Damien
“Doctor Farley’s on his way, wants to know if he should meet us at Devil Tower or somewhere closer to the Catskills.”
“I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.” I keep my foot pushed down on the pedal, weaving my way through traffic, my eyes fixed on the road. “It’ll take us about an hour to get there. What’s her temperature?”
“105, but going up.”
“Goddamn it.” I tear one hand away from the wheel to wipe the sweat that’s dripping down my face. “Okay, well, Doctor Farley would have to get here from Astley. So, I guess it doesn’t change anything. Tell him we’re going to Devil Tower. Does he have other recommendations?”
“Cool her down physically. Take off her clothes, wrap her in a wet towel. Some ice, but not right away. Gotta bring down the fever slowly, otherwise she might get convulsions.”
I blink away the beads of sweat that burn my eyes. “Do we have a towel? Do we have a wet towel?”
Logan puts a calming hand on my shoulder. “Everything’s going to be fine, Damien. You’re going to drive up to the next gas station, we’re going to buy a bag of ice and a bottle of cold water, and I’m sure any cloth will do. Doesn’t have to be a towel. Let me get a shirt from my suitcase.”
I shrug his hand off my shoulder angrily. “Okay, okay. But take something from mine.”
He nods quietly before going through my stuff and finding a shirt. “Over there!” he says suddenly. “Turn there. Gas stationcoming up.”
I swerve off the highway and onto the smaller road that leads to a gas station. I halt the car and Logan rushes out, returning moments later with a large bag of ice and a bottle of water. I push down on the gas pedal before he’s even had time to close the car door, but he doesn’t say a word. Just empties part of the bottle onto the shirt as I yank off her hospital gown. Then he presses the soaked shirt to her.
She shivers slightly but doesn’t otherwise react.
“Are you sure we should be doing this?” I question anxiously. “She seems very cold.”
“With such a high fever, we need to bring it down physically,” says Logan. “That’s what the doctor said. Medicine takes too long to act. She’s only shivering because she’s burning up. As soon as the fever is under control, she’ll be fine.”
He dabs more of the cold water on her face and hair.
“How about the ice cubes?” I ask, my eyes still fixed on the road. “Put the ice cubes over her shirt. Come on, man!”
Logan grabs the bag of ice and lays it over the drenched shirt. She heaves a sigh and turns her head, but she’s still sleeping. Somehow, though, she doesn’t seem to be as out of it as before. Logan was right.
“Take her fever again?” I suggest, my voice less harsh than before.
There’s a beep, and then he reads, “103. But maybe the cold water on her skin is messing with the thermometer.”
I reach out a hand and touch her temple. “She does seem less hot than before.”
As I touch her, she lets out a moan, and presses her cheek to my hand. I freeze, and behind me, Logan doesn’t quite manage to suppress a snicker.
“No stress,” he comments drily. “Doctor’s orders.”
Hesitantly, I begin to stroke her hair and the side of herface, forcing my eyes to remain on the road. But it’s different this time. It’s not possessive. I’m not stroking her because she’s mine. I’m stroking her because it seems to make her feel better. Almost like she wants it. A wave of bitter sadness nearly chokes me. I could easily convince myself right now that she does, even though I know she despises me. Otherwise, why would she have run away and allowed me to believe she was dead?
Still, at this moment, the only thing that matters is keeping her stress down.
__
By the time we arrive at Devil Tower, I’m confident that her fever is under control. I drive into the garage and lift her up gently. Cradling her in my arms, I follow Logan to the elevator. Moments later, we reach my apartment, the doors opening with a quiet chime.
She’s still deeply asleep when I bring her into my bedroom and lay her down on the soft mattress. Doctor Farley is already there, a large bag of medication beside him. He’s also set up a few IV drips. We can trust him; he’s been tending to gunshot and stab wounds for years, and he knows better than to ask questions. Now, he examines my sleeping pet, who’s naked apart from the wet shirt plastered to her torso. He doesn’t say a word when his eyes take in the wounds on her lower back and thighs. Only the slight raise of his eyebrow, and the grim expression that sets on Logan’s lips, tell me they’ve even noticed them.
He nods when Logan tells him of the hospital’s diagnosis. “It does sound likely, if none of their tests show infection, especially since you’re telling me she hasn’t been speaking at all. It all points to some unresolved trauma. Perhaps some of it is longlasting, but if it’s been compounded by something recent, that would go a long way toward explaining this extreme physical reaction.” He pauses, eyeing her wounds once more. “If you can avoid stress going forward, and… maybe even provide her with a sense of security, I think it would help her get better.” He smiles tightly, and avoids looking me in the eye.
But I’m too busy spiraling from all this information. The only thing that’s kept me going these past eight months has been the punishment I’ve imagined inflicting on her. I’ve been so angry, so sure I would never forgive her, despising her for the pain she’s caused me, wondering how I could make her suffer enough to alleviate some of my own suffering.
And now, the tables are turned. Now, suddenly, I’m the bad guy, and she’s the one suffering atmyhands. No one gives a shit about my own pain. Least of all me.
