by Lisa De Jong
Aggressively, he ripped my clothes off as he stood by the edge of the bed. He watched me with his wicked glare as he threw his clothing to the floor, and my breath hitched at his violent stare. I wasn’t scared. No, I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. Instead I was extremely turned on by his instant need to take his frustrations out with wild, hair-pulling, lip-biting, moaning, groaning, crazy, incredible sex.
No, I didn’t mind at all. I allowed him to bruise my hips with the firm grip he held at each thrust. I allowed him to hungrily bite my lip till we tasted the metallic flavor of blood as my flesh slightly tore. I allowed him to ball a fist in my hair as he cried out my name when our bodies joined.
He was in control. I wanted him in control, and he needed to be in control.
****
I woke up with Marcus hovering over me. He was in a deep, senseless sleep, snoring along my chest. The heat from his bare skin made my temperature rise, and I became instantly uncomfortable. I inched over, trying to avoid waking him. His breath hitched and then went back to normal.
He shifted his leg onto my upper thighs. My bladder felt completely full, and the pressure of his heavy weight made it feel as if it were going to explode. Scooting over a few more times, I managed to break free. He grunted then smacked his lips twice before returning to his loud snore.
Standing by the bed, I admired his beauty as he slept peacefully. He was lying flat on his stomach with only the right side of his face showing. His hair was an adorable mess, his lips were partly open, and his shoulders rose, evenly matching his breathing. His right hand was inches away from his face, his right leg slightly bent, while the left side of his body lay completely straight under the sheets.
His well-built back teased me as it flexed and perfected each muscular line as he inhaled and exhaled. Instantly I became aroused again; even his back turned me on. What the hell was wrong with me? I could’ve stood there and watched him for hours. He was a stunning piece of art, and he was mine.
Sighing in contentment, I forced my eyes away. I felt a slight cramp from the full bladder. Tiptoeing, I made my way to the bathroom and gently closed the door behind me. I stopped and giggled at my bare reflection in the mirror. My hair was a tangled mess, and my lips were swollen and bruised. Pressing my fingertips against my sore lips, I laughed to myself, remembering what we’d just done a few hours ago.
The thought was rudely interrupted when I felt a pull on my bladder again. I hurried to the toilet. After I finished, I wiped myself. My body trembled at the sight of bright red blood on the toilet paper. Oh my God! What’s wrong with me? Is this even normal? I wiped again—more blood and some cramping. I need to call Dr. Lee.
Chapter Twenty-Two
With shaky legs, I managed to slip on a cream silk nightgown and headed for Marcus’ office. I remembered leaving my cell phone on his desk after speaking with him about the money for Lou. I didn’t want to wake Marcus in case I was completely overreacting. This could be normal. I think I read something somewhere … I think. Oh God, please make sure my baby’s okay. I can’t lose my peanut. Protectively I wrapped my arms around my belly, somehow hoping that if I shielded my baby, he’d be okay.
Taking a seat on the plush leather chair, I located my cell phone. Scrolling down, I found Dr. Lee’s telephone number. It was late, a little before midnight. I knew he said that if I left a message stating it was urgent he’d contact me immediately. Dialing his number with the office phone on the desk, I waited for the beep at the end of his greeting. “Hello Dr. Lee, this is Mia Sullivan. I feel this may be an emergency. I’m bleeding, not heavily but a little more than just spotting. Please call to advise me on what I should do. Thank you.” Hanging up the phone, I sat there tapping my foot against the bottom edge of the wooden desk.
Should I wake Marcus so he could take me to the ER, or should I patiently wait for Dr. Lee’s call? It hadn’t even been five minutes yet, and I was dreading the waiting game already. I almost gave in when I remembered the folder! I pulled it out from the drawer and stared at the name before opening it. It was a regular-sized file folder. It was pretty thick with documents. Why would he keep a folder on me? The tab had a label with all caps printed M. SULLIVAN. Maybe it contained work information, but, then again, it wouldn’t be kept in his home office.
When I opened the file, the first document was an eight-by-ten photo. It was a distant image of two men. It looked like they were talking in a park. The next document was the same two men in the park, but it was a closer image. I couldn’t make out the other man, but I instantly identified Marcus. He was wearing his all-black suit, and the collar from his shirt was white. Since it was a profile picture, I couldn’t tell if he was wearing a tie. He was standing slightly hunched over, one hand pointing in another direction and the other pointing at the man. Marcus uses his hands a lot when engaged in conversation. I could tell by his posture that he wasn’t angry. He was telling a story of some sort.
When I turned to the next picture, my heart dropped. I was wrong, oh yes, very wrong. The image of the two was closer, and I made out the second man instantly: his familiar golden brown hair, his fair complexion and handsome profile. His eyes were familiar. The skin on the side of his temples wrinkled when he laughed. The brown leather jacket I bought him for Christmas two years ago was snuggled comfortably against his athletic build. This file was not on me. No, it was on Michael, my brother. Slowly I stood from the chair, grabbing the documents and pressing them against my chest. Walking around the desk in disbelief, I instantly felt faint, dropping to my knees. The documents I held fell before me.
Images of my brother and Marcus laughing, talking, patting each other on the shoulder were spread all before me. There were documents of meetings at a warehouse, transcripts of conversations between the two, between other mafia groups, regarding drug and gun deal arrangements. Overwhelmed by it all, I was engulfed by tears, allowing drops to fall over the papers lying before me. Marcus not only knew my brother but they were friendly with one another.
My brother couldn’t have been involved with the Sorrento’s mafia family. He was an undercover detective. Wait! He was an undercover detective! Did Michael have an assignment to go undercover with the Sorrentos? If that were the case, then he was closely watching Marcus as well. Was Marcus involved with my brother’s death?
“There you are. I was looking all over …” Marcus walked through his office door. I snapped my head up when I heard his voice. He was staring at me curiously. His lips twitched to a slight crooked grin. “What are you doing on the floor, Mia?”
My chest moved rapidly as my heartbeat began to pick up pace. I tilted my head, watching him. No, he couldn’t have been involved with Michael’s death. Shaking my head, I stared at him again. He took a few steps towards me. I flinched, and he froze at my reaction.
His now worried face searched mine, trying to find what could have possibly caused me so much pain. His eyes wandered from me to the documents. He cocked his head at the papers spread on the floor and inched over to them. Bending, he hovered over the pieces and picked one up to eye level. His eyes grew larger as his lips spread apart.
Marcus brought his eyes back to me. My eyes pleaded with his. He didn’t explain anything—just stared in shocked at the information I’d just found. My hands were clenched against my chest. I tried to speak, but my tongue felt dry. He reached for me, but I pulled back. “No,” I managed to spit out through the hoarseness of my tone. He cringed at my refusal. “No,” I said again. “No. No. No. You lied to me, Marcus!” Shaking his head, he shifted to his knees so that we could be at eye level. “Yes, you lied to me! How could you? You knew Michael this entire time? Did you know about me before we met? Did you know who I was that night at the club?”
Blowing out a deep shaky breath, he shook his head. “No, Mia, I didn’t know who you were.” Licking his lips, he looked down at the documents spread underneath him. “I did lie to you when you asked me the day we drove to the airport if I knew Michael—when you said your
brother was a detective. I should have caught on, but when you said his name and your last name, I put it all together.” He tried to reach for me, and I pulled back again, falling on my behind. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
“You do not get to call me baby! I’m not your baby I’m nothing to you!” A noise of pain released his lips as his shoulders and head dropped. “Did you kill him?” My demand brought his watery eyes back to mine.
“No!” He shook his head violently, disgusted that I even thought it.
“Were you involved with his murder, Marcus?” I slowly began to rise, standing over him wanting answers.
“Mia, no!” He pleaded, his hands reaching up to grab my waist.
I smacked them away. “But you know who killed him, don’t you?”
Exhaling deeply, he closed his eyes. Biting his lips, he gently nodded.
“It was Lou, wasn’t it?” Just speaking his name out loud pissed me off. Slowly my rage began to build. When he gently nodded his head again, I reached my boiling point. “You go and work for him almost every other night, and then you come home to me?” My trembling voice slowly began to pick up in volume, “knowing, he killed my brother!”
Unable to breathe, unable to think, unable to make sense of anything, I smacked him. I was so angry with him. It hurt me to know this entire time he was lying. Everything, every emotion I felt, every single pain I dealt with since we met, I took it out on him at this very moment.
Balling my fist, I swung at him, and continued to punch him over and over, hitting his face, his chest, and his shoulders—anywhere that was visible. Dropping to my knees inches away from him, I continued to pound on his chest, and he let me. He didn’t move, didn’t try to get away, and didn’t even flinch. It was as if he knew he deserved every inch of the pain.
“Why Marcus? How could you do this to me?” My wrist gave out, and in a slower motion I lightly punched his chest one last time before burying my face into it. Sobbing, I tried to find a normal way of breathing, but my cries were uncontrollable. Wrapping his arms around me, his weeping overpowered mine. “I’m so sorry, Mia. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to … fuck, please forgive me.” No, I couldn’t, not this time.
“I hate you, Marcus. I hate you so much.” Those words hurt us both. Though that was what I felt at that moment. So I pulled away from him. I couldn’t look into his eyes. Quickly standing, he hovered over me. I pushed him away. Walking over to his desk, I grabbed my phone.
Grabbing my wrist, he begged me not to go. With the blood pulsing through my veins, my rage quickly boiled. Turning to face him, I shoved the palms of my hands against his chest. I was surprised by my own strength. Although he was bigger than me, I forced him to stumble back a few steps, landing on the wooden desk. He managed to balance himself, but he didn’t move. His sorrowful eyes were staring into mine, pleading. Those eyes that I once fell for, that I trusted, that allowed me fall under his spell. Those eyes now only fill my stomach with such vile disgust.
Collecting my thoughts was impossible. My mind was racing at a thousand miles per hour. I’d never felt so much pain in my life. I gave him one last look, but he did and said nothing. His eyes were saddened, but I didn’t care. I wanted to get away! I turned away from him and ran as fast as I could. I could hear him yelling my name.
Snatching my purse from the table without looking back, I struggled to unlock the front door. I managed to open it with a shaky hand, tripping down the first few steps realizing at that moment my feet were bare. Carelessly I ran down the driveway and reached my car. I shoved my hand into my bag to collect my keys, but I couldn’t find them. Shit! He was by the door. Rushing in the process, I was able to locate the keys and jump into the driver’s seat.
Looking up, I found him on the bottom step, yelling, begging me to stop. My heart was pulsing at such a rapid speed I felt nauseated and lightheaded. After turning on the ignition, I raced out of the driveway and onto the street. The speedometer reached ninety-five miles per hour. My hands were sweating, and my heart was pounding so loudly I could barely hear myself breathe.
After twenty minutes, I was far enough to pull over by the curb, checking my rearview mirror. He was nowhere in sight. I made sure the doors were locked. Then burying my face into my hands, I screamed and burst into sobs, allowing all the rage and betrayal to pour out. How could I have believed and trusted him? How could I have been so stupid? This whole time he was warning me, but I was blind and didn’t care. I wanted the good and bad—all of him.
Knowing at that moment what he truly was, I realized that everything was just lies. Aarrgh! I looked down, trying to catch my breath. Through blurry, watery vision, I caught sight of my cream silk nightgown spotted in bright red blood.
My thoughts were uncontrollable. I was trying to make it all go away, and I pounded my fists against my temples, but all that managed to do was inflict additional pain. Why me? My chest felt tight and it was so hard to breathe I was hyperventilating. After a few minutes of taking deep long breaths, I was able to control the airflow through my lungs.
The loud ringing of my phone pierced through my thoughts. Thinking it was Marcus, I was going to cut the damn phone off, but it wasn’t him. It was Dr. Lee. “Hello,” I answered urgently.
“Ms. Sullivan. This is Dr. Lee. I just received your message. Are you still spotting or feeling any cramping.”
Choking over my tears, I burst out, “It’s a lot of blood. It seeped through my gown—”
Cutting me off, he spoke in an urgent but controlled tone. “I need you to meet me at the hospital. I can make it there in fifteen minutes.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Ms. Sullivan, the procedure could take anywhere from thirty to forty minutes. We are giving you general anesthesia. When you wake up, you will feel a little groggy. I want you to count down, beginning from one hundred.”
“One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-ei…”
I awoke feeling confused. Just a minute ago, I was lying in a cold operating room, counting backwards, and now I’m in another room. A woman in navy blue scrubs was standing a few inches away from the edge of the bed. She was scribbling away on a piece of paper. My eyes felt heavy; it was exhausting trying to keep them open. The nurse must have sensed my attempt to stare. Looking from under her glasses, a warm gentle smile spread along her face. Placing the clipboard into a holder on the end of the bed, she walked to my side. “Hi Ms. Sullivan, my name is Sandy. I’m the RN on this floor. You’re in the recovery room. How are you feeling?”
Trying to locate my voice, I mumbled, “Uh, I feel really groggy and thirsty.” She gently smiled and giggled.
“That’s normal. Dr. Lee will be in to speak with you in just a few minutes. Your mother is speaking with him at the moment. In the meantime, I’ll grab you some water.” She left the room, leaving me in a daze.
A couple nights ago—that night I left him—I went in to see Dr. Lee. Some testing showed that my HCG levels were dropping, and Dr. Lee could no longer hear the heartbeat of my little peanut. I was miscarrying, and Dr. Lee recommended that I allow the fetus to pass on its own. When I followed up this morning, he said that only half of the fetus passed, and he strongly recommended a D&C to prevent an infection.
There was one problem. I could only be discharged if I had someone drive me home. The past few days I stayed in a hotel room, avoiding the outside world. The thought of home sent me into a depression. I couldn’t go home because he would surely be there. Then I thought of Jeremy. I wanted tell him everything, but I was afraid he would call him. I didn’t even attempt it. Who could I have called? Where could I’ve gone? I didn’t have any other friends, and the people that I was close with were all his family.
Then my mother popped in my head. When I called her, she didn’t recognize my voice. I’m not sure I would’ve been able to recognize my own voice either. It was raspy and unintelligible from the yelling, screaming, and crying I’d done the past few days: yelling at him after finding out what he’d kept
from me, screaming from the top of lungs for feeling betrayed and neglected, and crying from the loss—the loss of our love, the loss of the trust, and the loss of our child. At that moment, I wished I was under again away from my thoughts. My whole life had caved in, and I wasn’t sure I had the strength to recover from this.
Tears ran down the side of my temples as I lay there and wondered how something so perfect could completely turn into one huge disaster. I knew he had the right to know about our baby, but I also knew I wasn’t ready to face him. Knowing that, I couldn’t go home just then. I took my mother’s offer and stayed with her for a while. It was the only place I knew he wouldn’t find me. At one point, his arms were where I felt safe. Now I am running to away from him to feel safe.
“Ms. Sullivan, oh, I’m sorry. I could return …” Lost in my own sorrow, I didn’t hear Dr. Lee enter.
I managed to bring myself to sit. “No, it’s fine.” Before I could use my fingers to wipe my own tears, Dr. Lee handed me a tissue. The gesture for some unexplained reason brought fresh tears to my eyes. Lowering my head so he couldn’t see, I wiped the soft tissue against the moisture on my eyelids.
Pulling a chair beside my bed, he took a seat and opened a folder he held. “Ms. Sullivan, the procedure went very well. We were able to fully clean the cervix. There was no scarring or tissue damage. As discussed earlier, it was best to have the D&C, since only half the fetus passed. There will be bleeding and slight cramping that will occur for up to two weeks. I will prescribe you an antibiotic to prevent an infection and ibuprofen for any pain or discomfort. Here is a list of do’s and don’ts of what to avoid within the next two weeks. Do you have any questions?” he asked as I took the sheet of paper from his hand. I shook my head, and he stood.