by Calia Read
She might come back.
She might not.
But if she did her story would be more airtight. Her guard would be up and her eyes would be deader than ever.
Unfortunately, she wouldn’t be the last woman I’d see in such bad shape. The encounters never got easier. I wanted to block them from leaving. I wanted to try to convince them that they could really leave if they tried.
But I couldn’t.
Finally, I left the room. The moment with the battered woman fell to the darker side of my job. I tried to think of the bright side: helping people. Comforting them.
It made me feel productive, like I was doing the one thing I was meant to do in this world.
I made my way down the hall, passing patients and nurses. At the kiosk, one of my close friends, Taylor, was checking in.
“I was hoping to see you,” she said over her shoulder.
“Yeah?” I asked as I walked behind the nurses’ station.
She nodded and rested her elbows on the counter. “I wanted to see if you were free for lunch on Saturday?”
“Do you mean to tell me that we have the same day off?”
“I do. Miracles do happen!”
I smiled. “That sounds good. What time?” I’d met Taylor in college. She was flaky, scatterbrained, and if you gave her something she’d always lose it. But she was also kind and caring, the sort of friend who would stick by you through everything.
“I don’t know yet. I’ll call you with the time.” She nudged me with her elbow and gestured down the hall.
Wes was walking toward us. He gave me a wink as if he knew exactly the thoughts running through my mind.
She sighed. “He’s too good to be true.”
I had to agree. Six months into marriage and everything couldn’t have been more perfect.
“He doesn’t happen to have a brother, does he?”
“If he did I would’ve already set you two up.”
“Good girl.”
Our conversation died as Wes stopped next to me. I went to hug him and he dangled the take-out bag in front of me. “Hungry?”
“Starved.”
Surprisingly, Wes had the day off. He’d always been passionate about his job, but trying to make partner just added a whole other layer to his obsession. He was working his ass off on each case sent his way. A lot of times we saw each other in passing, with him going to work, me getting home from work. And as much as it sucked, it made those moments we were together that much greater.
He rubbed my shoulder gently. “When’s your break?”
“Now.”
Constantly moving from room to room left no time to be bored—or hungry. It was only when my stomach started to rumble that I realized I’d been on my feet for hours.
“Want to eat with me?”
“Why do you think I came here?” he teased.
Taylor pushed away from the counter. “All right,” she sighed. “I can see that I’m not wanted here. I’ll see you later, Wes.”
As we walked toward the small break room at the end of the hall, I grabbed the take-out bag from him.
“Healthy lifestyle. I like,” I said sarcastically.
Wes grinned. “Only the best for you.”
The chaos circling around the nurses’ station was nowhere near this area. In here there was always a hushed silence as doctors and nurses tried to get a few minutes of quiet.
Only one other nurse was in the break room right now. She sat clear at the other end of the table, her eyes glued to the magazine in front of her. A television was mounted on the wall, quietly playing a soap opera. There was a large corkboard on one wall, with a calendar tacked to it. Directly in front of it stood a magazine rack filled with outdated magazines. To the left was a mini kitchen where most of us usually warmed up our meals. Vending machines lined the wall behind me.
There was nothing much to this space, but most of the time, when we walked through the doors, we were so exhausted and hungry, we didn’t care. We just wanted a moment to sit down.
Wes opened up the take-out bag and started pulling out the food. “When do you get off?”
I glanced at the clock as I dug through my purse for some change. “In about five hours. I told you this morning I had a twelve-hour shift.”
“I know. I was hoping it might’ve changed.”
“Nope.” I walked over to the soda machine. “We’re short-staffed today.”
The smell of fries made my stomach grumble. I snatched the two waters and walked back over to the table, tossing one bottle to Wes. He caught it with one hand and sat down. For a few minutes there was nothing but silence as the two of us dug into our food.
The other nurse finally got up. She tossed her garbage away and left. The door slammed behind her. I wasted no time and leaned over to kiss Wes fiercely on the mouth. He seemed taken off guard, his lips unmoving beneath mine. It took him only a few seconds to react just the way I wanted him to.
When I pulled away, Wes had a slightly dazed look on his face.
“What was that for?”
I shrugged and took a drink. “I don’t know how much time we’ll have alone, so I might as well take the chance while I have it.”
Wes leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He made an appealing picture, just sitting there with that serious expression of his. Right then, more than anything, I wished I could leave work and go home with him.
“When are the crazy shifts going to end?”
“The same time yours end,” I teased.
He smiled and reached out, his fingers laced with mine. “I mean it.”
I gently squeezed back. “I know you do. But this is how it always is. A few weeks of crazy shifts. A small lull and then more crazy shifts.”
“Just don’t overwork yourself.”
I loved his concern. “I won’t. I promise.”
“Because the minute you do, you know you can stop working, right?”
I got up and threw my trash away. “Why would I do that?” I asked over my shoulder. “I love my job.”
“And I love you. I want you all to myself. There’s nothing in this world that I can’t give you.”
When I walked over to him, his hands curled around my waist, bringing me snug against his body. He squeezed my hip. I kissed the crown of his head.
“I love you, Victoria.”
The look in his eyes showed he meant every word. Even if I was dressed in scrubs, he still made me feel beautiful.
—
There’s nothing better than coming home after being on your feet for twelve hours.
Anxiously, I kicked my shoes off and walked right past them, not bothering to line them up against the rest of the shoes. The kitchen light was off, but light from the living room poured out into the hall. It was uncharacteristically quiet. Most times the TV was on, usually as background noise.
“Wes?” I called out.
My question was met with silence.
My legs felt like jelly as I walked down the hallway. All I wanted to do was slide beneath my sheets and go straight to sleep.
Entering the bedroom, I immediately collapsed onto the bed and pressed my cheek against the floral comforter. Since Wes and I moved in together, we’d had to compromise on what items of ours stayed, what went into storage, and what had to go. His townhouse had been a complete bachelor pad, from the black leather furniture to the bland art on the wall. I liked splashes of color, flowers everywhere. The first time he saw the pale, yellow floral comforter, he reacted with horror. In the end he relented, and now the bachelor pad was gone. We met in the middle to create a cozy space that was all ours.
The bathroom door opened and out walked Wes, a towel wrapped around his waist. My exhaustion magically disappeared. Rivulets of water trailed down his ribs. His wet hair fell across his forehead, drops beading off it and sliding down his face like tears. He dried off his hair and leaned over to give me a quick, “Hey. Finally home.”
“Finally. I�
��ve decided that it’s probably a really bad idea for you to come have lunch with me.”
He lifted a brow. “Why’s that?”
“Because I was counting the hours until my shift ended. More so than usual.”
I watched him closely. His body was lean, the cut of his abs prominent, his chest wide. The muscles in his back were pulled taut against his skin. He pulled out a pair of boxers and turned back to me.
Unabashedly, I continued to stare at him.
“Are you tired?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Then stop looking at me like that, because now all I want to do is fuck you.”
Wes had my attention the second he walked out of the bathroom, but now I was transfixed. I slowly sat up, reached out, and hooked my finger around the hem of the towel and tugged him closer and gave him a wicked smile. “Suddenly, I’m not so tired anymore.”
Seconds later I felt his warm body on top of mine, pinning me to the bed. With my eyes still closed, I smiled at the ceiling and wrapped my arms around his neck. I desperately wanted him to kiss me, but he had other ideas. He kissed my neck. The line of my jaw. My cheeks.
By the time his lips hovered over mine, my nails were digging into his skin, creating crescent-shaped marks. My breath was coming out in small little pants.
He waited another second and then he kissed me. There was nothing sweet and gentle. Like the one from earlier today. This one was fervent, as if he thought if he kissed me hard enough maybe he could tame this all-consuming desire between us. Propping myself up on my elbows, I kissed him back with the same intensity.
His hands slipped beneath my shirt, drifted up my stomach, and possessively cupped my breasts.
This was what I went crazy over. In public Wes was controlled and contained. Alone he was entirely different: wild, almost dangerous. He grabbed on to me, his fingers sinking into my skin. He issued commands and I followed every single one. It was a thrill to tap into this unknown side.
The hunger between us continued to grow.
I sat up long enough to take my top off. My pants were next to go. I reached out to touch him, and he captured my hands, holding them so tightly there was no way of breaking free and placing them above my head.
“Not yet,” he panted.
The chase was a thrill, intoxicating. Seduction was a game to Wes and he played it well.
I smiled, feeling myself go half-mad. The towel dropped from his waist, revealing just how hard he was. His grip loosened and I reached out, my hand curling around the length of him. With heavy-lidded eyes, he watched. My grip tightened just the smallest bit. His mouth parted and he sucked in a sharp breath. I couldn’t look away, even if I tried.
Wes always craved control in every aspect of his life, but in moments like these I called the shots and loved every second of it.
“Fuck,” he hissed.
He pushed my legs apart. With his hands on either side of my head, Wes thrust into me. My eyes closed and I sucked in a sharp breath.
Wes slid in and out of me so agonizingly slowly that my hips bucked and my heels dug into the mattress. He watched every move I made with a possessive gleam in his eyes.
I could feel a buildup inside me: Blood rushed through my veins; my skin was hot to the touch.
Wes rolled his hips. Sweat beaded over his upper lip and hairline. His pace quickened and for one distinct second, we felt like one. So entwined in each other’s lives that nothing could ever tear us apart.
I closed my eyes but behind my lids I saw only Wes.
November 2015
“Victoria?”
Gradually I come back to the present. The warmth of the sunshine on my skin recedes. The happiness of the memory fades. I’m back to wearing my black sweatpants, gray T-shirt, and a robe. The smell disappears and is replaced with that of Lysol.
This is a reality check if ever there was one.
“Victoria? Are you okay?” Dr. Calloway peers at me, concern etched on her features.
I hold up the wedding picture. “I remember this day.”
“For the first time?”
I nod and, in detail, explain what I saw. She writes it all down. Not once interrupting me. When I’m done talking she drops her pen and gives me a faint smile.
My hands are shaking at the memory and I can barely hold Evelyn. It was so vivid, so real that it’s impossible that it happened years ago instead of right now.
“This is great,” Dr. Calloway says with a big smile. “You remembered something.”
I know Dr. Calloway is thinking about the bigger picture, but I’m impatient. I’m willing to do just about anything to get out of this place. I want instant results. Remember one memory, remember them all.
“How many pictures are there?”
Dr. Calloway flips through them. The action’s all for show; I know she’s counted the photos beforehand. “Around twenty.”
“Can I take the ones from today?”
“Of course. They’re yours.”
I slip the photos into my pocket. I know that’s me in the picture, but it’s incredibly surreal to stare at a captured memory and not remember the moment. I stand up slowly, unsure of what to say or do. I think Evelyn picks up on my nervous energy. She looks up at me with those blue eyes, the expression on her face saying, “Well, did that help you at all?”
Like a coward, I look away.
“Are we going to go through all of those pictures?” I ask Dr. Calloway.
“If you want to we can. I think they are crucial to helping you remember things about your past.”
This leads me to think again about getting the hell out of this place. That’s the silver lining on all of this. I walk toward the door. My hand hovers over the handle and I glance at Dr. Calloway, hesitant about how to say my thoughts. “What happens if I remember something that isn’t good?”
“We’ll deal with that when we reach that point.” Dr. Calloway smiles. “Everything will be fine.”
I nod and say okay, but truthfully, I’m skeptical; there’s three years’ worth of memories mangled in a ball. And I have to untwist each and every one.
Alice is waiting outside the door. Without a word, I turn in the direction of the dayroom. She doesn’t ask how my day is going. How Evelyn is. Or how the session went. But I know she’ll never be that kind of nurse. Right now, I’m grateful for that. I have the opportunity to really think over each memory. Now that I have them back, I’m dumbfounded that I ever forgot them. And if I so easily lost good portions of my memories, what did I do with the bad ones?
I glance down at my hands. Now I remember all the times I used them to help people: holding the hands of scared patients, bandaging wounds….
How ironic that the roles have been reversed.
Entering the dayroom, I sit down at my regular table and instead of playing a game of cards or watching television like everyone else, I people watch.
I’ve never questioned why people came to Fairfax.
New names were put on the outside of doors daily. Faces came and went. Not once have I made an effort to get to know them. Yet right now it’s all I can think about. The girl rocking herself in the corner: Did she want to be here? Or the older woman—I think her name is Lottie—who’s been here much longer than me and sings “God Bless America” on a nonstop loop: What compelled her to make Fairfax her home?
The TV volume is low. Conversations between nurses and patients are barely heard. I’ve always thought that the hush over this room was just us patients collectively holding our breaths, waiting to see what would happen next, but every day I’m here, drug-free, I see the truth.
There’s no air here.
We breathe in madness.
We exhale insanity.
And the people around me? They seem okay with it. No one fights the nurses or tries to escape through the windows. No one seems to mind that our movements are circumscribed, monitored every second so we never fall out of line.
They sit and walk around like this
is normal.
Not so long ago I was just like them.
I close my eyes and rub my temples. Just one single memory and I’m already shaken up. How will I be when I get the rest of my past back? I’m almost afraid to find out.
“You’re welcome by the way.”
I jerk back so abruptly I almost fall out of my chair. Reagan pulls out the chair across from me and sits down. Today she’s wearing black sweatpants but still has on a hospital gown. She crosses her arms. They look like two small sticks, barely supporting her. She looks so fragile. As if she could break in half at any moment.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
Reagan rolls her eyes. “For yesterday. For being your shill. Decoy. Whatever you want to call it.”
“That was for me?”
“More or less.”
I narrow my eyes. The problem with Reagan is that she cloaks her words with layers of irony. I can never tell when she’s being serious. Her subversive personality constantly has everyone on edge, including me.
Abruptly, she leans forward and her chair legs hit the floor loudly. Her dark green eyes widen with excitement. In spite of myself, I find myself leaning forward too.
“I just love pissing off that cranky old bat.” Reagan twists in her seat and gestures toward Alice, who’s outside the room, talking to another nurse.
Reagan turns back to me. “Because of yesterday I had to stay in the white room.”
I suppress a shudder. The white room is every patient’s nightmare. I haven’t been there, but I’ve heard horror stories and whether they’ve been stretched and twisted for drama remains to be seen, but I’m not waiting in line to see if it’s true.
“Well,” I start out slowly. “Thanks for yesterday?”
Reagan smiles brightly, as though we’re best friends. “No worries.”
Just then Alice walks into the room. Reagan jumps out of her chair and points at her. “Oh, God. Attila the Hun’s here!” Reagan shouts dramatically. “Everyone take cover! It’s every man for himself!”
Alice glares at her. Even though her attention isn’t directed at me, I shift my body away. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Why not?” Reagan challenges.
“Because of what you did yesterday. You lost a lot of points.”