It’s not until she begins to move I understand she’s using the wall behind her as a stabilizer for her weight. Moving away from it, she shuffles and wobbles across the living room toward the bedroom. I didn’t notice her appearance until then. A dried-out, short wig, a T-shirt and loose shorts that came from the men’s section made up her attire. Feeling all eyes on her, she tries to hold her head up, but the wounds to her heart and self-esteem are painfully visible.
What am I missing? I wonder.
“Hey, let me help you, okay?”
I blink as she attempts to swats my hands away.
“I…I can do it. I need to…to…look at me, Shahid! I’ll never be the same. Don’t you get it? I’m…I’m…” She can’t even finish the sentence.
Jerking my head to the men trying not to stare, I order, “Get her computer, any meds, box up the rest. I want the place cleaned.”
Scooping Chione up in my arms, I marvel at how small she really is. Never has she been like this in my presence. Always the one with a plan, she wanted to seem too strong for help. A body can be fixed. With time, she can learn to accept her knew reflection. I just pray that her mind can be fixed too.
6
CHIONE
I know I prayed for this, but now, I don’t want it. I mean having Shahid here, knowing that he went through some shit to find me makes me happy. Just him finally knowing what’s been going on with me, him knowing what I’ve gone through in the past, I don’t like it. I damn sure don’t like the way he keeps looking at me. I want to hide. No, I want to curse, deflect, do anything to take the attention off of me, but I’m scared too, you know. I ain’t dumb. I know I am in a bad way. I need help.
“Talking to me won’t kill me.”
Shit, I gotta watch it. I said I wasn’t going to be a bitch. Thankfully, he doesn’t bite. Instead, he continues to glance over every now and then to steal a glimpse. Messing with his phone takes his eyes off me at least for a little while.
“We’re going back to my place. There’s a doctor there to look you over.”
All I can do is bite my lip to keep from wailing. Fuck! I haven’t been this weak in years. For the first four months working at Russell’s, realizing that my family wasn’t going to do shit to get me out of that hellhole, Jesus, I cried. I would be under the heated neon lights twerking to the beat with tears streaking my cakey makeup. I cried before every private party ‘cause if the people paying wanted a blow job or more, I knew I would be on my knees giving it to them. I thought I was beyond the waterworks. Well, the joke was on me, huh? I ain’t as strong as steel as I’d hoped. No matter how much I yell mentally, my head refuses to rise. Shit, who would I be fooling anyway?
When the vehicle stops, I fight to get the door open on my own. Scooting to the edge of the leather seat, I pause to figure how the hell to get out of the high SUV. My good leg dangles over the pavement while I hang on to the handle within the SUV with my strong arm to keep from tumbling to the ground. My rushing to keep some dignity comes up short out of fear of making a fool out of myself.
“Chione, let me help.”
Shutting my eyes tight, I want to tell him fuck you. My entire body is stiff. Shahid and I engage in a tug of war. The thumping sound of his hand knocking me in the side of the head brings it all to a halt. Once again in his arms, he carries me over the threshold of his brother’s home. Unlike the first time I was here, he doesn’t stroll past the grand staircase. He takes the steps two at a time at a crazy pace to the second floor then hangs a right.
“Is she here?”
The man that I found out during my research is his father, can’t stop staring at me long enough to answer. All he does is step back, making room for Shahid to take me through an open door. I train my gaze on the walls that change from off-white to an expensive light blue striped wallpaper to finally, a similar expensive wallpaper with a navy design with shimmering gold leaves as he strolls through the many rooms until we enter the bedroom.
“Lay her here, Shahid.” A husky, breezy voice peppered with an English accent breaks my focus on the walls. My eyes lock with a pair of orbs to match mine as I’m lowered to the plush mattress.
A black woman?
The fact that she is way too old for Shahid to be fuckin’ didn’t stem my curiosity. My gaze darts to Shahid’s dad.
“No need for the name. She knows who I am.”
Now, I’m not the only one staring at his dad. The woman cranes back to glance around Shahid to share a message with his dad standing at the foot of the bed.
“All right, then.” She smiles. “I’m Dr. Chioma Ojukwa. I’m a medical doctor with a concentration in internal medicine. However, I have extensive experience in cases such as yours. Although I reside in England, attacks happen in my culture, which encouraged me to seek training to assist abused women and children.”
I nod.
“Where’s Cleveon?”
“He’s watching TV,” she answers Shahid. She must have noticed me glancing at his silent father. “Tarif has a medical degree and license also. He’s not here for show. He’s going to assist me,” she explains.
I get the feeling she’s not just talking to me, but she’s reminding his dad what his purpose is in the room.
Clearing his throat,he hides his own concerns. “I suggest starting with the foot,” he says, pointing to my dislocated left foot.
Shahid moves to hover at the headboard out of my eye view. I’m sure it’s to make it easier for him to mouth shit without me seeing.
“At first glance, it’s going to be reset.”
“Maybe pins,” Chioma adds to Tarif’s assessment.
I flinch at the pressure of her hands cradling my ankle.
“I’m sorry, baby, but I have to move it around.”
“Ummm,” I moan.
Doing his bit and sounding very clinical, his father begins taking notes. “How did you sustain the injury?” questions Tarif.
“I was trampled.”
“What kind of treatment did you receive?”
I bite my lip. What the fuck is this woman doing? She isn’t doing a helluva lot more than poking. She’s trying for a full rotation of my foot, and it ain’t having it.
“I…I…uh, shit,” I say, panting in pain. “The doctor said it was just a sprain and I should stay off of it. I did ace bandages for the swelling.”
“That doctor isn’t shit. A dummy can see it’s broken,” snaps Shahid.
“Ah!” I yell, lifting up off the bed. “It doesn’t want to go that way.” I snarl.
Removing her hands, Chioma straightens her stance. “The ball of the ankle has taken damage. Without X-rays, my best guess is that third and pinky toe are crushed. I notice you have no feeling in them. There’s no discoloration, which is a good sign of circulation to the foot. Pins in the ankle and toes will probably be the end result. With rehab, there won’t be a limp. Now….” She trails off with a sigh.
I didn’t even notice the Louis Vuitton bag sitting in a chair. Leaning over, Tarif produces two sets of latex gloves. The news about my foot is easy to take. It’s my arm that has my heartbeat accelerating in fear. I can read the same thoughts in the two approaching me. I’m sure it’s the training and good bedside manners that are keeping their faces void of the disgust my arm is churning within them.
“My notes,” whispers Chioma before she switches on a small recorder. “Acid attack of the left arm from upper shoulder to tips of fingers…” She pauses to lean in to take a sniff. “Decomposing flesh and some degree of inner tissue is visible. I conclude stage three,” she speaks, glancing over her shoulder at Tarif.
“I agree. There’s extensive ulceration and permanent tissue damage. Did you see the spots on her thigh?”
“Yes, but they are small. It’s the arm that needs attention,” she says, finally acknowledging me. “How is the pain?”
“Constant and deep like my bone is on fire.”
“And this? Can you feel this?”
My eyes follo
w her as she’s digging, scrapping, stabbing places along my arm. Some cause me to twitch, but overall, nothing. I can’t bring myself to voice my fears. My head shakes in a jerky movement.
“Infection has set in. That accounts for the smell. How long ago was the attack?”
“It was nine weeks ago,” I mumble.
“Did the doctor give you anything for the infection or run any blood tests? What happened when you went to the hospital for initial treatment?” Tarif inquires.
It takes me a moment to get out of my head. “No hospital. I made it to the locker room. There were showers in there. That must have been the wrong move ‘cause it hurt like hell.”
“The water pressure must have been too high,” whispers Tarif. “Normally, a steady flow of water on low stream is the first line of attack in 20-minute intervals, but if the stream is high, it causes pain and damage. It can literally rip the burned skin from the area,” he explains. “Okay, no hospital, but you got some kinda treatment, right?”
“Yeah, the same quack that did my foot. So, you can figure that what he said was all wrong,” I growl. “He gave me a cream and told me to wear gloves whenever I apply it. Then he gave me a kinda plastic wrap that he said would help the meds soak in, but those sores started to pop up. I didn’t know what to do. So, I…” I stopped talking due to the painful lump in my throat.
I can’t hate them for confirming what every website I’ve hit up since the attack explained. I won’t even bother telling them that I had sought out a second and third option once it became obvious that the Haitian doctor in Opalaca didn’t know shit. As soon as those other two physicians looked at my arm, both declined to treat me out of fear of being sued if they couldn’t help me. Nah, I hate myself. I hate myself for being so stupid. I should have taken the chance and gone to the hospital. I would have come up with some excuse to get the fuck out of there. I just didn’t need the cops to get involved.
“Show me your range of motion. Fingers first,” she commands.
Nothing.
“I’ve stopped trying,” I admit. “I’m strictly right-handed now.”
Chioma’s forehead creases in deep concentration during her exam. With no effect of mine, she lifts my arm up over my head to see how far the burns stretches too. Once again, I fucked myself in that department also. I must have because the amount of damage had grown over time to the back side of my arm from my wrist to a little past my elbow.
Suddenly, Tarif starts talking in Arabic. Whatever he’s said gets heat from Shahid. Hell, I had forgotten he was even in the room.
“No, no, you will not do that shit,” snaps Chioma as she backs away from me. “Have some respect for the girl. How the hell can you talk about her like that? You think switching language is going to make it better?”
“Says the one still poking when you know damn well what the verdict is,” snarls Tarif with a wild wave of his gloved hand. “Chioma might try to save your feelings, but I’ll tell you straight. You’re going to lose the arm. Maybe not to the shoulder. Minimum a bit past the elbow. It’s dead. I think you already knew it too. It is far beyond the effectiveness of treatment. Hopefully, the infection is just in the arm and hasn’t totally infiltrated your bloodstream, which is why it’s best to stop fuckin’ around and amputate the arm. As for the foot, she lied. You’re going to have a limp,” he adds as an afterthought.
I stare at my shriveled, charred fingers.
“I can consult with a few people here or I can care for her back home.”
“I want you to care for Chione,” Shahid informs his mother.
“Well, the sooner, the better,” she presses. Tugging off her gloves to touch my leg with a firmness that makes me wench. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “An Epson-salt soak will give you some relief for the pain for now.
“She’s been using CBD oil.”
“It’s more natural than the stuff being prescribed.” She shrugs. “How are you sleeping?”
“I don’t. I c-can’t…can’t,” I stuttered as I attempt to straighten up in the bed.
“I’ll take care of that,” promises Shahid as if he has the power to cure me completely.
“If she becomes feverous, has a headache, starts vomiting, or anything like that, alert me,” commands Chioma while she picks up her bag. On cue, Tarif opens the door for her and leaves behind her.
“I know that’s not what you wanted to hear. I was praying that it wasn’t going to be—”
“I kinda knew, so…”
“Don’t fuckin’ shrug as if you don’t care.”
“Well, what the fuck do you want me to do? Yell, spaz out, or throw shit? I only got one good arm. I doubt I can trash the room while I drag my twisted foot,” I fume.
“It would be better than trying to be stone-faced.”
“So, I should just crumble, huh? Bawl my eyes out? That isn’t gonna change the fact that my arm is gonna be sitting on a goddamn dresser.”
Shahid tugs his fingers through his hair. “I’m worried about what’s going on in here,” he says as he taps the side of his head.
My eyes dart away from his seeking orbs. I get what he’s saying. What the fool has to understand is I’m not there yet. I’m not ready for all of that. I’m barely holding my shit together as it is. After seeing him and receiving this bad news, now he wants to make good on his promise for more between us. It’s a knowledge that’s breaking me even further.
Ignoring him does the trick. He marches out of the room only to return a few minutes later. How he left isn’t the same way he returned. In his hand is a bag of salt, but it’s the way he’s walking and the way he’s working his jaw that tells the story. Words must have been said between him and another. I know I was the topic, but it’s bugging me to know what went on.
Frustration is the driving force to get me to the edge of the bed while he’s in the bathroom. Determined not to repeat the car scenario, I’m more confident getting up and limping to the bathroom. Just like the suite downstairs, it’s sprawling in size.
“Can I help?”
Shahid jumps at the sound of my voice. We know I’m just offering out of self-pride.
“You can undress and burn that wig.” He frowns as he goes back to testing the temperature of the water.
I thank God he doesn’t turn to watch me hobble while I get undress. I know there isn’t anything that interesting in the depths of the tub’s water to keep his attention. It’s then that it hits me that he’s really here. I prop myself long after I’ve stripped to use the time to get a good look at him. He’s still the same size as last year. I think his hair is a bit longer than before. Or maybe it’s the fact that it’s messy on his head that gives off the appearance of extra length.
“Ready?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “How are we gonna do—”
Shahid answers by picking me up as if I weigh nothing at the waist to sit me down in the warm water.
“Sink down to get your arm in.” He gestures.
I can’t take the quiet.
“I kinda figured about the arm,” I admit in a whisper. “I didn’t know what to do to go about it, though.”
Damn, Shahid seems more distraught than I am, and it’s my arm. The way he’s rubbing his beard, he’s gonna take the hair out. Covering his mouth, he shakes his head.
“Why didn’t you go to the hospital?”
“I stole money from a club I worked at when I first ran off. My ID will get me into places, but it isn’t good enough to fake out the cops,” I explain. “You know I can’t fly away, right? I don’t have a passport.”
“I’m already handling that.”
“Oh,” I mumble.
“That’s why you should have told me when I told you last year about who I was. None of this would have happened if you had just trusted me, Chione. You really think I would have pulled back the curtain if I didn’t think we were past the games?”
The sound of my ass squeaking across the bottom of the porcelain tub echoes in the still bathr
oom.
“You didn’t even stop to call me, after everything,” he grunts.
“Look, this is a lot more than you fronting me money and paying my way for a little friendship,” I point out.
The way he narrows his eyes at me has me sinking further into the water as if it would save me.
“Can you manage?” he snaps, getting to his feet.
I wanna say no. But I know it’s for the best that he leaves me alone, and not just to soak. Shahid needs to leave me alone. Period. He was always the one giving while I gladly took. The only thing I had to offer was pussy, but who wants to fuck my soon-to-be, one-arm, limping ass now?
“I got it.”
There’s a bit of hesitation in him. It’s like he’s rethinking leaving or he’s debating saying something. If he stays, I pray to God he doesn’t say what I ‘ve been wanting to hear, what he was hinting to last year when we were together in California. He told me this was going to be the year things changed between us. He said when he came back he was going to press for more.
I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until he walked out. Shit! Finally, my outside mirrored my inside. I just wished that of all people, it wasn’t Shahid to gaze upon it.
SHAHID
I wanna pound the shit out of something. My hand shakes with rage. Friendship? Friendship? She actually fixed her mouth to speak that bullshit. How the fuck could she believe that’s all we shared or all I wanted?
“I’ll be back,” I bellow over my shoulder as I march out of the bedroom into the small study.
I don’t want Chione to drown unless it’s by my own hands. It’s a pleasing thought at this moment in time. Fuckin’ twit. I’ve never met a person so blind, stupid, too afraid, or all of the above until I met this woman. One bourbon, a second, figuring I need to slow up, I begin to sip the third as I take a seat. Every now and then I shout out to check if she’s still alive or not. I don’t even look up at the presence in the room.
“Just walk away,” I warn, taking another swallow.
A Desert King's Obsession Page 11