"Mom…" I struggle to speak, my voice raspy. I recall suddenly the overuse from calling out through the woods… last night? The night before? "What day is it?"
"Sunday afternoon," she tells me. "You took a nasty blow to the head, do you remember?"
"Yes." My focus returns to Krissy. "How is she?"
"Still feverish, but responding well to treatment. I think she'll be just fine. It was very fortunate that they found her when they did."
"It was." I close my eyes briefly, and at the images that greet me, I open them again. "Ryan?"
"At Elliot and Kate's. They insisted."
"Good. Thank them for me. And the puppies?"
"Gail rushed them to a veterinarian, they're recovering."
I want to laugh, but I resist. "At least Krissy's little adventure wasn't in vain," I rasp, dripping sarcasm. I think my mother senses my mood, and lets the comment slide. I lower my eyes and attempt to calm my breathing; my head has begun to pound again. It's only now I notice my relative state of undress, and the hospital gown that covers me. "Who undressed me?"
"Your father and Elliot did, dear. You gave the nurses quite a difficult time, or so I heard." She smiles knowingly.
I did? "I don't remember." I can't imagine what I might have done in a state of delirium. I hope I didn't embarrass myself; I can only imagine the extent of Jason's efforts at damage control. I backburner the thought.
"It's all right. You have an excuse." She kisses my cheek briefly, and then reaches over to smooth Krissy's hair away from her face. "I'll bring you something for the pain, okay?"
"Okay." I swallow. "What about Krissy?"
"Let her rest. She doesn't get another dose of her cocktail for an hour."
I sigh. "Thank you, Mom. I couldn't wake but I could hear voices, you ordered the nurses to bring me to her. I'm grateful."
She smiles softly. "I love you both so very much, Edward. Please don't frighten us like that again."
My heart darkens. "Krissy and I will have words on that very issue," I murmur.
"Be gentle with her, dear. She means well. You know that, better than any of us."
"I do. And I will."
~oOo~
It's darker when I wake again. The only light in the room comes from the cracked door, and the low fluorescents illuminating our attached beds.
Krissy is still curled into my side, more tightly than before, if even possible.
My arms pull her in close, my hand running soothingly up and down her arm. She's still warm, perhaps not quite as before, but it's evident she's ailing. I press a soft kiss to her forehead.
"Hmm…" she moans.
"Krissy, can you hear me?" I whisper, stroking her flushed cheek with my fingertips.
She doesn't respond, and my bladder brings my awareness to some rather personal needs. I carefully extricate myself from my dear wife, tucking the light blanket around her shoulders, and set my feet on the cool tile. My head still isn't on straight, and the room dives a little to the right. I hold onto the bed railing and then a nearby chair to safely reach the en suite bathroom.
The stitched cut on my forehead taunts me in the fluorescent lighting above the mirror. It's near the hairline, and seemingly expertly closed, but unsightly. I wash the skin around it carefully with a washcloth, and then the rest of my exposed skin, for good measure. I find a toothbrush and scrub my sleep-sticky mouth as well.
When I reemerge, I notice a folded pair of pajama bottoms and t-shirt on the chair that had helped me balance, and it helps me again as I quietly wrestle myself into the clothes. Enough with the hospital gown; unsuitable is the only nice word I can think of to describe the garment.
In the joined bed, Krissy trembles softly. Oh no. I make my way to the side I'd vacated, and slip back in as carefully as I can, bringing my arms around her again. Is it a nightmare? I have no idea. "I'm here," I whisper.
"Hmm…" she coughs weakly, and her eyes open a crack.
"Hello, my love,"
She blinks for a moment, still shivering. "Cold," she whimpers.
"Okay… it's okay sweetheart," I murmur. I pull her in closer, running my hands up and down her blanketed back.
"Is this… real?" she asks, her voice small. She sounds congested.
"Yes, baby. Thank God you're safe." I bring my lips to rest at her damp forehead.
"Are you mad?" She asks, her voice cracking.
Oh Krissy, you have no idea. "Relieved." It's the only word I can manage, without lying outright. It breaks my heart, that my raw anger still exists after all this time, and that any of it could be directed at her after such an ordeal. "I'm not letting you out of my sight for a while."
"Okay," she whispers.
Christ. Her quick resignation chills me to my core. She really was afraid, of me. I'm appalled with myself all over again. I'd thought we were making some progress… well, she's allowing me to hold her. I have my work cut out for me.
She raises her chin to look up at me. "Edward, what happened?"
"Don't you remember? You were lost…"
"No, your head," she reaches up to my forehead but hesitates, unsure whether to touch me. She settles for brushing my hair aside. It is getting rather long again.
"An argument with a tree, I think. I'm fine. The details are a bit fuzzy." I offer her a brave smile. "I've been admitted as well."
She still looks worried.
"I'm fine, baby. I promise." I capture her wandering hand and bring it to my lips for a kiss before tucking her back under the covers. My fingers go to her forehead. "You're still awfully warm."
"Then why do I feel so cold?" She mumbles.
"Well, you were out there all night, wet and exposed to the elements, it was rather unseasonably chilly. And I imagine, at the temperature you are now, everything must feel a bit cooler."
She shudders a sigh, and I guess she accepts the explanation.
There's a tiny knock at the door. If we'd been asleep, we might not have noticed, but I'm grateful for the warning nonetheless. Mom peers through the door again. She smiles when she sees we're awake. "May I come in?"
I wave her over, and then replace my arm around Krissy as she begins to shiver anew. Mom carries two cloth bags to a rolling table and unpacks them. "I hope you're hungry. Mia sent over some soup and bread for you."
"Oh, that sounds perfect, thank you." I can't hide the overwhelming gratitude in my voice. I'm famished. I'd settle for something generic from a can, which is probably what they serve downstairs in the cafeteria, but to dine on my sister's gourmet variety is an utter blessing, and Krissy deserves nothing less. "Do you think you can eat something, baby?"
She nods. "I need to use the bathroom though."
"I'll help you with that," my mother insists, rolling the table around to my side and returning to help Krissy untangle from her IV. I almost protest, to insist on helping her myself, but I remember how unsteady I was a few hours ago. Reluctantly, I release my wife to my mother's care. She's shivering a bit more.
"Cold, darling?"
Krissy nods. Mom goes to a shopping bag in the corner and produces a fluffy lilac robe, and helps Krissy to put it on. I busy myself with the contents of the table while my mother helps Krissy in the bathroom, setting out two bowls and spoons and unwrapping a loaf of warm grain bread. Oh, I love my sister. I raise the beds evenly and arrange the majority of pillows on Krissy's side, the way she likes them.
Mom helps Krissy back into bed and reattaches her IV. She's largely stopped shaking, but the undercurrent is still there, likely from weakness and hunger, and my heart sinks at the thought. Her hair has been brushed, and there are fresh pajamas under the new robe. She leans back to rest against the nest of pillows and sighs. My mother takes such good care of her.
"Wait… where's Ryan?" Krissy gasps, as though she suddenly remembers she has a son. Her expression is one of anxiety and guilt. My heart aches for her.
"Relax baby, he's with Elliot and Kate, isn't that right, Mom?"
"Gail and Ina took him home late this afternoon. I thought you'd want him there when you go home tomorrow."
"Ina?" Krissy asks. She's tentatively leaned forward to attempt her soup, a mouthwatering corn chowder. I rub the small of her back reassuringly.
"Carter, baby. Tomorrow?" I question.
"Straight home to bed. No funny business about looking after each other. I've already spoken to Jason about it. You both need a few days' rest, at least." My mother's first name basis with the help has forever been irritatingly endearing. "Eat up, and buzz the nurse if you need anything. I hate to drop-off and run, but I haven't slept more than an hour since you arrived." She rounds the bed and kisses my stunned cheek before I regain my senses. A number of souring scenarios present themselves.
"Taylor will drive you."
"That's not necessary, darling, but thank you."
"Mother," my voice changes without warning. "Taylor will drive you. I know he's here."
My mother blinks. For the first time, I see how exhausted she is. She appears to want to argue, but with me, with my fears, knows better. She nods. "All right. That might be best, thank you."
"Taylor!" I call, and beside me, Krissy jumps, her spoon plunking into the bowl. I immediately regret the outburst, and find her hand in apology.
Taylor appears in the doorway mere seconds later. "Yes, Sir?"
"Please drive my mother home, and arrange to have her car dropped off by morning."
"Right away, Sir. Can I bring you anything?" He's business as usual, but I can see the relief behind his eyes.
"My Blackberry and a laptop."
"Of course. Ma'am?" he gestures to my mother.
"Sleep well, both of you. Don't work too hard, Edward. I'll see you in the morning."
"Good night, Mom."
Taylor holds the door for her, and moves to close it behind him.
"Jason?" I call again.
"Sir?"
I sigh. "Thank you." My eyes radiate the sincerity of the message, of all the appreciation I have for the man who may have saved both our lives. I can't begin to fathom how to repay such a debt.
The side of his mouth twitches up into a small smile. "You're most welcome, Sir. Ma'am," he nods to both of us, and pulls the door closed behind him.
I sigh again. "I owe than man so much."
"Me too, I imagine," Krissy sniffles. She sounds congested again. I pluck a tissue from the box next to me and hand it to her. She turns away and blows her nose gently.
"Feeling all right?" I ask.
She nods. "Well enough." She yawns. "The soup is good."
I try some, and nod my agreement. It's difficult to resist picking up the bowl and tipping it back. I haven't been this hungry since… well, a long time. I look over at Krissy between bites. She's picking at her bread.
"Tired?" I ask.
She nods, but that's not it, I can tell.
"Something on your mind, baby?" I prod, gently.
She turns away and sneezes into her elbow. I fish out another tissue and hand it to her.
"Too many things," she sniffles once she's recovered.
I nod. "I understand. I'll, um… move over to the couch to sleep tonight."
"No, I…" She stammers. "I didn't mean… I don't want you to go. Unless you want to," Her broken uncertainty is interrupted by a fit of coughing. Christ, it sounds uncomfortable. My hand returns soothingly to her back, where I rub circles until she's recovered again.
"Shall I call the nurse?" I offer.
Krissy shoots me a look that clearly states, 'don't be ridiculous.' It's so… Krissy. "It's just a cold, Edward."
"I've never seen you with a cold." I try my best to look contrite, but her expression is so familiar, I can barely suppress a smile. A resurfacing thought sobers me. Out of habit, I run a hand through my hair. "We should talk."
Her focus returns to the soup. "I know," she answers quietly.
I gulp uncertainly. I thought she's offer at least a little resistance. Oh, how the tables have turned. "I want to know how you feel about what I've revealed to you," I begin, carefully. "If I may clarify, or reassure you in any way…"
"Edward, don't," she interrupts me. "I know you hate yourself over it; Dr. Flynn didn't have to tell me. I can't quite wrap my head around it. But I can't see you doing that to me." She waves toward the tissue box, and I hand her another. I set the box on her table, waiting patiently for her to clear her nose again. She sighs, bringing on another fit of coughing. God, if I could take her discomfort upon myself, I would, without hesitation.
"That's not part of your life anymore, is it? At all?"
"No," I declare quietly, emphatically. "I would sooner cut off my hands than harm you."
She nods, and then her lips press into a flat line. "I have one question though, and after you answer, can we agree never to speak of this again?"
My heart swells with her impending reprieve. Is she really going to let this go so easily? "Yes, baby. We agreed to the same long ago. Please ask me whatever you need."
Krissy twists a dry tissue between her fingers, frightened again. She shudders a shallow breath, and I think it's to avoid another coughing fit. Her clear blue eyes appear preemptively sorry for what she's about to ask. "What did you feel when you hit me?"
To say that I was unprepared for that one, specific question is akin to declaring the meaning of my life can be summed up in a day of sailing. I'd never fathomed she'd ask. I don't know the answer.
"I… never thought about it." The anxiety wells up inside me, cutting off my air. John never asked. Krissy never asked. "Please don't take that as an excuse, that I don't want to answer. I do. I've just put it behind me so long ago, I never felt the urge to delve. Give me a minute please," I stammer.
I close my eyes, and compel myself to breathe evenly, returning the air to my lungs. How do I begin to answer? How did I feel then? Six strokes. I remember how many. I'll never forget how many. I was nervous at first… she asked me, asked me to do it… and I was afraid of how she'd take it, how it would make her feel. I told her what would happen, ran my hand over her, preparing her, and then I gave myself over. All uncertainty was shed. It was exhilarating, bringing the belt down upon her, to hear the snap as it contacted her skin. And then she cried out… oh, how it twisted my broken soul, to hear her scream. No… she asked me to. I couldn't let her think I wasn't serious; I couldn't stop, not unless she told me to. I reminded her to count, and she did… every word was a scream. She cried after the second strike. I should have known then, that she couldn't take it, that I was hurting her… but did I? Did I know? I assumed she'd safeword if she needed to… but then how did I know she needed me to stop, and why didn't I? I knew she'd need my comfort afterward, and I followed through, but why didn't I stop? Why didn't I know? Oh, God, this hurts…
I feel her suddenly shift beside me, jolting me from the swirl of thoughts and dredging of long-buried feelings, and then her hand closes around mine. Oh, Krissy. Warmth floods through me. I can do this. I can tell her. I need her help. My eyes open, slowly, gauging her expression.
"I'm sorry, baby. I've worked so hard to bury what happened that night. Digging it up is… difficult." I swallow, taking a deep, cleansing breath. "We agreed on six. It excited me, at first the anticipation of control, of complete domination. After the first stroke, you cried out… and for a second, I wasn't certain I should continue, but you didn't safeword. It shocked me. I thought you would if you'd reached your limit. I thought, at least if you'd forgotten the safeword, you'd say 'stop'. But you didn't. Each one after… it was so hard. You cried, you were so distressed… I couldn't think. I didn't know anything else; I thought perhaps you wanted me to continue…" I choke back the bile that's threatening to rise further in my throat. "And then I finished." My breathing hitches. "I was so relieved to stop," I shake my head. "I immediately tried to comfort you, but you wouldn't have me. You… yelled at me."
Krissy's expression is so sad. It's not one of hatred or fear, as I'd expe
cted, but one of compassion. Her fingers come to my cheek, to stroke my stubbly skin. "Thank you," she whispers.
I shake my head. "I've never thought about that before. Not in that way, not with that depth." I bring my hand to hold hers to my face. "I should be thanking you, not the other way around. You're the best therapy I've ever had. You're my cure." I sigh. "I love you, Krissy. Now I know for sure, I did love you then. I hated hurting you, even while in the act. I'd have done anything you asked of me."
She nods, and there are tears in her eyes. She understands. She blinks, sniffling, and they drip down her cheeks.
"Oh no, baby… please don't cry." I brush the tears away with my thumbs, cupping her face in my hands. Her own fingers haven't left mine. I lean in, slowly, timidly, asking, and my nose brushes hers…
"Edward," she whispers against my lips.
We're so close.
"Yes…" I breathe.
"I… have a cold."
Oh… that.
"I don't mind," I whisper back, and, smiling softly against her lips, I kiss her, gently, sweetly. It's brief, but it helps to convey my message, that I love her, that I'd do anything for her, regardless what she feels for me. And considering that she let me, she must feel something for me as well.
I sigh, pulling away enough to pluck another tissue from the box and dab her cheeks and nose. "Shall we talk a while? If you're up for it, I mean. I'm sure you're tired…"
"I'd like that," she squeaks, her congestion getting the better of her. She blows her nose again. I pull the disheveled blanket from the foot of the bed and tuck it around her.
"So ask me something. Anything. I'm an open book." I lean against a pillow and prop my head on my hand.
She thinks for a moment. "What's your favorite color?"
I laugh, softly. "I don't really have one. You must see by now my passion for all things pale and simple, you've seen our old apartment." I consider her for a moment; she'd like more of an answer than that. "The color of your robe is lovely. I suppose I like light colors more. I suppose white could be my favorite color, if I had to choose only one."
"White isn't a color," she smirks.
The Billionaire's Marriage: A Romance Novel Page 26