"Mikah?"
I watch him come to a decision.
With his hands against the front door and his head down, he says quietly, "I wanted you to have a fresh start." He turns and leans against the door. His eyes are closed. "When you walked out of that hospital today, I wanted you to have a fresh start on everything. A new place to live, clothes on your back, proper food in the kitchen, and..." He pauses and opens his eyes. "I wanted to give you the tools you'd need to be able to take care of yourself." His voice is soft and his accent is thick.
I step back slowly toward the stool. I need to sit; my thoughts are swirling at a mile a minute. I can't speak. He's already given me so much. He saved my life. This just...it's too much.
"Vivienne, I needed to know that you'd be safe, that you'd stay safe, that I could give you the tools you needed to get back on your feet. Clothes, food, a job - whatever you need, it's yours."
I can barely hear him by the end of his speech. Eventually I get my mouth working again. "Why?" I breathe.
He runs his hands through his hair and pulls away from the door, slowly walking toward me. "Because..." He pauses in his stride, clearly deciding something. "Because you deserve it. There is no reason for you to live a life of poverty if I can easily prevent it."
"That's not what I asked. Do you do this for every girl in my situation?"
He shakes his head. His eyes are wary, unsure of my reaction. He should be unsure. He knows how much I don't want to be taken care of. Yes, I've progressed some in allowing him to bring me here, to give me shelter, food.... Are clothes really that much worse? I mean, I don't have any, and whatever clothes I had in my apartment should be burned.
He's wanting and willing to help me, and I push him away at every turn. Is it so terrible to let someone help me? No, it’s not. But it's hard; I've fought for so long on my own that I don't know how to do this.
He watches me as I take in his words. The reality of what he's said sets in. Maybe he's right: Maybe I've been fighting for so long to prove that what my mother has put me through hasn't broken me. But for whom? Who am I trying to prove this to? I get fighting for myself, but for what else?
Am I trying to show my mother, prove something to her? For what? She's never been there for me. By doing it all on my own, was I just trying to prove that I don't need her, that I didn't need her? Or is it more than that? Am I really just being stubborn? It's hard to let go of everything I've done for myself, but what have I really accomplished? A shit job, a shit apartment, barely surviving.... How is that living?
I let out a deep sigh.
I wasn't living. I was alive, but not living.
I look at Mikah, whose face shows that he’s worried about what I'm mulling over. The bottom line is this: I’ve obviously failed miserably at proving to myself that I can take care of myself. Maybe with a little help from him, I can get back on my feet, get back into a better place.
"Thank you," I finally manage to say, and his face and body instantly relax and a slow smile spreads across his lips.
"You're not mad?"
I shake my head slowly. "No, I'm not."
"Good. Okay." He's not sure what to say, as if I've taken away all his argument. "Are you still hungry?" I roll my eyes and he playfully scowls at me.
"Changing the subject much?" I tease him back.
He laughs. "Maybe a little." He looks at me expectantly.
"No, I'm alright for now."
"Good. I'll clean up the kitchen. What would you like to do?" His eyes follow mine toward the guest bedroom as I remember the huge, inviting bathtub in there. "Take a bath?" he asks.
I nod enthusiastically, and he turns on his heel.
"Why don't you go find some comfortable clothes, and I'll start your bath before I clean up."
I stand and head for the bedroom, hitting the light switch on my way in. I hesitate just a moment at the closet door, suddenly nervous about what I’m going to find in there. Then I realize that I've agreed to this, and I turn the handle at the same time I hit the light switch on the wall next to the door.
The closet is huge - about the size of the bathroom and equally as long - but thankfully it's not stocked full. Hanging up on the right-hand side are about ten different t-shirts, and below them are various pairs of pants, cotton ones by the looks of them. I also catch a glimpse of the dresser at the back of the closet, its top drawer slightly ajar.
I step up to it and pull open the drawer. Inside are several pairs of white and fun, colored socks and a stack of rather slinky looking underwear. I shiver at the idea of wearing what I'm looking at.
I pull open the next drawer: some bras and some other, not-so-slinky underwear. There are some really cute designer boy shorts and I start to feel excited; they look really comfortable.
I grab a bra and pair of underwear and turn back to the clothes. On the floor under the pants are two pairs of shoes: a pair of gray-and-white Converse and a pair of fuzzy slippers.
I smile and grab the house shoes, a pair of black pants and a t-shirt.
I leave the closet and head out into the living room to see Mikah in the kitchen cleaning up. "Did you find something?"
"I did, thank you."
He smiles at me and then nods in the direction of the guest room.
I scurry quickly through the bedroom toward the bathroom. The closer I get, the more pronounced the sound of the running water. I push back the door and I'm hit with a rush of steam that is warm and inviting.
TEN
Once inside the bathroom, I shed the purple scrubs - similar to the ones Amanda had given me last time - and drop Mikah's t-shirt to the floor with the pants.
For a moment I study my naked reflection in the mirror. It's almost as if nothing ever happened to me. Other than a faint, small line on the side of my neck and the brace on my wrist, there are no visible signs of my trauma.
I'm filled with satisfaction at the idea that I don't have to go through the nasty healing process. Was I really only out for a couple days?
Instantly, there is a shimmering sensation across my back, almost like a call to attention. I try to look over my shoulder but I can't see anything, so I turn so that my back is facing the mirror.
As my back becomes visible in the mirror, I do a double-take. A brilliant display of whites, blues, light purples and silvers form a beautiful wing-shaped tattoo across my back. My wings.
My head starts to swim as realization settles in, and I take a seat on the side of the tub.
The dream I could have written off as exactly that: a dream. The mental conversation with Zirah after I woke I could also have written off as some kind of momentary delusional episode. But this - these wings - solidify the reality of those dreams, the reality of my conversation, and the idea that my super-healing ability is a product of my true nature.
An angel? I muse as I fling my legs over the side of the ginormous tub. Reaching over to the faucet, I turn the water off.
The gentle swirl of jets under the water causes the surface to ripple slightly. There is a slight bubble film across the surface. I slowly sink down into the water, and my muscles begin to relax instantly as they’re engulfed by the warmth.
I close my eyes and my mind drifts back to Elysium, but not like before. I’m not there; I’m just replaying the events from my dream this afternoon.
The emotions I felt about Mikah during that dream were heightened beyond anything I consciously feel for him now. The fact that my feelings for him in Elysium are so strong is intense and frightening, though I think a lot of that is due to my own self-preservation and holding back, to not wanting to admit to myself what Mikah really means to me.
He was genuinely concerned about my reaction to the clothes. He knew that I would be upset with him, and to be honest, I still am. But he's right: I can't work until at least after I see Dr. A. in a couple of weeks, and therefore I have no income and am incapable of taking care of myself. At least in the fashion that Mikah – and even maybe Dr. Alston - wants me to.
The bottom line in letting Mikah help me is that I have nowhere else to go. I'm essentially back to being homeless because I am unable to return to that apartment.
I also know, after Riley's attack, that I'm not able to protect myself.
Is Mikah capable of protecting me? I believe he is.
Suddenly my image of Elysium shifts to the image of the dark cave. I heard Nyssa's name. How does she fit into this? Where was I? In hell?
All these nasty unanswered questions. I can feel my anxiety growing quickly, but I'm brought out of my thoughts by a knock on the door.
"Viv, you alright?"
I smile. I'm in a tub for crying out loud. What could happen? "Yeah, I'm good."
"Holler if you need me."
"Okay." I can't help the smile that spreads wider. For some strange reason, I can still sense him on the other side of the door. I sink underwater, giggling as the idea of Mikah making sure that I’m okay and that I stay okay hits me. It’s heady and mildly overwhelming, but at the same time it sends a ripple of happiness through me. Something similar to the way I felt in my dream.
ELEVEN
After what feels like forever, I finally climb out of the tub, warm and sleepy. After drying off, I put on the pants I pulled from the closet, noticing that they have a wide waistband that hugs my bump nicely. The pants are soft and comfortable. I forgo the bra, opting instead for just the t-shirt. Then I wrap my wet hair in a towel, grab my dirty clothes, and head out into the hallway.
I take a moment to really look around the apartment. Although it has rather expensive-looking electronics, it’s also very common: no fancy artwork on the walls, no fancy leather furniture. It has a homey feel to it. Is this the way it's always been, or was it done this way just for me? I’m struck by a sudden curiosity to see Mikah's apartment.
Only then do I notice Mikah on the couch, his laptop on his knees and a look of intense concentration on his face. He doesn't notice me until I get closer. There are very few lights on in the condo, which is nice, and he's drawn the shades on the large glass patio doors.
The TV is on, but muted. I can't tell what's on, but it looks like news or sports.
Finally he looks up and smiles. "Feel better?" he asks.
I smile back. "I feel great. Just going to go put my clothes away, and then do you mind if I join you?"
"Not at all," he says as he closes his laptop and places it on the table in front of the couch.
I go dump my dirty clothes on the floor of the closet near the Converse, and as I come back out toward the living room, I see the TV flickering as he changes channels, looking for something to watch with me. His bare feet are stretched out on the coffee table.
I stand quietly in the doorway and just watch. So normal, so mundane. Not something I'd picture a big-time businessman doing on a Sunday night.
After a couple of minutes of watching him, I walk quietly around the couch to sit on the far corner opposite him.
"I don't bite," he says playfully.
I turn and smile at him. "I know."
"Then why are you sitting all the way over there?"
I shrug. "It seemed appropriate." All the other times we cuddled together have been on his initiative, and I don’t feel comfortable pushing a boundary I’m not sure of.
He gestures with his outstretched arm for me to come closer to him.
A flash of excitement runs through me and I crawl across the couch toward him. I put my head on his shoulder and snuggle into him. It only takes a moment for him to bring his arm around me to rest his hand on my hip.
I let out a silent sigh of contentment.
"What would you like to watch?"
I shrug. "I don't care."
"Okay then."
He flips through a couple more channels and comes to settle on some show. My eyelids are very heavy so I'm not paying much attention. Before I know it, my eyes close and I'm asleep.
"Wake up, angel. Let's get you into bed." His voice is sweet. Wait, did he really just call me angel? "Come on, sleepyhead."
My eyes flutter just a little bit, but I don't want to move. I'm comfortable.
"Do you want me to carry you?"
I wiggle a little deeper into our cuddling. "No, just leave me here," I mumble.
He laughs. "Then where will I sleep?"
"Right here." I snuggle in a little deeper and hear his heart rate speed up. Unlike mine, it doesn't calm right away. But he continues to stroke my lower back, down near my hips, and I lean into his touch.
"See I knew you were awake. Come on, I'll carry you."
As he slides out from under my head and shoulder, I don’t fight it but I don’t help either, and I flop to the couch. I giggle a little bit and he reaches for my hand.
He pulls on my right arm and then is somehow lifting me. His other arm sweeps under my legs and just like that, he's carrying me. I don't put up a fuss, I just snuggle into his chest as he whisks me off to the bedroom.
TWELVE
The next morning I wake up rather early – five thirty, per the clock - and I fight hard for more than an hour to go back to sleep. When that fails, I climb out of bed.
I open the bedroom door quietly, remembering that Mikah’s sleeping on the couch and hoping I won't wake him. But I find Celeste in the kitchen and Mikah sitting at the breakfast bar. He's working again on his laptop, papers spread out before him covering about half of the bar.
Celeste catches my movement and turns in my direction. She doesn't say anything, but she smiles at me and Mikah notices. He turns around on the stool so that he can see me.
"Good morning," I say quietly.
His smile lights up the room, prompting me to smile back at him.
"Good morning. Did you sleep well?" he asks as I start to walk toward him, running my hand through my hair as I do.
"I did, how about you?"
"I did. Didn't mean to wake you, though."
I shake my head. "You didn't. I've been awake off and on since about five thirty, but I wasn't ready to get up."
As I approach, he holds out his arms slightly in invitation. I take him up on it, and he wraps one arm around me, turning back toward the bar.
Movement on his computer screen catches my eye: I see a bunch of numbers ticking by across the top. I point. "What's that?"
He smirks. "That is the stock market."
"The what?"
Celeste lets out a chuckle as she goes back to whatever she was doing before. "Seriously, Mikah, don't bore her with the stock market. It's too early for that."
Mikah chuckles, and I can't help but smile at their exchange. "You're right," he says and closes the browser window.
I gasp. The background on his laptop is the same ultrasound picture that was in the frame he gave me.
"Sorry," he whispers. "I..." He doesn't continue.
"It's alright," I whisper back.
"I rather like that picture," he says as he looks at it again. "I hope it's okay?" His voice is quiet, shy.
I just nod, surprised. Not only did he take the picture in the first place, but he had it enlarged slightly for my frame and it's also on his laptop. I'm not sure how to process this new information.
Celeste interrupts my thoughts. "How about breakfast?"
Mikah looks to me. I look back at him, a little wary about the picture, but I'm rather hungry. I nod.
Mikah releases my waist and starts to gather up all of his papers. He reaches over to the middle stool and pulls it out. I walk around him and take a seat.
Within seconds of my sitting down, Celeste places a plate in front of me with an omelet that has diced-up ham and cheese sprinkled all over it. Next to it are hash browns. It smells amazing.
While I admire my food, she sets a plate of the same in front of Mikah.
"I'll be back a little later to clean up," she says as she leaves the apartment.
"Where is she going?" I ask, curious.
"To my apartment. She's not one to pry while others are eati
ng," he says and smiles at me. "Eat up."
Picking up my fork, I dive in as my stomach begins to rumble.
Once we've finished eating, Mikah is quick to clear the bar of our dishes, placing them near the sink.
"Would you...would you like some hot chocolate?" he asks.
I give him an amused look. "You drink hot chocolate?"
He turns to me, smiling. "No, I drink coffee, but I wasn’t sure if you’d like it.”
"I'd love some hot chocolate."
He turns and reaches for a cupboard door. Inside are all manner of plates, bowls, glasses, wine glasses, and mugs. He grabs two mugs and then reaches for the kettle on the stove. Sliding to the left of the stove, he opens another cupboard; I can't actually make out its contents because he grabs something and closes it quickly.
He goes back to where he left the mugs. I can't see from this angle what he's doing, but watching him move about the kitchen, making me hot chocolate, has me thinking about how thoughtful and caring he is.
A couple moments later I hear the clinking of silverware against ceramic, then the noise stops and he turns around with a mug in each hand.
"Here you go." He sets them down on the bar.
I smile as I pick up the purple and blue mug. It's comfortably warm to the touch, and I can see little billows of steam rising.
He turns to put the stirring spoon in the sink. “Would you...” As I blow across the top of my hot chocolate, he takes a deep breath and starts again. “Would you like to see my apartment?" he asks with his back toward me. I see the tension in his back and shoulders and can feel it in the air.
"Of course," I say, and he relaxes. I'm not sure why he is so worried about me seeing his apartment. "I'd love to." I put the mug down without taking a sip, push back from the bar and stand up. I feel a little dizzy, but I recover quickly. "I'll go change," I say.
"No need, just grab your slippers. It's right upstairs," he says, finally turning to look at me. His eyes are bright and he's excited. So why the tension?
"Alright, I'll be right back."
I move quickly toward the bedroom, a little excited to see his apartment. Curious to see what Mr. Suit lives in. I have no doubt that this apartment was furnished with me in mind. All the furniture here is soft and comfortable, normal and everyday. Is his apartment like this too?
Give Me Desire (Reason Series) Page 4