by Emerson Rose
She hands me a puff with a large amount of body wash and squirts shampoo onto my head. We work together until I am vomit free and my hair has been washed and conditioned by damn near an entire bottle of conditioner.
It’s been a long time since I needed help bathing and managing my hair. Ten years ago my mother had to do it for months after my attack. I was so grateful for her help then, and I’m grateful for Maria’s now. She is like a substitute mom.
When we’re done, she shuts the water off and steps out and squishes across the bathroom in her wet shoes to grab me a towel. She starts to wrap it around me and I push it back into her hands. “No, no, you’re soaked. You dry off, I can get my own towel.”
“I’m OK, don’t worry about me.” I have no fight left in me. I used it all on Elijah. She leads me to the bench wrapped in the towel. Only when she has me off of my feet does she grab a towel for herself and dry off. She takes another towel from a pile on the vanity and rubs my hair until it’s semi-dry. Then in true mom fashion, she combs it and braids it down my back.
She looks at me in the mirror with love and concern in her eyes.
“I know you didn’t want to hear what Elijah told you today, whatever he told you. But you need to know this.”
She pauses to give me a chance to refuse her, but I don’t. I can’t. It feels like whatever she has to say is important.
“Mr. Castillo, Marcus, he was a good boy. I have taken care of him since his mama and papa died. I watched him change from a sad, shy young man into a monster. I know the things he did but I know this, too, God makes miracles. Marcus drove off that bridge, and God gave him a second chance. He took that troubled girl to heaven, and he took the monster from Marcus’s soul. What he did in the past is the past. He is not that man anymore. You’re married to the Marcus I always prayed he would be. You are his miracle. Don’t give up on him”
Her hands rest on my shoulders, she smells like jasmine and conditioner. Her eyes beg me to forget Marcus’s past and forgive Elijah for caring enough to risk his life warning me.
I nod silently agreeing to let this go and make amends with Elijah. I don’t know how I am going to forget about Marcus’s past. As much as I want to, I can’t deny Brian’s stories now that Elijah has confirmed them to be true.
“I’ll try.” She massages my shoulders for a moment and kisses the top of my head before leaving me alone. A tired woman looks back at me from the mirror.
“What are you going to do, Imani?” I ask myself out loud, and sigh.
It’s a chilly walk back to our bedroom. When I open the door I shiver but I feel better. The nausea has subsided and my head is clearer.
The TV is on. It’s set to the security system and the camera is focused on Marcus and zoomed in so close I can see every breath he takes.
Elijah did this for me, even after I was such a complete bitch. I feel like an asshole. I overreacted. In fact, I don’t feel like I’m entirely in touch with my emotions at all.
I press my hand to my forehead. Am I finally losing it? Can a sane person tolerate this much stress and stay sane? I let my hand fall to my side and make my way to end of the bed. Propping my ass against the footboard I watch the source of my roller coaster ride of emotions.
He’s resting quietly. I can’t see who is with him because the camera is zoomed so close but I assume it’s Mr. Black. My heart flutters in my chest and that familiar magnetic feeling of being bonded together courses through me.
I wonder if that will ever fade? Will this extreme need to occupy the same space and breathe the same air diminish over time, or will it grow stronger? I can’t imagine things being more intense between us, but then again I couldn’t imagine loving a man a few short months ago either.
Now I’m drowning in him, consumed by him, married to him. It’s strange and surreal, but natural at the same time.
He is my sun. My existence depends on him. He gives me purpose and life. I don’t think many people find their sun and that’s sad. Everyone deserves to experience unconditional, passionate, all-encompassing love at least once in their life. We all hope to find the person who gives us a reason to live.
I’m lost in my thoughts of forever love when two little blurs whiz through the room. They take a severe turn when they round the bed and nearly crash into my wardrobe. I hear their sharp claws gripping the carpet for traction as they chase each other under the bed.
“There you are.” Someone let them back into our room, someone who knows I need a distraction and a little love right now. It could have been Elijah or Maria. Both of them have developed a knack for anticipating my needs.
I kneel down and look under the bed and they pounce on me. I roll onto my side gripping my towel and giggling as they bat at my face and nudge my hands for attention.
“So, you love me when he’s not around, huh? Playing favorites isn’t nice, you know.” I give them a scratch and watch as they attack invisible threats under the bed.
“I’m getting dressed, little monsters, don’t break anything.” I stand up too quickly and grab ahold of the bedpost until the blood returns to my head. I thought I was better but apparently I haven’t seen the end of this illness.
I dress in a pair of cotton sleeping pants and a tank top. I want to go see Marcus but I should go to bed and try to shake this flu.
I sink down under the duvet between the Egyptian cotton sheets that Marcus and I just made love on last night. I hug his pillow and breathe in the combination of his earthy eucalyptus scent, my jasmine body wash and sex. The potent scent invokes a strong physical reaction deep in my core. I want him back in this bed so I can to curl up against his warm body. I want him to be inside of me, part of me.
I’m blessed and cursed at the same time to have such a deep, all encompassing love. He brought part of me to life, but his past has me in a chokehold. I flop onto my back and stare at the twinkling chandelier overhead. Will we ever be able to live a normal life?
Yes and No attack my feet when I move them under the covers. After a few minutes, they settle down and curl up against my legs. I need to sleep but I slept all day and I’m not taking a sleeping pill when Marcus’s condition is in limbo.
I need a book. I reach over carefully, as not to disturb my fuzzy bed partners, and slide open the bedside table drawer. Feeling around for my iPad, I brush over the handcuffs; two guesses as to who put those away for me.
I locate my iPad and settle back against the pillows. Yes stands up and gives me a dirty look for disturbing her beauty sleep and stretches out along the length of my leg.
I open the romance book I’ve been reading and stare at the page without actually reading the words. I’ve read hundreds of books like this one. The characters fall in love, suffer some kind of minor setback that they promptly overcome and live happily ever after.
I want that, why can’t life be passionate and predictable like a romance book? We have the passion part down pat but being with Marcus will never be easy or predictable.
I groan, throw back the covers and toss my iPad aside on the bed, scaring the crap out of the kitties. “Sorry, babies.”
I can’t lie here doing nothing, maybe a walk will help. I grab a hoodie from my wardrobe and pause when I walk past the TV screen. I kiss my fingertips and press them on the screen. “You go, I go.”
I make my way through the quiet house downstairs to the kitchen. My stomach is still a little off, but I think something to eat might help now.
I flick on the light in the spotless kitchen and pad across the tile to the pantry. After rummaging around a while, I find a loaf of bread and pop a slice in the toaster and lean against the island.
The last time I was in this kitchen alone at night was a monumental disaster. Thankfully, the doctor staying with us now isn’t interested in derailing my marriage.
The toast pops up startling me, this room makes me jumpy. My stomach growls and I place my hand there. I’m hungrier than I thought. Nibbling on my dry toast, I take one of the fancy water bottles from the fri
dge and decide what to do next.
I feel totally normal. Whatever was wrong disappeared as quickly as it came on. I sweep the crumbs off of the counter and switch the light off on my way out.
I resign to go back to my bedroom but change course at the last minute when I walk past Marcus’s office. Inside a soft green library lamp glows on his desk. My big strong husband still hates the dark.
I smile and round his desk to sit in the plush leather office chair. Popping the last bite of toast into my mouth I brush my hands together and tilt back to prop my feet on the huge slab of mahogany.
It’s chilly but there is a throw on the back of the chair. I pull it down and toss it over my legs. The red and black throw blanket smells like leather and Marcus. I pull it up to my face and breathe in deep.
It must be nice being the king of his castle, now all I need is a cigar and I’d look like the Godfather. I scan the dimly lit room, it’s kind of spooky. With this much light it’s impossible to see much past his desk but the dark doesn’t bother me.
I slide my hand along the wood desk and swivel the chair back and forth with my heels. I’m embarrassed to admit even to myself why I’m here.
I want to snoop.
This office holds a million secrets, many of which I’m sure I don’t want to know about. I know he does it for my own good, but that doesn’t make me any less curious.
Glancing at the ceiling I check for the cameras that I know are there. I know I’m being watched. Probably by Elijah, but I have every right to be in here. I can look at anything I want, I’m his wife.
Casually, I slide the center drawer open and peek inside. There’s nothing exciting in here, just a couple of neatly lined up pens and some random office supplies arranged in an anally retentive pattern.
Yeah, you can tell this is Marcus’s desk alright. I slide the drawer shut and drop my feet to the floor. I pass up the drawer the right. I already know that’s the one with the panic room button and without being too conspicuous I open the one on the left.
I look around the room before leaning over to squint into the deep drawer. A half empty bottle of scotch rolls forward, typical man. Under the bottle is a thin stack of manila files.
I reach for them and hesitate. I shouldn’t be doing this. I have no idea what kind of information I might find in here. It might be something criminal or confidential.
Unlabeled, unalphabetized files that are not in any sort of color-coded pattern are out of character for Marcus, though, and that makes me even more curious. Maybe Elijah has been using his desk, or maybe not.
I cave and lift the bottle of scotch off of the file and side it out of the drawer. I open it just enough to see a few documents with the Dominus letter head, nothing exciting. I lay it down on the desk and pluck another from the stack.
The name at the top of the file sends a shiver up my spine. Megan Rose Castillo. Under it is a neatly handwritten sticky note that says to be destroyed.
Most of the contents are legal forms stating that Marcus adopted Megan when she was nine years old. Who would let a Mafia family leader adopt a kid? Anyone. The fact that he was a Mob leader is precisely the reason someone let him adopt her. No one refuses Marcus Castillo anything.
I lay the file out on the desk and prop my elbows on either side of it, neatly going through each form one by one. There are more legal documents and photographs.
The first is a haunting picture of a young Megan sitting at the dining room table in Seattle. It’s the same table I walked like a runway to seduce Marcus.
I can tell it was taken from security camera footage because of the high angle. She’s eating alone. In the next photo she is a much happier child, maybe a couple years older. She is healthy and glowing standing next to Marcus proudly holding a trophy.
I can’t tell what she’s won it for, but it probably wouldn’t have made any difference to her. It’s obvious her pride and happiness was directly related to Marcus.
The next few pictures form a timeline of Megan’s life. From her elementary school years to high school, she continues to blossom, getting more and more beautiful in every photo.
She was an active girl. She swam competitively, danced jazz, ballet and tap, played the cello in the orchestra. She had dance recitals, concerts, you name it he was there supporting her.
His smile changes over time from proud and fatherly in her earlier years to stiff and forced in her teens. Until finally, he’s absent from the photos altogether when she starts hanging out with the wrong crowd.
I know what happens after that. My stomach rolls and I break out into a cold sweat at the thought of him intentionally luring her into his bed to punish her for throwing her life away to be a stripper.
The last item in the file is a death certificate. It’s heartbreaking that a person’s life can be summed up by a few pieces of paper and pictures in a file.
No one will remember her, no family will mourn her loss except for Marcus, and his grief is tarnished with guilt.
When I’m finished, I put everything exactly where I found it except the sticky note. The short documentation of her life shouldn’t be destroyed. No matter what happened between them, in the end she was a person, and she mattered.
My hand is on the drawer ready to close it when I notice a small wooden box with a brass latch. I think the phrase ‘curiosity killed the cat’ was coined after me.
I look up and scan the room again. I don’t know why, it only makes me look guiltier and it’s too damn dark in here to see anything anyway.
Leaving the box in the drawer, I open it and find two keys nestled in purple velvet with MDC engraved on each one. Oh, now this is intriguing. Why are Marcus’s initials on keys?
The keys are so small. I wonder what they open. I take one out of the box and leave the other. I’m sure he has things arranged in a special way so he will know if someone’s been in here. He won’t be at this desk for a while. Elijah is probably working here in his absence, so if anything is out of place Marcus will assume it was him.
I have no idea how I plan on finding what lock this key opens. I’m not going to press my luck tonight, I’m tired and my bed is calling my name.
Thirty minutes ago I was wide-awake and now I’m ready to call it a night. How can I possibly be tired when I’ve only been awake for six hours?
Before I leave, I do my best to put his chair exactly where I found it, but it’s hopeless. Someone already knows I’ve been here. After moving it a little to the left and scooting it a little to the right, I give up. Dead center will have to do.
I slip the key into the pocket of my hoodie and drag myself back to bed. Relief fills my heart when I see Marcus on the TV screen. He looks better after only one dose of antibiotics.
When I return to bed, Yes and No are there, purring loudly as they sleep. They barely acknowledge my presence when I snuggle in next to them.
“Good night, guys,” I say, reaching out to scratch their heads before surrendering to sleep.
Ninety-Three
The mattress dips behind me and cool air rushes in under the duvet. Marcus must be coming to bed late. I feel him slide in behind me warming me with the heat of his body.
I sit bolt upright and the kittens scatter onto the floor. Marcus is sick downstairs. Someone else is in bed with me.
Warm familiar hands slide around my waist and a voice whispers in my ear, “Shush, baby, it’s me.”
I thrust my hand out to switch on the lamp and nearly knock the damn thing over. I whip around and find myself eye to eye with the man who stops my heart and stirs unexplainable emotions.
“What are…” He places a finger against my lips and he pulls me into the curve of his body. Spooning behind me he moans softly against my neck.
“You left me again.”
“I…” He quiets me again when he slides his hand between my breasts and past my neck to cover my mouth with the tips of his fingers.
“Don’t tell me I should be in a hospital bed. Don’t tell me I ne
ed medication or monitoring because I don’t give a fuck about any of it. The only thing I need is you. And for some reason unbeknownst to me, you always leave me when I fall asleep.”
I squirm trying to free my mouth from his hand. “Uh-uh, no talking, you talk too much. I need my wife not my nurse, so shush.”
He’s crazy, and this is proof. I purposely stop struggling, and he removes his hushing fingers from my mouth.
“I think Doctor Lorenzo drilled too deep into your brain,” I mumble under his hand until he moves it. I feel his warm lips smile against my neck.
“Always with the smart mouth.”
“You wouldn’t let me out of bed if I were sick,” I say.
“I would never leave your side if you were sick,” he counters.
“I was barfing in the sink, Marcus. I couldn’t stay there and infect you but apparently distancing myself from you was a waste of time. You’re really sick. Did anyone tell you you’re septic? And now you’re going to get the flu.”
“You were throwing up?” He pulls his arm out from under mine to check my forehead. “You’re not hot.”
“Gee, thanks. Yeah, I know. It’s just my stomach, and you should be more concerned with yourself. Sepsis is serious, you could die.” I turn to face him I notice that he still has his IV. He just unhooked himself from the fluids.
I’m about to raise hell with him but he looks so despondent. I take his face in my hands and smooth the worry line from his brows with my thumbs.
“What is it?”
“You keep saving me.”
“And you keep sabotaging my work. Why can’t you stay in bed and listen to the doctors? You need to rest and stay calm.”
He is quiet and I expect it’s because he has no answer to my question; no reasonable answer anyway.
“I don’t like taking orders. And I can’t get well without you.”
I close my eyes and bite my lip. He has a way of defusing my anger and making me feel guilty for wanting perfectly reasonable things. He can also melt my heart and make me feel adored and cherished.