by T. R. Cupak
Once the morphine began to work, I half-assed apologized to Hunter, but still pressed for him to leave. The doctor said it would be best to let me adjust to my surroundings, as well as keep my blood pressure down, and suggested he should do as I requested and leave, allowing me some privacy. When Hunter refused once more, the doctor called hospital security to come in and escort him out with strict instructions that he’s not allowed back in unless it’s cleared with me first. Yes, that was a dick move, but this revenge scheme is over now and Hunter needs to move on with his life— without me.
If you thought I was fucked up before, Armen made sure I would never recover this time around. There have been a few occasions where I couldn’t tell the difference between what happened to me when I was seventeen and what happened to me more recently. My past is blurring with the present; reality being shadowed by the demonic ghosts of my imagination. Because my frequent nightmares are accompanied by frantic meltdowns, my doctor transferred me to the psychiatric ward. She said that I would get the mental help I needed to cope with the trauma, or P.T.S.D. as she eloquently put it, and went on to assure me that their psychiatric staff is top notch. Honestly, I don’t need help. I know how this story ends. I need to be left the fuck alone and let me do whatever it is I want and need to do.
Weeks have passed and I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss Hunter, because I do, but I can’t face him. My body and face are my every day reminder of what Armen did to me while he held me captive. These days, I just walk the halls of the ward in zombie mode. I’m alive. I’m physically here, but the medication they give me has me feeling like I’m on autopilot; dazed, lethargic, uncaring. It’s actually nice when I don’t have an “episode” as they like to call it.
Actually, it's almost like how I felt before, when I would take my daily cocktail of drugs mixed with alcohol, only this time its monitored, minus the alcohol of course. Plus, it’s not as toxic for my body.
“Jordan, you have to talk about what you went through in order to start the healing process,” Doctor Vishkoff tells me for the hundredth time.
“I don’t want to talk about it. There isn’t anything to say,” I reply back for the hundredth time.
“Therapy only works if you let it,” she states, once again.
“I know. I don’t want it to work. I just want out of here. Why can’t you and all the other doctors get that through your heads,” I shout back at her. I get that I’m being unreasonable. I know she’s only trying to help and here I am, being a total psychotic bitch; but goddamn, why do I have to fight for my freedom? Understandably, my earlier threats of killing myself are the reason I couldn’t checkout of here weeks ago; but now, I don’t know why they won’t let me go. I haven’t told them I wanted to die for a while now; lesson learned. Plus, I’m depressed enough on my own. These damn doctors are keeping me cooped up in this dismal environment doesn’t help my situation.
Thankfully there’s a knock at Dr. Vishkoff’s office door, interrupting our session.
“Doctor, we just received word that Jordan is being transferred to a private facility. Her transportation is here,” the nurse informs us both.
My doctor has the look of annoyance on her face from being disrupted, but I think relief is what she feels most. I’m difficult to deal with and I don’t cooperate like the other patients. She will forget about me the second I step foot out of her office.
“Well, Jordan, it looks like you get your wish after all. Please try to be more receptive with your new doctor. Maybe you will find a connection with them that you didn’t find with our staff here,” Doctor Vishkoff advises before adding, “Jordan, let them help you.”
“Yeah. Sure,” is all I give her when I exit her office.
“This bag is for you, Miss Smith,” the nurse hands me a duffle bag. “It’s street clothes for your travels,” and with that, she leaves me in my soon-to-be old room to change.
After changing out of my “Crazy Town” attire, I am then escorted out to the lobby where Monte stands waiting for me. Am I upset that it’s Monte, no. Am I surprised it’s not Hunter, yes.
“Jordan,” he says with a nod.
“Monte.”
Jordan
The drive is painstakingly long with a brief stop at a local pharmacy to fill my prescriptions that were given to Monte while he waited for me to change and get discharged. Since that minor detour, we’ve been on the road for nearly an hour and a half without speaking a single word. Monte feels off to me. Yes, he’s usually the silent brooding type, but this is different. He keeps making side glances over at me, which is making me feel uneasy and very much self-conscious, plus he has a classical station playing. Why classical? Who knows? Maybe he thinks it will help keep me calm.
The unfamiliar scenery that flickers past me keeps my attention out of the vehicle instead of on the person who is sharing the deafly quiet space with me. Another twenty minutes goes by and I can’t take it anymore. The silence is going to have me jumping out of the car.
“Where are you taking me?” I finally ask since Monte hasn’t given me any information.
“I’m taking you to your new home,” he answers.
“New home?” He has to know he needs to elaborate a little more with the details than what he’s offering.
“Yes, new home. You will have a live-in therapist to assist in your healing process.”
“I don’t want a fucking therapist, let alone a live-in one. Stop the fucking car or I’ll jump from the fucking car, Monte.” My words are sharp; anger replacing my previous docile state.
Monte jerks the SUV off to the side of road and slams on the brakes causing my body to jut forward before the seatbelt locks me in place, causing me to cry out in pain from the force against my healing ribs. Once the vehicle is in park, Monte unfastens his seatbelt and climbs out of the Range Rover with a sense of determination. I cautiously watch him round the front of the vehicle before he swings open my door, unhooks my seatbelt, and pulls me into a tight bear hug, nearly suffocating me. My feet are dangling about a foot from the ground and he’s crushing my ribs.
“Monte, my ribs,” I remind him.
“Oh fuck. I’m sorry,” he apologizes while setting me down on the ground.
This was not what I was expecting from Monte. He has always been composed and reserved, not letting on that anything or anyone can affect him, but somehow, I do.
“Hunter isn’t the only who cares about you, Miss Smith. You have to know that by now.”
I look up and see a guilty sadness in his dark brown eyes. Why? Why does everything have to be so goddamn complicated?
“Hunter is a wreck without you,” he continues. “He doesn’t sleep and he barely eats. He just lays in bed holding your blindfold. You two are my family, Jordan. Let us help you,” he begs.
“Monte, it isn’t that easy for me. My head is all kinds of fucked up. You of all people should know that. You didn’t have to see what Hunter saw. You didn’t have to watch the fucking hell Armen put me through before you two arrived.” I try to fight back the tears, but I fail. “Look at me, Monte. Look at what that monster did to my face, my arms— my body!” I shout out while removing my shirt to show him all of the healing gashes across my abdomen and back. “I can’t do this,” I cry out falling to me knees. “I just can’t,” I croak out through my snotty sobbing.
Completely disregarding the fact that he’s wearing an expensive suit, Monte sits beside me on the ground, leaning back against the Range Rover, and pulls me into another hug; holding me while I cry. He doesn’t say a single word; he just lets me cry.
Although it felt like time has stopped, I know it hasn’t. There’s a chill in the air as the sun ducks down behind the large redwood trees. I can’t help the shiver that rolls down my spine to which Monte reacts to instantly.
“Here,” he says, as he takes my shirt from my hands and puts it over my head, helping my arms through the holes like someone would do for a toddler who hasn’t learned to dress themselves yet.
Once my shirt is back in place he removes his suit jacket and wraps it around my shoulders, and then pulls me back into his chest. He doesn’t say anything else.
So many displaced thoughts are tumbling around inside my head. I get what Monte was saying about being family, I do; I just can’t let myself give into the fantasy that I will have that life. The one and only time I thought I could do the “happily ever after” I was abducted and savagely abused. Who’s to say that someone else isn’t waiting in the shadows for me to be happy so they can swipe the rug out from under my feet? Who’s to say that Hunter won’t be disgusted at the sight of me? My scars are mine to bare, not his. He doesn’t need the constant reminder that I am tainted; that I am ruined.
“Take me home, Monte,” I say. There isn’t anything else that can be accomplished on the side of the road. I just need my own space so I can be left alone, even if it’s for a little while. A little privacy is better than none at all.
In the hospital, if the nurses weren’t in my room every fucking minute, the cameras were always watching me. You couldn’t even use the restroom alone. If you are a threat to yourself, they needed to be sure you weren’t hoarding your medication to off yourself, so they accompanied you since that was the only place cameras weren’t permitted.
After we were both settled back in the Rover, Monte turns the car on along with the heater and my seat warmer. He looks over his left shoulder and proceeds down the road. I haven’t seen a single vehicle in a long time. I don’t even recall hearing any pass when Monte and I were sitting on the ground.
“How much further? I’m getting hungry.” Although I’m afraid to face Hunter, my stomach is telling me I need to eat. Hospital food sucks, so it’s like I haven’t eaten in weeks.
“Another fifteen minutes,” he answers.
“Okay.”
Monte was right when he said fifteen minutes. I remembered looking at the clock on the dashboard and it read four-forty-seven PM. He came to a stop in front of a cottage style home right at five-o-two. There’s something familiar about this place, but I can’t put my finger on what it is exactly.
We both exit the car and walk inside the little house. I am immediately greeted with a homely aroma that hits my nostrils, causing my stomach to rumble. Monte looks down at me from where he stands and smirks. I just roll my eyes and shake my head.
Hunter rounds the corner, stopping when he sees us standing by the door. I want to run. All I have to do is turn around and go right back out the door I just walked through, but Monte sidesteps, blocking my escape.
“Precious, I made your favorite; baked rigatoni and garlic bread,” Hunter says cautiously. I can sense he’s unsure of himself and the situation. Hell, I am too.
“Where’s my warden?” I snip out. I didn’t intend to be mean, but I feel tricked.
“Jordan, you won’t have a therapist unless you request one. I pulled a few strings, and asked a friend to pose as a psychiatrist so we could get you out of the hospital. This is your house, your private space. Monte and I are staying in the main house on the other side of the vineyard. I wasn’t sure if you knew there was another way to get here, but this is the vineyard you bought for us. I moved us here while you were still in the actual hospital, before they moved you to the psych ward. So, you can stay here, in your cottage, or you can stay with me whenever you want. I won’t pressure you,” Hunter explains.
“Boss, I’ll leave you two to talk,” Monte says, “Miss Smith, these are your meds,” he adds before leaving us alone. Fuck, I don’t want to be alone with Hunter. I just want to be alone—period.
“Precious, do you want me to stay or do you want me to go?” Hunter asks with hope that I’ll ask him to stay.
“I want to be alone,” I respond, not even looking at him. I won’t be able to handle seeing the look of repulsion on his face.
“May I come back tomorrow morning to have breakfast with you?”
For the first time in weeks I look at Hunter. He’s leaner, and his hair and beard are longer. His beautiful blue eyes are incased by dark circles. He looks like how I feel. My heart skips a beat when I see that he doesn’t have disgust in his eyes. This man, for whatever fucked up and crazy reason, loves me. That is crystal fucking clear.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Hunter
Jordan is struggling with her emotions and how to respond to my request to have breakfast. She’s been staring at me with clouded eyes for a few minutes now. I know her new prescription medications are messing with her mind. Her body had been clean of all drugs for almost six months, and then Armen had to come in and try to destroy our world. I’ll be damned if I let him win. He will not destroy us.
“Precious?”
“What? Oh, um, I don’t know, Hunter,” she answers.
“Okay. Your cell phone is on your nightstand. Text me or Monte if you need anything,” and with that, I leave her alone, as she requested.
The trek back to my house didn’t take long. It’s about a twenty-minute walk from the cottage I had built special for Jordan. It’s quite impressive how quickly things get built when money is no object, although it wasn’t fast enough. It took longer than I expected it to take, which kept Jordan stuck in that godawful place.
Regardless, she’s here now and I didn’t want her to feel pressured into anything she wasn’t ready for. For the first time ever, I am willing to give her space, within reason. Jordan doesn’t need to know that my own fucked up crazy had me installing motion cameras in every room of her house, except the bathroom. There, she deserves her total privacy. My comfort is knowing that even though I’m not physically with her, I can still watch her; which is exactly what I’m doing from my cell phone right now.
Jordan has looked around her cozy one-bedroom cottage; looking in the drawers of her new dresser, and then gliding her hand over the clothes hanging in her walk-in closet; finding that all of her belongings are accounted for. She then disappeared into the bathroom and reappeared after a minute or two. She headed towards the kitchen where she finally sat down at her dining table. It took her a couple of minutes but she eventually began to eat the dinner I had prepared for her.
She gets up and goes to the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of water, and sits back down at her table, looking around with a sense of loneliness about her. I want to turn around and go back, but I don’t. Jordan needs this time to adjust.
This vineyard, the one Monte brought Jordan to, is the vineyard Jordan bought for us before we left Las Vegas. The day Jordan was taken by Armen was the day we officially took ownership and we were going to celebrate. We have had the keys for a while, since Jordan was helping the elderly couple she acquired the vineyard from, pack up and get on their way back home to. This vineyard had another road that led you in from different highway. I won’t be surprised if this expansive three-hundred-acre goldmine has other hidden secrets. Jordan and I were going to celebrate over dinner, but as you know, that didn’t happen.
Being forced to watch someone abuse another human is a lot to take in, but being forced to watch a monster barbarically violate the woman you love was like having my heart stabbed a million times. I had to fight to keep down the bile that had lodged in my throat. I got her kidnapped and tied to a bed in that dilapidated old house. The pain on Jordan’s face wasn’t what made me fight harder to get free; it was the shame and humiliation that she felt during and after Armen had his way. She voiced how she could never look me in the eye again; how she was giving up.
Maybe, in time, she will fight to keep our love alive. I was patient with her before and I can be patient with her again. She is the queen to my knight.
Jordan
It’s been almost two months since I was released from the loony bin. It’s also been a long two months that I’ve spent alone, aside from Monte’s weekly grocery drop off followed by a brief visit. Doctor Vishkoff’s words stick in my mind. She once told me that I had nothing to be ashamed of; that I am a victim of heinous crimes. But here I am, and I still fee
l ashamed. I haven’t been able to pull myself together enough to go see Hunter at the main house or invite him here, to my little cottage. One would think I would have given into my own desire to see him by now, but I haven’t. Or one would think that I would feel isolated out in the vineyard, but oddly enough, I don’t.
When I wake from a nightmare, like the one I had tonight, I head out to the vineyard for a walk in the darkness. There’s something calming about the dark silence of the outdoors. Maybe it’s because I don’t feel confined or like I’m being watched every five seconds. I know that sounds crazy, but most of the time I feel as though my house is watching me. I keep waiting for it to tell me to get out, like the Amityville house told that poor family before they were slaughtered; but when I’m outside, in the crisp fresh air, I always come to the conclusion that it’s my medication fucking with my mind.
“Jordan?” his voice calls in a hushed whisper.
Two months must be Hunter’s breaking point since he’s physically come to check on me instead of the standard text messages, brief phone calls or sending Monte out. Like I said before, I still haven’t been able to muster the courage to talk with him face to face; apparently, that decision is being made for me tonight.
“How did you know where to find me?” I question, Hunter.
“I wasn’t looking for you, Precious. I felt like going for a walk and then I saw an angel in white and was immediately drawn to her. Now I know why.”
If I must be honest, his answer had me swooning. Hunter knows how to tug at my heart strings along with all of my other lady bits.
“Are you okay?” he asks. The moonlight shines down at a perfect angle, haloing my dark knight with a white essence.
“I am right now,” I reply, stepping closer to the man who makes my heart race every time he’s near.
Hunter follows my lead and steps closer, lowering his head so our eyes meet for the first time in what seems like forever.