Temptation

by Smeltzer, Micalea

  Then, all at once, the stars rush at me.

  The darkness enfolds me. Swallows me. Absorbs me.

  Everything ceases to be.

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  The steady noise invades my mind.

  Shuffling.

  Voices.

  In and out I drift.

  Time means nothing. It just exists.

  “… out of surgery.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Shot three times.”

  “Bad …”

  “… dead … crazy … how … find … them …?”

  I hear the voices. But it doesn’t mean anything to me. I can’t process it. Nothing seems real.

  I feel someone’s hand press against my forehead. I try to respond but my body won’t let me. I feel heavy. I can’t move my muscles. I can’t open my eyes.

  I can’t.

  I can’t.

  I can’t.

  ***

  Slowly, feeling creeps back into my body. When it does, I wish it hadn’t. I hurt all over. The heavy numbness had been better than this pain. My eyes flutter. I can still hear the incessant beeping. The noise hurts my head and I squish my eyes tightly together to block out the noise since I’m too weak to lift my hands to my ears.

  “Sloanie?” asks a soft voice.

  My head hurts. The pain is beyond that of a headache. My stomach hurts too. I blink my eyes open.

  “It’s … too … bright …,” I say. Someone closes the blinds.

  “Sloanie? How do you feel?”

  “I hurt,” I whine like I’m five. I put my hand to my head and hope the spinning will stop.

  “I’m sure you do,” says the voice. As my eyes adjust I focus on the person in front of me. “You were shot. How did this happen?” my mom asks. Tears leak out of her eyes and her nose runs. Her eyes are bloodshot so I know she’s been doing an awful lot of crying.

  “I’m gonna be sick,” I warn.

  My mother thrusts a pan in my hands and holds my hair back. She gently massages my neck.

  “How long have I been out?” I ask. I’m not sure I want to know, but I feel like I have.

  “A week,” she sighs. “It was touch and go there for a while.” She brushes my hair back from my face. “You scared me.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” I whisper. Sorry doesn’t seem good enough, but I don’t know what else to say. I look around the room for the person who I really want to see.

  A nurse comes in at that moment. I look wildly in between her and my mom. “Where’s Siva? Where is my husband? Is he … Please tell me he’s okay,” I sob. My head is pounding and with the tears I worry I might be sick again.

  “Sloanie,” says my mom in a worried tone.

  “Is he okay?” I ask again.

  I look up. My mom looks at the nurse. “I’ll be right back,” she says. “I’m going to get the doctor.”

  “Mommy?” I cry brokenly when the nurse has left.

  “He had to have surgery,” she says, tears shine in her eyes again. “He hasn’t woken up yet. He … it was bad. The doctor says he’ll be fine. This is his body’s way of recovering. He’ll be fine, Sloane,” she assures when I start to cry even harder.

  “I love him so much. I can’t lose him. I can’t—” A new thought occurs to me. I look desperately at my mom. “The baby,” I breathe.

  “The baby’s fine,” says a new voice. I look up at Dr. Fletcher. “The womb is quite amazing.”

  I put my hand to my stomach and breathe a sigh of relief. The baby is fine.

  “How do you feel?” asks Dr. Fletcher.

  “Like I was shot,” I mumble.

  His lips quirk in amusement but he does a good job of quickly hiding it. “Well, that’s understandable.” He comes to stand by my right side and my mom moves to the bottom of the bed. “Let me check your shoulder,” he says. With the help of the doctor and the nurse they ease me into a sitting position. The doctor lowers the gown off of my shoulder and then removes the bandages. He pokes and prods the tender area. “It appears to be healing well. This one was a graze. Let me check your leg,” he says and puts the bandage back in place. He lifts the sheet off my leg and takes the bandage off the wound on my thigh. My eyes widen and I have to look away from the gruesome sight. I can clearly see the bullet hole and the skin around it is an angry red.

  “You’re going to have to use crutches or a wheel chair for a while,” he warns.

  “Great,” I murmur sarcastically. I had to use crutches in middle school. The whole experience had sucked and I’m not looking forward to doing it again. But at least I’m alive, and my baby’s okay, that’s all that matters. I can’t bring myself to think about what’ll happen if Siva doesn’t wake up.

  “Rest up,” says the doctor. He nods to the nurse. She inserts something into the IV. Cold hits my veins and I’m out like a light.

  ***

  Days later I wake up again.

  “Siva?” I ask before even I open my eyes.

  “Nope it’s me,” says a voice. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Lyndi?” I ask opening my eyes. She smiles and puts a magazine down.

  “Yeah, your poor mom was dead on her feet. I sent her back to your place to get some sleep.”

  “Thank you,” I tell her. My mother was probably ready to collapse. I know this whole ordeal has to be hurting her.

  “No problem,” says Lyndi. She grabs my hand. “We’ve been so worried.”

  “We have,” says another voice. Coming into the room is Nate with two cups of coffee. He hands one to Lyndi and kisses her on the lips.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask in surprise.

  He smiles. “I was there when your mom got the call. I thought she was going to have a heart attack so I came for moral support.” He flushes and looks at Lyndi. I’m pretty sure there’s another reason he came.

  “Well, thank you,” I say. I look between the two. “Do you know … what happened to Mac and Alexa?”

  Lyndi sighs and tucks a long piece of red hair behind her ear. “Mac is dead and Alexa is in police custody. They’re saying she’s going to take the insanity plea.”

  I close my eyes. “Why did they do this?” I breathe.

  “They’re both crazy,” mutters Lyndi. “Thank God you’re alive though. I don’t know what I would do without my best friend.” Her lower lip trembles.

  “You’d be fine,” I tell her with a small smile.

  “Never.” She smiles and tears glimmers in her eyes.

  “I want to see Siva,” I plead softly.

  Lyndi nods. “I figured.”

  She looks at Nate and he disappears, a minute later he returns with a wheelchair and a nurse. The nurse helps me into the wheelchair and fixes my IV and bag for transport. Lyndi knows the way so she steers me down the hallway and the nurse leaves. Nate walks behind us. I take in my surroundings. My room is located in the recovery wing but Siva’s room is in intensive care.

  Lyndi stops outside his door and I take a deep breath.

  “Ready?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I breathe. She opens the door and wheels me inside. I refuse to look at him yet. I know when I do my heart will tear in two.

  “I’ll be outside the door. Call for me when you’re ready to leave,” she whispers in my ear as she put the brakes on the wheelchair and positions me beside my husband.

  I hear her leave.

  “Oh, Siva,” I sigh, when I finally look at him. His caramel colored skin is pale and waxy. He’s hooked up to a ventilator and his chest rises and falls. His eyes are closed and his hair lays dark against his forehead. He looks dead but I know he’s not and thank God for that.

  I take his hand in my mine. It’s cold and clammy.

  “Siva,” I breathe and tears fall. “Why did this have to happen? I love you. Please don’t leave me. Please,” I beg. I lay my head against the mattress and keep his hand in mine.

  I cry and I beg for hours until Lyndi finally comes in and removes me. I d
on’t want to leave and I scream at her to leave me. A nurse comes and shoots something into my IV. I hear her say something about, “Trauma. It’s best to keep them sedated,” and then the faces and the noises disappear.

  “Ready?” asks my mom.

  I close my eyes. “No.”

  “It’s time to go home,” she says in a soft coaxing voice.

  “No,” I repeat. “Not without him.” I shake my head back and forth. They can’t make me go. I won’t leave him. He might wake up while I’m gone.

  “Sloanie, you have to go home.”

  “Mom, please don’t make me go,” I cry and grab her hand.

  My mom sighs. “Sloane,” she says sternly. “I am taking you home. I’ll bring you back tomorrow.”

  “But … but what if he wakes up? I need to be here,” I plead with her to understand.

  My mom sighs again. “Jacob is here. He says he’s staying the night. I’ll bring you back in the morning. You’ll do him no good if you’re exhausted and strung out. The best thing you can do for yourself and him is rest.” Her tone brooks no room for argument so I finally let her wheel me out of the hospital and into the taxi. I still pout the entire time.

  The taxi drops us off at the front of the building and my mom wheels me inside, into the elevator, and up into the apartment.

  For some reason I’m surprised to see everything is the same. I’ve been gone from home for so long I expected everything to be different. But of course it isn’t. It’s all the same.

  “You can’t go up and down steps yet,” my mom warns and breaks me out of my thoughts, “so I fixed up the downstairs bedroom for you.”

  “Thanks,” I say and squeeze her hand. “For everything. Really. I’m sorry for how I acted. I hate … I hate to leave him,” I whisper.

  “I know,” she says in understanding. “When your dad was in the hospital with cancer … I didn’t want to be away from him,” she sniffles. “I thought every breath would be his last.”

  “You’re not helping,” I mumble.

  “Sorry,” she sighs and grabs a tissue to dab at her eyes. “Where do you want to get fixed?” she asks. “Are you tired? Do you want to go to bed? Get on the couch?”

  “No,” I say. “Can you set me up in the family room? I’m so sick of lying in a bed.”

  “Of course,” she says.

  Once I’m fixed on the couch with some reality show on to distract my mind she goes off to the kitchen to make us dinner. I don’t bother to tell her I’m not hungry. I know she needs to do something. These past two weeks have been hard on her. It’s easier to push aside my own pain and focus on hers. I can be strong for her but I can’t be strong for myself.

  She brings dinner into the family room. She sits down beside me and becomes absorbed in the show. I try to eat, I really do, but after three bites I can’t force anymore into my stomach.

  I put the plate of food down on the coffee table. My mom gives me a sad look. “It’s okay. I know you’re trying.” She puts her own plate of food down beside mine. “Here,” she says, turning me so my back is to her. “Remember this?” she asks as she massages my scalp.

  “Yeah,” I hum. “This always relaxes and puts me to sleep.”

  “You always loved this. You liked for me to play with your hair. I think you could have sat for hours and let me play with your hair,” she reminisces. “And now you’ll have your own little one to do this with.”

  I smile fondly. “If it’s a girl. I don’t think my son would want me playing with his hair.”

  She laughs and then stills. “Oh, Sloanie, when I think about how close it came to losing you, Siva, and now my grandchild—” she chokes up. “I’m so happy you’re okay. I know Siva will be too,” she adds. “I’ve been praying.”

  “Thank you,” I say and pat her knee.

  She continues massaging my scalp and before long I fall asleep on the couch.

  ***

  “Mom! Come on! Let’s go!” I yell up the stairs. In the past few hours I’ve gotten the knack for wheeling myself around. I still frequently bump into furniture but at least I can get around on my own somewhat. It isn’t fun being a twenty-four-year-old and having your mom help you to the bathroom.

  “I’m coming,” she says and I finally hear her feet on the steps.

  The recovery wing is mostly empty when we got there. I breathe a sigh of relief, yet again, that Siva has finally been moved from the ICU. My mom wheels me into the room. Jacob is still there and I’m so thankful he stayed.

  “Hey, how are you feeling?” he asks me.

  “Better. Has there been any change?”

  “No, not this morning,” he says sadly. He stands and grabs his stuff. “I’ll see you later.” He squeezes my hand and leaves the room.

  I turn to my mom. “Go do something. You’ll be bored. I’m fine,” I say when I see her begin to protest. “Please, Mom. I want to be alone with him.”

  “Okay,” she agrees softly. “Call me when you’re ready to come home.”

  I nod and watch her leave. I turn my attentions to my husband. At least he isn’t on a ventilator anymore. I watch as his chest rises and falls on its own. I take his hand in mine. It’s slightly warmer than it has been. His color is getting better too and his lips are no longer white. His long dark lashes flutter against his cheekbones as if he’s dreaming. I hold my breath in bated anticipation but his violet eyes never open. My shoulders slump in defeat.

  “Please wake up, baby,” I beg. “You can do it. Please.”

  Nothing. I sigh.

  His fingers twitch in mine. I hold my breath. He’ll wake up soon. He will. I have to be patient.

  I close my eyes and hold both his hands in mine. I strike up a one-way conversation. Time continues to pass and like clockwork I make it back to the same thing I say every day, “I miss you, Siva. I’m so scared. I don’t want to lose you. I need you. Our baby needs you. You were so brave but so stupid,” I cry. “Taking that gun from him. But … I guess you saved both of our lives. All three of our lives. The baby’s fine, Siva. We’re going to be a family. You can’t leave us. I love you and this baby needs to know its daddy.”

  “The … baby’s … fine?” croaks a voice.

  Startled, I look up.

  “Oh, Siva,” I sob.

  “Don’t … cry…” he chokes. His other hand pulls some hairs from my face so he can see me better.

  “Babe, don’t move,” I plead. “You’re still hurt.”

  “I’m … fine … maybe a little … thirsty,” he croaks.

  “I’ll get you some water,” I say and then realize I’m in the wheelchair. I laugh lightly. “Okay, maybe I’ll get someone else to get it.”

  I push the call button and a moment later a nurse appears. “Look who’s up! I’ll get the doctor.” She turns to leave.

  “And some water please,” I add.

  “Certainly,” she says, looking back over her shoulder.

  I turn back to my husband. “I love you,” I sob. “I’ve been so scared.”

  “I’m here,” he says, “I’m fine.”

  “I can’t lose you, Siva. I can’t,” I cry brokenly.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he vows.

  The nurse returns with a Styrofoam cup of water and Dr. Fletcher comes in behind her. Apparently Dr. Fletcher can do it all. He was there for sick calls, the baby, and he had even performed Siva’s surgery. He’s a miracle worker.

  Dr. Fletcher goes down a list of questions to which Siva answers. Siva was shot twice in the abdomen and once in his arm. I don’t know how he’s still alive. It’s a miracle. The doctor leaves and Siva and I are alone once more.

  “You took a bullet for me,” I murmur.

  “I love you, Sloane. I wasn’t going to let him hurt you. But he did anyway,” he sighs, looking at my wounds.

  “You shouldn’t have done it,” I say, shaking my head. “He could’ve killed you.”

  Siva looks at me and tears glisten in his eyes. “Better me tha
n you and the baby,” he says and gently places his hand against the tiny bulge in my stomach. “I couldn’t let him take my family. You mean everything to me. You and this baby. I’m so sorry I didn’t act that way at first. My behavior is … unforgivable.” He frowns and I watch the scar slashing through his lip move. He’s so handsome it hurts me sometimes. Even confined to a hospital bed he’s perfect.

  “We didn’t plan this,” I say softly.

  He shakes his head back and forth. “That doesn’t matter. This baby is a blessing and I’m sorry I treated otherwise. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” I said and softly kiss him.

  My mom comes in some time later. “Sloane, I told you to call me,” she reprimands me.

  “Sorry, Mom,” I say.

  “Sorry, Tammi,” adds Siva with a grin.

  “Oh, my God!” she cries and burst into tears.

  I look back at Siva. His violet eyes widen in shock. He hadn’t been expecting that kind of reaction from my mother. I hadn’t either.

  “You’re okay,” she breathes. “You’re both going to be okay.”

  And we will be.

  One day at a time.

  Five months later

  The baby’s room is decorated and ready. The walls are purple and the crib is white. The bedding a pale lavender. Siva and I painted the room ourselves; I added some white bunnies frolicking on the walls, and he put all the furniture together. I sat and read the directions to him while he pieced them together. We had laughed when several things hadn’t turned out right, like the carrier and swing. But Siva was stubborn and he wanted to do this himself so with a patience he most often did not have he took them apart and rebuilt them. This time the right way.

  Looking around the nursery I can’t believe in four short weeks our daughter will be here. I rest my hands against my stomach and smile blissfully.

  We had several complications throughout my pregnancy due to the trauma my body sustained from the gunshots. But I held on and now we’re in the clear. The baby is fine and I’m fine.