by Liv Bennett
Mercy that I’m not worthy of.
And I hate myself even more.
Nevertheless, I wrap my arms around her fragile body carefully, as if she may break with the slightest pressure. My lips find their way on her forehead, and I shiver with the coldness of her skin.
She’s unusually absent, somewhere else in her mind on the drive back home, and I know better than to interrupt her. I wish she could doze off a little, though.
Because she looks like she may collapse any second, I slide my arm around her waist, as we stroll to the elevator then to home. She stays for a moment at the doorway, hesitant to enter. Does she remember the night we spent here, being coaxed into having sex with me yet another time? I hit the definite bottom when I forced her in her office, and took her as if she was a random woman I met at a club and not the woman I love. My mother must be rolling over in her grave.
For some strange reason, a flicker of smile shines on her lips. What the hell?
“What is it?” I drop my jacket and her hospital bag on the chair.
“Nothing.” She bites her lips to hide a smile, in vain.
While examining her face to read what she’s not telling me, I help her slide out of her jacket and hang both mine and hers on the hook. “Are you hungry? I can cook something light to keep us until the dinner.”
“No, I’m fine. I just need to rest.”
“Sure. Bree packed a bag for you with clean clothes and pajamas. It’s in the bedroom. Come on. I’ll help you get changed.” I stride toward the bedroom, and she follows suit. I open the suitcase and pull out the first things on the top; a pink tank top, and black pajama bottoms.
“They’re not mine.” She points at the price tag to show it to me.
“Bree must have bought them, although we agreed she’d pick up clothes from your condo.”
“Yeah. Whatever. Umm… I need to shower first. I stink.”
Shower? Shit, shit, shit. What am I going to do now? Of course she’ll have to shower, and I’ll have to help her. “Right, right.” I swallow as I move to her and carefully pull the hem of her t-shirt over her head. Her black-lace bra does nothing to hide her breasts, much less the hardening of her nipples. Taking care of her is going to be harder than I imagined. She turns her back to me, and I undo her bra and pull down her pants and panties, and she steps out of them. Grabbing a towel, I wrap it around her on the way to the bathroom.
“Just a quick shower. I don’t know how long I can stand on my feet.” She steps into the bath tub and leans on the tiles.
The quicker the better.
Lifting her hands, she motions with her chin to the bandages. “I need something to cover my wrists to keep the bandages from getting wet.”
I stop to think. The nurse didn’t mention anything about it. How odd, because she talked about so many seemingly unnecessary things, like the type of drugs Taylor wasn’t supposed to take. “I can go to Rite Aid around the corner. They must have bandage cover or something.”
She exhales a long breath, looking paler by the second. “I can’t wait that long. I’m tired already. Don’t you have some Ziplocs? Or even a plastic bag will do.”
“I’ll go see what I have.” I run to the kitchen, rummage around, and collect any storage bags I can find. “Here, which one do you think will fit?” I ask when I’m back in the bathroom.
She points toward the Ziploc, and I hold it up so she can put her hand inside it, then repeat with another for her other hand. By the time, we get into the shower—I take off my clothes in a heartbeat—she’s swaying left and right as if she’ll faint in a matter of seconds. Maybe, it’s not such a bad thing, because it keeps me focused on the work at hand. I shampoo her hair and soap her body both quickly and efficiently, while she keeps her hands up to keep the water from spilling inside the bags.
At the end of the five-minute shower—or maybe shorter—her breath becomes laborious, and her body is on the brink of collapsing. I hurry to wrap a towel around her, throw a bathrobe on me, scoop her up, and carry her to the bed. When I look down at her face, her eyes are closed.
“Taylor?” I whisper, fearing she fainted.
“Hmmm,” she murmurs, her eyes still closed.
“I’ll put on your sleeping clothes now.”
“Hmm hmm.”
I make sure I dry all around her body, before I slip her panties then her pajama bottoms up her legs. I pay extra care while pulling the tank top over her head and slip her arms through the straps. When she’s fully clothed, I drag her up to the pillows and tuck her under the covers. Her skin is icy cold, and her wet hair isn’t helping. Pulling all her hair up, I lie down behind her and hug her from her back to warm her up faster. Soon her breathing steadies and her muscles relax. I close the curtains over the windows and exit the room, leaving the door a little ajar.
I check the time on my phone and see two missed incoming calls; one from Bree, the other from Adriana. I call Bree first.
“You called?”
“Yeah, just wanted to see how Taylor is doing.”
I don’t want to tell her Taylor is bone-tired and nearly fainted in the shower. She was already way too stressed all the while Taylor was at the hospital. She doesn’t need to worry more. “She’s sleeping now. How is it at work? Did Nielson called?”
“Yes, he wants to make an appointment to meet you and Taylor next week to discuss the project. I offered him a lunch appointment on Friday and he’s okay with it.”
I lower my voice as I speak, “Friday? Let’s hope Taylor will recover by that time.” Which I think is highly unlikely, but miracles do happen.
“Yeah.”
“I’m gonna start cooking dinner.” I ordered a fridge full of food online at the hospital for Taylor’s stay here. But, we probably won’t be able to finish it all. “Wanna come and join us?”
“Really? Sure. I’d love that. At what time shall I be there? Shall I bring something, a desert, or salad?”
I snort. “Just bring yourself and a cheerful mood.”
“Oh, by the way, did you see the list of the companies with the biggest growth rate in California?”
“Yeah. Good that you brought it up. Taylor’s gonna freak out about the news. I’m not surprised, though. Be here at seven.”
“I will. Bye.”
I stroll to the kitchen, put rice in cold water in a bowl, grab some ice cubes made of bone broth out of the freezer, and set about seasoning and salting a large piece of rib eye steak. When I’m done with the preparations, I dial Adriana’s phone.
“Why are you ignoring your sister? I called you, like, five times yesterday. Is everything okay?” she asks. I hear giggles from the background. The girls must be having fun.
I know I should keep Taylor’s suicide to myself, but Adriana might have an insight about how I should take care of her. Or a home remedy to boost Taylor’s immune system or at least some nourishing recipes for someone with a lot of blood loss. Anything. “Things have been a little rough these days… Taylor tried to commit suicide.”
“What? Oh my God. How is she now?”
I lean against the counter, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. I’ve been holding myself together to be strong for Taylor, to be there for her at her most vulnerable times, but it’s becoming too much. Guilt, failure, fear, anger, remorse… All the emotions are boiling deep inside me, pressurizing to explode any minute. I need to get it out. I need to talk to someone, and who is better than my older sister to talk to? “I don’t know. I guess a little better, but she looks very weak. Maybe you—”
“This is out of line. I tried hard to tolerate her because of Jack, but what she did is almost nullifying your sacrifice to save her life in the assault a few weeks ago. Such an ungrateful piece of brat.”
What the hell is she talking about? My blood shoots up to my head; my pulse accelerates. “Look, I understand you siding with Pat, and you wanting me to go back to her. But, you have no idea what Taylor has been going through. I won’t let you speak like that
about her. One more bad word, and this will be the last time you’ll hear from me. I’m serious, Adriana. You have to watch your mouth about Taylor. Or I won’t care if you’re my sister or my mother. Do you hear me?”
“I don’t know what kind of spell that witch—”
“Taylor!” I roar at the phone, my fist landing on the counter.
“Fine, fine. Whatever you say.” Her voice softens, but I guess my threat will not suffice to make her change her mind about Taylor. As long as she keeps her mouth shut, that’s enough for me. She doesn’t speak for a while. It’s clear she doesn’t have the guts to chitchat nonsense about her life, as she always does during our weekly phone calls.
I inhale and exhale slowly to keep my anger under control and examine my fist, which is now red and hurting. “Gotta go. I’ve got things to do.”
“Okay, call me when you can.”
I press end without saying goodbye. How dare she speak like that about Taylor, or stick her nose into my life? Her nagging attitude as if she’s my mother, urging me to call Pat, repeating again and again how much she’s suffering, even years after I left her… I’ve enough shame already dragging me down daily for what I did to Pat without Adriana’s irritating reminders.
Rubbing my fist, I inspect the damage and then grab an oven pot. Cooking will be my distraction. Carefully I prepare the steak and the vegetable and place them in the oven to cook for half an hour.
A mumbling voice catches my attention, and I pace to the bedroom to find Taylor pressing her wrists against her chest, her eyes closed, her face cringing as if she’s in pain.
I flip on the lights and walk over toward her, kneeling down in front of her. “What is it?”
“I think I’ve made a wrong move.” Her face is still cringing.
I find all my body tensing at the sight of her suffering, my teeth clenching tightly together. I wish I could take her pain into my body. “I’ll get you an ice pack.” I hurry back to the kitchen, pick two packs of ice from the freezer, and stride back to her in a flash. Pulling her forearms gently, I place the ice packs on her wrists and hope the cold will help her sooth the pain.
“I’m feeling better now.” Slowly, she opens her eyes, her face a little more relaxed.
I study her face for traces of pain, and luckily I see none. “Are you hungry? I’m cooking dinner. Bree will join us. But, you can stay in bed if you don’t feel like it, or I’ll throw a pair of pillows for you on the couch in the living room. What do you say?”
“I’ll take the couch. And a blanket, please. It’s strangely cold in your condo.”
“It’s you, baby. You’re still very weak. Come on, I’m cooking some juicy beef steaks for you to stock up on iron. And rice cooked in bone broth, too. My mother’s secret recipe.”
I grab two pillows and the comforter and walk out, glancing back at her as she follows me. She sprawls on the couch, and I cover her with the comforter. She hands me the icepack and rests her head on the pillows.
Just when I announce the dinner is ready, Bree knocks on the door as if she was waiting there for the announcement. She hugs me first and walks toward Taylor, with a bouquet of purple irises in her hands.
“How are you?” She leans down to hug Taylor and leaves the flowers on the coffee table.
“Getting better.” Taylor’s smile is tight.
I go back to the kitchen to bring out a vase with water for the flowers and the plates. Bree puts the flowers inside the vase and helps me turn the coffee table into a diner table, and then sits in the armchair across from Taylor. Putting on some classical music, I settle on the couch beside Taylor and start feeding her the beef and the rice.
“Anything new at work?” Taylor asks Bree between chewing.
“Everything is going well.” Bree wipes her lips with a napkin. “I didn’t mention to anyone the incident. I just said that Adam and you are off to visit a territory in northern California for a new project. Nielson’s assistant called to make an appointment for next week. I gave him the spot but I’m sure he won’t mind postponing it if you can’t get back to work by then.”
“Don’t worry about work.” I give Taylor another spoon full of rice to keep her quite until I give her my big news. “I quit my other job to be able pay full-time attention to our projects.”
“Why did you do that?” she asks, without caring about the food in her mouth “That’s not a good move for your career.”
“That’s actually a very good move,” I begin to explain. “We made it to the top fifty of the fastest growing small businesses in California. That, with only a handful of projects. Now that I’ll work full time, we can take up more projects and hit more lists of successful companies. Already some more potential clients showed interest in our work.”
Bree nods her head enthusiastically. “The phones didn’t stop these last two days since our name appeared on that list. We’ll need Adam and more employees to keep up with all the new projects. Oh, and don’t forget the Berenson Country Club.”
Taylor darts her eyes between me and Bree, frowning, as if she’s assessing the truthfulness of our answers. “You’re not lying to me to pick up my mood, are you?”
Bree and I shake heads in synch.
“Why would we do that?” Bree leaves her plate on the table and pulls out her phone from her purse. “Here, you can see the list for yourself.” She hands me the phone so I can hold it for Taylor to see the list.
“It really is true.” Taylor flashes a big, beautiful smile but despite that, she looks as if she’s going to burst into tears any minute.
I tilt head down to get a better view of her eyes. “You’re not gonna cry, are you?”
“Maybe.” She lifts a hand and covers her nose with the back of it. “I never thought it’d—” A sob stops her and other sobs follow. “It’s all thanks to you, guys. You’ve given your best for the company. You’ve been always there for me, teaching me the insights of the business, supporting me, correcting my mistakes patiently.”
“Don’t underestimate your abilities,” Bree says. “You’re a great manager, not very friendly, but a great one, nonetheless. If they run an employee satisfaction assessment among the companies on that list, we’d be among the top three, if not the first one.”
“Not a very friendly one, huh?” Taylor mocks an annoyed glare, which earns laughter both from Bree and me.
“You’re not the worst, though. Valerie can easily beat you at unfriendliness,” Bree jokes, or does she? I can’t tell by the tone of her voice; half serious, half laughing.
“How is Valerie by the way?” Taylor asks. “She was very depressed over something on Monday. That’s why we wound up getting drunk. But, I can’t remember what she was depressed about.”
Bree shrugs, chewing food absentmindedly. “She didn’t strike me as depressed. She looks her usual self, straight-faced and a little grim.”
“You’re a badass, Bree,” I say, and Bree and Taylor throw a fit of laughter. I like how Bree lifts up our spirits. Which makes me think I should invite her over more often while Taylor is here so she gets more positive vibes.
I keep on feeding Taylor until everything on the plate is safely transferred into her stomach and then put on a movie for us to watch. A romantic comedy with great ratings, mind you. I intend to stir more laughter out of Taylor tonight and hopefully for the rest of her life.
After Bree leaves, Taylor relocates to the bed in my bedroom, looking a little more joyful and livelier. Must be the combination of my mother’s secret recipe combined with the Bree effect. Putting on a t-shirt and sweatpants, I switch off the lights and wish her goodnight.
“Wait, you’re not sleeping here with me?” she asks.
Wasn’t it obvious? “You’ll sleep better without me tossing and turning around right beside you.”
“Please stay.” There’s begging in her voice and maybe fear, too. Is she afraid of being alone?
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Well, only until I
fall asleep, then?”
Sliding under the cover beside her, I lie on my back and rest my head on my hands. She sneaks over to me and places a hand on my chest. The darkness prevents me from seeing her; nonetheless, there is no diminishing of power in my desire for her.
I swallow the sudden sensation of dryness in my throat and cover her hand with mine. “I haven’t properly apologized for forcing you to have sex with me. I’m very sorry.”
“Which one are you apologizing for?” she asks, revealing no hint about her thoughts in her voice.
“All of them, the last one particularly.”
She doesn’t respond, doesn’t move. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I make out the details of her face. She’s biting her lips as if she’s keeping herself from speaking or from yelling at me. She won’t forgive me. I don’t deserve her forgiveness, anyway. What I did was wrong in every way.
“I’m very sorry,” I repeat, my voice weak and trembling.
“Will you be surprised if I say you made me climax every single time, even the last time?”
My heart starts pumping like crazy, so does the throbbing in my penis. Of course I noticed how her inner muscles were clenching around me that day when I took her in her office. But, that’s not the thing to say to a man who has no limit in his sexual desire. And especially not when lying side by side on the same bed.
“I might have noticed it,” I say.
“You did? Oh, shit. How embarrassing.” She pulls her hand over my chest and covers her face with it.
“It’s me who should be embarrassed. Not you.”
“I guess I like it rough every now and then.” She chuckles, making me think she’s joking.
I can joke, too. “Be careful with what you’re saying or you may end up getting it.”
Her hand lands back on my chest, and she moves closer to me. I turn to face her only to find her lips too close to mine. I pull the cover over to me to keep my hands busy or they’ll just grab her face so I can taste those sweet lips that I’ve missed so much.
She clears her throat as if preparing to say something important. “Is it true? I mean is it true that you haven’t had sex with another woman since…” Her breath massages my skin, stirring more desire in me.