Yeah, I was talking to her brother. My best friend, a man I called brother. A ghost. But I could feel him around her. Had been feeling him.
She’s your sister, but she’smywife. You left me, and if she goes, I have no life. Your life went with you. Together for eternity. It’s her or no one. She’s mine.
The air seemed to stir, and my skin contracted again. The rage that I had buried down continually built, only adding to the pressure in the room.
If I had to, I’d take this entire room apart, forcing them to send guards in—guards that would kill me before I surrendered.
Adrenaline kept me upright. I was a storm caught in a bottle, all my energy contained but somehow moving, the girl trapped inside caught up in the whirlwind. If it brought her back, so be it.
Lowering my head, my hair fell forward, and my hands tightened against the bed, my arms braced. “You ran from me,” I snapped. “You tried to leave me. While I was gone.
“You believe our son needs me more than he needs you. That’s why you did this.” I hit the bottom of the bed, making it rattle. Not hard enough to jolt her, but hard enough that she could feel it in her bones. “That’s why you deceived me. Refused me the right to die for your honor. How could you do thistome?”
Tears dripped onto the bed, onto her blankets, but my voice came out as cool as the air in the room.
“You die, I die. Our children are not strong enough to keep me here.Solo tu. You are the only heaven this sinner will ever get to experience.” I set my hand on her foot, squeezing, making a mark she could feel in her bones. The same way I’d marked her the night at her father’s cabins, when she urged me to.
The storm inside of me grew to proportions I had never dealt with before. All the wires, the beeping, the constant flow from the machines that kept her alive, were starting to grate on my nerves. The fact that she depended on them.
“No,” my voice came out almost whispered, but gruff. I knew she could hear me. “Depend on me. My strength. Wake up. Feel me. I know you do. That’s why you waited until you knew I was gone to give up. I’d only leave for one reason. Our children. You thought seeing them would change my mind. It hasn’t changed a fucking thing. Me and you. Beginning and end. I go where you go. I’ll chase you until I find you—no matter how fucking long.”
My hands itched to tear the room apart, fling the machines against the wall, put my hand through whatever it could, tear it in two, to shatter all the distance between us until it begged for mercy. Like I begged for hers. I wanted to flip this fucking place upside down—see her open her eyes and get me to stop.
My bones rattled with restraint. Veins snaked above the skin, my blood running hot. My insides were on fire from the turmoil, the need to react strong enough to make me lightheaded. Sweat dripped, and so did tears. Blood was on my tongue from biting my lip hard enough to split skin.
In a moment of true desperation, I took the chair from the bedside and flung it against the wall. The energy it took sent me straight to the floor with it. Some of the staff ran in, coming straight for me.
“Mr. Fausti! Get Doctor—”
“No,” I shook my head, getting to my feet, undulating, still staring at her. “I don’t need the doctor.”
What happened after that…I couldn’t remember. But no one came for me, and I stood again, at the edge of her bed, watching, waiting in the darkness.
* * *
Two days later,my wife woke up.
Part IV
Eyes Open
A little over 1 year later
21
Brando
It had been one year since the light in my life had dimmed. Since my wife opened her eyes, but the way she viewed the world had changed. She was distant, here with us but not.
It had been a year full of endless doctor appointments, specialists, and watching as my wife struggled to take a step, then another, then another.
They said she would never dance again, and at this, the light I’d always found in the darkness dimmed. Not my wife’s talent, but her. I’d watch as she viewed her scars, not the ones she saw on her body, but the ones that went deeper, as something to be ashamed of.
We still danced, though, she and I. It was a year of us dancing around each other—neither one of us saying what needed to be said.
Me not doing what needed to be done.
Fuck that.
