Chapter Thirteen
Valentina
The first digit of my thumb is gone. I cut it just above the metacarpal bone. My mind switches down, and my body goes into automatic functioning mode. I open the cold-water tap and hold my hand under the stream. Water-diluted blood swirls down the drain. The first thing in reach is a clean drying cloth. I turn off the tap and wrap the cloth tightly around my hand to stop the bleeding. I switch off the slicer by the wall and, careful of the blades, go through the reservoir until I find my severed thumb. I feel sick and dizzy, like I’m about to vomit and pass out, but adrenalin keeps me going. After putting the top of my thumb in the mini icebox, I retrieve an icepack from the freezer for my right hand. I grab my purse with my identity card and walk through the house, looking for someone, but only Carly is in her room.
“My dad’s out,” she says without looking up from her book.
I can’t afford an ambulance, and I don’t have medical insurance. Private insurance costs a fortune in this country. I’ll take my chances with the public hospital, but I need a ride.
I go out the front and find Rhett by the door. “I need a lift to the hospital. Can you please drive me?”
He takes one look at the bloodstained cloth around my hand, and takes the car keys from his pocket. He opens the door for me and helps me into the Mercedes.
“Joburg Gen is the nearest,” I say.
He nods and steers the car down the road with a speed that will most likely get us killed before we arrive at the hospital. On the way, he dials Gabriel on voice commands via the handsfree kit and is directed to his voicemail.
“It’s Rhett. I’m driving Valentina to the Joburg Gen. She…” He looks at me.
“Cut my finger,” I fill in for him.
“I’ll keep you posted.” He disconnects and dials another number to instruct a guard to take up his post by the Louw residence front door.
When he hangs up, he shoots me a sidelong glance. “You okay?”
“Yes.” As if on cue, the pain intensifies. I lean back and purse my lips. My hand is throbbing like a giant heart.
The emergency entrance drive is blocked with vehicles, so we go to the underground parking. The state of the place comes as a shock. Garbage litters the surface up to my ankles. We take the lift to the emergency floor, and when we exit, I’m halted by the rows of people sitting on the floor in the hallway, all looking ten times worse than me. Some of them have gaping wounds, and others have invisible ailments that seem no less fatal judging by the lifeless shine of their eyes. The corridor stinks of vomit and urine. I haven’t seen the inside of a hospital since the age of ten when I fell and needed stitches on my head. This makes me never want to come back. We walk past a man with a fracture, the bone sticking through his skin. Another one has a gush in his arm so deep, I can see the tendons. The woman next to him has a broken beer bottle still lodged in her cheek. Violence screams at us as far as we go.
I feel for Rhett’s hand with my good one, clutching his fingers as we make our way through misery and despair to a front desk where a bored-looking nurse looks up.
“What’s your problem, love?”
When I sway, Rhett catches me. “I cut my finger.”
She pushes a clipboard with a form across the counter. “Fill that out.” She scratches her head with a pencil and points at an area at the far back. “Waiting area’s over there.”
We pass an examination room. A naked man lies on a bare mattress. He’s handcuffed to the iron bedpost. A nurse is washing blood from his legs. The floors are dirty, and the walls are stained. There are no pillows, sheets, or dividers. Our eyes connect. I avert mine quickly, but feel his follow me until we’re out of sight.
All the seats are taken, but I don’t want to risk sitting on the germ-infected floor. Rhett takes the pencil from me and calls out the questions while I tell him what to write.
From the way the cloth is soaking up the blood, the bleeding hasn’t stopped. I’m starting to feel the effect of the blood loss, or maybe it’s delayed shock that’s making me feel like fainting.
“Come on,” Rhett says gently, taking my arm to lead me back to the reception desk when the questionnaire is completed.
The nurse takes the form, but is in conversation with a colleague and doesn’t look up to acknowledge us.
“How long does she have to wait?” Rhett asks tightly.
“What’s that, love?”
He jerks his head toward the long line of people. “How long?”
She chuckles. “See that man over there?” She points at the one with the gash in his arm.
“He’s been waiting for twelve hours.”
He opens his mouth to argue, but there’s no point. These people are in as much need, if not more, than me.
I touch his arm and say softly, “I think we should do it at home.” I won’t be able to hold the severed piece in place and stitch. “Can you help me?”
The nurse’s attention is already on her colleague again. They’re laughing together, sharing a joke.
He nods at my hand. “Show me.”
I unwrap the cloth slowly to reveal my thumb. Blood pumps from the digit as if bubbling from an underground fountain.
Rhett blanches. “Jesus Christ.” He sweeps me up in his arms and starts walking with long strides back in the direction from where we came.
“Rhett! What are you doing?”
“There’s a private clinic in Brixton. It’s only seven kilometers from here.”
“I don’t have medical aid. I can’t afford a private clinic.”
“I’ll pay.” He shifts my weight in his arms. “Don’t worry about the money, okay? I’m not leaving you in this dump for one second longer.” “We can do it at home,” I insist.
He doesn’t say anything, but the hard set of his jaw tells me he disagrees.
Twenty minutes later, we’re going through the same procedure at the Garden Clinic, but the change is remarkable. The building is clean and sterile. A nurse takes charge of me the minute we enter, and no less than ten minutes after Rhett put down the cash for my treatment—which was required upfront—I’m wearing a hospital robe, lying on a gurney outside the operating room. Rhett is pacing the hallway, his figure passing from left to right and back in front of the door window, his phone stuck to his ear. The doctor who introduces himself as the surgeon tells me the good news is that he can try to save my thumb, thanks to my foresight to recover and bring the missing piece. As they start pushing me toward the operating room, the door slams into the wall, and Gabriel rushes into the corridor, his limp heavy and his short hair messy.
“Excuse me,” the doctor exclaims. “You can’t barge in here.”
He doesn’t look at the doctor. He finds my eyes and holds them. “She’s with me.”
“I don’t care if she’s with the queen of England.”
Gabriel’s blue eyes grow hard. His face sets into a frightening mask, and when he turns it on the doctor he says in a cold voice, “I’m staying with her.”
Gabriel reaches for my uninjured hand, but the doctor cuts him short.
“Get out or I’ll have you removed.”
His gaze fixes on my covered wound, and like Rhett, he pales.
“Good thing you’re not squeamish, huh?” I smile at him, feeling a little high from whatever they injected me with to kill the pain.
“Call security,” the doctor tells the nurse.
Gabriel lifts his palms. “Calm the fuck down. I’m leaving.”
“I guess no one is eating meat tonight.” The thought sends a sudden rush of hysteria through me. “Oh, my God, Gabriel. The dinner.” I trip over my own words, trying to get them out. “It was a stupid accident. I didn’t pay attention. I’m so sorry. Please don’t let Magda kill me.”
“Forget about the goddamn dinner,” he says harshly. When the doctor shoots him a warning look, he continues in a softer tone, “I’m taking care of everything.”
He holds my gaze as the medical staff r
ush me toward the swinging doors. As I look back at him, standing there by himself, I have this weird notion that he’s alone in the world. Suddenly, I long for him, inexplicably and completely. In this scary moment, it’s him I want by my side. I reach for him, recognizing the helpless expression on his face, and then the doors shut out his image. Coldness washes over my body and invades my soul as the doctor pushes a mask on my face and tells me to count to ten. I get to three before the memory of Gabriel’s face fades.
* * *
The doctor keeps me overnight and discharges me the following day at noon. He tells me the operation went well, and that he gave me a tetanus shot. A tense and tired-looking Gabriel enters my room with a huge bunch of white lilies when the doctor leaves after examining me.
“Hey, beautiful.” He kisses my lips. “How do you feel?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Come on.” He helps me to get dressed, and even if I protest when a nurse pushes a wheelchair into the room, he lowers me into the chair. “It’s the chair or my arms.” He gives me a smile, but it’s weak. The expression in his eyes is shuttered, making it hard for me to read him.
“I have your prescription from the doctor,” he says. “We’ll stop at the pharmacy before we go.”
We leave armed with antibiotics and painkillers from the hospital pharmacy. On the way home, Gabriel clutches my fingers, and when he shifts gears, he places my bandaged hand on his thigh.
It’s only when we take the off-ramp to Parktown that he speaks. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”
His anger sparks annoyance in me. It’s with difficulty that I keep my temper in check. “It was an accident.”
“You have no idea what you put me through.”
“I can guess. You were worried about your investment.”
He swerves and brings the car to such a quick stop on the shoulder of the road that my body is thrown forward, and the seatbelt cuts into my chest. I utter a shocked cry, but it’s lost in his mouth when he grabs my shoulders and presses our lips together. His kiss is frantic and brutal. His teeth cut my tongue, and the force of his caress bruises my lips. My jaw aches when he finally lets me go. We’re both breathing hard, our chests rising and falling rapidly. I can only stare at him, both turned on and frightened.
“Valentina…” A flash of something tightens his eyes and makes his nostrils flare. “You have no idea…” He drags a hand through his hair, messing it up more.
I swallow away the constriction in my throat that makes it hard to speak. “I said I was sorry.”
He cups my cheek and brushes a thumb under my eye. “Not as sorry as I am.”
In that moment, he lets me see his anguish. I remember what he said about having a heart the night I asked him about his scars. Compassion replaces my irritation.
I place my hand over his. “It’s going to be all right.”
A flicker of a smile plucks at his lips. “I’m supposed to say that, dammit.”
“Then say it.” I dare him with my eyes, urging him to let go of whatever darkness took hold of him.
“It’s going to be fine, Valentina.”
“That’s better.” I bring his palm to my mouth and plant a kiss on it.
“I’m supposed to do that, too,” he says with a hint of sadness.
I wordlessly offer him my palm, but he doesn’t kiss the inside. He draws my hand to his lips and sucks my forefinger into the warm depth of his mouth, biting down gently on the tip. Heat floods my underwear as he swirls his tongue around the digit. Then he pulls my wet finger from his mouth and dries it on his shirt. The kiss he leaves on the top of my hand is the opposite of what he did to my mouth. It’s sweet, tender, and careful. After holding my eyes for another second, he puts my hand in the same position as earlier on his thigh and steers the car back into the traffic. When he’s not shifting gears, he plays with my fingers, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles.
At home, Rhett opens the door and helps me from the car. “If you need help with anything, you only have to say.”
“Thanks for driving me, yesterday.”
Gabriel’s dark expression stills Rhett. I’m not sure what Gabriel’s problem with Rhett is, but the guard immediately excuses himself and leaves.
Inside, Quincy and Carly rush to greet us.
“Show me your hand,” Carly exclaims. “You could’ve told me.”
I hold up my bandaged thumb. “It’s not so bad.”
“Lunch is in the oven,” Quincy says. “We had to improvise, but it’s edible.” He turns to me, looking guilty. “I shouldn’t have left, yesterday. I should’ve stayed and helped.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Come on, Dad,” Carly hooks her arm around Gabriel’s. “I’m starving.”
He hesitates for a second before he follows her to the dining room, his eyes finding mine over his shoulder.
To be honest, I’m happy for the time alone. I haven’t dealt with the shock, yet, and I want solitude to process what happened. Oscar greets me by the entrance to the kitchen, rubbing his soft body against my legs.
“Hey, baby.” I take a moment to pet him and check that he has food.
There’s no place to put the enormous bouquet of flowers in my room, so I borrow a vase from the crystal cupboard and leave them on the counter in the kitchen. Thankfully, Quincy left the kitchen tidy. I’m prohibited from using my hand or working for a week, but I won’t allow that to give Magda a reason to kill me. Or Charlie. She’s only biding her time, waiting for the right excuse. Packing the dishwasher and doing a few minor chores, I find that I cope well enough with one hand, but Magda grudgingly tells me to take the rest of the day off. I use that time to rest, catching up on sleep.
Much later, Gabriel comes to my room. He covers every inch of my skin in kisses and makes love to me gently. When he holds me afterward, I allow the warmth of his arms to soothe me. Uninvited tears flow over my cheeks. The grief of giving up my studies and the shock of the accident come tumbling down on me, pushing me under a wave of sorrow that makes it hard to breathe. Sobs wrack my shoulders as I cling to him, holding onto the man who took my freedom. In what feels like my darkest hour, he’s all I have. It’s so damn screwed up. How much more can I handle before Gabriel completely destroys me?
He pulls me into his lap and kisses the top of my head. “Hush, beautiful.”
“Gabriel.” I bury my face in his neck, inhaling the spicy fragrance of his skin. “Set me free, I beg you.”
He rests his chin on my head and inhales slowly. “You may as well ask me to cut off my arm.”
When I fall asleep a long time later, I dream that I’m standing on one end of a hospital corridor and Gabriel on the other. Between us, there are rows of people with horrendous injuries, the number of patients too big to count. I’m pushing my way through the bodies, trying to reach him, but when I get to the other side, he’s gone. I wake up in a fit of pain, sweating, and alone in my bed. I take a painkiller and count a hundred sheep ten times before I drift off again.
* * *
Gabriel
The first thing I do the following morning, is have the meat saw driven to the dump. The second is to take out medical insurance for Valentina. As long as I’m alive, I’ll cover her bills, but I may not live as long as I’d like, especially not with my kind of business. I almost fired Rhett for his stupidity of taking her to the goddamn Joburg Gen. The only thing that saved his skin is that I couldn’t punish him for my negligence. I should’ve thought about Valentina’s health the minute she crossed my doorstep. I should’ve informed my staff in the case of an emergency, she’s to be treated like any member of the family. All sorts of bad things could’ve happened. She could’ve bled to death. She could’ve caught an infection. With all the filth and blood around the Joburg Gen, she could’ve contracted AIDS. To think she considered sewing back her own thumb. That she didn’t panic gives me a new level of respect for her. It’s one thing to stitch me back together, but quite another to pick
your thumb off the floor and not raise the roof in hysterics.
She’s managing with one hand, like she always does, but this isn’t what I want for her. She’s been in my house for less than a quarter of a year, and my perfect doll is already broken. I threatened her with the whip if she doesn’t rest. Magda isn’t happy with the turn of events, but she only raises the issue when we’re alone in the car on our way to one of the loan offices.
“Why did you do it?”
I glance at her from over the rim of my sunglasses. “Do what?”
“Pay Valentina’s hospital bill.”
“Jesus, Magda, did you expect me to sit back and let her lose her thumb? Anyway, Rhett paid for it. I only reimbursed him.”
“You’re investing in dead meat.”
“We’ve been through this enough times already.”
“When are you going to let go?”
“When I’m ready.”
“When will that be?”
I gave her a hard look. “When I’m damn well ready and not a second before.”
“I’ve been lenient with you, but my patience is wearing thin. Don’t make me choose a date.”
“I’ll choose a date,” I say evasively, placating her for now. Maneuvering the car down the steep hill into Braamfontein, I ask the question that, for the last few weeks, has been foremost on my mind. “Why do you want her dead?”
She blinks and looks away. “I told you, to make an example out of her.”
“Why her?” “Why not?”
“If it’s just about the money, I’ll settle her debt.”
She turns in her seat. “You’re willing to buy that little slut?”
Anger spurts into my veins, setting my heart off at a dangerous beat. “She’s anything but a slut.”
She gives a cynical snort. “Maybe you prefer a different term, but she’s your fuck toy, and in my opinion that makes her a slut.”
“Easy, Magda,” I say evenly. “You’re pushing me too far.”
“Gabriel,” her voice takes on a softer tone, “you can never trust her. If you lower your guard, she’ll stab a knife in your back or steal you blind.”
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