What is Love?

by Saks, Tessa

  Could the bump have caused this? She touched the back of her head. No. But she did drink too much. Had she actually taken a pill of something—or whatever that Patty woman said she took? Why couldn’t she remember? She could ask Rebecca or Sienna, but they had been drunk as well …

  The door opened and she turned and recognized Jonathan. “Johnny!” she cried out.

  “Hello dear … glad to hear that you are well and can see again.”

  “Yes, it’s great, only …”

  “Only what?” Jonathan removed his coat, placed it on the chair back, then walked up to her and kissed her cheek. She inhaled his familiar sandalwood aftershave and smiled.

  “No, here.” Sam pointed to her lips. “I want a real kiss—I need one.” He puckered his lips and gave her a quick old man peck, then pulled away fast, before she could get hold of him. As he stood straight, she looked up at him, wondering why he was acting strange.

  “Only what?” he asked as he pushed the chair further away from the bed and remained standing. “You were saying it’s wonderful, only …”

  “Only, I’m not me … I’m not Ellen. I’m Sam—you see?”

  “Yes, dear.” He patted her hand, like a father humoring a small child. “They told me you might feel this way. Look Ellen, you aren’t well. You have been through a lot. No one wants to upset you, but you must stop this wanting to be Samantha Miller.”

  Sam watched him sit and cross his legs, unable to believe she was hearing this, from him, from the man who loves her more than life itself.

  “But, damn it, Johnny, I’m not her. This …” She pointed to her body. “Is not my body. You should know. You have to help me. I am not this old, decaying hunk of flesh. I am Sam. This is not my body. It’s hers. It’s that stupid wife of yours … it’s her body. I don’t know what the hell happened—but it’s all screwed up.”

  “Yes, dear,” he said, petting her shoulder like a cat. “Yes, I know. But we must calm down. I’ve arranged for Dr. Sutton to come and talk to you in the next day couple of days.”

  “Dr. Sutton, who’s that?”

  “He’s the doctor you were seeing before—”

  “I never did. I never saw anyone—”

  “You just don’t remember it, dear,” he said, his voice cold and restrained.

  “Stop it! I’m Sam.” She banged her fists on the bars along the bed. “I know all about you. About us. I know all about what we did together. I can tell you things she would never know. In fact, she’d die if she knew what I did with you—”

  “Now Ellen, get a hold of yourself. Come on, stop talking such nonsense—” He stopped speaking as Rory walked into the room.

  “Rory!” Sam yelled. “Oh Rory, thank God. Help me.” She stretched out her arms.

  Rory stopped and looked at Sam, then Jonathan. His face tightened in confusion. “Where is Sam? She called me and told me—” Rory’s eyes darted around the room, searching.

  “I’m here!” Sam called out from the bed.

  He stepped back. “No. I’m here to see Samantha Miller. I don’t know you.”

  Jonathan stood and spoke. “I’m sorry. This is my wife, Ellen. She recently came out of a coma and there is a lot of confusion in her mind. She thinks she’s Samantha Miller.”

  Sam cringed at the mocking in his voice. “I am her.” She tried to reach for Rory’s sleeve.

  “But Samantha phoned me, and told me to come here—”

  “I did,” Sam interrupted. “I phoned you. Johnny, please leave,” Sam demanded, pointing to the door. “I need to speak to Rory. Alone.”

  Jonathan put his hand on Rory’s shoulder. “Young man, I apologize for the confusion. My wife may very well have called you thinking she’s Sam Miller. Unfortunately, she’s been doing a lot of that lately. Please, pay no attention to it.”

  They turned their backs to Sam as Jonathan led Rory to the door. “You will find your good friend Samantha Miller safe and sound at home where she belongs.”

  Sam shouted, “But she’s not me! She is not me! I am Sam. I am Samantha Miller. Doesn’t anyone believe me? Why won’t you listen?” she demanded.

  Jonathan and Rory ignored her pleas and stood conversing in the hallway.

  She called out again, “I know who I am, why don’t you?” But no one answered.

  The sound of their muffled voices continued, then faded into the distance.

  After a few minutes, a nurse came in carrying a small tray with a large needle.

  “What are you doing?” Sam asked the nurse, as she set the tray beside her.

  “It’s only a sedative.”

  “I don’t need any damn sedative!” Sam yelled. “If everyone would just listen to me.”

  “Now, come on, hold still.” The nurse reached for her arm.

  Sam pushed her arm away and tried to pull out the IV. “I’m getting out of here. You’re all crazy!”

  The nurse pushed down on her arms as Jonathan came in. “Ellen, dear … you must calm down and cooperate. This is for your own good.” He held Sam’s shoulders as the nurse plunged the needle filled with clear liquid into her IV.

  Sam tried to lean forward, attempting to resist but fell back, unexpectedly weak and confused. “I’m me,” she called out. “I’m Sam …” Her eyes closed from sudden heaviness. “I am. I really am … Please listen,” she said silently, before drifting into a relaxing deep sleep.

  ***

  Sam awoke feeling groggy—her mouth dry and gritty. She reached for a glass of water and noticed the phone. She picked it up and dialed her mom’s number. The call wouldn’t go through. She spotted a small label below the room number: No long distance calls. Cheap bastards. She tried the number to her apartment.

  “Hello.”

  It wasn’t Sienna and she didn’t know the voice.

  “Hello … who is this?” the voice repeated into her ear.

  Shit. It’s my voice! Sam suddenly recognized her own voice in the phone. What the …? “It’s me, Samantha Miller. And just who the hell is this?” Sam tried her best to refrain from screaming.

  “I’m sorry, who are you?” the voice asked.

  “They think I’m you—that I’m Ellen—but I’m really me … you. I’m Samantha Miller.”

  “You have the wrong number,” the voice said, sounding calm and confident.

  Sam wanted to see who was pretending to be her. But she knew exactly who it was, didn’t she? “No. You’re Ellen Horvath. Admit it. I know you’re Ellen. I don’t know what happened, but admit it,” Sam demanded.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about. Please don’t call here again.” Click!

  “Bitch!” Sam yelled. “That stupid bitch. She’s done something. It’s her, I know it’s her.” Sam shouted. “I’ll fix it. I’ll show her.” She dialed 911.

  “Hello? Yes? … Help me. I’m being held against my will. They think I’m someone else, but I am not, and someone else is in my body right now … Yes. You need to go and arrest her and question her. She’s an impostor … She’s not who she says she is … she’s in my apartment right now, 267 St. Nicholas Avenue, apartment 818 … Yes … If you hurry, you can catch her red-handed … Me? I’m here at the hospital, at the General … room 602B … Yes, please hurry … No one believes me, but I can prove it … Yes. I’ll be here. Thank you.”

  Sam hung up and pulled the intravenous tubes out of her hands. She lay back, planning how she would explain and prove all of this.

  Twenty minutes later, a nurse came in with another needle. “I’m not going to take that!” Sam screamed as she scrambled out of bed. “Get away from me,” she yelled, leaning against the wall. “The police are coming. I need to talk to them.” She tried to move to the door but her legs collapsed and she fell to the floor. Another nurse arrived and blocked the doorway. They grabbed Sam and pulled her to her feet, guiding her toward the bed.

  “What are doing? I need to talk to the police …” Sam tried to resist and struggled to break free. “Stop! Stop it,” sh
e yelled. “Don’t do this to me. I’m Samantha … I’m Sam …” she cried as they pushed the needle into her arm.

  ***

  Ellen was sitting at the fifties-style Formica and chrome kitchen table, in the apartment she shared with Sienna, the apartment that cost her almost half of her measly paycheck, looking over her recent bills, when Rory entered.

  “Hey,” he said, and stepped into the kitchen, removing his coat.

  Ellen reached for his coat. Drips of colored paint were splattered all over his pants and shirt, like a bad Jackson Pollock canvas. Even his shoes were covered. “Remind me again why you have a key to my apartment?” Ellen asked as she hung the coat in the closet.

  “You gave it to me.” Rory held the key up in the air and dangled it over Ellen’s head. “Because we’re friends, you silly girl. You got tired of getting out of bed to let me in for your midnight cravings.” He sat on a stool in front of the counter and reached for an apple. “You aren’t gonna believe what just happened.”

  “Try me,” Ellen said, still hesitant about the key arrangement and Rory’s ability to wander in whenever he pleased.

  “I got this call from you,” he said, between bites.

  “Me? I didn’t call you. I don’t even have your—”

  “No, not really you, but from someone saying they were you.” His eyes shone as he smiled and took another big chomp of the apple.

  “Why would anyone …?” Ellen began, knowing exactly who would and why. “You should wash that first.” She tore a paper towel from the roll, wet it and handed it to Rory.

  “This woman, she thinks she’s you, but she’s—now this is funny, she’s your Jonathan’s wife, Ellen. Weird huh?”

  “Very weird.” She leaned against the fridge, playing with the magnets.

  “And I met your Mr. Jonathan.”

  “Where?” Ellen replaced the magnets and stood next to the counter, reaching for a mug.

  “At the hospital, the one Mrs. H is at. Poor lady. She’s completely off her rocker. She called me, saying she was you and asked me to come, that she needed my help. I got away from work early, thinking it was you and some kinda big emergency. Well, she—now get this—she thinks that someone has switched bodies on her. She thinks she’s you. It’s too bizarre.”

  “I’ll say. Funny, Jonathan never mentioned it.” She poured a cup of coffee.

  “He seems really ticked off by the whole thing.”

  “Is he?” Ellen sipped her coffee, enjoying the fact that Jonathan was annoyed.

  “Yeah, he’s got a shrink coming. I guess this weird stuff happens after a coma.” Rory shrugged his shoulders and stood. He walked over to the fridge, opened it and leaned forward, one arm hanging over the door as the other rummaged through the bottles. “Mr. Johnny said I should ignore her—not be concerned with anything she says since she’s not mentally stable.”

  “Good advice.”

  “It would be weird,” Rory added, opening a bottle of beer and taking a swig.

  “What?”

  “To not believe that you are you. You know, not knowing who you are.”

  “Yes, I imagine it would,” Ellen said, walking away from Rory and picking up a magazine. She lay back on the sofa, stretching her long legs across the cushions.

  Rory set the beer on the counter and jumped on the couch. He grabbed her feet, massaging them. “So lover boy has his hands full at the hospital,” he said, rubbing her toes.

  “Not that busy.” Ellen jerked her feet back and sat up.

  “I thought the other night, you said he was.”

  “Not anymore.” She crossed her legs and set the magazine onto the table. “He called and we are going out on Saturday.” Rory pushed her back and hovered over her, the scent of musk combined with spice and something clean, fresh. Ellen inhaled and closed her eyes.

  “That means we better get busy,” Rory said, placing a kiss on her neck.

  “No!” Ellen said, pushing him back. “No messing around.”

  “Hah, hah,” Rory laughed, shaking his head. “That’s funny.” Rory stood up and pulled her to her feet. He put his arms around her. “When have you ever not wanted this?”

  Ellen tried to squirm out of his grip.

  He held her tighter. “You love to play games, don’t you?” he asked as he kissed her gently. “I can play games too.” He kissed her again, only deeper. She softened beneath his grip as her body stopped struggling. He kissed her neck, multiple kisses sending a shiver through her body. She tried to stop, but it was only her mind that wanted to stop; her body begged for more.

  Ellen, who hadn’t felt a man’s embrace—for how many long years—was in no condition to resist. She touched his face, the smooth skin of his cheek united with rough stubble. His neck, the firm skin and thick muscles. Her fingers slid down his chest, experiencing the power in his muscles, the force behind his skin. He opened her buttons, one at a time, with methodical suspension, kissing her breasts as they were slowly revealed. Chills ripped through her, expanding into hunger, a long-forgotten appetite. He kissed her lips again; slow, passionate kisses. Kisses demanding response, wet and greedy with desire.

  Pleasure rippled through every cell in her body, making her ravenous and impatient for more. As she was unbuttoning his shirt, the front door burst open.

  “Hey kids, don’t let me stop you,” Sienna said with a laugh.

  Ellen released herself from his grip. “We were just …” she began, as a quick, scarlet heat flushed across her face and down her neck as she closed her blouse.

  “Yeah right,” Sienna mocked and went into her room.

  Rory grabbed Ellen’s hand and pulled her into the bedroom.

  “I shouldn’t,” she said quietly, struggling to resist.

  “Why?” he asked, placing kisses on her neck. Rory kissed her lips.

  “Jonathan, he … I’m … we’re …” She tried to explain through kisses.

  “Forget him,” he said as he kissed her cheeks.

  Ellen stopped and pulled back. “But I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can,” Rory replied, still kissing her neck. “Just for tonight.”

  “No. That’s what he would do. I’m not like that.”

  Rory stopped kissing and let go of her. “Since when?”

  “Since now. I want this to work.”

  “This … with Jonathan.” Rory held her back at arm’s length. “But we always do this—until you’re married, you said. And I agreed.” Rory let go of her wrists. He put his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. “I thought you liked this.” She stiffened and his arms dropped as his voice faded, “What gives? Don’t you want this anymore?”

  “Yes. I do. But—” Ellen turned away. She couldn’t say what she was feeling, what she was thinking. She struggled to make sense. “I feel guilty—bad. It isn’t right.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Rory threw her on the bed and straddled himself on top of her thighs. “Guilt, schmilt. Don’t feel guilty. Feel bad because you’re such a bad girl.” He took his shirt off.

  Ellen looked at his chest and his arms, fighting her desire to touch them. She felt a need so primal, so raw—a need to have him hold her, to blend her body into his. She closed her eyes to stop it, while her hands traced his skin. This is what Jonathan experienced when he was with Sam. She struggled to resist the desires building deep within her. She was better than this.

  “Rory,” she whispered. “I don’t think we should.”

  “We should—you want it.” He opened her shirt. “For old time’s sake. He won’t care.”

  “He would if he knew,” she replied.

  “Don’t tell him then,” he said with a Hollywood grin.

  She pushed him off. “No. I want an honest relationship. No lies. No deception.”

  “Then you picked the wrong man. He’s lying and he’s deceiving.”

  “That’s different, he’s …” Ellen pulled her blouse closed, unable to finish her sentence.

  “Really?” Rory
asked and sat up, resting on his arms, causing his biceps to bulge in an erotic way. “How is it different?”

  “I want him. I want him completely. I enjoy this—I do, but …” Ellen turned and faced him. “I don’t love you.” Rory’s face dropped to a frown, as if wounded. Ellen continued as her heart raced. Why did she find herself so attracted to his body? Ellen turned away from temptation. “Not like that. I’m sorry. I have to be honest. I can’t have sex when I’m not in love.”

  “You could have fooled me,” Rory snapped, reaching for his shirt. He studied her. “This isn’t going anywhere, is it?” Rory pulled his shirt on. “Okay brat, call me if you need me. If you feel horny and Mr. Flabby can’t satisfy you. I’m still your plaything.”

  “Rory, we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

  “What’s gotten into you? You’ve been acting like an uptight little snob lately.”

  “I don’t want to see you.” Ellen’s voice was firm and a bit too harsh. “You shouldn’t come by,” she said, unable to look into his eyes.

  He stared at her and was about to speak, but stood silent, then turned toward the door.

  Without a word, he opened the door and walked out of the bedroom. She heard the front door slam. Ellen buttoned up her shirt and stopped. For reasons she didn’t understand, it felt bad rejecting him. It felt bad knowing she wouldn’t see him anymore.

  CHAPTER 20

  Sam awoke to the sound of the curtain around her bed being drawn open.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Horvath,” the male doctor said, looking at his chart and then at her.

  Sam turned away. “And how are you feeling?” the doctor asked, as he pulled the curtain closed. He had the annoying enthusiasm of a car salesman.

  “Perfect. Except for one small thing,” Sam said, crossing her arms.

  “What’s that?’

  “That I’m not Mrs. fucking Horvath!” she yelled. “And I’m sure as hell not this—”