At first, I couldn’t move, and when my arms started to work, “whoever” threatened to tie me to the bed. I’m sure it had something to do with the threats coming from my mouth. Something about tearing the entire place apart if they didn’t give me what I wanted. My wife. Their threats falling under the umbrella that I was delusional.
I wasn’t delusional.
There were rules, rights that were mine. They couldn’t keep me here against my will.
Sitting up, I groaned and muttered to myself as I searched the room for my clothes. In a matter of hours, time had taken its wrath out on me. All the life had been drained from my body, replaced by aches and pains.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about her not being here.
A deep cry, one that sounded like a torn growl, erupted from my mouth, but I staunched the emotion down, hell bent on finding my clothes. If not, I’d walk out with their flimsy fucking robe and a bare ass.
The door opened and Mitch rushed in, grabbing me by the arm before I fell on the bed. “What are you doing, man,” he said, his voice gentle. “Sit down. You’re pale and ringing wet.”
“My clothes,” I said. “Give them to me.”
“Yeah, all right,” he said, looking around. He went for a bag on a table set against the wall. “What did you do to the nurse? She ran out of here and is crying to one of the doctors.”
“I told her to stop looking at my dick,” I said, snatching the soiled shirt out of his hand.
Rage.
Rage had begun to push upward, like pressure trapped in a bottle. The sight of congealed blood made me pause, though. The smell. It took my breath away. A subtle note floated through the tang. A sweet note. Roses.
Her essence clung to me, as it had clung to our babies, even our bedsheets.
“It’s her job to check you out. I’m sure she was just doing whatever it is she had to do.” After a minute or two, when I didn’t answer, he called my name. “Can you look at me, Fausti?”
I did, tears running down my cheeks. I had no control. Over anything. My wife. No one would tell me a fucking thing.
Where had they taken her?
To think about her being…so fucking cold. She’d be so cold. I needed to be there with her. To be next to her. I’d never let her get cold.
“Tell me where my wife is, Mitch.”
He stared at me for a moment, sighed, and then sat next to me. His arm came up and he squeezed my shoulder. It was then that I realized I was squeezing the shirt, my knuckles strained.
“Don’t say it, Lewis. Don’t fucking say it.”
“I don’t want to, bro. But the Doc. He thought—he thought it was best if I told you.”
Yeah, I was sure he did. He thought I wouldn’t harm a man I knew. Little did he fucking know.
“Scarlett, she’s not in good shape. They had to airlift her to a trauma center better suited for her injuries. They couldn’t deal with the extent of her injuries here. She—she’s not doing well, brother. Everett and Pnina rented a place close to the hospital. The kids are with them. They need you. They’re taking this hard. No one has told them anything. Mia. She’s like Scarlett, you know. She’s feeling everything, but she hasn’t been able to make sense of it.”
He kept rambling on, but his words suddenly seemed to fall into place and make sense in my mind. “My wife,” I interrupted him. “She’s still alive.”
“Yeah.” His voice broke. “It doesn’t look good though, Fausti. She’s barely making it. They don’t…ah.” He shook his head, finally wiping his face on his sleeve, and then he clenched his fists. “They don’t expect her to make it through the night.”
They don’t expect her to make it through the night—the words physically impacted me, and my heart felt shallow, along with my breaths, and my mind twirly, even though I knew she was still with me. But what state would I find her in? Would she still be there when I got to her?
“Help me,” I said, handing him the shirt. “I need you to help me.”
He sniffed, taking the shirt. “What I said, man. Before—”
“Mitch,” I said, refusing to wipe the tears slipping down my cheeks. The pain of them, of feeling small enough to have to ask for help, made me feel more alive. “My wife is dying. I need to be with her. Nothing else matters. Do you understand?”
“Yeah.” His voice broke. “I do.”
