Sex Love Repeat

by Alessandra Torre

  “You don’t know me anymore, Stewart. You don’t have the right to tell me how I love. I’m not the nineteen year old kid you walked out on.”

  No, he isn’t. I feel lost, like I have no footing in this room and am questioning every word that comes out of my mouth while he—he is so secure. Strong. Like this is his room and I am an intruder in it, instead of the opposite way around. “She was mine first, Paul. I had her. I told her to find someone to keep her entertained.” I looked at him. “Entertained, Paul. That was it. I was always the primary in this relationship. You were the secondary.”

  “Your work is the primary. Everything else in your life comes secondary.” His voice rises and he points to me, then to her. “Tell me that isn’t true. Tell me you didn’t put her to the side while you slaved away for your job. Tell me she wasn’t an afterthought to your business and deals.”

  I can’t. I softly run a hand over hers, wanting to get on my knees and beg for forgiveness. I curse his presence for being here right now. When all I want is to be alone with her and tell her how I feel. Tell her the mistakes I’ve made. Apologize for any and every time that I put her second in my life. I clear my throat. “I can’t fix what I’ve done. I can only change going forward.”

  “Bullshit. You aren’t going to step in as a Monday-morning quarterback. I gave her my heart two years ago, spent every day of that time being there for her. This is the woman I wake up next to every day. Every day except when you snap your fingers and steal her for the night. I breathe and live for her. She is mine, despite what you think or say.”

  There is a soft cough behind me and I turn, seeing Dana in the doorway, her steps moving in. She crosses her arms and shoots us both a look. “I don’t hear either one of you thinking about her. She doesn’t belong to either of you. You’re both acting like you hold any decision-making rights in her life, like you can cockfight your way to a victory. Who would she pick, if she was awake right now?”

  I look away from Dana and Paul and down at her. Look at her closed eyes and the rise and fall of her chest. And I am absolutely terrified of the answer.

  DANA

  I don’t know what to make of my brothers. Of the men they have become. They snarl and snap over her silent body like she is the last scrap of meat and they are starving. They are both desperate in their love, both terrified of losing her. Both reckless in their announcement of happily ever after. But they forget the most important thing. That they don’t have much of a choice in this. That her heart, her damaged brain, will decide if she ever wakes up. If they ever get a chance to look in her eyes and tell her how they feel. And if she does wake up, it will be her choice to make.

  I myself am torn. Over this woman, over my feelings for her. I have spent the last two months hating her. Secretly watching, trying to figure out her motives, her plan. And now... it appears she has no plan at all. Stewart was the executor of this insane figure eight. She is just the center of it. The place where the two halves come together and meet.

  This entire situation is a disaster.

  It is at this point in time that the beeping, the slow beeping that has been the heartbeat of this horror show slows, the change in tempo catching all of our attention. Lights that I never noticed begin to flash, alarms begin to sound, and all I can pay attention to is that the beeping has stopped.

  Stopped.

  Flatline.

  Both men rush to her body as the door slams open and white coats swarm.

  MADISON

  I cannot speak for others who have died. Their experiences might have been different. They might have been met at glittery gates by Morgan Freeman and cute little cherubs with cheeks of sparkles. I only know that it felt like being pulled. Not pulled forward in a vacuum of suck, but pulled apart, each arm and limb yanked slowly, an excruciating pain as cracks formed in bone, tissue and muscles popping and ripping, my chest struggling to pump as ventricles broke loose and cavities collapsed. My heart struggled to pick a side as my body broke in half, tearing down the middle in the unclean division of all the things that made my body whole. Its pieces were stubborn, sewn into ribcages and sternums, and it finally yanked into two separate pieces, my soul screaming in protest as I was released to the heavens.

  PAUL

  There is shouting, unintelligible words, and we are pushed aside, the small room suddenly full, my back hitting the sharp edge of a machine. I struggle to see her face, my panicked eyes meeting Stewart’s, despair in his blue eyes. Our gaze holds for a moment, and in that moment, everything is forgiven. We need only one thing... and I return my gaze to her, to her body, which is so still, the monitor still showing a flat line, buzzing and alarms sounding throughout the room. I choke back a sob and watch the fury of activity, my hands clenching into fists. Then I drop to my knees and pray, silent fast words spilling from my mouth. I promise things I will never be able to deliver, promise to let her go, to let her be with him. I promise to lead a perfect life, to devout myself to good, anything, everything, just to have her live. I need her life. I cannot, will not, make it without her. I don’t have to have her as mine, but I need her to live. This world cannot lose her. I cannot exist if she is not alive.

  STEWART

  Six voicemails. The fact that it crosses my mind in this moment is sickening. It is something I will never admit to anyone, I am pushing it out of my mind at the moment it creeps in, desperate to bury it with emotions, love, grief, anything. I don’t deserve her. I don’t deserve anything but my empty office, stacked with deadlines and trades, dotted lines and stock prices. I don’t deserve the sunny smile flirting with me while snow dots her face, her giggle when I awaken her at four AM, her hand tugging me to my feet while she drops to her knees. I try to catch sight of her, try to see past the flash of metal, white cloth, and gloves. I try to see her face. I try to send her a silent apology for every piece of the man that I am not. I step backward, against the wall, and pray.

  DANA

  There are too many people in the room, all with a purpose or a deep-ingrained love that will not allow their feet to move. I am the only one with no place in that room. I am the outsider, watching the train wreck with a morbid fascination. I can’t help them. This is something that they have to figure out amongst themselves. I don’t envy Madison when she wakes up. An event that should be a celebration, the survival of death, will be a tense, who-will-you-choose tug of war. She will wake to expectant eyes, competing affections and pregnant pauses. I need to protect her. I need to keep their competition at bay and allow her to heal. I am suddenly struck with the irony of those thoughts. For months I have been worried about protecting them from her. And now, now that I am actually present and a part of this discussion, I have crawled over the fence and am now guarding the opposite side.

  As the flatline stretches out, her body jerking with electricity from the paddles, no change, no life coming back into her body, I realize that I may not have a fence to protect. And I join my brothers in fervent prayer.

  MADISON

  I am brought back to life at 4:08 PM. It is with a jarring impact, my back slamming against the bed with a hard thunk. My eyes flip open to bright white light, shining intensely down on me, heads breaking the line of white, hands everywhere, touching, lifting, squeezing my skin. I briefly hear Paul’s voice, and then my eyes close and I sink back into darkness.

  I am so. so. tired.

  I feel a squeeze, then a release. A squeeze, and then a release. A hum of sounds, a familiar cadence that my brain recognizes as speech, the words unintelligible. I struggle, the grip on my hand tightening as I try to move. I open my eyes, crust sticking my lashes together, a haze over my vision and I blink to clear them.

  An unfamiliar face peers into mine, the man’s features studied, his eyes sharp, looking carefully into mine. I frown, trying to place him, trying to place the white tile ceiling behind his head. Where am I? There is a roar in my head, spots appearing in my vision, and I wince, closing my eyes briefly, the peace instantly returning, and I
relax against the pillow, grateful for the reprieve.

  The hand squeezes again, and the voices return, incessant and irritating. I try to pull my hand away, try to roll to my side and block out the voices. I want to sleep, and this party of irritating is putting a cramp in that style.

  It won’t stop, and now a second hand has joined the party, squeezing my other hand. I groan, opening my eyes again, the white glare doing the tango in stilettos on my head, shooting needles straight into my temples. I try and focus, try to move my mouth and tell these persistent assholes to go to hell. I can’t move my head, can’t do anything but stare up into the light, and I wonder where the stranger went, if he is still here, if he is one of the damn individuals squeezing my hands to death. A new face enters my vision and I relax slightly. Paul.

  He leans forward, speaking so loudly that someone two blocks away could hear, the angle of his approach revealing that he is one of the hand squeezers. “Madd, can you hear me?”

  I blink at him and try to speak. Swallow and try again, the words coming out as a whisper. “I’m not deaf. Please... shut up and let me sleep.”

  He grins. The damn man grins, a smile that stretches across his face as if he has just won the Maverick Invitational. “Yes, baby,” he whispers, and I would swear that a tear leaks from his eyes.

  “Thank you,” I grumble, my voice coming out hoarse, my eyes closing against the still-brutal light. “And please have someone turn that damn light off.”

  “Anything else, babe?” His voice is close to my ear but at a normal decibel level, and I can feel the warm tickle of breath against my eardrum.

  “Yeah.” I sigh, the glare against the darks of my eyelids gone, some angel having found the fry light and turned it off. “Stop strangling my hands.”

  If he responds, I don’t hear it. Darkness is once again my new best friend.

  DANA

  I find Stewart in one of the lobby chairs; he looks up at my approach. “Hey sis,” he says dully.

  “She’s asleep but stable. You didn’t want to stay in the room?”

  He shakes his head, lifting a hand and massaging his temples.

  I sit next to him, run my hand over his shoulder, picking a bit of lint off the material. “It’s okay, that she didn’t see you when she woke up. She’ll know that you were here. Chances are she won’t even remember it.”

  He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. The point wasn’t for her to see me. I’m just glad I saw it.” He lets out a breath of air. “God, when her eyes opened... when I heard her voice... it was like a weight off my shoulders. I’ve never been so scared, Dana. I mean, with Jennifer, there was never an unknown period. We were just told what happened. And had to deal with it in any way we could. With Madison... the unknown, the waiting...” he turns his head, looking at me. “I was terrified.”

  I look into his eyes. Eyes that have matured so much in the last few years. He sits like the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. And in his eyes... I see disappointment, an emotion that I don’t understand. “You should go in there. She might wake back up.”

  His eyes darken. “No. I want Paul... God, I don’t know.” He looks down, leans forward in his chair and rests his forearms on his knees. “I don’t think...” he says carefully, every word measured, “that I deserve her.”

  “In what way?”

  He runs his fingers over his mouth. “I don’t think I can do it, D.” He looks back at me. “I wouldn’t tell another soul but you this. The work—the job—I don’t know that I can walk from it. Cut back my hours to a level that she would expect. Deserve.” He snorts, disgust in his eyes. “Fuck, I can’t even sit in a hospital room while she struggles for life and not think about it.” He looks away. “Paul... he doesn’t struggle with that. He—in there—all he’s thinking about is her. All that he loves in life is her.” His shoulders sink. “Do I have the right to take that from him? Only to fail her later?”

  He runs a hand through his hair, gripping it before dropping his head into his hands. “But where does that leave me? A life alone? With nothing but my work? She—she is the only thing I have other than that.”

  I reach out a hand and grab his knee, squeezing it hard until he looks at me, a haunted look in his eyes. “Stewart—I know that you love her. But you will meet someone who you will happily set aside work for. You won’t have to try and cut back your hours. You won’t be able to stay away from them. That is when you’ll know that you have found the person you are meant to be with. When your life is no longer your own, and you are shoving that sacrifice forward willingly.”

  He holds my gaze for a long moment before glancing towards the ICU doors. “So what, you think that is how Paul feels? You think she ‘is it’ for him?”

  I follow his glance, flipping back through everything I have seen today. “I don’t know.” I say carefully. “I think you and I both still see Paul as he once was—emotional and tender-hearted. But he is ten years older now. I do know that he is not the boy we once knew. And the only thing on his mind in there is her. He... he’s not like anything I would expect. It terrifies me how singularly focused he is on her. It’s as if he thinks he can will and love her back to health.”

  He groans. “God, you make me feel like shit, D.”

  I lean against his shoulder, looping my arm through his. “You’re sacrificing a piece of your life for him. This is the proudest I’ve ever been of you.” I turn my head, my peripheral vision seeing the edge of his lips curl slightly.

  “I haven’t made a decision, Dana.”

  “Yes you have,” I say firmly. “Now go outside and make your calls. I’ll tell Paul.” I stand, brushing off my pants and reach for my purse, his hands stopping me, the insistent press of them causing me to pause.

  “I love her.” The raw need in his eyes gives me pause, a spike of pain hitting my heart.

  “I know,” I say softly. “But you love him, too. And you know that I’m right.”

  His jaw tightens.

  MADISON

  Kisses. Soft kisses on my cheeks, nose, moving down my neck. I shift slightly, bending my head to the face in my neck, slowly opening my eyes to—thank God—a softly lit room. The kisses find their way to my lips and I smile, recognizing the scruff, the soft way he cradles my head. “Hey baby.”

  “Hey.” He kisses my forehead. “How do you feel?”

  “Okay.” My head aches. “What time is it?”

  “Almost ten. In about ten minutes their most intimidating nurse is going to come in and try and kick me out. Just in case she succeeds I wanted to say hi.”

  “Hi,” I say weakly, and Paul smiles.

  “What happened?” I glance around the room, realizing that my neck now moves, that I can turn my head with ease. Ouch. After that blinding slice of pain, maybe I should take it easy.

  “You wiped out. The board must have hit you on the head.”

  “I’m in the hospital for that?”

  His face tightens. “You were without oxygen for a while. And with head trauma... for a while we didn’t think you’d make it.”

  “We?”

  His eyes hold mine. “The doctors... and also Stewart. He was here.”

  My heart sinks in my chest. “Here?” With you? The unspoken words scream through my mind.

  “Yeah.” He clears his throat. “But don’t worry about that now. You need to rest.”

  “He’s not here now.”

  “No. He left a few hours ago. Once your condition stabilized.”

  “And how long will you stay?”

  He watches my eyes carefully. “Until they drag me away.”

  I smile, my eyes closing as another burst of pain lights every receptor in my brain. “My head hurts,” I mumble.

  I hear him stand, his hand brushing my hair back, placing a soft kiss on my forehead. “I’ll get the nurse,” he whispers.

  I keep my eyes closed and wait for the pain to ease, my racing thoughts interfering with the process. Stewart was here. With Paul. I
n the same room. Speaking. Interacting. I am almost grateful for my unconscious state. I cannot imagine the words spoken, the conversations had. I would wonder at his absence—wonder what that means to our relationship, but it is Stewart. His work, no doubt, needed attention. I am surprised he stayed until I gained consciousness. I wonder what will happen with my relationships. This is surely the moment. I always thought that when this happened, I would have to choose. Which of my men I love the most. But now, with hours of unknown events, chances are that that choice has been taken from me. And in that light, Stewart’s absence seems more notable.

  I hear the door and reopen my eyes, watch as a nurse scurries in, pressing buttons and making adjustments. “You’re awake!” she says with a beam. She lifts a remote, presses it into my palm. “This is painkiller. Just press this button if the discomfort gets too strong. I’m adding a bit into your IV, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you fall back asleep pretty soon.”

  I nod, and place the remote on my stomach, my eyes finding Paul’s. He gives me a worried smile and turns to the nurse. “How do her vitals look?”

  “Good. We’re not out of danger yet but we are moving in the right direction. We’ll monitor her closely tonight.” She pats my arm and I attempt a smile, the pain already less, my mind taking advantage of the increased capacity and envisioning all of the disasters that could have occurred during my sleep.

  “How long was I out?” It hurts to talk, my throat raw, my lungs moaning over the expelled air.

  She glances at her watch. “About twelve hours. This is the first time you’ve been coherent enough to talk.” That’s a good sign.”

  Twelve hours. Cities burn to the ground in less time than that. I wait for her to leave and watch Paul sit carefully on the edge of my bed. When the door clicks behind her I wet my lips.