Broken Love

by Ghiselle St. James

  This small distraction is enough to let Rick swipe my feet out from under me. I hit the ground with an oomph, the wind knocked out of me. My gun scuttles across the floor, out of reach, and I roll to try to reach it only to have Rick kick me in the stomach. Shakily, he gets to his feet, but I scissor my feet into his, tripping him. He falls to his knees and I shove up on my left side, swiping my foot across his jaw in a perfectly executed side kick.

  I hear the bones in his jaw crunch and blood spews from his mouth. Blinded by rage, I crawl on top of the bastard and I unleash my fury. Every bit of pent up worry, anger and disgust is released as I punch him repeatedly in the face and ribs. My punishment is unforgiving, but well-deserving.

  In a flash, Drake drags me away from Rick’s bloodied, swollen-to-a-pulp face. I turn my anger on him, shoving him back into the wall of the old house. How dare he come between me and my vengeance?

  “Ben,” he calls. I faintly hear him above the blood roaring in my ears. My fists flex and the sweet pain I feel is enough to make me go back to Rick’s face for more.

  Out of nowhere, his two guard dogs appear, drawing their weapons on me. Drake dismisses them with an irritated scowl and they back off.

  “Listen to me, Ben, this isn’t what you want. If you kill him, you go to jail and then what?” he reasons, grabbing onto my shoulders to get me to focus past the blinding rage.

  A whimper in the corner of the room snaps me quickly out of my murderous haze and I stare at my scared girl. She looks afraid…of me; her eyes searching to see if this is really me or an illusion.

  Sullivan has never seen me like this, so angry, so deadly. With all that she has been through these past few days, I can imagine that this is not the kind of behavior she wants to see from the person rescuing her. So I gather myself, taking a few deep breaths.

  “You good?” Drake asks.

  I nod. “She’s alive and that’s all that matters.”

  Sirens in the distance have Drake and me parting ways. They’ve escaped in good time. I hear the sirens even louder, indicating that the police are mere minutes away. Turning to Sullivan, I see that she has that same distant look on her face and it makes my heart twist.

  “Sully,” I call softly. “Sully, baby, put the gun down. You’re okay. You’re safe,” I reassure her. I step cautiously toward her and she turns that same distant gaze to me. Her eyes widen and gloss as realization, I hope, dawns on her. “Baby, you’re safe now.”

  Sullivan shakily loosens her grip on the gun and it falls to the floor in a thud. Unsteadily she tries to get to her feet, wincing with the effort, and I tear across the room to hold her up before her legs give way. She shudders in my embrace, whimpering sobs wracking her body.

  My sweet, beautiful girl, I wish I could have protected you.

  “Shh, you’re safe now. Shh,” I coo in her ear. She only cries harder.

  Soon, I’m carrying her in my arms out of that nightmare of a place as police cars descend around us.

  She’s okay. She’s safe.

  Sullivan

  He is like light, breaking into my darkness with such brightness that one has to hold their hand up against the glare.

  He’s here. For me. He risked his life. For me.

  I don’t deserve it.

  I don’t deserve him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ben

  I want to take Sullivan home, away from all the drama, hide her in a fucking Ivory Tower where no harm can come to her ever again, but an ambulance arrives and the paramedics insist on strapping her in as she is in need of medical attention. They fuss around me for a bit, dressing my wounds, but I can’t even spare a few seconds of care for myself. Sullivan needs this more than I do.

  Of course I won’t leave her side, so I travel with her to the hospital. The moment the ambulance pulls away, Sullivan falls asleep and the walls break around me, reality hitting like a wrecking ball, and the tears fall mercilessly. I don’t think I’ve ever prayed so much in my life.

  She’s here. She’s safe.

  Sullivan slept the entire way back to Philly and the hospital, but it wasn’t peaceful. She cried, whimpered, shook, fought and mumbled in her sleep. It was heartbreaking to watch. I was glad when we finally got to the hospital and the paramedics rolled her into the building…kicking and screaming no less.

  Inside is a circus with all the police, doctors and nurses scurrying to do their jobs; not that Sullivan makes it easy for any of them, what with her fighting the nurses and her deathly screams of bloody murder. I am going crazy hearing it all and want to get in there to help calm her down with a paddle to her ass. God, what did those assholes do to you, Sully?

  Eventually, Sullivan calms down enough and the nurse is able to do Sullivan’s rape kit. The Detectives take pictures of her bruises and swellings then spend the next three hours getting her statement and asking their questions. I tried, but she didn’t want me in there for the questioning. It hurt a little, but I don’t think I could handle what she’d say. I’d probably try finding Rick and finishing what I started.

  As I wait to see my scared girl, I call Rachel, whose cries meet my ears when she hears the news. In under half an hour Rachel and Marshall are at the hospital and I have to go through that God-forsaken story, relive the horror one more time.

  While doctors attend to Sullivan and Rachel and Marshall are in the waiting room, I relay everything I’d witnessed to Detectives Morelli and Witherspoon three long and irritating times. I guess it’s to make sure that I’m not making any of it up. They ask me questions at the end of each relay of information.

  How did you know where to find her?

  Who was this informant?

  Were the men armed when you attacked them?

  Did you have any help?

  My answers are the same every time…blatant lies:

  I got an anonymous tip from someone.

  I said anonymous tip, of course I don’t know who this person is.

  Yes they were.

  No I didn’t.

  Seemingly satisfied, they go to question Marshall and Rachel. After questioning them both about Rick, the detectives leave believing they have a solid case against Rick and his accomplice to hand to the District Attorney. I’m hoping it’s good enough that Sullivan doesn’t have to testify.

  A plump, beautiful nurse with a kind smile and long blonde hair in a ponytail finally emerges from Sullivan’s room and Rachel, Marshall and I all but pounce on her.

  “How is she, Nurse…?” Rachel is the first to speak, but she pauses, not knowing what to call the woman.

  “Green, Nurse Raylene Green,” she answers with a warm smile and a slightly Southern lilt, outstretching her hand to each of us. We all shake. “We won’t know anything major until the doctor does all his checks,” she informs us. “But, she is pretty beat up.”

  I want to die…or kill someone.

  “You should all try getting some rest. You all look pretty tired,” Nurse Green suggests. “Sleep is pretty good in stressful times.”

  Sleep. The word reminds me of how much I need some join but I can’t sleep now. I can’t afford to miss a moment of Sullivan, asleep or awake.

  “Can we see her?” I ask, ignoring her suggestion, my bloodshot eyes wide with hope.

  “Well, she’s subdued now, but I don’t see why not,” the nurse grants, smiling reassuringly at us. “She’s lucky to have such supportive people around her. She will need it.”

  I find her comment strange, but I shrug it off as I storm inside and by my baby’s side. I had gotten her a private room as I had wanted to give her as much privacy as she would need. My footsteps come to a halt when I see her scowling. She’s asleep.

  Slowly, I move closer, leaning down to place a light kiss on her forehead. Sullivan stirs and the scowl fades, a peace parading her features. I tuck a lock of her knotted hair behind her ear and I see an ethnic hint in the roots and strands. She’s an exotic blend, that much I know, but I don’t know just how much or of wha
t ethnicity. I thought she was Latina at first and then maybe Lebanese. I make a mental note to find out all I can about her. If there’s anything her kidnapping has taught me, is that life is short and anything can happen.

  As I lightly caress her cheek a tear spills down my face onto her I.V.’d hand.

  “I should’ve protected you,” I whisper.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Ben,” Rachel reassures me.

  I look up to see tears coursing down her face while Marshall’s eyes are wide with fear and panic, swimming with the tears that he is keeping at bay.

  Both of them look terrified and I realize that I have to be strong. For them. For Sullivan.

  Taking a deep breath, I clear my throat and speak, “Rachel, I think it’s time her parents knew what’s going on.” Both of them look at me like I’m crazy, but I continue, “Marshall, you make the call and Rachel, you need to go home and get her some things.”

  After a few seconds, both of them nod their understanding and exit the room with one last concerned glance at Sullivan then at me.

  I looked down on my raw knuckles, at what I’d done to receive them, and I touch my busted lip. I fought for her and I won’t stop now. Though my world crashed when Sullivan was kidnapped, I have to be strong now.

  Nurse Green makes her afternoon checkup on Sullivan, injecting pain meds into her I.V. that put her to sleep again, after she had woken up and had a fit. The older woman seems to be the only one able to handle Sullivan’s momentary explosions and I’m glad she is around to help.

  By evening, the nursing shift changes, and a new nurse comes in to check on Sullivan – who is still sleeping like a baby. Judging from her lack of adequate attention to Sullivan, and her flirtatious glances at me, I’m almost positive that she didn’t come in here to check on Sullivan at all.

  I contemplate her with a scowl on my face. She’s petite, blonde with full lips and too large breasts for her body. I can smell the plastic from her bosoms. Quailing under my glare, she turns bright red and scurries out of the room, wiggling her little bottom as a show. I shake my head at her audacity and at my ignorance of her advances. Sullivan really has my balls in a vice-like grip. I never turn down willing tail.

  Sullivan stirs and whimpers and I am on high alert. She raises a hand and starts scratching at her forearm, shivering. Her eyes peel open and wildly peruse her surroundings and then find me. The smile she gives me is a bone-chilling one. It’s void of any real emotion. It seems cunning almost. She rubs her nose then goes back to scratching her forearm, her stomach and her neck.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask her softly. It’s a stupid question – of course she’s doing terribly – but I am so terrified I might say the wrong thing that I think it’s better I ask something stupid rather than upset her.

  Sullivan smiles but doesn’t answer me immediately. She rubs her forearm into the sheets vigorously while her entire body twitches. “I need somethin’ baby,” she begs, her voice raspy and needy. My heart stops.

  I stare at her, because I can’t do anything else. Is she asking what I think she’s asking?

  “Baby, I need it so bad. Just one hit.” She writhes under the sheets and scoots closer to me, reaching for my shirt. She pulls me toward her and it’s then I see the track marks in her arm. “I’ll do anything, baby.” The voice I hear is not hers.

  My heart is in my throat. I can’t form a single sentence. This is not Sullivan. She’s a haggard, strung out imposter.

  “C’mon, baby. Don’t you see I need it?” she says when I don’t respond. “You want me to work for it, huh? I’ll do whatever you ask. I’ll give you whatever you want. You want me to suck you off? You know I’m good at it,” she bargains in a purr.

  Tears well up in my eyes and my heart breaks at seeing her like this: broken, pitiful, controlled by a substance. This is not my sweet, beautiful girl. This is a dark, sad version of her.

  “C’mon baby. You know I can make you feel good. Just give me what I need.” She releases my shirt and reaches for my belt.

  “Stop,” I say sternly.

  Sullivan plucks her eyes up to me and her stare turns from wild to angry.

  “If you’re not gonna give me what I want then get the fuck out,” she dismisses, flopping back down on the bed and wincing with the effort.

  I stare at her, not saying a word; sadness creeping in. She raises her head and smirks at me; mischief framing her features once more.

  “You’re still here, so that means you want this,” she purrs. “I can give it to you, baby, and then some.”

  “Nurse,” I finally call out, scared, pressing the call button like a maniac; because, God help me, I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t. I want to take her pain and longing away, and if that means giving her what she yearns for…

  “Nurse!” I call loudly, scared of the direction of my thoughts.

  “Get the fuck away from me, you rat bastard!” Sullivan hisses.

  I back up to the window as she hurls the nastiest of words at me. My sanity is hanging on by a thread. The young nurse from earlier rushes in and Sullivan turns her wrath on the poor woman. Two other nurses follow and a tall man, I presume he is the doctor. He asks that I excuse them and I gladly oblige.

  Sullivan is screaming at the top of her lungs and fighting the nurses around her. It’s like an exorcism or something. The doctor pulls out a needle and brings it to her IV. Two orderlies rush past me and I turn to see them holding her down. The young nurse comes over to the door and with apologetic eyes, closes it.

  I sink to the floor and let out a long, shaky breath. God help me. I don’t know how much more of those outbursts I can take without giving into her desires. I was ready to be her fucking supplier in there for Christ’s sake!

  I rake shaking hands through my hair and I feel like I’m about to lose it. That’s when I see Rachel coming toward me with an overnight bag in her hand.

  “What’s going on?” she asks, worry lining her face.

  “She had an episode,” I answer.

  “An episode? What do you mean, Ben?”

  “She tried to…proposition me for drugs,” I explain.

  “I knew that would happen,” she murmurs.

  I want to grab her and ask her what she means, but the doctor comes out and tells us that we can go in and see her. I step into the room and Sullivan is calm, almost ethereal, but in her eyes, she’s still far away and it just breaks my heart to see her like this.

  My sweet, beautiful girl…gone.

  Chapter Twelve

  Day one was horrible and I prayed day two would be better. I couldn’t sleep, too worried to even close my eyes; but morning had broken, and with it, new possibilities…I hope.

  Sullivan, thankfully, slept through the night while Marshall and Rachel slept in the waiting room. I couldn’t leave Sullivan’s side, despite the nurses trying to get me out of the room. The only time I left the room was when Rachel offered to get Sullivan cleaned up that morning.

  She hadn’t spoken to either of us since she had woken and I grudgingly left the room knowing that she would unload on her best friend eventually. I don’t know why I was jealous about that, but I was.

  Marshall had left to tend to some important business, leaving me and Rachel to keep Sullivan’s company. As it stood, though, Rachel was keeping her company more than I was allowed to. Not that I didn’t try. Every time I tried to start a conversation, she would clam up. So I resorted to just standing by and watching them whisper and cry to each other; which irked the heck out of me; but, hey, who am I to come between friends…best friends?

  The doctor comes in and I scarcely remember his name. News. I want to hear news of Sullivan’s condition and my knowing his name doesn’t tell me any of that. Impatiently, I stand inches away from her bed and watch as he checks her vitals. When the fuck is this guy going to tell us something?

  Rachel grabs on to my hand and I feel her shaking. She gives me a reassuring squeeze and, looking down at her, she gives me
a calm-the-fuck-down stare that makes me do just that…I calm the fuck down.

  “Her vitals are improving,” the doctor finally says and I feel like I can melt in a puddle of relief. “But, the improvement of her vitals isn’t the most pressing issue.”

  I gape at him. “Pressing…issue?” I say the words cautiously, like if I say them loud enough they’d turn into mayhem and death.

  “Yes, Mr. Hayes. Can we talk outside?” He ushers us both into the hallway, following behind. “She took quite a beating. She has two cracked ribs. If you didn’t save her when you did…” he trails off and a sickening feeling drops into my stomach. “Let’s just say she couldn’t have taken another beating,” he resigns with a sigh.

  The doctor shifts uncomfortably, in turn making me uncomfortable.

  “We’ve evaluated Miss Beal and found…uh, a combination of drugs in her system,” he continues. What the hell? “But identifying the drugs is only half the battle. There is also the issue of withdrawal to contend with. This is phase two, known as stabilization, or detoxification if you prefer.”

  The doctor clears his throat then continues. God, this is a lot to take in. “If you know anything about drug addiction, you’ll know that the withdrawal symptoms are terrible and can last for several days, which explains why many addicts never quit. It’s especially hard for a recovering addict, who relapses, to get clean again.”

  He turns his attention to the closed door of Sullivan’s room then back to me and I want to deck the prick for insinuating that my sweet girl was ever an addict.

  Looking down at Rachel, though, I see she’s not appalled by this insinuation, and I wonder: am I missing something? Before I can ask about what I don’t know, the doctor continues with his divulgence.