Saving Sullivan

by Sara Hubbard

  He pulls back. “Abby, not here.”

  I nod. “You’re right. Let’s take a walk.” With his hand in mine, I lead him to the back doors and outside onto the patio. We pass the hot tub where two guys are drinking and talking while a couple is making out like no one is watching.

  We saunter down the incline to the water, our hands still intertwined. I hold onto him like he’s my life line, and maybe he is. With him, I can push Sullivan out of my mind. I don’t want to like Sullivan—not even a little. At least, not in that way. I want to like Dean and though it’s wrong, I try to force it, focussing my intensity on him instead. I pull him close and kiss him like it might be the last kiss I’ll ever have.

  He breaks away and catches his breath, and I’m close to panting. “This came on all of a sudden,” he whispers.

  I start to unbutton his shirt and my lips trail down his neck to the scant hair on his chest. He groans and pulls me back up to his mouth. He slides the strap of my dress down over my breast before capturing my nipple in his mouth. I’m on fire, the muscles in my upper thighs and pelvis clenching, but as I close my eyes I only see Sullivan—and it makes me feel awful. I can’t hurt Dean. He’s just too nice. But I’m so worked up right now it’s almost impossible to stop myself. My nipple pebbles as Dean circles and flicks it with his tongue. I bend my knees and sit on the ground, leaning back and taking him with me. His lips return to mine and lightly, he cups my chin and turns my head to the side, facing the cabin over the hill. His tongue draws a line from my collarbone to my ear.

  I see the outline of a man in the distance, on the hill. Big broad shoulders and messy dark hair—Sullivan. I don’t stop right away. I have no idea what I’m doing, but seeing the vacant look in his eyes make my stomach turn, and I feel like he’s pierced me through the heart as he turns and walks away.

  “Dean, wait.”

  He presses his covered erection against me, and through the fabric of his jeans and my thin cotton dress, I can almost feel him pulsating.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I…can’t do this.”

  He calms his breathing before rolling off of me and sitting. After a moment of silence he picks at the grass and chucks the strands out by his feet. “Why?” he asks, his voice quiet.

  I lower my head into my hands and collect myself. When I lift it he’s staring straight at me. I have no idea what I feel; I only know that we were about to have sex and all I could think about was Sullivan. That has to mean something.

  “I…”

  “You are into Sullivan, aren’t you? As soon as you saw him, you couldn’t wait to bring me here. Are you trying to make him jealous?”

  “No! Not at all.” And I wasn’t. I was just trying…to make myself forget about Sullivan, to make myself feel more for Dean than I actually feel. Cursing myself, I cross my arms across my chest and gently rock from side to side. “We’re friends.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

  “I like you, Dean—honestly, I do. It’s just I like Sullivan, too—as much as I don’t want to. I can’t get him out of mind no matter how hard I try. If I had a choice I would want to see where this goes.” I point to him and then me. “We could be good together.”

  “But you like him more?”

  “God help me, I do.”

  “He’ll hurt you, Abby. I promise you, he will. He’s incapable of loving anyone. He’s just too fucked up.”

  “I don’t believe that. It’s never too late.” But deep down, I know that’s not true. It was too late with my mother, which is maybe why I need to try with Sullivan. Whatever broke him, I want to be the one to fix it.

  He stands and offers me his hand. “Come on. I’ll take you home.” He pulls me up and we stand face to face.

  “I’m so sorry, Dean. I care about you. I do.”

  “But you care about Sullivan more. Story of my life.”

  Nine

  THE WINDOW IS open and the curtains flutter with the delicate breeze. The moon sits high in the sky and shines a beam on my arms. It’s two o’clock in the morning and I still can’t sleep. I am so confused right now. I worry I’ve gone and hurt Dean. He’s so nice and I feel like such a bitch.

  Why am I consumed with thoughts of Sullivan—not just because I want to help him, but because I want his mouth on mine? He said I’d beg to sleep with him by the end of the summer and he was right. I want him—now. God knows how much more this will intensify by the end of the summer.

  But Dean is wrong—Sullivan is not into me, and even if he is, I know he’d never be in a relationship with me. And with Sullivan, I would want more than sex. Sullivan is someone I could love and it scares the shit out of me.

  Just as I’m drifting off, there's a loud bang at my door. I jump in bed and clutch my chest. It must be Nicole. She must have forgotten her key or something. I hop out of bed and pad across the hardwood to the door. Dean stands on the other side. I’m only in a t-shirt and underwear. I pull it down a little so it covers my hips.

  His face is strained and his eyes are puffy, black and blue. His chest heaves up and down, too fast for normal breathing. “Dean? What happened?” My hand reaches up to the side of his face and I gently touch his shiner. He flinches and moves away and I drop my hand.

  “I need you to come with me.”

  “What? Now?”

  “Please, Abby,” he says, his eyes wide. “It’s Sullivan.”

  I snatch a sweater off my desk chair and pull on some Capri pants. We hurry down the stairs and out the front door. The air is crisp and it makes the fine hair on the back of my neck stand on end. The resort is kind of dead right now. I can hear the trees ruffling with the breeze and the hint of music in the distance from the Cave. Most of the lights in the cabins are off but the paths are well lit with lamps. My heart is racing. Dean won’t tell me what’s going on and I imagine the worst. Sullivan hurt. Bleeding. Like my mother was. I just can’t take the suspense anymore. I halt. Dean has my hand in his and he halts right alongside of me.

  “Dean. Tell me what's going on. I’m out of mind right now!”

  “You’re a nurse. And Sullivan won’t go to the hospital or let me call the clinic. The only way we can get him to get looked at is if you come and see him.”

  “I’m a student.”

  “Close enough.”

  I tip my head back and groan as he grips my hand again and drags me forward. The college will have my ass for treating him without supervision. I could fail my placement, and yet my two feet are still scurrying along the trodden path to Sullivan’s cabin. “How bad is he?” No answer. “Dean!”

  “Bad.”

  I pick up my pace and Dean runs alongside of me. I can’t get to Sullivan fast enough. The thought of never seeing him again, never laughing with him or having him flirt with me and make me feel special…no. I can’t think like that. Surely, if this is life threatening, Dean would have had enough sense to call 911.

  When we reach the cabin, Dean barges in, leaving the door wide open behind him. I take a good look around the room. The place is in shambles. Obviously, the party escalated after we left. Food and beer cans litter the floor. Some of the table chairs are broken and splintered wood is piled haphazardly on the kitchen floor. The kitchen countertop is covered in bottles and spilled red wine, and there are trays of half-eaten food on the island.

  “In here!” Dean yells from somewhere to my right. I didn’t even notice him disappear. I follow the sound of his voice and when I round the corner I see the living room, or what’s left of it. The glass table is smashed to pieces and there’s blood all over the carpet with a trail of crimson leading from the glass to a few feet away on the dark hardwood.

  Sullivan lies on his side. Blood scars his arms, legs, and neck and face.

  “Oh my God.” The place looks like a crime scene. Memories flood through my mind like a movie on fast forward. The blood. Oh God. It was everywhere.

  “Abby? You’re white as a ghost.”

  Sulliva
n…I shake off the images and turn off a part of me I often hide away. I race across the room and kneel by Sullivan’s side. He’s out cold so I feel for a pulse. Ames is sitting on the floor, leaned against the wall, his forehead covered in lines of worry. Sullivan's pulse is weak but present, and his skin is warm.

  “Sullivan, can you hear me?” Tears materialize on my lower lids and begin to fall. I tap the side of his face a few times; he winces before moaning and then his breath hits me. I can smell the alcohol on him like he’s sweating it out of his pores.

  “This is ridiculous!” I fume, glaring first at Ames and then Dean. “Get the phone. Call 911.”

  “I can’t do that,” Ames says. “Sullivan said no 911.”

  “Sullivan is drunk and he’s not thinking straight. Give me the damn phone.”

  “Please. Help him,” Ames says quietly.

  “I’m a student. We need to get someone who knows what they’re doing! He could be bleeding out.”

  “It’s an emergency. Please, Abby—”

  “Exactly. So get the damn phone and call!”

  Sullivan shakes his head. “No. Get out if you’re going to call.”

  “Shut up, Sullivan. I’m not very happy with you at the moment. What the hell did you do to yourself? And you smell like a brewery.” I start at his head and make my way over his face, his shoulder and his abdomen, taking stock of all his wounds. “You have blood everywhere and I can’t be sure you won’t bleed out.” But I know it’s unlikely. He’s not spurting so whatever wounds he has I’m certain no arteries have been punctured.

  “I’m fine. You can leave.”

  “Shut your mouth.”

  “No one can know about this.”

  “Are you insane? You’re bleeding. A lot. You could need blood!”

  He shakes his head. “I’ll bleed out before I let anyone in the hotel find out about this.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “If the hotel comes here and sees this place, I could lose my job,” he chokes out.

  “That makes no sense.”

  “He kind of has a history here and they told him they’d fire him if he caused any trouble, whether at work or not,” Dean says quietly.

  “Fucking asshole,” Sullivan mumbles. “Mind your fucking business.”

  “Who cares about your job, especially when your heath is at risk? It’s not like you need it, anyway.”

  “He’ll lose his trust fund,” Dean chokes out. “He’ll have nothing.”

  “Are you still fucking here?” Sullivan slurs. “Get the fuck out!”

  I ignore his rant and focus on the facts. I don’t understand what his job and his trust fund have to do with one another but this is not the time to sort through Sullivan’s personal problems. A groan escapes my lips and, quietly, I scream under my breath.

  “Just do the best you can. I’m not going to a hospital or the clinic,” Sullivan says, his words only just comprehensible.

  I examine his body. Most of the cuts are superficial but at least three of them need stitches and three slivers of sharp jagged glass still protrude from his leg, but they don’t look too deep, and they’re in the muscle and nowhere near an artery. “I’m not touching you unless you let me call for help.”

  “Do you want to keep your job?” he says after a long moan.

  “Excuse me?” I lean back on my heels, unsure I’ve heard him correctly, because no way would he threaten my job when I’m covered in blood and trying to help him. No. I must be mistaken.

  “I’ll make sure you never finish your placement. Just leave me the hell alone. Go back to fucking Dean.”

  “You’re an asshole, Sullivan! A complete and utter jackass and I hate you more than anyone else in the world right now, but I’m not leaving. So deal with it.”

  Ames appears and kneels down on the other side of Sullivan. “All you have to do is bandage him. That’s it. Stitch him up.”

  “Nurses don’t do stitches.”

  “Then I suggest you learn quick.”

  I stare at my hands, at the rich red blood and feel my heart start to race. Flashing back, I remember seeing my mother, falling to the ground in a puddle of her blood. That’s where my father found me.

  I shake my head.

  Sullivan’s Adam’s apple bobs and his hand slides across the marble tile to sit on top of my knee. “I’m sorry,” he says in a whisper, as if he can see how much seeing him like this distresses me.

  “I need you.”

  "I need Alice,” I say quietly.

  “No. You don’t,” Ames says to encourage me.

  “I don’t have any supplies.”

  “I’ll get whatever you need,” Ames says.

  My nose is running and my eyes are glassy. I sniff and wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “Saline, gauze, needle and thread, alcohol…”

  “We have lots of that,” Ames says, springing to his feet.

  I roll my eyes. “And some tape. For now, I’ll settle for some towels and tape.”

  “Seriously, Abby. He’ll leave and won’t see anyone if you call for help.”

  I’m about to pull my hair out. I nod and agree—for the moment. “I want a reason. A good reason. And if you don’t give me one by the time I’ve looked you over, then I’m calling the cops instead. They’ll make sure you get treatment even if you don’t want it. Especially since you caused so much damage to this cabin.”

  Sullivan’s eyes open and narrow when they meet mine. I glare right back at him, making him pull his hand away from my knee. I’ll be damned if I jeopardize my placement on account of him. No. Mr. Moneybags can’t buy this gal.

  Ames rummages around the place, and manages to find a first aid box. He leaves to head to the pharmacy while I start putting Sullivan back together again. I sweep the glass out of the way and with Dean’s help, we move Sullivan to the kitchen table. He lies on top of it while I start cleaning his wounds with alcohol. He grits his teeth and bites back screams while I pour it on, perhaps using more than I need, but I kind if like watching this bastard in pain. He deserves it—even if he did try and smooth things over with an apology. Threatening me with my job? Asshole! Though deep down I know Sullivan is not that much of a dick to screw me over. It’s only an idle threat. He cares about me as least a little. I saw it when we were skydiving. He pushed me to help me overcome my fears.

  I pat his wound with sterile gauze and then apply dressings and tape. I find some Steri-strips in the first aid kit and try my best to use them on his open wounds. They’re bleeding so much they won’t stick, but eventually I get them to work and cover them as best I can.

  Ames returns and drops a bag of supplies on the kitchen counter. I sort through them, picking out bandages and gauze and normal saline and a syringe. I cleanse his remaining wounds and dry them with gauze before applying some absorbent pads and covering them with tape.

  Dean and Ames take seats in the living room and talk quietly.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened?” I ask Sullivan, my voice stern.

  “Nothing. I tripped and fell into the table.”

  “Bullshit,” I say. “Dean has a shiner and you’re shredded to pieces. Somehow I think one has to do with the other. What are you thinking? He’s one of your closest friends.”

  “The fuck he is.”

  I pour saline on Sullivan's wounds and he cringes. He raises an eyebrow at me as I dab some water onto the cut on his cheek. He studies me, to the point where I start to feel uncomfortable and debate dabbing his cheek a lot harder than necessary, but then I remind myself to act professional.

  “You’re off limits,” he says.

  “Excuse me? Because I’m pretty sure we’re just friends. You said so yourself.”

  “Yeah. Exactly,” he grumbles. “S’why you’re off limits,” he says, practically slurring all his words.

  “You really are a piece of work, you know that?”

  He chuckles without humour. “Yeah. So I’m told.” His gaze drops to his la
p and for a moment, I see a vulnerability in him that I haven’t seen before. I chew my lip as I work. Don’t ask him, I tell myself. It’s not my business. I don’t care about why he’s so messed up. People make poor choices all the time and they need to be accountable. No sob story is going to make the way he acts okay.

  “We’re friends, Sullivan. You don’t want a girlfriend. You don’t want me like that. If we had sex that would be it. You’d be over it in a second.”

  “No. I wouldn’t.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Try me.”

  “Sleep with you?” My voice rises an octave.

  He nods.

  “Fine.” I throw my hands up in the air.

  He looks at me like I’ve slapped him. He couldn’t look more shocked than if I told him I’m a man. “You’ll sleep with me?”

  “Sure. Why not? But on one condition: you let me take you to the clinic to get looked at.”

  He growls. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

  “I get that a lot.”

  “No.”

  “What is going on in that head of yours?” I whisper.

  “I’m not going, and that’s final,” he slurs.

  “Fine, Sullivan. Do whatever you want, but after tonight I’m done with you. I don’t need this crap!”

  He winces as he gives me a genuine laugh this time, and I watch a dimple appear in his left cheek. “You just don’t understand…”

  “You’re right. You put me in a really bad position. And no, I don’t understand. Talk to me. Why can’t you just talk to me? Why are you so thick-skulled? If you weren’t so busted up right now, I’d punch you in the face.”

  He takes a deep breath and sighs. “My father is going to cut me off if he finds out about this…about how I trashed this cabin…that’s it.”

  “So you’d rather risk your health than lose your money? Your priorities are seriously messed up.”

  “I have nothing. If he cuts me off…I don’t have an apartment, a car, credit cards, money…I have nothing.”

  I stare into this blue eyes and remind myself not to be taken in by him. Not to let his sob story affect me. But I can’t. Because as much as I hate that he’s a guy who seems to value money, I don’t think that’s what he’s talking about. No. He’s talking about security. Family. I feel bad for him that his family could turn his back on him like that, that they’d leave him with nothing at all. Or maybe he’s exaggerating. Maybe life without a high credit card limit just doesn’t sit well with him. But in this moment, I don’t really care. He’s being an ass. And now I’m going to have to go and pretend I’ll share his bed with him to get his stupid, stubborn ass to go to the doctor.