I tried to ask him to explain but he had slipped out of consciousness. Then I got paranoid because I was a known fighter and drunk, standing over a knocked-out kid. I stumbled out of the alley and started walking down the sidewalk. I passed all the bars I had been to, all the mountainous glass bottles. I felt this searing pain on the back of my head and it brought me to my knees. I looked up to call for help; I was in front of a very nice restaurant. The people were dressed in suit jackets and high heels, designer shoes and expensive jewelry.
They didn’t seem to notice me, though. As I think back on it, I realize they did notice me but they were ignoring me. I passed out on the sidewalk and then woke up in an ambulance. But it’s only now, after all this time that I think I know what that kid was trying to tell me. He told me not tell anyone, he made me swear. And his name was Jonathan. I only understood that much when I was in the hospital.
I had to see him and ask him again just what was meant by, “The way you are.” He explained it to me. He told me the whole story, how he ended up in the alley with the seven angry men. I didn’t know who they were, I had never met them, but I knew what they were. They were seven drunk and angry men. That means they were hunting. They wanted to overpower, exert themselves, exalt themselves, and it didn’t matter who they preyed on because they felt invincible.
So they found Jonathan and they knew him well enough to know he was hiding something about himself. They leaned on hate as they cornered him in the alley but they really just wanted to hurt someone. Maybe if Jonathan had kept his secret better or said he liked girls, maybe he would have been passed up on--but I am not much for excuses anymore. This was no fault of Jonathan’s. It wasn’t because he was provoking or asking for it. Those seven drunken assholes just wanted to hurt someone. They would have found any excuse to do so.
Chapter 27
I try to convince Maddox to talk to the police about the fight but he won’t agree to it. He says he can’t break the promise he made with Jonathan. I have no idea what to do next. We sit in silence for a while after Maddox tells me everything. I try to think of something to say, but everything that comes to mind seems trivial. The room isn’t completely devoid of happiness, though. Maddox leans back into the cushions of the couch. He closes his eyes as he sinks back into a restful position. The weight of a hefty promise had been crushing down on his shoulders for days now, but as he sits back his shoulders lower and his breathing paces out nicely.
Outside, the rain falls in light sprinkles of mist. Maddox opens his eyes and looks out to see that the rain has ceased its assault. He tells me to keep everything he said a secret. I tell him I will with a smile. I notice every time I smile at him, his face unwinds from the stone-face countenance that tightened up his forehead and thinned his lips. He looks very gorgeous when he smiles. His eyes wrinkle at the corners and his cheeks plump up as his lips spread the smile across his face.
I offer him more coffee, but he says he had to be getting back to his place soon. He lifts himself off of the couch and walks to the door. He turns to face me just before leaving. I walk out of the kitchen, but each step is a mile. In the time of each step, I can feel something fizz and crackle inside me. He can’t be more than a few feet from me now but I get this itch in my feet that makes me want to run to him.
He pulls his keys out of his soaked pocket. I am right in front of him. He looks up from his waist and I push my lips into his. His tongue traces the soft fullness of mine, and then I grab his face and pull him closer as if he is floating away. I let him go; his head rises up over his shoulders like the sun rising in the eastern sky. I can feel his heart beat through his damp shirt, thudding against my own. He looks at my lips, then to my eyes with a look that kindles feelings of fire and he gets a real hungry look when he says, “Can I see you tomorrow?” I nod and just before he can speak again I cut him off with my lips.
He has a sweet scent on his neck. I breathe it in one last time before he leaves. I bury my face on the side of his neck and welcome the smell to dance around my nose. He says nothing. His pupils get big as he looks into my eyes. I feel every muscle in my body strain as he walks away. I want him so badly I’m nearly ready to jump him in the rain, right in front of the whole complex. When he walks, he does so with a fluid stride, like he was never even in a fight, and he vanishes beyond my sight on a cool wind of perfect composure.
I shower, drink some green tea, and try to fall asleep, but the thought of Maddox and the hospital and Jonathan keep me awake. I can’t accept what happened to Jonathan. I decide to talk to him next shift, at the hospital, which isn’t too far away.
I still wonder about Maddox. He isn’t cured of his addiction; nobody is ever really cured, they just learn to handle it. From the sound of it, he might never be able to get his drinking under control. He’s prone to violence, has an explosive temper, lets down his loved ones---there is no good reason for the way I feel about him. People like Wernicke compartmentalize others into their sins. It is an analytic response to the other, to the different people in the world. After that, there isn’t anything left. You can’t prove or disprove, you can’t make up or apologize or fix anything. I think Maddox has something in him worth cherishing. I think he can be a good man. I still have doubts, but that’s okay. I can live with that. I’ll see him tomorrow and hopefully he can peel away every doubt as we get to know each other.
Chapter 28
It’s not because the sun is out or the clouds are shaping themselves into animal characters. It’s not the gentle breeze that wafts the smell of warm bread to my senses. It isn’t even the smiling faces that greet me today. The thought of seeing Maddox is the reason I’m wearing this smile. And the lingering taste of his lips on mine is the reel that plays on repeat in my mind. In the past, I have agreed with myself never to go to work happy and it has worked out rather well enough. It would be almost cliche to say it, but there is a lot of death and sickness in a hospital. But today it’s damn near impossible to keep the smile off my face.
There is a mirthless attitude most people adopt when they come to work. Of course I still think it is necessary to steel the mind for the task at hand. I mean I can’t have my head in the clouds as I tell someone they have lost their motor skills due to a stroke. And I can’t afford to misjudge a prescription or a symptom just because I am enamored. But such problems are the worry of lesser doctors. I understand that fear, but it has no use with me.
For some who find themselves in the tight grip of infatuation, they feel their better judgment suffers. It is often the case that when a woman makes her happiness known, the assumption is she will most likely shirk her duties or soften her edge or some such bullshit. For me, all the thoughts of Maddox strengthen my abilities.
I can work harder now, knowing I have something to work toward. The thought of seeing Maddox re-energizes me. My eyes will not grow heavy under the lack of sleep nor will my hands falter or shake beneath the weight of exhaustion because I have something now. I have passion in my life. Brought to me by my friendly neighborhood badboy, Maddox, thank you very much. I carry myself from one patient to the next, practically giddy and with far more vigor in my step than my colleagues.
I’m near the nurses’ station, checking a chart, when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I look up from the bold type to see Eleanora. We exchange hellos while walking down the hall. She informs me on the state of my patients, how her day is going, and we go back and forth discussing workplace trivialities. But her tone is off today. Her gestures are concealing. She keeps her arms close to her body and interlocks her fingers. After every question, she asks her eyes dart to my face as if she will miss something if she doesn’t whip her sights to me.
I stop in the middle of the hall, asking, “Is there something wrong?”
She darts her eyes off to the side until she finally drops her arms to her sides and blows out a breath. “It’s Jonathan. He wants to see you.”
“Did he say why?” I ask, checking either side of the hall as if someone mi
ght be listening in. Eleanora shakes her head. She tells me Jonathan is recovering well.
She leans in to me, asking, “Is it about the fight?”
I shrug and ask her how he even knows who I am. Eleanora looks down the hall, saying, “You are the star pupil of his father. Your name probably came up”
“But why does he want to talk to me?” I say under my breath. Eleanora offers to walk me to his room. I’m a kid again, going to see the principal. I can handle Mandel and Wernicke; after so many meetings with the bosses I have grown used to that walk. This time, it’s different. This isn’t about my performance or how I interact with the patients. We aren’t going to discuss prognosis or treatment. I feigned ignorance to Eleanora, but I know exactly what Jonathan wants to talk about; I just don’t know why he wants to discuss it with me.
We reach the room. The door is open and my stomach starts turning. I tell Eleanora, “I don’t feel well.” She offers to come inside but I tell her, “It’s better if I go alone.” She smiles and turns back down the hall.
Inside Jonathan’s room, there are fresh flowers surrounding the room like attentive family members. They have white envelopes tucked into their base. He immediately notices me as I slowly walk to the chair beside his bed. He asks, “Are you Lily?” I say yes. His face reflects a mosaic of pain. Yellowing bruises fade into light purple around his cheeks. His lip has a gash where they bled out the swelling. He looks better than before in some places, but one of his eyes still has stressed blood vessels that redden his gaze.
He says, “Hello,” and offers his hand for me to shake. He smiles through the pain as we shake.
I ask him how he is feeling, what pain persists, what treatment they are giving him.
He stops me by raising his hand. “You don’t have to worry.” We sit in silence for a moment till he tries to raise himself up, but gives it up after the pain is too much.
I tell him, “I know your father.”
He smiles and lets out a bassy laugh. The room quickly fills with the hums and beeps of the AC unit and the monitors. Feeling the pooling silence at my chest, I mention the only fact I know about Jonathan, “You are interested in becoming a police officer, right?”
He fires a confused look at me, then shifts his eyes to the end of his bed and tilts his head back saying, “Oh yeah. No not really. I mean, it’s just something I tell people when they ask me what I want to do, you know?”
He fires out the words like he doesn’t want them to linger on his lips. I can tell by his fidgeting hands that he doesn’t want to talk about jobs. Several times, he opens his mouth to say something but can’t seem to find the momentum. He points to a basket of flowers across the room and says, “That was a gift from my friends.” I look to the huge basket overflowing with white, yellow and red flowers.
“The card is signed by everyone I know in my class.” His eyes strain around the room; at each basket of flowers, he stops for a moment then continues to the next.
I wave my index finger at the baskets saying, “These are all from friends?” He laughs a little, then holds his side and winces at the pain. He points to another basket, saying, “That one is from my aunt. Guess what it says?”
I look to the basket that is overflowing with roses. “What does it say?”
“Get well soon.” He laughs again, this time trying to hold down the laughter with his arm.
I tell him the baskets are beautiful, and say, “Your family must really be concerned for you.”
He raises his eyebrows and nods slowly. He looks at the basket again and takes in a long slow breath. “They’ve been concerned about me for a long time.” His eyes shift lazily to the side and away from me. I try to dig into my memories for an anecdote or a story to help ease the pain. I try to think of when life was really hard for me and how I persevered. I dig deep into my mind for at least one semi-felicitous story I can use, but my search yields nothing.
He rolls his head on the pillow to face me with glazed eyes. He says, “I...I’m sorry for this.” He wipes his eyes with his wrist.
I tell him, “You don’t need to apologize for crying.” He shoots a quick glance before returning to drying his eyes. He clears his throat and tells me he isn’t apologizing for the tears. When his eyes are dry, he shifts in the bed a few times before settling and releasing a deep sigh. I’m still straining to find the right words. I don’t want to misjudge the situation, but I’m not at all certain what Jonathan wants me to do.
I remember seeing him before, lifeless, with no emotions on his face. Just the scarred and battered one that didn’t demand anything of you. Now, his face is lined in new pain. The subtle curves and strains on his forehead are screaming out in agony. This pain comes from within and it pierces my heart with grief because I can’t make it better.
Then he begins describing someone, a man, from the fight. I ask if he was one of the attackers. He shakes his head.
“He had his back to me.”
Jonathan’s voice is weak and muffled by emotion, or pain; I can’t tell which. He shuts his eyes tight, then opens them. He says, “The man was badly beaten,” and at first, I picture Jonathan himself in the alley. He says it didn’t matter how hard the man fought because he was outnumbered. Now I see Maddox swinging madly, exhausting every bit of energy to keep Jonathan safe.
“He was never going to succeed...but still, he kept going.” He stares through the wall like he can see Maddox out there somewhere.
Jonathan rolls his head to face me. He says, “The same man was in my room asking for permission.”
I ask, “Permission to do what?”
He strains to smile under the pain. “To tell you how I got here.” He gestures at the room. He clears his throat and says, “He told me his name but I forgot it. I only remember your name because he said it so many times.” Jonathan props himself up on his elbow, waiting for me to respond with a name.
I quickly tell him, “Maddox,” and Jonathan nods his head as he stares down at the floor.
He eases his back up against the pillows; all the while, he scrunches up his face. When he finds the right position to sit in, all the wrinkles on his face disappear. He breathes out the pain in deep billows of air. Again, we are in silence and it becomes clear that we might never get to the reason Jonathan wanted to see me.
So I ask him, “Why did you want to talk to me.”
He is caught off guard for moment. His eyes widen; he clears his throat and shifts his back against the pillows. His gaze shifts constantly, never settling in one place very long. He interlocks his fingers in his lap and finally begins,
“I wanted to say sorry.”
“For what?” I ask. The statement was so odd to me that I hardly knew how to react.
“For everything. The fight, Maddox...burdening you.”
I can quickly see where his train of thought is going. I retort before he can gain any steam, saying, “None of that is your fault, Jonathan.” I say his name with every bit of authority I can manage. He shakes his head at me and it’s clear he has enough momentum to carry his thoughts out.
“It is though, it is my fault,” he blares at me. He snaps his eyes closed, then turns his head away from me. He slowly opens his eyes. He takes a big gulp of air and immediately blows it out. With his head still turned away from me, he continues. “Sorry...look, this whole thing started with me. I was being stupid and…” He stops, trying to think of the next words to say.
This is my opportunity to jump in, so I say, “What happened that night is in the past. You don’t have to take the blame for someone else’s brutality.”
I want to shout at Jonathan. I want to tell him he’s the victim. He buries his wrist in his eyes to wipe away the tears again. He sniffs and tells me to stop. He says it was his fault. He thinks he is to blame when he half shouts, “I should have been more careful. I caused you and Maddox all this grief because of what I am.”
I feel a blade of fire rising in my stomach. He continues to tell me how the fight and M
addox being questioned by the police was his fault. He tells me he had Maddox keep the fight a secret, because if anyone knew why the fight began, it would reflect badly on his father. The blade is burning the back of my eyes. He chokes down the tears and settles back into the pillows. His hands tremble as they interlock over his lap. He looks to me saying,
“I was hitting on…” He pauses, closing his eyes tightly, then springs them open, “this guy from school. He didn’t like that, and so he and his friends cornered me and pushed me out into the alley.”
He rubs his forehead, saying, “If I had just left him alone, none of this would have ever happened.”
Lily's Temptation Vol. 1 Page 17