Broken Love

by Ghiselle St. James

  “To make withdrawal easier, we have various drugs that will help with withdrawal symptoms, but…” he pauses and scrunches his brows together and I know whatever he says next can’t be good. “Those medications in themselves can be addictive.” He says softly.

  “No,” I conclude. “No way.”

  “Mr. Hayes, the detoxification process is grueling and painful for not just the patient, but for everyone involved. If she doesn’t have a strong will and a strong support system to back that up, it will be easy for her to relapse. Methadone is her best option in circumstances like this.”

  “Doc, does it look like me or her for that matter…” I stick my thumb in Rachel’s direction, “would ever allow that to happen? If I have to quit my job to make sure that Sullivan gets better, be sure that I will.” And right now, I would, as long as it means getting her better.

  “When can she leave?” I ask.

  The doctor smiles. He senses my determination in the matter. It’s like an unspoken man thing when it comes to doing whatever it takes to protect those we love. He gets it.

  “Well, we have to do additional observation of her progress – make sure she’s completely healed and assess her mental capacity. Sometimes, these drugs cause a mental breakdown and some patients present with a dual diagnosis.”

  I stare at him incredulously. Layman’s terms, Doc, I will him with my blank stare.

  He chuckles then goes on to explain, “A dual diagnosis is basically, upon clinician assessment, when the patient is found to be suffering from both a mental illness and a substance abuse problem. The mental illness can be as a result of the substance abuse.”

  Fear rises up my spine and my legs weaken. I lean against the wall and squeeze my eyes shut, praying, hoping against all hope, that that will not be so in Sullivan’s case. Rachel snakes her arm through mine and rests her head against me. I have to be strong.

  Pull yourself together, Hayes, you’re going to have to be strong for Sullivan and Rachel right now.

  “So, is it okay if when she’s released I take her back to my home under the supervision of a private doctor and a psychiatrist?” I ask, the wheels already spinning in my head. Anything to get her away from here and into my arms.

  “Yes, that would be very good, Mr. Hayes.” He nods and smiles his approval and I feel just a little lighter. “For now, we’re giving her morphine for the pain. It’s a risk, but we can’t do any better. Go home and get some rest both of you.”

  “Doc…” I snort, shaking my head at him, “that is not an option.”

  I’d sent Rachel home with Simon in the wee hours of the morning the next day, as she’d fallen asleep in the waiting room again. I was running on fumes and hope; hope bringing me through most of the wait.

  It has been hard trying to be supportive of Sullivan when all she does is scream at me and shut me out. I’m in the hallway, waiting as the nurses check Sullivan over I rest my head against the wall and, for a moment, I feel how tired I really am as exhaustion settles in my bones.

  “Hey, you,” the so sweet voice of a woman I know all too well calls out to me as I slowly peel my eyes open. They burn with the effort, a definite sign that I am sleep-deprived.

  She had chased me out once again – something that she has been doing quite often – and it left me feeling crushed and vulnerable, wondering if she would ever get out of this particular mood she was in. The nurses shot me sad, apologetic glances as they drew the curtains around her bed to do their checks. I am impressed at how well they are taking care of her, her docket always up-to-date. It could be because of my name and that’s fine by me, as long as she gets the best care. Knowing that she is in such good hands has eased the stress a little, but for the most part, it’s still lurking there in waves.

  The sound of Molly’s voice through all the turmoil in my head is actually a consolation, and lifting my head, I take in the blond beauty in front of me in a red flowing skirt, white buttoned down blouse and red and white Louboutin heels. I know they’re Louboutin because I’d bought them for her birthday last year.

  Her feet still look amazing in them and her legs seem to go on forever in that skirt of hers. Her shoulder length hair is in waves, brushing the smooth skin of her collarbone. The Cyndi Crawford mole on top of her lip draws – as it always does – my attention to her pouty lips; lips I remember kissing not so long ago.

  Shaking off the quiet lust that is surely building, I stand to greet her. I’m caught off guard when she wraps her arms around me and squeezes me. All the stress and anxiety of the days of Sullivan’s kidnapping, up to the moment she ran me out of her room, melts away and I sigh deeply, sinking into the comfort of her slim body around mine.

  “How are you holding up?” Molly asks.

  “Not good, but I have to stay strong.”

  She shifts away from me slightly and raises her head to assess me, light blue eyes searching. “And who will stay strong for you?”

  I give her a tired smile and I hold her to me again, basking in the comfort of her presence. I’m so glad she’s here. Never would have imagined that she would show her face around these parts, considering her previous experience with Sullivan; but here she is, putting everything aside and supporting me.

  Why couldn’t I be hung up on her? Why couldn’t I be somewhere with her, bending her to my pleasure instead of being stressed and exhausted with a woman who seems to have more secrets than the KGB and the mood swings of Regan in The Exorcist?

  I shake my head because this is where I belong. I have to be here. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, despite all the chaos.

  Molly and I talk for about an hour before she leaves, joking about how homeless I look. I have to say it was good to relax a little, not to worry about what was on the other side of that wall. Molly was a good distraction, but now I have to face my sweet girl. Show her that I’m not going anywhere, no matter how many tantrums she throws, no matter the severity of her withdrawal. I left her once. I won’t leave her again.

  “I’m always here for you, Ben. Remember that,” Molly had said before she kissed me square on the lips.

  She was never shy about wanting me, about submitting to me. I guess that’s what drew me to her, her strength and her submission. I know that beyond that, though, Molly is a great friend and if she says she’s there for me, she means it.

  I let out a heavy breath, psyching myself up for another round of the Sullivan Beal show, but as I get up to head into her room, Nurse Green breezes inside with a doctor and locks me out.

  I watch helplessly as professional after professional goes into Sullivan’s room. Sighing heavily, I retake my seat in the hard chair. Simon brings me breakfast, but I am too nervous and scared to eat anything.

  I haven’t showered in three days, not that I smell like it, and my face looks as though I’m growing a facial forest. The most I’d done over these few days is brush my teeth. Hell if the noted “face” of Fielding House spoke to doctors, psychiatrists and cops with foul breath.

  My mother further brings out the fact that I look terrible when she visits that morning.

  “Honey, you look like a wino. Smell like one too,” she observes, making me smile as she still kisses me on the cheek and hugs me. “How is she?”

  “I think she’s coming around. She’s been a little…testy the past few days. I haven’t had much time with her since she woke up, though. She’s on constant watch. I just want to get her home now, Mom,” I convey with a sigh.

  She rubs my back gently and the feeling makes me want to curl into her lap and cry, like I used to do when I was a kid and had a tough time in private school.

  “I feel like it’s my fault,” I confess more to myself than her.

  “Benjamin Adonis Hayes,” she chastises with a motherly squeak. She whips me around to face her and she cups my face in her hands. “This is not your fault.”

  “Isn’t it, mother?” I don’t know when I will get over this guilt I feel. My only chance at absolution is in that h
ospital room. If she never forgives me I will understand, but I will fight to the death to get it.

  Taking a few deep breaths, I continue, “If I hadn’t broken up with her, if I hadn’t left her, I could’ve protected her. Tell me you don’t think that’s true.”

  I face her then, but don’t allow her to continue. “I don’t even deserve to be by her side right now.”

  “That’s hogwash, son,” she scolds.

  “I’ve left her before–”

  “And if you leave her now, what kind of man would you be? Surely not one I raised,” mother cuts me off. Of course, she’s right.

  “Self-loathing doesn’t suit you, Ben. You are strong, confident, loving and in love,” she assures me.

  I give her an incredulous stare, but she shakes her head and smiles in opposition.

  “Yes, son. I know love when I see it, and you would be a damned fool if you didn’t see it too. Why else would you be here day in, day out, without so much as a hot bath…that you so desperately need?”

  My eyes drift to the clothes I haven’t changed in three days and I scratch at the beard I hadn’t shaved in more than five. Yeah…I loved her.

  It’s a breath-taking revelation and the too-wide smile that splits my face says it all.

  “She needs to hear it, son; but only when you’ve had a shower and have shaved that god-forsaken beard. Go home and get some rest,” she advises.

  “Mother, I can’t. I need to be here,” I protest.

  “Darling, she will always be here. You need your rest. What kind of support can you be to her if you’re tired and groggy all the time? And I can bet that you haven’t been eating either.” Mother eyes me warily then sighs. She is right as usual.

  “You need to replenish, son. Get some rest today. Eat, put yourself back together and come back fresh in the evening. The doctors and the police are going to be with her all day anyhow. Instead of sitting around, biting your nails, get some rest.”

  Diana sure knows how to put things into perspective. I hug her. Hard. I needed her strength and I needed her wisdom. I am going to go home and do exactly as she has suggested, but not before I check in on Sullivan.

  Inside the room, I watch my mother and Sullivan interact like old friends. Sullivan apologizes to her profusely, taking blame for ruining her marriage, but the darling my mother is, tells her that it isn’t her fault; that Roman is a pig. They chatter for a while longer and all the while Sullivan shoots glances my way.

  Every time I find her eyes on me, it’s like a shock to my system that gives me hope. I’ve longed for her to look at me with those eyes for so long. The stirring in my pants displays its longing and I have to take a walk outside to calm myself down. Battered and bruised, goddamn it, she’s still beautiful.

  “I think she’s ready for you now, sweetheart,” Mother says to me as she exits the room. “Don’t lay everything on her all at once, and please, get some rest.” She kisses my cheek and then disappears down the hall.

  I take a fortifying breath and enter the room, only to find Sullivan looking out the window.

  “Thank you,” she says when I close the door. “For this view, this room…” she pauses, takes a deep breath then continues, “For rescuing me. For everything.”

  “I almost lost my mind when I found out he’d kidnapped you. Sullivan…” She winces and cuts me off before I can continue.

  “Do you know how much I wanted to tell you all this at the right time?” she croaks and I wonder what she’s talking about. “I purposely lied to you, inwardly cringing every time,” she continues, “just so I could wait for the right moment; a moment where you and I had gotten so much more familiar that you would accept all the truth I had to tell you. But there’s no such thing as a perfect moment is there?”

  “The first time I saw you, that moment was perfect, Sullivan,” I express feelingly, holding her hand, but she winces and closes her eyes and I wonder if she is still in pain.

  “Perfect?” she scoffs. “Not even close.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sullivan

  Ican’t do this with Ben. It’s best he leaves now when he’s an innocent, not tainted with anything from my past. He has already sullied himself by fighting for me; fighting further would only hurt him in the end.

  I destroy everything around me because I don’t know how to handle it when things go right. All I’ve known is hurt and pain and that seems all I know how to give. Ben had been slowly changing that. I knew I was falling in love with him, but, as usual, I ruined it all. I don’t deserve happiness.

  Rick broke me, I admit it; stripped me of any shred of confidence I might have had. Me grabbing his gun from him and shooting him was a reckless but necessary move. Luck was on my side, I believe.

  I had been emboldened by the cocaine and heroin mix at the time, the substances fueling my actions. I can still feel the drugs in my system and even as I stand off silently with Ben, I hanker for it. Just one taste.

  “You’re a fucking junkie.” Rick reminded me of that every single day he shot me up. “Why would Hayes want you? A little bitch like you would only stain the perfect Ben Hayes. You’re just not good enough.”

  He was right.

  With Rick’s words clanging around my head, I decide to do the one thing I’m good at. I sabotage myself, sabotage my happiness. I’m not good for Ben, never was. I knew that. The universe knew that.

  I can’t help but tear up, because this will hurt me even more than it will hurt him. I will never recover, but it will all be for the best. Going back to my old, meaningless life doesn’t seem too bad.

  Ben brought a certain kind of color to my existence that I hadn’t felt in a long time, but I will get over it. I hope.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ben

  Sullivan stares at me with a soft fire in her eyes. She is torn between fighting me and submitting to me, I can see it. The small war wages before she speaks, resistance winning out.

  “Do you think I didn’t see you?” She scowls. “Do you think I didn’t know who you were? Did you think I didn’t welcome your attention?”

  “Sullivan, baby, I don’t understand.”

  “Stop calling me that!” she admonishes. “You don’t even know me.” She shakes her head as her voice breaks.

  My brows furrow, confused, not knowing where this conversation is leading.

  “That’s what I do, Ben. I notice…men like you,” she responds, waving her hands in my direction.

  “I don’t understand.”

  She shakes her head and swallows before laying the hard truth on me, “I only date men like you – rich men. I’m a gold digger, Ben. I look for dollar signs. That’s all I saw when I saw you. That’s all I wanted. That’s all you were to me: a meal ticket. That’s all any man is to me. I can’t love anybody and I don’t want love.”

  Tears slide down her face at this point and all I want to do is leave, but like an idiot, I stand there listening to her, a small part of me – my heart? – wanting to hold her.

  “I was only using you. I gave you what I thought you wanted only expecting you to lavish me in return. I’m a cold-hearted, gold-digging whore, that’s all I ever was. Don’t waste your time in wanting me. I’ll only hurt you. Walk away, Ben.”

  Somehow, I can’t move. All I want to tell her is…

  “Bullshit,” I spit in a rumble.

  “Ben,” she whispers.

  “Everything you said to me is bullshit, Sullivan, and you know it. Man the fuck up and tell me how you really feel about me,” I demand.

  “I feel nothing for you, Ben.” Her voice is slightly raised, but still broken through her tears.

  “Fuck you, Sully,” I chide, glaring at her and wanting to hold her all at the same time.

  “You don’t even know who I am. You’ll hate me when you find out. Just…leave me alone, Ben. You don’t need my level of fucked up,” she tells me.

  “I want to know you. Goddamn it, Sullivan, let me in!” I demand, panic setting
in. She wants to shut me out, but I won’t let her.

  “Nurse!” she calls, grabbing and pressing the emergency button to her bed.

  Snatching it from her, I grab hold of her hand. Squeezing it, I implore her, “Tell me the goddamn truth!”

  “I…am!” she shouts at me, her tears coming in like rivulets.

  “Bull…shit! Why are you crying then, Sullivan, huh?” I boom at her, making her flinch.

  Pulling her close to me, I kiss her deeply. The light whimper that escapes her throat goading me in my efforts, I deepen the kiss, itching to be buried inside her. Even on a hospital bed in recovery, my body still calls for her. My sweet, frustrating fucking girl. Why the hell is she lying to me? Why is she trying to push me away?

  Our breathing intensifies, passion intermingling, and when I pull away from her for a few seconds, we both catch our breaths. Eagerly, however, she presses her lips back to mine.

  So, she wants me. Why lie to me?

  “Wait…” I push away from her, groaning as my hardening, neglected erection throbs in disagreement.

  “Why…why lie to me, Sullivan?” I say softly, pleadingly. “I don’t care if you were a gold-digger before. That’s not what you are with me. That’s not who you are to me. Sullivan…I love you,” I confess and it’s like a weight off my shoulders. “This is not how – or where – I wanted to tell you, but the fact of the matter remains: I love you.”

  Before I even say it again, she is shaking her head. Pressing her forehead against mine and inhaling deeply she whispers, “Don’t…don’t love me.”

  “I can’t help it.” I lightly stroke her cheek.

  “No…try,” she begs. “Try not to.”

  “I already do. What’s wrong, Sullivan?” I cup her face so tenderly. My heart constricts with so much emotion for her.

  She winces and starts crying again, shaking her head into my chest. I don’t know what’s troubling her, but as eager as I am for her to talk to me, I hold her while she cries as she caresses my face.