Live For This

by Kathryn R. Biel

  Her brow is scrunched, like she’s not really understanding it yet. I drag myself up to a sitting position, my lower body curled and slumped without proper support. “Lean forward so I can show you what I’m talking about.”

  She leans forward and my left hand reaches out. Just before I make contact I tell her, “I’m going to touch you on your back, okay?”

  She sweeps her hair over her left shoulder and nods slightly.

  I start with the knob at the base of her neck. ‘This is C-7. Then you have T-1, T-2, T-3, and T-4. This is where I broke my back. My legs went under the car, and my head and shoulders snapped back onto the hood.” I continue to feel down. “This is T-5 and then T-6. See, just a few inches lower.” I take my hand off her back.

  She’s still staring straight ahead. “So that’s why you’re paralyzed from the chest down, but your hands work. What about the people whose hands don’t work? What’s that?”

  I find that knob again. “Anything above T-1 is going to effect the hands.” I walk my hand slowly up to slightly below the base of her skull. This is C-4. If you break here or higher, you can’t breathe on your own and will need to be on a ventilator.”

  “That must really suck.” She finally glances over at me. My hand slides down her neck. Once I reach her shoulders, I drop my hand to the bed. Sliding back down, I readjust my legs, right over left and then roll onto my left side to face her. Normally I’d put a pillow between my knees so the bones don’t rub together, but she’s using it.

  She slides down and faces me. There’s still space between us, so I try to ignore that this is the most intimate we’ve ever been. “So, you’re lucky then, that you can use your hands.”

  “Yeah, it makes life a lot easier. I can be on my own. I don’t know that I would be able to if it were a higher injury.”

  She smiles, a faraway look on her face. “I can’t believe that I thought you had secret nurses and aides coming in and helping you. I was sort of afraid that you were going to ask me to help. I couldn’t do that.”

  “I would never ask anyone unless they offered. I made that mistake with Lainie. I just assumed she would want to help me.”

  “I—the medical thing freaks me out. When my mom was sick, it scared me. All the tubes and wires. I tried to pretend that she wasn’t that sick; that she was going to get better. She insisted she was going to be fine, and I let myself believe her. I was so stupid. Instead of spending time with her, I hid away because I was scared. My mom was probably scared and I wasn’t there for her. I felt like she was supposed to be there for me, not the other way around.”

  “That makes sense. How old were you?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “Jesus, you were a kid. You need to forgive yourself for that.”

  “How? I left my mom to fight cancer and die alone because I didn’t want to face that she was dying.”

  “Denial is very powerful. Trust me, I know. But if you can’t come to terms with it, you’ll never get over it.”

  “How’d you get so smart?”

  “I broke my back. I’ve learned more in the almost three years since my accident than I had in the previous twenty-eight.”

  “How’d I get so lucky to find you?”

  “I could ask the same thing.”

  “What do you get from me being here? Other than a headache.”

  She has no idea how right she is on that one—at least tonight.

  “This is going to sound silly, but you need me. For once, I’m not depending on someone else, which I’ve done a lot these past few years. You’re depending on me. I get to be the strength in the relationship.”

  “And Lord knows I’ve needed the strength.”

  “I don’t know what the future will bring, but thank you.”

  Her eyebrows rise in surprise. “Thank you? Thank you for what?”

  I reach over and take her hand. “Thank you for needing me. For letting me be a provider, even for a little while. For letting me be your rock. I know you won’t always need me, but it’s felt good to be the strong one. Especially when the rest of me is so weak.”

  A tear slips down her cheek. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  “I don’t believe in all the bullshit about things happening for a reason, or God has a plan. ‘Cause if he does, it’s a shitty plan. But sometimes, just sometimes, things work out.”

  She smiles, the tears heavy in her eyes. “I didn’t think they could work out for me. I didn’t think I deserved for them to work out.”

  “What did you ever do that warranted what you’ve been through?” I don’t like to even say the words.

  “I was willfully and knowingly fucking a married man. I had every intention of breaking up that marriage. I had no respect for it. Just like he had no respect for me.”

  “Okay, so that wasn’t a good thing.”

  She rolls over on her back and stares at the ceiling. We lie there, side by side, for a while. I wonder if she’s going to fall asleep. What would that be like, having her in the bed with me?

  Like anything—everything—else in my life, even sleeping is work. I have to cath right before I want to go to sleep so I hopefully don’t piss the bed. Changing the sheets in the middle of the night is even less fun as an adult than it was as a kid. I have to flip myself over a few times during the night to avoid pressure spots. I wonder what it would be like to sleep next to someone who has to do that.

  Finally, in a small voice she says, “I wasn’t a good person. I’m not sure I am now. But at least now, I’m trying.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: SAMIRAH

  Michael’s been super supportive. I know he has. But now he’s driving me crazy. Mostly because I know he’s right, and I don’t want to admit it.

  I need to turn Chase, Scott, and Todd in to the police. I know I should. I don’t want to. I’m scared about what that would do to my life. I’m scared about what they would do to me. They all know a lot of influential people. They could make my life even more of a hell than it already is.

  Doesn’t he understand how much easier it is to just try to move on with my life? Pressing charges isn’t going to change the fact that they did this to me. It’s only going to make everything worse. Especially now that Chase and Grace are on that show. They’re already all over media. They’re the most popular couple on the show. Of course they are.

  Grace is as genuine on the show as she was the day of her baby shower. She seems to be an honestly good person. That’s the one thing that nags at me about this. Stepping forward with the video will not only ruin my life, but Chase’s and Grace’s as well. I couldn’t give two shits about Chase. He can burn in hell. I hope he does. But Grace—it would probably destroy her. She’s too nice to have something like that happen to her.

  But Michael keeps dropping these little hints. I know he’s trying to be helpful. It’s not. In fact, it’s making me feel worse. I keep trying to forget what was on the video, but he keeps bringing it to the forefront of my mind.

  Like it’s not there every night anyway.

  Bits and pieces from that night haunt my dreams. It’s a wonder I can function. I keep stuffing it down and hoping it doesn’t pop back up. It does, of course.

  I did use Michael’s tablet to look up how to go about reporting this. Unfortunately, what I’ve found is a lot of things that support my hesitance. Instead of being the victim, it would be me on trial, not them. I don’t know what kind of spin they could put on the video proof. I mean, Todd was such an imbecile to record it. The dumb shit made it a point to prop up his phone so the whole thing is there, like a horror show porn film. And then, sending it to me! What a moron. I don’t know what would possess someone to do something so hateful. I guess when you’re a rapist, you have low standards on these sorts of things.

  Anyway, I know how the reporting and trial would go. I would be put on trial. I mean, look at what I was wearing that night. I was with a married man. We’d been sexually active in public before.
If I hadn’t been drugged and incoherent, I would have willingly had sex with Chase that night, probably in the bar. I don’t understand why he would drug me though.

  And if I come forward now, I’m just going to look like a gold digger, trying to cash in on his fame.

  My rape kit is still on file at the hospital. At least it should be. When the hospital lady called to tell me about the chlamydia, she confirmed the presence of both Valium and Rohypnol in my blood. I guess Chase really wanted to make sure I was going to go along with it. It sort of makes me wonder if he’s done this before. Or if he’s going to do it again. That’s the only reason I would step forward.

  Now that it’s out in the open with Michael, I feel like this is taking over my life again. I preferred it when he didn’t know. When it didn’t hang heavy, just under the surface of every conversation. I wish for the levity we once had.

  Yesterday during work, Nikki lent me her car to make the rounds of my favorite second hand and consignment shops to look for more pieces. I was happy to be out of the office and to have something that engages my mind. I can get lost in work and not have to think about the shit that is my life. While on my travels, I found a dress to wear to Barbara’s daughter’s wedding. I haven’t seen Alaina since I was probably about eight and she twelve or so. We didn’t get up here much. I remember Barbara coming to my mom’s funeral, but I don’t know if Alaina was there. I’m still sort of shocked that they invited me. My mom and Barb had been close as children. Maybe this is her way of honoring my mom.

  When I saw the dress, I knew it was the right one. I held my breath when I tried it on, and, by some miracle, it fit. I wanted to come right home and show Michael. I know he probably wouldn’t care, but he’d make me feel like he did. He’s a good guy. A really good guy.

  If I ever even considered getting involved with someone again, it would be with Michael. I don’t think he feels the same way, and in any case, I’m so far from being in the right kind of head space that it’s not even worth thinking about. I may not be ready, but I want to look nice for him. That’s a step. I don’t want to disappear. At least not with him. I’m okay if he sees me. No one else has to.

  So, I’m keeping the dress secret until I can make the big reveal the day of the wedding. The ceremony’s midday and the reception is in the evening. Michael’s not going to the ceremony. It’s being held in an old church that is supposedly handicapped accessible, but Michael says it would still be a pain for him. He’s going to go with me to the reception. I don’t think anyone will notice if my date skips out on the ceremony. It’s not like anyone there will know who I am even, with the possible exception maybe of a few ancient relatives.

  I’m glad I’m able to focus on going to this wedding, rather than the rest of the unpleasantness in my life. I hope that if we stop talking about it, it will just go away and we can be back to being normal.

  That makes me laugh.

  We wouldn’t know normal if it jumped up and hit us in the face. My soul is shattered, his body is broken. I have nowhere to go. He can’t run away. We’re like fragments of broken dishes. I’m not sure there’s enough left to make anything whole again.

  And I don’t know why I’m looking to Michael for this. Why I’m depending on him. Why I’m trusting him. Haven’t I learned that I can’t trust anyone?

  But I want to trust Michael. No, I don’t want to; I need to. I need someone to restore my faith in this world, in myself. And I think Michael’s the one to do that.

  *******

  The morning of the wedding, I’m as nervous as the bride. Well, as I imagine Alaina is. Maybe she’s not nervous. Maybe she’s absolutely sure that he’s the perfect man for her and that they’ll live happily ever after.

  Michael’s letting me take his car to the wedding while he hangs out at home. Mitchell’s coming over for a while. I still don’t love being around Mitchell. Plus, I don’t know if Michael told Mitchell about everything. I begged him not to. I don’t want people knowing about it. I think I’ll be able to tell if Mitchell knows. It’ll be written all over his face. Plus, he barely tolerates me. I’m sure once he finds out, he won’t even bother concealing his contempt. He’ll convince Michael to make me leave.

  Once at the church, I ascend the stone steps that lead to the vestibule. The church has to be more than a hundred years old. I can understand why Alaina would want to get married here—to be able to take photos on these grand steps alone would be worth it. I slip into one of the back pews, going up the side aisle so I don’t have to be escorted by an usher. I’m wearing a smart looking navy sheath dress with cap sleeves, also a consignment shop find. It’s conservative and boring. I never would have worn anything like this in New York.

  Clearly I’m more than a little out of touch, because when Alaina starts to walk down the aisle, apparently I’m the only one shocked to see she’s pregnant. Like pretty pregnant. Either that or she’s smuggling a basketball under her dress. Her face is fuller than I remember, but she looks happy. Her breasts test the limits of the sweetheart neckline and threaten to spill out the beaded top. Probably not the look I would have gone for, but her choices may have been limited. The empire waist opens up to flowing georgette. Her hair is piled on top of her head with curls cascading down over a crown of pearls. The woman in front of me leans over to her husband and says, “After all she’s been through, I’m glad this is happening for her. I didn’t think she’d ever get this.”

  The groom is nervously smiling, scanning the audience. The ceremony takes about forty-five minutes and is really nothing remarkable. I’m glad Michael didn’t come. It would have been a pain. He was right. The church is small on the interior, with pews that don’t leave room for a wheelchair. It bothers me that, in this day and age, Michael could be excluded from something simply because he’s in a wheelchair. It’s not fair.

  It gets me thinking, as I drive back to the house, that I really need to make sure wherever I move is comfortable for Michael. I want him to be able to come over to my place as easily as he can. I owe him more than I can say.

  I’ve been very good at never looking too far into the future. When I was a teenager, I was too scared of failing to be able to make a decent decision. I’ve lived with short sightedness for a while. I didn’t think about long term. I’ve never taken the time to think what’s going to happen down the road. I guess that’s why I didn’t see—didn’t want to see—that my mom might not beat cancer. I didn’t stop to think that going to school for something in which I had no interest would not lead to a fulfilling career. I never considered that there’s no future when you’re in a relationship with a married man. I never lived for more than the moment.

  In a time when my life is in shambles, I’m finally starting to think about the future. To plan ahead. To envision myself down the road. I don’t know what my relationship with Michael will look like. All I know is now that I’ve finally started thinking about a future, I can’t imagine one without him.

  I head home, and Michael’s in his bathroom, doing whatever it is he does in there. I yell a greeting and head to my room. Michael spends a while in the bathroom each morning and night. There’s a small part of me that wants to know what he’s doing in there, but the majority of me doesn’t want to know. I’m guessing it’s not pleasant. It’s probably the sort of thing that his ex-girlfriend couldn’t handle. She’s got to be such a mega-bitch to do this to him.

  But enough with these negative thoughts. Today’s a happy day. I can’t wait to put on my new dress. Nikki lent me her curling iron for the weekend, so I’m even going to make my hair look nice. I take off my boring church dress and lie down on the bed for a little while. I start to think about the wedding today, and what I’d want for my own wedding.

  That thought makes my blood run cold. What the hell am I doing thinking about a wedding? It’s like that day at Grace’s baby shower, thinking that someday I might want a baby. I’ve got no right to think about such things. Those things are for people with a futu
re. I can’t think about them. But I want to. I want to think about where I’m going to live and how I’m going to decorate my place. I want to think about branching out on my own with a design business. I want someone there for me when I come home at night and when I wake in the morning.

  When I think these things, I’m probably tempting fate. Best to focus on the immediate. Like getting ready.

  This dress is like nothing I’ve ever worn. A year ago, my dress for the wedding would have been made of as little material as I could get away with. Short skirt, tight dress, lots of cleavage. That was my style. This dress is so different. Cream colored with delicate butterflies in dark pinks, burgundies, purples, blues, and greens that dance across the flowing fabric. The dress is long, with a full skirt, gathering at the waist with a wide band that laces up like a corset. The top is sleeveless with a shallow V-neck that doesn’t reveal any cleavage. It’s without a doubt the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned.

  Before I would have worn stiletto heels, but tonight I’m wearing delicate ballet flats that are covered in glitter. It’s almost impossible to tell the color—somewhere from soft pink to gold to silver. Even without the heels, I feel unbelievably feminine.

  I hear Michael out in the living room. I touch up my makeup, going for a minimalist look with some mascara and a soft blush. A touch of pink lip gloss, a fluff to my curls, and an antique bracelet. My mom’s pearl earrings and I’m ready to go.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: MICHAEL

  I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s not like this is a date or anything. I mean, I know technically I’m her date, but it’s not like that. I don’t know that I’ll be dating anytime soon. I bring too much baggage. At least I have wheels to carry it on. Jeez, look at me—back to making paraplegic jokes.

  Wearing a suit coat in a wheelchair isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world. I’m not wearing a belt, which I feel weird about. It’s not like anyone’s going to see. I don’t have to worry about my pants falling down when I stand up. Wow—I’m on a roll with these tonight. I should save some of my quips for the party.