A Twist of Love

by Callie Bardot

  “Make them go away, Brutus. Please. Get them off of me.” She writhed on the bed.

  Marco kept dabbing at her skin with a cool compress. “You’re hallucinating. The Librium should calm your system. Give it time.” He wiped her forehead and neck, making calming noises. “Honey, you’re going to get through this.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said, through gritted teeth. “I’d rather die right now. I think I am dying. Make it stop! Please make it stop.” She squeezed her eyes shut, letting the tears batter against her eyelids. “Oh, my God. The spiders...get the spiders, Brutus.”

  He kept up the shushing noises and the dabbing action but said little. Something about his huge presence proved a comfort to Gia. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

  “I need my hand back, love. Just for a minute.” He wiggled free of her grasp, dipping the washcloth in the pan of ice water. He wrung it out.

  The tinkling of water became glass shards, slicing her ear canal. She pressed her palms over her ears to make the sound stop. Her teeth ground together, and this strange keening noise blasted from her throat.

  Marco glanced at her, studied at the cotton cloth, and tried his best to quiet the trickles as if he knew her torture.

  The ice-cold compress felt like heaven. It seemed to vanquish some of the spiders. She stopped writhing for a minute, panting.

  Marco’s phone blipped. He looked down at it and frowned. He rested his palm on her cheek, smoothing back her sweat-soaked hair, giving her the full impact of his compassionate gaze.

  “I’ve gotta go check on something. I’ll be right back. Two secs, okay?” he said, lifting two fingers in front of her face.

  Gia nodded, shoving her hands between her thighs and bearing down. When the door closed behind him, however, she missed him. Wanted him close.

  She sat up, her head pounding, and swung her legs off the bed. She stood up, and her legs crumpled, unable to hold her weight. She fell with a thud. Pushing up to hands and knees, she began to crawl across the vast desert between her and the door. The spiders streamed behind her like an army.

  Marco burst through the door a few seconds later. “What happened?”

  She collapsed into a puddle of flesh and bones, her arms giving way.

  “You’re here,” she breathed. She reached for his ankle. When her fingers curled around it, she felt safe. Her eyes closed.

  “Come on, let’s get you back to bed,” Marco said. He rolled her on her back and lifted her in his arms. In two quick strides, he rested her on the bed again. “There you go.”

  He grabbed the cloth from the basin, quietly wrung it out, and began his ministrations.

  “How long will it be like this?” she said, unable to hold her eyelids open.

  “Hard telling. You’re having a rough go of it. But we’ll get through it together, don’t worry.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

  We. Together. The words settled in Gia’s chest like a puppy making its bed.

  A few days later, Gia lay curled in a tiny ball on her bed, staring at the dark window.

  Marco sat next to her. “You managed to keep some food down today.”

  “Yay,” she said, weak as an emaciated kitten.

  “That’s good news,” he continued.

  She twirled her finger round and round, eyes closed.

  “Eyes open, girl. Only for a moment. We have to get these pills down your throat.” He shook a little white paper cup, making the contents rattle.

  “What pills?” She pried one eyelid open.

  “Your new treatment plan—Vitamin B-complex and Thiamin with a chaser of Milk Thistle.” He smiled at her.

  She pushed herself up, downed the pills, and then collapsed, burying herself in pillows.

  “Why do I have to take these?” she asked before fatigue had its way with her eyelids.

  “Alcohol burns up B-vitamins. It can cause nerve damage. We’re working hard to prevent that.” He brushed her hair with his palm. “We’re going to start tapering you off the benzos, too.”

  “Instead of being a Librium-dosed, hallucinating zombie seeing spiders drop from the walls, I’ll only be hallucinating. Nice.” She tucked her hands under her cheek and nestled into the pillow.

  “I thought you said the hallucinations ceased,” Marco said, scrunching his forehead.

  “The dreams haven’t stopped. I can barely remember them, but they’re nightmares,” Gia mumbled, half-asleep.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be here,” the brute said in his calm, easy-going tone.

  “Thank you,” she breathed.

  “You’re very welcome,” he said.

  “How do you manage it, big guy?” she asked, still looking inward.

  “What’s that?” he said. The easy chair next to Gia’s bed creaked as if he sat down.

  “Staying so calm with me going through hell and being such a bitch.” She let one eyelid open.

  He smiled. “I like you, Gia. You’ve got fire. You’re tenacious. And I know this isn’t easy for you. I told you, I’d be with you while you got it together.”

  She extended her hand to him. “I’m so tired,” she said, her eyes falling shut once more. “I want this to be over.”

  “I know you do,” he said, gently squeezing her fingers. He scooted closer and placed her hand on his leg, putting his palm on top. “Go to sleep. I’ve got this. I’ve got you.”

  Comforted by his words, she let herself drift.

  She found herself trapped in a skinny wee-child body of about eight years old. She stood in a tiny bedroom, smaller than the Gray House one. Her hands were fisted by her sides.

  A man stood before her holding a smooth, black leather belt. He folded it in thirds. He kept thwacking it against his palm.

  Her small heart beat a hummingbird’s cadence. She knew the belt wasn’t for her, but she stood, stone still, waiting. Who is it for? Then, she saw her little sister, crouched in the corner, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

  “I didn’t mean it,” the young girl wailed. “I didn’t mean it.”

  The man lifted the belt-like an executioner’s ax.

  Before it had a chance to strike her sister, Gia threw herself in its path. The leather slapped against her back with a fiery sting.

  In the next instance, she found herself in a car. Headlights blinded her. She blinked and held her hand in front of her face. They’re coming for me. They’re coming straight for me.

  “No, no, no, no, no,” she shouted. She let out a scream as her car crashed into...into what?

  Big, powerful arms wrapped around her. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. Wake up, Gia. You’re having another nightmare. Easy girl.”

  Her eyelids fluttered open to a dimly lit room. She scrambled to sitting, disorientated. Trapped between the nightmare and reality, her head whipped back and forth as she scanned her surroundings, desperate to get her bearings. “Where am I?”

  “You’re in Gray House. In a bed. With me by your side,” Marco said.

  “Oh, fuck,” Gia said, dragging her hand through her messy hair. A horrifying realization crawled through her brain, with the same insistence as the spiders. Something had to be dealt with., but she wanted to pickle it in her alcoholic stew and never see it again.

  Chapter 9

  Had she really left the worst hell imaginable behind her? With nearly two weeks in treatment, Gia finally managed to shower, wash her hair and dress without assistance. Dressed in a clean t-shirt and jeans, and holding her familiar leather jacket, she made her way down to the kitchen. She hoped she’d left the worst of the detox far behind.

  Marco sat at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee. Today he wore jeans and a soft Henley long-sleeved shirt like Dante favored. The charcoal gray shirt showed off his muscular physique.

  Not that she cared...much. But come on, the retired Marine proved some serious eye candy.

  A moody sky illuminated the cheery room. Soft lamplight made the yellow room glow, lending ambiance to the floral pictu
res and the pastoral backdrop of distant hills and frolicking lambs.

  “There she is. Grab some breakfast. We’ve got plans.” He tossed her something.

  She caught it, thankful to have her reflexes back.

  “What’s this?” she asked, holding up the keys. “We’re actually leaving the sheep? I don’t know about that, Brutus. I was starting to get attached.”

  He grinned at her. “Yep, we’re going out. Get some food in your belly. Here’s your vitamin cocktail.” He pointed to the paper cup sitting next to a place setting. “Eat. I want to hit the road. We have a bit of a drive.”

  The thought of going out filled Gia with both dread and excitement. The world, with all its temptation, lay beyond that driveway. Within the walls of Gray House lay kindness, caring, and the commitment to get through hard times. And I have Brutus all to myself.

  Gia sat, spread her napkin in her lap and reached for some buttered bread. She munched on her toast silently for a few minutes.

  After she’d eaten her strawberry jam-covered toast, nibbled at her eggs, and downed her herbal tea, she said, “Why do we have to go somewhere? Do I need a check-up or something? Or, did someone say something about my one-on-ones with the shrink? I’ve been cooperative and doing all the exercises I’m given. I started digging around in my childhood, but the therapist agrees that one will take some hard work to come to grips with. I’m not ready to deal with it.”

  “I’ve noticed it’s a hands-off topic.” Marco nodded encouragement to her to keep talking.

  “I’m keeping a journal, talking about my feelings…” She tapped her fingers indicating her progress.

  Marco tipped his head back, draining his cup of coffee.

  Gia couldn’t help but eye his strong neck.

  He set his cup down on the table. “I know you are. You’re doing great. No check-up is needed. Daphne and the good doctors here have kept a steady watch over you. No, today we need to go out so you can remember what you’ve been fighting for.”

  “Who says I needed to fight for something...besides the need to stay away from drink, that is?” She picked up the yellow cotton napkin in her lap and wiped her mouth.

  “That’s the thing, Gia,” he said easily. “Even if you don’t think you’re fighting for something, you are. Let’s see if we can jog your memory.” He picked up both their dirty plates and silverware and set them in the stainless steel sink. “Ready?” he said, a bright smile on his face.

  “I guess so.” She stood and followed her sober companion to the nondescript, blue, four-door sedan, trepidation filling her heart.

  “Good, because you’re driving,” he said. “We’re taking the Gray House vehicle.”

  She swallowed quickly, feeling like a teen being handed the keys to dad’s Mercedes—after totaling his BMW.

  Trepidation filled her belly as she slid into the driver’s seat.

  “You going to start the engine?” Marco smiled warmly at her from the passenger seat.

  “Yeah,” she said, none too confidently. Clutching the keys, she slid them into the ignition with trembling fingers. “There,” she said.

  “Good job.” Marco kept up his smile. “Now turn her on, and we’re off.”

  After giving the engine a couple revs, she backed out of the parking spot. As she drove, she gripped the wheel, driving like a grandma. As they meandered through the quaint town, an unsettling sensation churned through her belly.

  “Hey, Brutus,” she said.

  “Yeah?” he said, turning his intoxicating gaze in her direction.

  “This whole sober thing...it feels, um...kind of strange, I guess.” She flexed her hands on the steering wheel and then tapped a rapid rhythm with her fingers.

  “Feeling a little anxious?” Marco said.

  “Um, yeah. I guess. Sort of.” She side-eyed his handsome profile and tried to still her hands. He had the most aquiline nose she’d ever seen. Not that she studied men’s noses or anything.

  “That’s perfectly normal. Everyone goes through it. You’ll need to learn some new strategies for being in the world. We’ll start with the group sessions in a day or two. Your one-on-ones are going well. But, for today, at least, let’s just have us some fun, shall we?” A warm smile crossed his face. “Turn here.”

  She glanced at his nose again. Coupled with his strong jaw, it gave him the appearance of raw power. She’d never really gone for such clean-cut, all-American types, but...she shook her head. He’s only here to help you get your shit together, remember?

  She followed his directions as they headed through green hills and sweeping valleys. The whole thing looked so Norman Rockwell-like she wanted to laugh. She expected to see farmers and their wives sitting on their front porch sipping lemonade. Or groups of women working on quilts.

  “Last turn, here,” Marco said. He pointed to the left.

  She cranked the wheel in the direction he indicated, heading uphill. When they crested the top, she stared at the scene ahead. “Are you fucking serious? A carnival?”

  “As serious as a drinking problem,” he said. “Now hold your judgment and let’s go have some fun.”

  She glared at him as he got out of the car, but he missed the moment. She exited the vehicle, feeling all kinds of stupid.

  “I don’t do carnivals, Brutus. They’re not my thing.” Leaning against the vehicle, she folded her arms.

  He let out a chuckle, settling his bulk beside her.

  “I haven’t been to one of these since childhood. My little sis loved to go to the carnival. She called it the ‘musement park.’“ Gia let out a sad smile, thinking of her sister. A familiar stab of guilt poked her insides, thinking of how she abandoned her sister.

  She scanned the colorful rides whirling through the air and looked at the hawker’s booths. The screams of ride goers, the talking all around her, and the occasional baby cry floated all around her. The memory-evoking smells of cotton candy, hot dog, and piping hot ears of corn wafted toward her nose. A flood of sappy, painful memories filled her mind.

  “My fiancée loved them, too. She and I used to go every weekend when they’d roll through town.” His face grew dark, and he pressed the corners of his mouth together.

  Gia’s eyebrows shot up. She inched away from him. “You’re married? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Marco’s face soured. “Not married. I lost her.”

  “How can you lose someone? What happened? Did she disappear in the woods on the way to Grandmother’s house?” Gia asked, instantly regretting the quip.

  Marco turned his face toward her, flashing a dark, anguished look. He shook his head.

  Gia bit her lip. Maybe this is whatever Daphne referred to as the trouble he’s been through. “Anyway...I’m surprised to be at a carnival. How do you know I won’t just mope around all day and make fun of everything?”

  “At least try. Come on,” Marco said, taking Gia’s hand.

  She let him tug her along toward the midway.

  “Ever had a guy win you a stuffed monkey?” he asked, grinning.

  A slight smile curved along her lips. “Ever had a rocker chick win you a stuffed dog?”

  “Can’t say that I have,” he said, laughing. “After you.” He released her hand and bowed. “Let’s try this one.” He gestured to one of the booths.

  The carny manning the booth looked to be about ninety, but Gia suspected him to be much younger. Yikes. Is that the path I was headed for?

  He grinned at her, showing her his missing bottom teeth. “Hey, hey, hey, little missy, I’ll bet your boyfriend wants to win you a prize, am I right?”

  “Actually,” she said. “I thought I’d win a prize for him.”

  “You don’t want your man to feel emasculated, do you? Give him a turn,” the carny said. “He looks like he could get the job done right.”

  “Oh, no,” Marco said. “This I’d like to see. Go on, Gia. I dare you to shoot out the star. I’m an expert marksman, and I can’t even do it.” He grinned widely,
crossing his arms in front of his chest.

  “Think I can’t do it?” she said, relishing the challenge. “What will I get if I win?”

  “I’ll buy you an ice cream cone,” Marco said.

  “Is that all?” she said.

  “It’s a start. Do it.” He lifted his chin toward the hawker, before retrieving some cash from his pocket. “Here,” he said to the man.

  Gia picked up the BB gun. She lifted it and took one shot, noting where the BB punched a hole. “Nice,” she said to the carny. “You bent the barrel. Guess you count on people being dumb.”

  He spluttered a protest, but Gia cut him off.

  “Don’t worry about it. Everyone needs an angle to their game.” She lifted the gun again, squinted, and shot a circle around the outside of the star.

  It fell away, fluttering to the ground.

  The carny gaped at her.

  She crooked her finger at Marco and cupped her hand around her mouth until he bent his head.

  “I had an...encounter, shall we say, with a carnival games hacker,” she whispered.

  Marco leaned back and gave her a wicked grin. “Okay, hot shot, the day has begun. Think I won’t top you next time?”

  “Top me?” She blinked, picturing something besides a carnival game.

  A flare of heat passed between them. Gia’s eyes met Marco’s in an unblinking, confused-as-hell gaze. Then, she got her wits about her. He’s been hired to help you sober up, dummy.

  “You can certainly try,” she said, adding a wink. “Now where’s my stuffed dog? I want that one.” She to a red and orange fluffy looking pooch. “He looks manly enough for this guy.”

  The carny pulled the dog down with a stick, extending it to her with a flourish. “Come back anytime, sweetheart. You’re good for business.”

  Gia handed the dog to Marco, grinning. When she spun around, she saw a crowd of onlookers.

  They applauded, eyes wide with recognition.