by Penelope Sky
I entered the cage and dropped to my knees, leaning over him as the tears burst from my eyes. “Heath.” I placed my palm over his heart and felt it still beating. It was gentle and slow, like he was weak. His body had been destroyed, so bruised and swollen that I couldn’t imagine how someone could take that much abuse and still be alive. My hand grabbed his chin, and I turned him to me. “Heath?”
He looked at me, but his expression was vacant, like he assumed it was a dream.
Damien finally found this voice. “Cat, I’m not letting him out of this cage. You can say goodbye—”
“He’s been punished enough.” I looked at him over my shoulder. “If you want to shoot him, then you better hope that bullet goes clean through me and into him.”
Damien looked at me with disappointment. “Don’t forget that he deserves this—”
“No one fucking deserves this.” I turned back to Heath and tried to sit him up. “Get your ass over here and help me. I can’t pick him up.” I lowered him back to the floor because my body simply wasn’t strong enough, regardless of the adrenaline.
Damien didn’t move. “No.”
My entire body shook with anger. I slowly turned back to him, then rose to my feet, getting in his face. “Now.”
He held his hard stare.
“Love is stronger than hate, Damien. Even Dad just said so.”
“You’re taking that out of context. If Dad knew this was the guy you wanted to be with—”
“He would accept him with open arms—because I love him.” Tears fell down my cheeks, like two rivers, dripping into my open mouth and lighting my tongue on fire with the burn of the salt. “So, you’re going to help me—”
“Baby.” His voice sounded the same, strong even though the rest of him was weak. “I can do it.”
I turned back to him.
He rolled over onto his side, groaning as he pressed his flattened palms against the floor and started to raise himself, moving slowly because that was all he could do.
I hooked my arm under his shoulder and helped him to his feet.
He was shaky, his palm pressing against the wall for balance. He closed his eyes for an instant, grimacing through the pain.
“Damien, get his other arm.”
Heath turned to the exit of the cage. “I don’t need his help…” He moved forward, breathing hard as he forced his body to obey his commands.
Damien stood there, furious.
I helped Heath right past my brother, ignoring the rage on his face.
My brother didn’t try to stop me.
I stopped at the stairs. “It’s a long climb.”
“I got it. Go in front.” He gripped the railing and breathed hard.
I went first.
It took him a long time, but he pulled himself to the top, taking many breaks because his body was in awful shape.
Seeing him look so terrible killed me, ripped my heart into so many pieces, I could never put them back together.
When he reached the top, I grabbed his arm and directed him toward the entryway.
Patricia stepped out of the kitchen but halted when she saw him.
He winked at her and kept walking.
I opened the front door so he could get through. “I’ll call an ambulance.”
“No.” He stepped into the sunlight, his injuries looking worse. “Just get me home.”
“You are in no shape—”
“Call Balto.” He moved down the steps to my car at the curb.
I wanted to argue, but it took him so much effort to speak that I didn’t want him to waste any energy on arguing with me, force his body to endure more pain just to repeat what he’d already asked for. “Alright.” I opened the door for him so he could collapse into the passenger seat, immediately closing his eyes like he couldn’t do any more than that.
I got behind the wheel and pulled out my phone. “I don’t have his number…”
He took the phone, dialed the number, and hit send.
I started the car and drove, the call coming through the speakerphone.
Balto answered after a few rings, sounding just like Heath. “Yes?”
“It’s Catalina.” I spoke through my tears, turning down the streets as I made my way to his house. “I’ve got Heath… He’s hurt really bad. He told me to call you. I don’t know what to do. He told me to drive him home—”
“I’ll meet you there.” He didn’t ask any questions or show any sign of panic. “Pull into the garage.”
I’d barely turned the engine off when Balto pulled the door open. Like one soldier picking up another, he pulled Heath’s arm over his shoulder and lifted him from the seat, lifting his own body weight like it was no big deal.
I’d never seen Heath like that, and it broke my heart. He allowed someone to carry him completely, because he couldn’t do it himself. It was a weakness I didn’t think was possible, not after all the strength he’d shown me.
Balto carried him up the flights of stairs then down the hallway, delivering him to his bedroom.
I was close behind.
Balto gently placed him on the bed, guiding him backward until he landed softly against the mattress. “I’ve got meds in the car. I’ll be right back.”
I stood over Heath, seeing him lie there with his eyes closed, like he was already dead.
“Oh my god…” I placed my hands over my face, unable to suffer this reality, unable to deal with this cruelty.
Balto returned and dumped his bag on the dresser. Like he was a doctor who knew what he was doing, he opened bottles and dropped pills onto the counter. He even had an IV bag along with an extendable pole. “I’ve got our doctor on the way. But this will tide you over.” He opened a bottle of water then helped him take the pills. Then he set up the IV, finding a vein and inserting it before he got the saline going. “Just give it a few minutes, you’ll feel better.”
Heath kept his eyes closed, lifeless.
“Fuck, is he going to be okay?” I whispered through my sobs.
Balto didn’t look at me. “Yes.”
“How do you know that?”
He turned to me as he rolled the pole next to his bed. “Because he has something live for.”
I sat on the couch in the living room because I didn’t want to sit there and stare at Heath’s broken body. I didn’t want to watch the doctor examine him and describe his injuries, describe his pain.
It was too fucking much.
Balto came back into the living room.
“How is he?” I whispered.
“He’s going to be asleep for a while, which is a good thing. He’s got enough painkillers to keep him comfortable and to get through the night. The next few days will be rough for him, but we’ve got good shit for him.”
My cheek was pressed into my palm, my eyes down.
“His ribs are broken, his shoulder popped out of the socket, but we popped it back in…”
I shut my eyes tight.
Balto seemed to understand how sick it made me, so he stopped with the details. “But nothing life-threatening. He’ll just need some time to get back on his feet…and some help.”
“I can do it.” I opened my eyes again, my cheeks soaked with my tears.
He sat on the other couch, his elbows on his knees as he stared at me.
“I’ll take care of him.” I didn’t feel obligated because it was my fault. I just wanted to do it, to make sure Heath could relax and not worry about anything as he put himself back together.
“Do I need to worry about Damien?”
I turned to him, my lungs aching. My brother was the last thing on my mind right now. “No…he let me take him away.”
“Alright.” He turned his head the other way, staring across the room at nothing in particular. “I’ll grab some groceries so you don’t need to worry about that. Are you planning to sleep here?”
I nodded.
“Want me to grab anything from your apartment?”
“Yeah…just som
e clothes. My makeup bag. Some pajamas.”
“You got it.”
“I’ll give you my key—”
“I don’t need it.” He rose to his feet. “I’ll stop by and check on him from time to time. You have my number, so call me if you need anything.”
“Alright, thank you.”
“I’d stay with him, but now I have work to do.”
“What work?” I whispered, looking up at him.
“Heath wouldn’t want his men to know what happened to him, that he’s too weak to lead. So, I’ll do it.”
“Won’t they still know he’s too weak?”
He raised his right hand, where his skull ring now sat. “Not if I pretend to be him.”
Heath was asleep for almost an entire day, twenty-four hours straight. I had to constantly press my hand to his chest to make sure he was still breathing, he still had a heartbeat.
That night, I was too afraid to leave him alone in case he needed anything, so I slept on the couch with a pillow and blanket. I would have lain directly beside him, but I was too afraid to disturb him, to accidentally touch him and cause him pain.
The next morning, he still wasn’t awake, so I went into the kitchen and made something to eat. I passed the time watching TV, going back into the room to check on him. When Balto delivered the groceries along with my belongings, he checked on him too, but he didn’t make small talk before he left.
Later that night, Heath woke up.
I was sitting in the armchair and reading a book, facing his bed so I would know the second he was asleep.
He hadn’t changed his position once, not since Balto had laid him down. He was practically in a coma, and he didn’t look much better than he had once he’d gotten into that bed. He looked as terrible as I felt.
“Baby?” His deep voice came out as a quiet whisper, entering the room like a gentle breeze.
I dropped my book in surprise, expecting to see him stir before he actually spoke. “You’re awake…” I pulled the chair up to his bed and looked down at him, careful not to touch him.
He opened his eyes and stared at me, his face different from all the swelling and bruising, his eyes almost impossible to see.
Now I understood why he couldn’t look at me after he’d saved me—because it was too fucking hard. The sobs came out of nowhere, shaking my body, like a rocket going from standing still to breaking the sound barrier.
His hand moved to mine, and he interlocked our fingers. “Shh…”
I forced my sobs to stop, afraid the noise was hurting him, antagonizing a migraine.
“It may not look like it, but I’ve never felt better.” His thumb brushed across my knuckles, moving slowly, stroking me like I was the one who needed to be comforted.
“Is there anything I can get you?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “I’m starving.”
“Of course.” He’d been asleep a long time, and he probably didn’t get much nourishment in my brother’s basement. I rose to my feet and pulled my hand away. “I’ll make you something good.”
He grabbed my hand again, pulling me back to him.
I turned with the pull, not wanting him to exert any effort.
He stared at me for a long time, like all he wanted was to look at me, to see my eyes looking back into his. “Tell me you love me…” His fingers gripped my wrist, like he wasn’t going to let me go until he got what he wanted.
I stared into his eyes as I breathed hard, felt the catharsis hit me all at once. All the anger I’d felt toward him was gone, like I’d forgiven him without actually saying the words. Now I felt every emotion with intensity, felt my extinguished fire rekindle into a blaze. The numbness was gone, and now all I could do was feel…feel everything. “I love you.”
It was a long week for Heath.
He spent most of his time sleeping, and if he wasn’t sleeping, he wasn’t talking. He didn’t even want the TV on, like the battle against his pain was all he could focus on at the time. He was always eager for his medication, impatient for the next dose when the previous one wore off.
I never left the house, didn’t even go to work, because I wanted to be at his side.
I made him a sandwich with a bowl of applesauce and left the plate on his nightstand. It seemed like he was asleep, and anytime he was resting, I never wanted to disturb him since he did most of his healing when he was unconscious.
But he must have heard me because he opened his eyes. He stared at me, saying nothing.
I knew Heath was in a lot of pain because he didn’t make any sarcastic jokes, didn’t tease me, didn’t say anything at all.
That worried me most of all.
He closed his eyes again, sighing. “I really want to take a shower…” He had a binder wrapped around his ribs, stitches in places where the wound was too wide to cover with a simple bandage. He’d improved over the last week, but he was still a mess.
“You think you can stand?”
He considered the question for a long time before he answered. “Not long…”
“How about a bath?”
He smiled slightly, the first time one had covered his lips in many days. “Are you gonna give me this bath?”
“Yeah.”
“Not gonna say no to that…”
“Let me get it ready.” I went into the bathroom and ran the water in his enormous tub. He had a nearly empty bottle of body wash in his shower, so I dumped the rest out so I could use it to pour water over his body. Then I set a large towel on the ground so he wouldn’t slip and stacked towels at the edge of the tub so his neck would be supported.
Then I returned to the bedroom. “It’s ready.”
He slowly got out of bed, taking it one step at a time. He let his feet rest against the rug for a moment before he stood, wincing slightly at the movement. Then he was still, testing his own strength, before he started to walk.
I held his arm as I walked him into the bathroom. I took off the binder around his ribs and then grabbed his boxers and pulled them off, ignoring his nakedness like it was inappropriate to look.
He stepped into the tub then slowly lowered himself, using the handle on the side to get into the water. The water immediately rose as his body displaced the volume, and his neck settled onto the stack of towels. He closed his eyes and sighed, like he was comfortable.
I grabbed the shampoo and squirted it into my hands before I rubbed my fingers into his hair, washing away all the oil that had collected throughout the week.
He kept his eyes closed, comfortable like he enjoyed it.
I poured the water over his head and down the back of his neck, washing away all the suds. Then I grabbed a loofah and started to rub his injured parts, cleaning his neck, his shoulders his chest.
He opened his eyes and looked at me.
I sat on the edge of the tub, rubbing the wet loofah under the water to gently clean him, barely using any pressure because his body was a nightmare of bruises, cuts, and broken bones. It was hard to look at him, and sometimes I didn’t, but I couldn’t do it forever, not when it would take him a long time to look normal again.
I grabbed the face wash and handed it to him.
He squirted it into his hands and gently rubbed his face, lightly tracing the swelling and bruises. Then he splashed water on his face, washing everything away. He relaxed back against the towels then watched me, his hand rising out of the water and moving to mine. He just stared at me, like that was all he wanted to do. His blue eyes weren’t swollen shut anymore, so the beautiful color of his gaze was easy to see. He’d improved a bit, his face not so red and purple, but it would still be a long time before he wouldn’t need painkillers anymore.
I dropped my gaze, not wanting to think about the terrible things my brother had done to him.
He squeezed my hand, silently demanding my attention.
I looked at him again, sighing in pain. “I’m so sorry…” Out of nowhere, I burst into tears. I closed my eyes as I tried to control the tears
before they escaped my closed eyelids, but there were so many of them that I couldn’t stop them. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just—”
“Shh…” His palm moved to my cheek, his thumb catching some of my tears. “Baby, look at me.”
I refused to open my eyes.
“Don’t make me ask you again.” His strong voice sounded the way it used to, like his feelings for me hadn’t changed at all. Like he hadn’t changed at all.
I opened my eyes again, releasing a shaky breath.
“The bruises and scars will fade. I’ll defeat this—like I’ve defeated everything else. So, don’t feel bad for me. Don’t look at me like I’m weak. Because I’m still the strongest man you’ve ever met…and you’ll see that again soon enough.” His fingers slid down my face to my neck, where he squeezed me gently.
“But I did this to you…”
“You didn’t do anything,” he whispered. “Now I’ve paid for my sins, accepted my punishment for my crimes…and we can move on.” His hand moved back to mine on the tile, his fingers interlocking with mine. “I’ll be alright. I promise.”
I put the pills on the nightstand along with a glass of water.
He propped himself on one arm, which was a lot of movement for him since he’d been lying still all week, and he popped them into his mouth and swallowed with a splash of water. He lay down again. “Where have you been sleeping?”
“The couch.”
He turned to the other side of the bed and pulled down the covers. “Sleep with me.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea…”
“Why?” He stared up at me from his position on the bed, his head on the pillow.
“I don’t want to hurt you. You know, accidentally roll onto your arm or kick you…stuff like that.”
“No offense, baby. But you just don’t weigh enough to inflict any damage.” He patted the spot beside him. “And I’d sleep a lot better with you next to me.”