They flop me onto the stretcher and bundle me into the back of the ambulance. I offer Drew a weak smile and a wave as they slam the doors shut and resume the wailing sirens. His face is simmering with betrayal like the doors cutting him off somehow represent my exact feelings of repugnance toward him.
That I didn’t insist that he come with… He’s overly possessive. A man that knows no boundaries. One who wants to re-write them. Extend them to his will and desire. And bend me over in more ways than one. I’m sure he’s furious right now, probably pacing back and forth, foaming at the mouth like a dog with extreme separation anxiety and a case of rabies. Just going crazy not knowing when his next bite will be. But I don’t give a fuck anymore about his wishes. The bastard nearly killed me.
What if he hasn’t washed his hands since? He could send me right back to the footsteps of heaven.
If only Charlie was here, to hold my hand and murmur sweet nothings into my ear to make me chuckle. To bring me the simple joys of his warmth.
Would he forgive me though? I wouldn’t blame him if he’s had enough of me. Enough of the drama. The tattoo of his bastard twin that’s been burned into my skin with my consent.
How fucking stupid of me. I should have known better than to agree to get tattooed by the devil. The devil never forgets a contract signed in blood and flesh.
The paramedic tightens the cuff around my arm as he assesses my blood pressure. “Hold tight champ. You are in good hands.”
Not the hands that I want right now… Charlie please, please, please forgive me.
I need my Captain back.
Chapter 23
Austin
Mybiggestdecisionofthe day? Tapioca or chocolate pudding.
Definitely tapioca. They say it’s for old people with dentures, but I say it’s fucking delicious. The way those little pearls smash between my teeth and slide down my throat. It’s quite pleasurable. A pleasant distraction from the bigger question that life has been begging for me to answer.
And the best part of this hospital stay? Round-the-clock control of who comes and goes from my room. It’s never been so sweet to reject a visitor.
Drew tried to barge into the unit the moment I was admitted. Then again the next morning, lunch, and dinner. But I saidnoeach time with utter delight. I bet he was absolutely seething and cursing at the gatekeeper. Maybe plotting my murder out of spite. But I don’t have to worry about that until my discharge tomorrow.
The specialists insisted that I stay nearly a full week for observation. They were stunned to find out that my brain had been starved of oxygen for almost five minutes with no signs of damage afterward. They say it’s a miracle, and when they said I could stay, I wasn’t going to question it. I was actually aiming for another day so I could skip the wedding entirely.
Okay, maybe… it was more like begging; they insist that I should be cleared by tomorrow morning.
I feel like a prisoner who doesn’t want to leave the safety of their jail cell. A baby bird that's not ready to fly.
It’s safer to be in a cage sometimes, protected from the predators of the world.
The worst part of this stay though?
Charlie. Or more so the lack of appearance. He hasn’t tried to visit. Hasn’t tried even once.
I guess that’s a clear sign that he’s leaving me for his viper of a brother to constrict around my throat. Perhaps he’ll finish the job this time around.
The glass door slides open. “Mr. Schmidt, you have a visitor. Your mother. Would you like to see her?”
My heart warms like a furnace on a December morning with a negative ten wind chill. I had no idea she was coming. All the way from New Hampshire to see me.
“Yes—of course!”
I perk myself up in the bed, fumbling with the paper-thin hospital sheet that they call a 'blanket', as if it’ll make me more presentable. I haven’t had a shower in two days. My scruff is starting to build the foundations of a faint beard. It’s just been me and an endless cascade of daytime soap operas. Once you get past the first eight episodes they really aren’t that bad…
She glides past the threshold, donning a smile bright enough to compete with the sun. Her dark hair is wrapped up in a messy bun. “Honey! Oh you poor thing,” she exclaims, before embracing mewith a hug, her infinity scarf plopping against my chest. “I came as soon as I could. But I didn’t hear until yesterday… The cellphone tower went down for maintenance. I’m so sorry baby.”
“It’s okay mom, it was just anaphylaxis,” I mutter. “Not exactly my first rodeo with the peanuts.”
“Your father told me how close you were…” she sniffles trying to battle the drops pooling in her eyes.
“It’s okay mom… I’m here. Everything worked out.” I squeeze her tight, whiffing in the laundry detergent that reminds me of home. Of what home used to be. What it used to smell like before the divorce.
