His head comes up and our eyes lock before he delivers the final blow, “Stella Jolie Reese was pronounced D.O.A., by not only paramedics, but the ER admitting RN.”
Chapter 44
Life
I’ve always considered my childhood, the reason for me being everything I was, both the good and the bad. Any strength I possess, I earned from my ability to withstand being drug through hell, time after time being broken, only to emerge from hell every brutal time stronger. Scarred, but stronger all the same. On the other side of that coin, it’s the scars left behind, the shattered pieces I glued back together after every horrible perversion I experienced which caused my nightmares to slowly creep into my strength and invade any sacred peace I held closely to me in life.
Don’t pity me. Don’t feel sorry for me. Everyone’s life is different. Everyone has their own issues and obstacles to overcome in life. Some worse than others; but it still doesn’t take away from the lessons.
Everything I experienced in my life led me back to Wesley Jacobs. Led me to the first and only boy I’ve ever loved. Wesley healed me. When I was wrapped in his arms, I became whole again. Wesley’s love is all consuming; it’s beautiful, courageous, fierce, and it was utterly precious. I will cherish the tiny moment in time, when I was his and he was mine, now and into my next life.
I was broken and scarred by the sins of others before Wesley came into my life and broke the ugly sins that bound me and held me as a prisoner. After he broke every piece of ugly I had left in me, he wielded me - bending me until changing everything I ever believed of myself, and then he covered me in his praise and protected me in his love.
So no, don’t pity me. Yes, I may have lived in hell, but in the end, it led me to being fiercely loved by a beautiful, strong man I fell in love with at twelve years old. How many women can claim they had a snippet of time in their life being loved by a man who is the epitome of their perfect, who is truly their soul mate?
Life is so poetic. The course and rhythm of it, the pulls and pushes, the give and takes, when what’s been reaped from what we’ve sewn.
When what nourishes us, heals us, and strengthens us sadly becomes the very thing that which destroys us.
All my life, I considered myself broken. What’s worse than being shattered? No one wants a broken thing. No one can love someone whose broken. I know now there is a difference in being broken and being destroyed. When you’re broken, you’re just broken; but when you’ve been destroyed…There’s no coming back.
Broken people are still living, destroyed people are not.
Chapter 45
Destroyed Angels
Trina, Eve, and Bo just left. It’s only Derrick and me in the waiting room. I keep telling him there is no need to stay but he shakes his head mumbling, ”I’m fine.”
Stella has been in surgery for over six hours. The admitting ER physician came in to call the time of death But as he walked through the door, the flat line on the heart monitor spontaneously indicated an agonal rhythm, a blip of a random heartbeat, meaning her heart began beating again while the ER nurses continued their CPR efforts. The physician, seeing this random heartbeat immediately reacted. She was instantly prepped for emergency surgery.
Over the last six hours she died on the OR table eight times… but she came back to life nine.
I don’t care how many times she dies on that table, she better come back every time. I can’t live life without her. I won’t. So as long as she keeps coming back, I’ll refrain from blowing my head off, right before I fall from the top of my building.
I will not live without her.
Derricks nudging brings me from my thoughts, I look over at him, he nods and I follow his line of vision. I see the doctor headed in our direction and I leap from my chair. “Doc, how is she? Can I see her? I need to see her. Now.”
“She made it through the surgery. To be honest with you, I don’t know how. Sometimes, especially with cases as critical as Stella’s, as a physician - a surgeon - there’s only so much I can do. And frankly, it’s just a last ditch effort, a last resort that has me doing any and everything I know to do just to get through the surgery and my patient still be alive. In Stella’s case, I scrubbed in for her surgery wholly prepared to give everything I have to keep her alive and truly believing that it was an impossible feat. Everything I did, her body responded to almost miraculously. Now Wesley, we wait and pray she lives through her hour of recovery. After that, we wait and pray she makes it through the night.” He pats my shoulder and smiles. “I want you to stay steadfast, Wesley but also try not to let your hopes get too high.”
“Thanks, doc. What room is she in?”
“Wesley you don’t want to see her right now. Just head home, get some rest and come back later.” He moves to walk around me and I stop him, grabbing him by his shoulders, shaking my head.
“Room. Tell me what room she is in. Do not tell me what I want, where to go and that I need rest. You tell me what room she is in.”
“Recovery room three.” I spin and head towards the double doors.
When I see recovery room three, I take a deep breath to calm myself before walking in.
Nothing. Nothing could have ever prepared me for what I see.
Tears hit my eyes and I choke on a sob. “Angel?” I whisper across the dimly lit room.
I step closer towards the bed as my eyes scan her bandaged body, when I see her black and purple hand resting on top of the white sheet, I sit beside her, gently pick her hand up and cradle it in mine. Tears blur my vision before streaming down my face in rivulets as I sit there, staring at her tiny battered hand in mine. “I’m so sorry, I tried to protect you but I’ve never protected anyone before and I failed you. I knew there was something. I just didn’t know what it was. I’m so sorry.” Laying my head on the bed next to her hand in mine, I gently kiss it and try in vain to hold back the sobs. “Please, I know I’m a selfish bastard, I know I let you down and I know I’ll never deserve you but please, Stella, don’t leave me…Angel, please don’t die and leave me here alone.”
The sound of the door opening and closing behind me causes me to sit up and rub my hand down my face wiping away the tears before looking to see who walked in.
“Hi. I’m Dr. Hughes, Stella’s obstetrician. The attending physician consulted me after the SAFE RN finished collecting any evidence they may have found during the rape assessment.”
“God.” Agony slices through my already shredded chest. “Crucify me now. She was raped? A-fucking-gain?”
Why in God’s name is this woman still alive? How? How can one person bear so much excruciating torment, time after time and continue to live?
Stella may have made it through the surgery and she may make it through the night but if she makes it out of this alive, there’s no way she’ll ever be the same.
“You’ll have to wait and see what comes back after they’ve run all their tests. I’m sorry. I do need to do an assessment. If you’ll step out, I’ll have the nurses let you know when I finish.” She smiles.
She won’t be smiling for long.
“No. There isn’t any reason for you to be sorry. No, I will not step out. Anything you need to do to Stella, you can do with me sitting right here. I’m not leaving her side and I’m for damn sure not leaving this room, is that understood?”
“I’m sorry but I’m about to perform a trans-vaginal ultrasound to verify IF she’s still pregnant. So no, sir. It is not understood. Do I need to have security called? Because I will in order to protect my patient’s privacy.”
This bitch doesn’t seem to get it does she?
I keep Stell’s hand in mine and lean my other elbow on my knee before narrowing my eyes on her, “Dr. Hughes, let me be more clear. Stella is mine. That includes her pussy and her baby. Now, if the hospital policy states that the father of a woman’s baby cannot be present during the ultrasound of his own child, then I would probably call security if I were you, because you’re going to need help remo
ving my six foot four, two hundred pound ass from this chair.”
I guess the hospital’s policy is in my favor. Dr. Hughes puts Stell’s casted legs in some leg holders and turns on the ultrasound machine. “Mr. Jacobs,—“
“Dr. Hughes, please, that’s my father’s name. Wesley is mine.”
Yes. I apologize. I know I’m being a total dick. But you have no idea the hell I’m going through! What if she lost the baby? I want that baby, that’s my baby. I made it, it’s mine. What if it’s already gone? What if it isn’t go—Oh my God…I’m about to see my baby. If it isn’t already gone. Please don’t be gone little baby.
“Oookay. Wesley, I don’t want your hopes up. Stella has, well we aren’t certain she’ll live through the night. If she’s still pregnant after what she’s gone through, it will be a miracle alone. And if she is able to carry this child to full term with the stress of recovery and rehab… I just don’t want you to get your hopes up. Please keep those things in mind, okay?”
I can’t stop the dread. It keeps coming and coming, more and more, my damn cup runneth over with dread eons ago! I can’t handle anymore!
But I do. Even though I swear I can’t take it, I do and I continue to. Because I refuse to accept defeat. I refuse the alternative option. I will sit in my Hell of dread and pain, knowing I could lose Stella any second, knowing I could have already lost my baby and I will remain here, because I can’t live without Stella. That is what I cannot do.
The doctor’s said to pray Stella made it through her hour of recovery; and after that, to pray she lived through the night. I did - those prayers were answered. However, no one told me I was supposed to continue praying for her to live through the morning following the first night she survived. Stella did live through the night however, the morning after, she coded. It was the last time Stella left me - and the first time she didn’t come back.
Today is May 1, 2014. The day I bury, not only the woman I love but also our twins, whom Dr. Hughes had found very much alive and very active on the ultrasound.
I watch my angel being lowered into the ground and it resonates through me that I will never know happiness or contentment in this life. I’ve never had to protect anyone before. I I wasn't prepared to protect the most important woman to ever come into my life.
I said I wouldn't live without her and I won't.
My angel spent her life being broken and in the end, destroyed. Because of that I will remain amongst the living, unattached and unwilling to pretend I am not dead.
Devastation, this hell my life now consists of, is my reparation for every wrongful penance perpetuated on her during life.
I was unable to protect the woman who changed me and for that I will endure this atonement, refraining from tearing time off my life. And allow the same God who permitted my angel who fought to cease fighting, to deem it necessary for me to suffer. I shall carry that which destroyed her, knowing – hoping - it will someday soon also destroy me.
Chapter 46
I don’t know how much more I can take of being in the shadows, a nameless face always amongst the crowd.
How much more does she think she’ll get away with? How much longer does she think I’ll allow Wesley to live? What? Because she so easily succumbed? Does she think by sacrificing herself and dying, I will allow him to live?
She is absolutely insane if that was her rationale for breaking so easily.
My inability to physically endure - as well as witness Wesley continuing to live as if I don’t even exist- will lead to her soul mate’s demise.
My inability to physically stay away from her, even in death, may lead to mine.
But not before I deliver the corpses of anyone and everyone she ever loved to her doorstep, the mantle of her tombstone.
You see, it dawned on me, during a fit of rage as I stood in the corner of the OR suite wearing my badge ‘Preston Stone-Trauma ER Resident’, watching her come back to life again and again, my plans for destroying Beauty were flawed.
Destruction, physical brute strength wasn’t the key. The key is stripping her of the very things which nourished her. Yes, I can continue to destroy Beauty even after death. I am immortal. I am powerful.
I stand hidden near the forest, again, nothing more than another face in the crowd,- watching as her body is lowered into the ground. I cannot help but be pleased and proud of the simplicity of my plan. Excitement thrums through me while endorphins flood my veins.
“My orchestrations where so intricate, yet flawed. I needed nothing more than to wait patiently for Beauty to find her happily ever after, kill her and then everything she loved. All along it was only as simple as taking anything and everything that you loved and loved you in return, Beauty and snuffing the life from it.” Sighing, I push away from the tree as I turn around to leave, some brute runs into me. “Excuse yourself, imbecile.”
“There’s no fucking way that’s gonna happen. Long time, little chase, motherfucker.”
“Excuse me?”
“Now you expect a pardon?” He shakes his head, chuckling like I’m the one who’s insane. “That’s not going to happen either. I will tell you what is going to happen,.” He continues to crowd my personal space causing me to step back. “I’m going to introduce myself.” The white of his teeth contrast starkly against his dark face as he smiles before stepping forward again. Again, I step back. “My name is Derrick ‘The Click’ Jackson. You fucked with my shit, important shit and for this reason you get to learn about my middle name. Preston, you wanna learn why it’s ‘The Click’?”
“No, I want you and your black ass to get out of my—“
“Because motherfucker, I’m the one who makes goddamn sure that it’s the last sound you’ll ever hear.”
CLICK.
Dear Reader,
I struggled with the ending more than I’ve struggled with any phrase or wording of a sentence, ever. Eighty percent of this story literally fell out as I stood aside and merely transcribed. The last twenty percent, not so much. I fought it with every single thing I am and I lost. There is an alternate ending out there, however right now I can’t tell you whether or not it will ever be published. I do want you to know that I loved Stella, and I swear I did fight for her, hard. Unfortunately, sometimes as a writer, all you can do is write the story. Especially when the story demands it’s own…story.
Love Always, Kimber
Ahhh... Okay, first and foremost to my street team! You bitches have pimped your asses off!
Trina Taylor, I love you, sissy. Dammit, I love you!!! You are and will always be more than my best friend. You’re my sister! XoXo
Donna Pemberton, thank you for pulling back my reins when I needed you too!
Francette Phal, thank you SO much for believing that I could write more than a book review! Thank you for always being there when I need your help, momma! To call you friend is one of the most kickass feelings in the world!
Jennifer Cothran, you are always there for me, no matter what, and I fucking love you for it, girl!
Yessi Smith, Hells yeah! So damn lucky to have met you! And dammit, honestly, I have NEVER clicked with anyone as quick as I clicked with you! NOLA has no idea what’s gonna hit ‘em ;)
Natalie, Amanda, Sandra, Heather, Isa and Debi… Holy shit! You damn ladies are freaking ‘Pimpin’, pimpin’! Y’all knock me on my ass with your pimping style! I’m so damn happy Lil and the voices in her head brought y’all into my life! Every damn one of you I consider a fucking awesome friend!
Dolores Montz, 3 words! New Orleans, BITCH! We’re gonna light that bitch UP in August! CANNOT WAIT! Thank you SO much for talking all those baseball moms into reading my smut, lmao! I love your pimpin’ style, momma!
Kimber’s Bitches, THANK YOU! There is no damn way in hell I could have made it through Wesley’s story without each and every one of you badass bitches! XOXO
MaryAnn Breedlove, YOU! Are more essential to me and my writing development, than you’ll ever know. No rainbows, No bull
shit… You are the whisper in the corner that turns me from an unpolished, four letter word littering writer into a mothafuckin’ author! And I love you for it!
To my editor Melissa Willis! Wow! I don’t even know where to begin! I’m utterly humbled to have you even read my book, but to edit it? WOW! You’re my fucking Madonna, PERIOD!
Kari Ayasha from Cover to Cover Designs, girl! There will NEVER, EVER be another cover artist that fucking touches my books! You are one of the best things that has happened to me since coming into the author world. Every damn cover I have in my crazy head, you don’t just make it happen, you make it perfect!!! Xoxo
Lauryn, Meg, and B, y’all are my reason for living, my reason for breathing, and if weren’t for you three, I would have lived my life like a woman gone mad. You are each sweet blessings that I could never live without, and I love each of you so very much in your own specialness.
Momma and Daddy, I know I am the least conventional kid you have and also the hardest daughter to love, However, ONE DAY, I WILL make you both proud. Thank you so much for giving Bobby and me the wonderful and loving family we grew up in. Momma, thank you for raising me to be strong and to never back down. But most of all, thank you, Momma, for being my greatest friend. Daddy, thank you so much for being the best daddy in the whole wide world. I’ll always be Daddy’s girl first, even when I’m a hundred years old. I love you both so much and pray that I can make y’all proud. *Psst... Momma, don’t let Daddy read my books—the acknowledgments ONLY!!!!*
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