.

  But I’m not cold.

  I’m not hot.

  I’m not anything except for numb.

  “We’re here.” He parks the car.

  I stare listlessly ahead. My sobs stopped and are replaced by silence. I never feel like speaking again. Ever.

  “Sloane,” Siva speaks softly like he’s talking to a frightened bird.

  I don’t move.

  He gets out of the car and comes to my side opening the door. He undoes the seatbelt and I all but fall into his arms.

  He lifts me into his arms, closes the car door with a shove of his back, and presses the button to lock it. He carries me to the elevator, adjusts his hold on me, and presses the up button. I wrap my arms around his neck, and it takes all my strength.

  “You will be okay,” he murmurs, climbing in the elevator.

  At least one of us is sure.

  The doors open and Siva’s apartment appears ahead of us.

  He struggles to keep his grip on me and opens the door, but finally he manages.

  “Oh, Sloane,” he says mournfully, as he carries my gelatin-like body up the stairs. “Why has this had to happen to you?”

  I cling to his dark blue shirt like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth. I feel safe in his arms. I felt safe with Dev too but for different reasons.

  Siva pushes the door to my room open and carries me inside. He sits down on the bed with me in his lap.

  “Sloane?” he prompts hesitantly.

  I don’t answer. It’s like I’m locked inside my own mind. I’m aware of everything around me but I can’t partake. I’m trapped inside a dark closet, hearing voices, but I can’t answer. The darkness is consuming me. Eating me from the inside out. My mind is a rollercoaster. Clear glass shards poke painfully inside my head. I want to answer him, to reassure him, but my lips can’t form words. It’s like my vocal chords have frozen. Like every part of me has frozen. Frozen in time.

  “Please answer me.” He cradles me to his chest like a small child. “Do I need to call Dr. Fletcher? Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?”

  Silence greets him.

  “Damn it, answer me.”

  “Don’t yell at me,” I choke on sobs as my tears start up again.

  “Fuck. I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I thought you had gone catatonic on me.”

  His Indian looks seem intensified in the muted glow of the bedroom. “Siva … just hold me,” I sob.

  “I’ll never let go,” he promises.

  ***

  I crack my eyes open, and the bedroom glows dully with shady early morning light. My sleep was restless. I kept having nightmares about what happened. And what would have happened if Siva hadn’t shown up.

  Tears threaten to leak out of my eyes again.

  Siva’s arms are wrapped comfortingly around me and he snores softly. His chest rises and falls steadily. His body is warm against mine—almost too warm. He still wears his dark blue shirt and jeans. The shirt has ridden up a bit showing off his caramel stomach and smooth muscles. His full, black lashes graze his cheeks like a lover’s caress. His lips are full and perfectly shaped. He looks carved from stone, but somehow far more peaceful than he ever is when he’s awake. I guess when he’s sleeping his demons can’t haunt him. In the day, they trail him like a shadow.

  I roll onto my side trying to get comfortable in order to go back to sleep. But my mind won’t shut up and my eyes won’t close no matter how much I try or how desperate I am for more sleep. I try to deepen my breathing hoping it will help. Nothing. I even resort to counting sheep, and still nothing.

  “Sloane,” sounds a sleepy voice near my ear.

  I turn back over and am greeted by heavy lidded violet eyes.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  I nod my head but then the sniffles and tears leak out from my carefully constructed dam.

  I don’t want to cry any more. Crying feels like I’m giving Mac even more power over me—the power to hurt me even when he’s not here. I want to be strong, not weak.

  “Oh, Sloane,” he murmurs and pulls me into his arms. “Hush, little bird, I’m here now. You’re safe.” His large thumb wipes away my tears. “Hush now.” He rocks me. I cling to his shirt like it’s a life preserver. He kisses my cheeks, the top of my head, my nose, and my eyes but not my lips. “I won’t let him hurt you ever again. I’m going to make sure the son of a bitch goes to jail for as long as possible.” His fingers play in my hair. “I’ll take a bullet to make sure he never hurts you again.”

  “Don’t say that,” I say, shaking my head. “Don’t talk about him,” I beg.

  “I’m sorry, so sorry. This shouldn’t have happened to you.”

  “But it did,” my voice breaks.

  “Hush,” he says and begins to sing softly in what I swear is Spanish.

  My eyes grow heavy and soon the elusive thing I was searching for claims me once more.

  ***

  I crack my eyes open some time later. The room is fully lit now, and I figure it’s after ten in the morning.

  “Feeling better?” Siva asks before I can barely take stock of my surroundings or how I feel.

  I give him an incredulous look. Am I feeling better? I don’t know. My body doesn’t hurt much, but my mind … My mind is in shambles. I feel like someone has invaded my mind and completely ransacked it. I can’t form a coherent thought, and I feel like it’s a defense mechanism at work.

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.”

  He hands me a steaming mug of coffee, and I thank him with a small grateful smile. I blow on it to cool it down. I notice he’s changed his clothes. I bring my knees up to my chest and cradle the coffee mug.

  “That song you were singing to me … Where did you learn it?”

  “It was a lullaby my mother used to sing to me when I had a nightmare and was too scared to sleep.” He looks away thoughtfully.

  “It was Spanish, right?”

  He nods. “Yes. She was from Spain.”

  Shock pours over me and I look down. “I didn’t know. Dev … Dev never told me.” Biting my lip, I grind out, “I think there’s a lot he didn’t tell me.”

  He shrugs. “Dev pretends our mother never existed. It’s easier that way.”

  “What’s easier?”

  He shakes his head, refusing to answer. I figure I’ve gotten more out of him than usual anyway, so I don’t press.

  “Sloane,” he prompts, sliding onto the bed beside me and bringing the conversation away from him. I notice he’s brought us breakfast. “You’re going to be okay, right?” He sounds so much like a small child. Gone is the moody, arrogant, stubborn man and in his place is a man clearly confused and worried.

  “I was almost raped last night.” My voice breaks and doesn’t even sound like my own. My hand shakes where I hold the mug of coffee. “Do you think I’m okay?” I all but growl at him.

  “No,” he answers honestly. “But I want you to know I’m here to help you. My—” He seems undecided about something, his face steely. He nods his head once like he’s conferring with his thoughts. “My sister was raped,” he admits, softly looking at the sheets and away from me. “She took it hard. She didn’t tell anyone … only me. Then she killed herself. My father blamed me for her death. He said I could have prevented it since I knew about the rape. He’s right. I should’ve said something, done something, anything. I’m not going to make the same mistake with you.” He meets my eyes with a steely gaze. “That was the worst mistake of my life and I can’t help but feel like maybe … maybe this is my chance to atone for it. That’s probably crazy, but it’s how I feel.”

  “I … I don’t know what to say.”

&nbs
p; He waves his hand in dismissal of my words. “There’s nothing to say. The past is in the past for a reason. You either choose to learn from it or repeat it. I was never one to read a book twice and I won’t do the same with my life.” His eyes harden, turning more gray than violet. “Eat,” he commands, shoving one of the plates at me and nearly knocking over the scalding coffee. “You have to be hungry. It’ll make you feel better.”

  “Thanks,” I say, moving the coffee to the end table and out of firing range. The last thing I need is hot coffee spilled on me too.

  I pick up the fork and bite into the rubbery egg. I’m not hungry. Not one bit. But the look in Siva’s eyes tells me I better eat. I bite into the toast. It’s dry and flaky on my tongue like sandpaper. I swallow it reluctantly and am sure I make a face of disgust. My stomach churns as the dry toast settles.

  We eat our food in silence. Neither one of us having anything to say. I can feel Siva building a wall between us, a wall I felt had recently begun to crumble, and I know soon he will no longer be thoughtful and caring but cold and clinical.

  I hate this cycle and I don’t know how he can stand it.

  He finishes his plate and stands. “Do you need anything?”

  “No,” I say. One word. No emotion. I’m still locked inside my head, buried six feet under, trying to claw my way out.

  I hand him my plate and he leaves me alone.

  I don’t want to be left alone. But I don’t ask for him to stay.

  Being alone brings all my fears back.

  His face.

  His breath.

  His hands.

  His lips.

  His tongue.

  His …

  I close my eyes and begin to hyperventilate. All I can see when I close my eyes is his face. I open them and he’s there too.

  Green eyes, shaggy hair, and his body pressing forcefully against mine. I clutch at my chest as my breathing spikes. My breaths pant in and out way too quickly and I don’t even feel like I’m getting oxygen. Is this what it feels like to have a heart attack?

  All feeling goes out of my limbs and I fall listlessly out of the bed with a loud thump that has to have been heard through the entire flat.

  I can’t breathe and my chest constricts painfully. Sounds of a dying animal escape my mouth as I struggle for air.

  I hear the sounds of quick footsteps, a muttered, “Holy fuck,” and then nothing.

  Whiteness. Blinding white. Too bright. The sounds of rushing. Clatter. Chatter. Metal clacking. Wheels turning.

  My mouth feels dry and full of cotton. Someone holds my hand. I want to turn my head, open my eyes, but I can’t move.

  I drift in and out of partial consciousness.

  In.

  Out.

  Up.

  Down.

  I’m on a boat drifting out at sea. Floating. I’m relaxed. Languid. Nothing can touch me. Nothing can hurt me. I’m safe from life. I’m safe from thoughts. I exist but I’m unaware. Time slows to a stop. I can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t. I never open my eyes but at times I hear voices.

  One voice stands out among the others.

  The voice of an angel.

  A very angry, grump, angel. But an angel nonetheless.

  But then the voices disappear and I’m left with the blankness of my mind and the never-ending whiteness. I turn in circles and white and silence greet me.

  “She should be waking up!” growls the angel. “It’s been a whole day!”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Kapur. This is her mind’s way of healing itself,” says a pleasant female voice I don’t recognize.

  “I don’t give a damn. You’re a doctor and I’m paying you good money to do something and you are doing nothing. Absolutely nothing,” he yells.

  Whiteness. Whirling, blank, stark, white.

  And then with a rush … Light.

  ***

  My eyes crack open. They feel like they were glued together.

  “Hey,” says the voice of the angel, clearly relieved.

  “Water,” I croak.

  A straw is promptly inserted between my chapped lips. I try to make a sucking motion but my lips and throat are so dry it’s nearly impossible. But finally, somehow, the liquid trickles down my throat. It’s cold and so deliciously wet. I suck greedily now. Nothing has ever tasted so good. Does water even have a taste? It doesn’t matter. It’s delicious.

  “Slow down,” he commands, but it isn’t harsh.

  My eyes finally fully open to my strange surroundings.

  “Where am I?” My voice is raspy from not being used.

  His hand massages my scalp. “The hospital,” he answers. “You had a panic attack and it resulted in a seizure.” He presses his smooth forehead to mine. His normally brushed back, black hair now hangs over his eyes like a thick curtain. It’s soft where it touches my face. One of his hands rubs my cheek while the other holds my hand. “I’ve been so worried about you.”

  I feel his soft, warm, lips press against my forehead.

  “We must both attract drama like a fly to honey,” I try to make a joke. “We’ve barely known each other and look at all that’s happened already.” Unfortunately, it’s pretty impossible to bring any levity to this situation. I feel certain if Siva hadn’t swooped into my life like the dark avenging angel he is, last night would’ve ended a lot differently.

  He ignores my comments.

  “Don’t ever do anything like that to me again.” He sighs. “I’m going to get you help,” he vows. “The best therapist in London. I should probably go too …” he muses with a sardonic smile. “I have a shit load of problems. I’m a fucking therapist’s dream.”

  “Siva,” I admonish. “Language.”

  He chuckles.

  “Glad to know you’re feeling well enough to critique my use of language. It’s nice to hear your voice,” he says in his buttery British accent.

  “We are in a hospital,” I scold. “You should watch what you say.”

  “I like to express myself.” He grins.

  His teeth are so white against his dark skin. He’s wearing the same outfit from … from when?

  “How long have I been out?” I ask.

  “Almost two days. The fucking longest two days of my life.”

  “Siva,” I say, and he grins like a delighted little monster.

  “Do you need anything else?” he asks going into doctor mode. “Food? More water? A pillow? Blanket?”

  “No,” I say honestly. All I wanted when I woke up was water and I got it. “I want to get out of here as soon as possible though.”

  “I can do that,” he promises with a smile.

  He disappears out the door leaving me alone in the hospital room. Flowers cover practically every surface. The smell is overwhelming. How come people always send flowers to the sick or the dying or the already dead? It isn’t like they can appreciate it. There were so many flowers at Dev’s funeral it looked like a florist threw up in the church.

  Siva comes back into the room with an older, female doctor.

  “Nice to see you awake,” she says happily. “Does your head hurt?” she inquires, her eyes flicking over me.

  “I feel fine,” I answer honestly. “I’d just like to get out of here.”

  “That’s understandable. Mr. Kapur informed me of what transpired to cause your panic attack so I’ve prescribed you some medication in case you feel a panic attack coming on, all right, dear? I’d also like you to see someone to talk about what happened. Talking to someone can really make a vast improvement in one’s mental health,” she says like she’s reading off a script. “Let’s get this IV out of you.” She comes to my side.

  For the first time I notice the needle in my hand and pale. I hate needles. She undoes the tape and slides the IV out. Eyeing my expression, she gives a little laugh.

  “You think there’s a needle in there, don’t you?” I nod. “There’s not. After the IV is in the needle comes out.”

  “You’re lying,”
I mumble.

  She laughs harder. “I’m not, sweetie.” She puts a piece of gauze and tape over the spot.

  She then hands me a piece of paper going over the do’s and don’t’s of the medication she’s prescribing me. She keeps giving me pitiful glances and it irks me.

  “All right, dear,” she says for the tenth time I swear. “Be sure and drink lots of fluids and don’t engage in anything too stressful.”

  “Okeydokey,” I say, willing to agree to anything if it gets me out of here.

  She disappears out the door, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  Siva holds up a bag. “Here are your clothes.”

  “Thanks.” I take them from him.

  “I’ll be right outside the door.” He points his thumb awkwardly in the direction of the door like I don’t know where he’ll be. “Just come on out when you’re done.”

  “Will do,” I say, sitting up. My body feels weak but I think I’ll be fine to dress on my own. He leaves and the door clicks closed softly behind him. I swing my legs out of the bed and have to steady myself. “Whoa,” I say, as a sudden wave of dizziness overtakes me. I steady myself against the bed and wait for the vertigo to pass. I should’ve taken things slower since apparently I’ve been in a bed for two days.

  I slip on a pair of jeans and white tank top Siva brought. It feels good to have my own clothes against my body instead of the itchy hospital gown.

  I tie my pair of Converse sneakers and open the door. As promised, Siva is waiting.

  “Let’s go,” I say, ready to get out of the dreadful facility. I’ve always hated hospitals. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had been conscious for the last forty-eight hours.

  Siva smiles. “Well, aren’t you … what do they call it … the eager beaver?” His accent makes the words sound so much more appealing.