The doctors tried to prepare me for what I was about to see. They warned me he would not look like himself.
They didn’t warn me enough!
His entire body is swollen to twice its normal size. Bruises and stitched up cuts cover his entire torso. One of his legs has been casted from the ankle to the thigh. They told me they would have to operate if he made it through the first forty-eight hours.
They don’t think he will. I could see it in their eyes, their body language, and the way they couldn’t make full eye contact with me when they spoke of his long-term prognosis.
They don’t foresee a long term for him and after seeing him for myself—I don’t either.
I lay my head back down on his shoulder and curl up with him as close as I can without disturbing him. “I love you, baby. I love you now and always.” I lean over and kiss his blue cheek. It’s even cold to the touch, but I don’t flinch or pull away. I let my lips taste his skin and I let the reality of his situation sink in further.
As I close my weary eyes, I think back on all of the years I have been blessed to call this man my own. There are many in which I can recount. We’ve been together since we were teenagers and we’ve experienced all of our milestones together as one. Not many people find the love of their life at such a tender age. Even fewer hold onto them as we have.
People come and go, but watching our families come in and say their good-byes is the hardest.
I sit back and watch as they cry and touch his battered face. Even though I know he’s clinically already gone...I still wish he would open his eyes...just one last time. Maybe it would lessen the heartache I feel—knowing I’ll never get to say good-bye to him as he looks deep into my eyes. He wouldn’t have to tell me that he loved me.
I’d see it.
I’d know it.
I’d feel it to the very depths of my bones.
His eyes have always been the path to his heart. I miss them so much that I physically ache when I think of never looking into them again. It’s a raw and open suffering and burns with a longing so painful that I can’t attempt to put it into words.
It’s been four days since Derek’s accident and I, in my own way, have come to terms with the fact that he left that morning never to return home to me. The only peace I can find is that I had told him I loved him before he left that day. We laughed. We loved. We played during our final moments together. Another blessing I tell myself to count, but it’s so fucking hard when I hurt beyond measure.
The doctors walk in and I give them a brief nod.
I gently whisper into his ear my final farewell. “I love you, baby. Always and forever.”
The machines are disconnected and I watch in a state of complete detachment as Derek takes his last breath and his heart beats its final beat. I hold his hand through it all and my eyes never leave his...hoping and praying that he’ll open them just one final time.
But he never does.
Chapter 2
“You can’t stay cooped up in this apartment forever, Marissa!” my sister, Leah, calls out from the bathroom before she slams the door shut.
We’ve had this argument countless times over the past couple of months. Me, saying I don’t want to go out. And her, insisting I need to in order to get over the death of Derek. I think she fails to realize that I don’t give a crap about going out anymore. I don’t care what people think of me. I don’t care about having fun. The only thing I really care about these days is work.
I work no less than sixty hours a week, and when I come home, I drink a bottle of wine and pass out, only to get up and do it all over again the next day.
Work stabilizes me.
Being home wrecks me and tears my heart in half.
It’s for that very reason that I sold the house last week and moved into this apartment. Walking through that door into the house that I used to share with Derek was like taking a butcher knife and cleaving my heart in half...repeatedly. It felt wrong to be there without him, and I felt like a pitiful excuse for a human being for not being able to cope.
The bathroom door opens and I look up from her book that she left on my coffee table. “Leah, what is this?” I ask as I finish reading a particularly hot scene where a man ties the woman down to the bed and whips her with a belt. The scene is explicitly vulgar and yet...I find myself somewhat aroused by the idea. I immediately push the thought back and slam the book shut.
Leah casually struts across the living room and plops down on the couch next to me. She reaches over and grabs the books and starts reading it. “This series is amazing.” She glances at me with a mischievous smirk before flipping to a page and reading aloud. “I’ve never known a lover like him before. He’s controlling. Dominating. And totally out of my league. But when he ties me down and demands my submission...I have never felt more free or aroused in my life.” She gasps dramatically and pulls the book to her heart. “I swear I have had to buy more batteries for my B.O.B. since reading this series than ever before. This is the stuff wet dreams are made of.”
I laugh out loud and shove her away. “You’re crazy. You know that, right?”
She gives me a look. “You know it’s hot. Here, take it.” She shoves the book at me. “I’ve already read this one three times. Read it all the way through and tell me that you don’t want to ride your dildo like it’s a bucking bronco.” She smiles her goofy smile and I can’t help but giggle back. “It’s seriously hot! And after reading this, you’ll never look at Parker the same again.” She shrugs, lost in her own mind. “Who knew guy on guy sex would be such a turn on?” she says under her breath. Her cheeks flushing a little.
“Leah!” I elbow her. “When did you become such a perv?”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to say that out loud.” The corner of her mouth tilts up.
I know that she totally meant to say that out loud. My expression turns serious. “You know you have to be careful, right? You just can’t run around hopping from bed to bed and party to party. Right?”
She ignores me and goes back to reading her book.
I don’t know why I even bother trying to scold her. Leah does what she wants, when she wants, and how she wants. She’s young, so for the time being, she’s allowed. But I’m afraid that her wild and careless attitude will get her into trouble one day.
I rise from the couch and toss the decorative pillow at her head. It bounces off and leaves her hair a mess. I almost laugh...but I catch myself before it escapes. Her piercing eyes promise revenge and I give a fake shiver to let her know that I am so scared...NOT. “That’s for taking my dress and not returning it, troll face.”
She sets her book down on the table and runs her fingers through her straight locks to fix her hair, locking eyes with me as I round the bar in the kitchen. “It’s not like you were going to wear it anyway. I know your game. You sit here and pretend to be interested in something so you can ignore life as it happens all around you. You do it all the time, M. The only problem is...I’m your sister, so I know what you're thinking even before you do.” She points back and forth between us. “We have that kind of connection, ya know. You can’t shit a shitter.”
I crinkle my nose at her lewd reference. “That’s just gross, Leah. And quit calling me M. I’m not a letter on the alphabet chart.” I bend over and reach into the fridge to pull out a drink.
“You don’t have to be so damn surly all of the time, Marissa.” The shuffle of fabric and bare feet padding across the floor alerts me to her nearness. “I lost him too, M. And he was like a fucking brother to me. You act as if you’re the only one hurting and it’s so far from the truth that it makes me want to bitch slap you.”
I turn around and push the fridge door shut with my foot. My hand shakes as I reach to set the can of soda on the bar. Staring down at the gray and white granite countertop, I silently begin counting the tiny white spots. My mouth feels like I just swallowed a bucket of sand as I fight to force the lump of emotion threatening to overflow down deep inside, whe
re the rest of my unaddressed emotions lie in turmoil.
She can’t possibly understand how much his loss hurts.
No one can.
He was my other half and now that he’s gone, I feel as if I can’t function anymore. Everything that used to be bright and colorful in my life has now turned a dull gray with flickering shades of pale ivory.
Life just isn’t worth living anymore.
And yet, I know that Derek would kick my ass if he saw me now. He would want me to go on living without him. Sure, he’d expect me to miss him, but he’d also expect me to move on. And that’s where I’m failing him the most. You see, I can’t move on because I find myself living in my memories every day. It’s those memories that offer a fraction of solace in my unending agony and crippling grief. It’s sheer torture curling up in my bed at night knowing that he’ll never lay beside me again. I reach over every night to touch the pillow that his head will never again grace with his thick brown hair and ruggedly handsome face. My big lumberjack.
My bottom lip begins to tremble, and before I know it, Leah has her arms wrapped around my waist and we’re both sobbing hysterically. “You can’t...understand.” I gasp between sobs. “I have no one. Nothing. It hurts so much. So much.” My words are a garbled mess as I lean on her shoulder and release the pain that has sucked the life from me.
We both cry and soothe each other for several minutes.
Leah pulls away and takes my face in her delicate hands. Her blue eyes are red-rimmed and still overflowing with fresh tears. “I know you hurt, M. I can’t even begin to imagine how much. But you have to know that he wouldn’t want this for you. Derek loved you so much. It would kill him to see you like this. You have to move on...for Derek. He would want that for you more than anything.” She leans in and puts her forehead against mine as I sniffle and try to come to terms with what I need to do.
“I know.” My voice is scratchy and comes out as more of a husky whisper.
I gently place my hands on hers and step away from her to make my way around the bar and then take a seat on one of the barstools.
Grieving for someone you loved as much as I loved Derek is physically and emotionally draining, and I just don’t have any more to give to the effort it takes. I’m so washed out, exhausted from crying and feeling bereft all of the time. I know I need to come to terms and find a healthier outlet for my sadness. I need to find that spark again that made me...me. Finding yourself when the other half of you is missing is like trying to find the perfect shell on a beach full of rocks. It seems like an impossible feat, but I know that I have to get my shit together and get back on track.
I take a drink of soda and let the cool, refreshing bubbles wash over my palette and down my parched throat. Leah takes a seat next to me on the remaining barstool and pulls a banana from the fruit basket. As she’s peeling it, a flashback of Derek and me comes to mind.
The night that we moved into our house, we celebrated with banana splits. He spoon-fed me as we sat on the floor in the middle of our bare living room. He purposefully slopped whipped cream and hot fudge on my chin and apologized by leaning in and licking it off. His lips made their way to my waiting mouth, and I’ll never forget how every time he kissed me it felt like an electric current lit from within.
We made love that night in our new house. Several times. He was slow and methodical in how he touched me and brought my body to life with a craving so strong I was practically begging him to take me. “My sweet little bit,” I whisper. Leah looks over at me with a pained expression. I offer her an equally pained smile. “That’s what he called me when he made love to me.” A bitter laugh escapes me as I run my finger over the granite and recall that night as if it were yesterday. Every detail comes to me in vivid clarity. I can almost feel his whispered words as they travel over my skin. “When I asked him why he called me little bit, do you know what he said?” She shakes her head as a tear runs down her cheek. “He said because no matter how many times I make love to you, I’ll always want just a little bit more. Just a little bit. But it’s never enough.”
I swipe the tear trembling on my upper lip away with the back of my finger. “I’ve lost him, Leah. I’ve lost him and I don’t know how to go on without him. Does that make me weak? ‘Cause I can’t bear to wake up tomorrow morning and know that he won’t be there beside me. And it hurts. God, it hurts so fucking much.” I wrap my arms around myself. It feels as if my chest is cracking open and my insides are going to burst apart if I don’t hold them in as tightly as I can.
Her hand closes over my thigh and gives a reassuring squeeze. “I know, sis. I know it hurts, and I don’t know how to make it better for you. It’s killing me. Please, don’t make me lose you, too. Please, M. Please pick up the pieces and fight to get your life back. I miss my sister,” she pleads, her eyes conveying a sense of powerless vulnerability.
I give a weak nod. “Charlie overheard Derek talking to me one day on his lunch break. He heard him tell me that he loved me.” A small smile breaks across my weary face. “He heard him call me little bit. He’s called me that ever since.” Leah laughs through her tears and I can’t help but chuckle along with her.
Strangely, it eases the pain inside and I allow myself to bask in its momentary reprieve. My tense muscles relax a little and I rest my arms on the bar.
“I was going to ask you about that. I’d heard Charlie call you that at Christmas parties. I bet he had no idea the meaning behind it, did he?” She grins.
I laugh weakly. “No, he sure didn’t. But Derek used to love how red my face would get when Charlie would belt out the nickname in front of a room full of people.” We both smile.
Derek loved to give me a hard time, and he was always looking for little ways to make me laugh. Thinking back to all of the times that Charlie unknowingly sparked that laughter by calling me that nickname makes me giggle under my breath. It went on for years and Derek never saw fit to tell him the hidden meaning. Thank god for small mercies.
Two weeks. That’s how long Leah has been staying with me—sharing her sexy books and trying to get me out of the house. I wake up each morning feeling a little better, after having spent the night with my sister watching comedies, or discussing the latest BDSM romance novel she’s picked up until the wee hours of the morning.
Even though I have to work today, I didn’t pressure her to go to bed last night, and if I'm honest with myself, our chats about hot men and bondage have become something I look forward to. It’s nice to hear her laughter and to laugh a little myself. I had almost forgotten what it felt like. To live in the moment and not worry about anything other than what is happening right then and there. The freeness that comes with that mentality is uniquely refreshing.
I stand and stretch my stiff limbs and then head to the bathroom for that all-important morning bathroom visit. After I relieve my bladder, I walk to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. As the smell of fresh coffee perks my senses, I grab my phone and flip through my work email account. More of the same...container lease agreements, fuel prices, stock market info, and an itinerary from Parker with my meetings for today. I don’t know what I would do without that man. He keeps me organized and on track, which, considering my state of mind the last couple of months, is no small task.
After showering and getting dressed, I make my way to the kitchen and pour myself a cup of coffee. As I stand there wading through the haze in my mind that comes from not being a morning person, I’m hit with a sudden moment of inspiration. On the annual calendar is a date circled eight months from now. The convention that I begged my boss to let me attend. Derek hadn’t been too keen on the idea of me traveling to Olympia for the business getaway, but I hadn’t relented on the importance of the connections I could make while there. Many CEOs would be there taking in the lectures about advances in technology and the eventual changes in transportation that new DOT standards would bring about. It would be a proverbial Who’s Who in the world of logistics and greater business.
> Maybe that meeting is exactly what I need in order to get over this hump, I think to myself. Being around influential people who walk in Fortune 500 circles would definitely pull me from the murky waters I have been wading in. Even if it's so far away, at least it gives me a small light at the end of a very dark and dreary tunnel.
I can start working on my presentation today and have Parker collect some data for further research. A perfect way to focus my energy on something that could benefit my career immensely.
It’s with that thought in mind that I drive myself to work and feel the dark clouds inside begin to shift a little, allowing a small ray of sunshine to break through.
Chapter 3
The hotel lobby is buzzing with conversation as I step out of the elevator. Parker and I have been in one presentation after another and I’m ready for a stiff drink to unwind the coiling tension in my stiff neck and aching back. Those chairs were about as comfortable as sitting on a balance beam for ten consecutive hours.
“Are you even listening to me?” Parker asks.
I stop my forward progression to the delectable bar that might as well be a watery oasis in the Sahara desert and turn to my assistant to give him my undivided attention. Much to my dismay, he smirks at the snarl I’m sporting and pokes me in the ribs.
“Easy now. You don’t want to appear an overzealous lush now do you?” He winks.
“At this point in the day, I don’t care what my appearance is as long as I no longer feel the stiffness in my joints. My brain is on a mental vacation and my back feels like the hounds of hell are treading upon it.” I reach back to rub the pain shooting down from the small of my back to the crack of my butt. “What were they thinking in selecting those awful chairs? I mean, sure they were pretty and all, but they offer the comfort of a pointed fence post at best.”
A Whisper Of Solace Page 21