by Vivien Vale
“We need to help this man! I think you’ve dislocated his shoulder!”
“Adelaide, you aren’t going to treat this guy, are you?”
“Damn right I will! You hurt him! You might be a ruthless killer, but I’m bound by the Hippocratic oath I swore. This man needs help!”
Ford kicks the mugger’s blade into the gutter.
“There’s your ruthless killer right there! He would’ve stabbed you!”
“Yet he’s the one bleeding now,” I snap.
Ford bends down over the man and brings his face close to the mugger’s.
“What did you want with her, huh?”
“Please,” the man forces out, spit bubbling from his mouth. “My arm...”
I give Ford’s shoulder a shove. I have a tiny emergency first aid kit among my things and bring it out.
“I’m a doctor,” I say to the mugger and place my hand on his chest to steady him.
He’s breathing in spasms through clenched teeth. Clearly, he’s in a lot of pain.
I address the wound in his upper right arm first.
I cut away his shirt and examine the gash. It’s deep, but clean, and the knife missed the artery just so. I apply an antiseptic spray.
The man grits his teeth but looks at me thankfully.
To the side, Ford’s pacing back and forth, wringing his hands.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this. You could be dead or worse by the hands of this guy, and you’re dressing his wounds?”
“I guess my ethics are different from yours,” I say coldly.
I apply a pressure bandage to the wound, wrapping it tightly around the man’s arm. It’ll stop the bleeding.
“Adelaide,” Ford pleads, “we need to get out of here!”
“We need to fix his shoulder,” I say resolutely.
I help the mugger to his feet. He looks fearfully at Ford.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “He’ll stay back. I won’t let him hurt you anymore.”
Ford snorts.
“I’m not your watchdog you can order around.”
“And this man’s not an animal, either. He’s a human being,” I say kindly.
I slowly rotate his arm and carefully touch his shoulder joint, feeling for the dislocation.
“Now,” I say, “look over there, and rotate your upper body, like this.”
I show him, and he assumes the position.
I extend his arm and hold his wrist in both hands.
“I’ll move your arm very quickly in this direction, and your shoulder will pop back in. Got it?”
The man nods. Ford shakes his head disapprovingly.
“Adelaide, you truly are a wonder,” he says. “This has got to be the first time...”
“Shut up.”
“Don’t hurt him,” Ford adds sarcastically.
By now, he’s seriously beginning to piss me off. Using my entire body, I swing the man’s arm to the side and twist it just right. He yelps, but I can hear a satisfying clack as the joint realigns itself correctly.
I lose my balance with the momentum of my swing, and the mugger uses this moment to dash down the alley he came from.
Ford immediately starts sprinting after him, but the kid has a head start and ducks down a side street.
Ford throws me a look over his shoulder. He’s torn, wanting to chase the mugger, but according to his own rules, he can’t abandon me here. He trots back to me.
His faces twitches, playing out a pinball game of frustration and anger, but he controls himself.
“That was… stupid, Adelaide.”
“You’re the one who went overboard, Ford. You didn’t have to torture him on the spot—for nothing!”
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Ford grumbles. “My gut instinct tells me someone put this guy on us. This was no chance robbery, no coincidence.”
“Look,” I say, “whatever made this young guy pull a knife on us, he needed medical attention after you were done with him. And I’ll never refuse to treat someone in need! Remember that.”
“I’d have broken his resistance,” Ford insists. “He’d have told us who sent him.”
“You nearly broke his arm!” I’m fuming. “Let it go, Ford. Whatever’s in your past that you won’t tell me, it’s making you paranoid. So unless you come clean and talk to me about your past, I don’t want to hear one more word from you!”
I march back to the main street, and he follows close behind.
He puts his hands on my shoulders, steering me through the crowd, but I shrug his hands off.
The merciless violence he’s just displayed makes me sick.
I don’t want to feel the touch of this savage.
30
Adelaide
I’ve locked myself in the bathroom.
Sitting on the cold, white-and-gray marble countertop with my back to the mirror, I watch my long legs dangle, not caring enough to tuck the loose hair brushing against my face behind my ears.
I can’t be around Ford. I don’t even want to breathe the same air as him right now.
My hands and arms are shaking, and I’m sure my face is red because my cheeks are hot to the touch.
Regardless of how much deep breathing I incorporate from my seven years of practicing pranayama breathing exercises in yoga classes throughout the world, I cannot find a way to calm my nerves.
I have never been as angry at anyone as I am at Ford right now. And although my irritation toward him is real, deciding to hate him isn’t a simple task.
With my millionth heavy exhale of the night, my eyesight neglects me and replaces itself with puddles of tears that won’t go away.
I wipe my eyes until I realize it’s pointless, and for a moment, I don’t care if I never see clearly again.
Ford is beyond complicated or byzantine. He’s like two different people.
I mean, how the hell can the man go from teaching sweet, little Edgar to bringing me beautiful flowers to wildly beating a young man on the street like the villain in a damn Liam Neeson movie?
I know that Ford’s goal was to protect me, and I truly appreciate it, I do. But he went too far. And the scary part is he was unnervingly comfortable doing it.
My cries for him to stop didn’t even break him from his violent, animalistic trance.
That poor, young boy.
I’m not just Ford’s girlfriend. I’m a doctor.
And with that, I can’t stop the scariest thoughts from entering my mind: what would he have done if I hadn’t physically stopped him? Would the young man be dead right now?
Anxiety hits me hard. I try to push the questions from my head, but they refuse to leave.
I hop from the countertop and start pacing back and forth on the tiled bathroom floor.
Speculating about Ford and his past has become redundant and supererogatory at this point.
I wish he’d just tell me something!
Has he killed before? Why did my brother choose him as my security? Is Ford capable of change or even loving?
And where does Demetri Bordeaux fit into all of this?
I am so damn sick of being left in the dark.
My hands stop shaking when I realize there’s dried blood on them. I wash them under the chrome faucet, violently scrubbing, taking my frustration out on my skin.
Still, I fail at removing all the blood from beneath my nails.
I love Ford. I made love to him.
I spent my life focusing on my career, not getting hung up on men, yet this is what I end up with!
Fuck him!
I’m angry. Conflicted.
Pacing.
I thought I’d never stop crying. Now I don’t think I’ll ever stop pacing.
He knocks on the door.
I don’t respond. I just keep moving.
When the knocks stop, I feel like my heartbeat has stopped, too—until I hear his voice.
“Addie!” Ford calls out. “Baby, don’t you understand I did that shit for you? That
motherfucker tried to kill you!”
My heart attacks my chest, beating out of control. And I feel an emotion that I’m not sure even has a name.
I have butterflies. I miss Ford like I hadn’t seen him in years. But I am disgusted by him at the same time.
My tears stop, and I begin to chew my bottom lip, a nervous habit I thought I’d left behind in high school with Juicy Couture tracksuits and overly tweezed eyebrows.
“Addie, talk to me.” Ford’s voice is different. It almost sounds like he’s hurting, and I don’t know what to do with that.
I love Ford, but I don’t like him. In fact, I’m turned off.
Ugh. I’m so fucking confused. I’m too smart for this!
“Addie!” he calls out, the bass returning to his voice.
I’m a doctor. I dedicated myself to curing the sick and healing the wounded. Giving my heart to Ford and possibly even marrying him one day is the most duplicitous, hypocritical thing I can ever do.
I wish I had a glass—or three—of Domaine de la Romanee-Conti Montrachet Grand Cru Chardonnay right now.
I hear Ford exhale loudly. At the same time, a thud hits the door. I assume that was his forehead.
He walks away, and I feel like we’ve broken up. Blackness descends on me, grabs a hold, and threatens to drag me down into an abyss.
Lonely. I feel so lonely.
That young boy’s face was swollen. He gagged on his blood and almost lost his arm.
Yes, he did a bad thing, but he was still a kid. He’s probably lived a disadvantaged life, without parents to love and guide him. If anyone could sympathize with that, it should be the man who beat him senseless.
Ford.
In my mind, I can see myself dressing the open wound from the young boy’s arm. It gushed out so much blood, I’m surprised he had the energy to run off.
Adrenaline. I’m certain that’s what is was.
With that, I return to the sink, scrubbing the last bits of his blood from beneath my fingernails.
I hope the kid sought medical attention. He’ll need stiches to truly heal, and even then, I bet he’ll be left with a scar. A constant reminder of the beating he got in the street from the big, strong, deranged man.
The man I gave myself to.
I allowed him to be the first to enter me, and I never even knew him.
I feel sick to my stomach.
What happened to the boy I crushed on all those years ago?
The sandy haired boy with the honest, blue eyes that I bumped noses with the first time we kissed. How did he evolve into this frightening, unfamiliar person?
Were all the great moments we shared lies?
I dry my hands, reddened from the constant scrubbing, just to look in the mirror to notice I’ve got Ford’s victim’s blood on my face, too. And my red puffy eyes are perfectly complemented by smeared mascara and eyeliner.
Sighing, I use my Dior makeup remover and proceed to wash and moisturize my face.
I’ve gotta get out of here.
I carefully crack the bathroom door open.
Ford is nowhere in sight.
Maybe I can leave without having to see him.
When I completely step out of the bathroom, I release one final deep breath, which briefly relaxes me until he softly whispers “Hey” from behind me.
I slowly turn to face Ford, and feelings of repulsion, hate, and rage rush all over me. The young boy’s blood is on his face and clothes.
He’s a monster. I can’t stand to look at him, so I don’t.
I walk toward the door that leads to the long, carpeted hallway. Ford reaches out and grabs my wrist.
“Add—”
“Don’t touch me! Don’t you ever fucking touch me!” I scream, pulling my wrist from Ford’s grip using a strength I didn’t know I had.
“Adelaide, it isn’t safe out there.”
“It isn’t safe in here, either! Look, I don’t need you following me. I’m just going to the lounge on the twelfth floor for a coffee and a slice of pie or something. I need to be alone. I need to clear my head.”
For the first time since we’ve reunited, Ford doesn’t tail behind me, assert his power, or even say something slick and snarky.
Ford just allows me to leave without a fight, with a defeated expression glued to his face.
Closing the door to our shared hotel room behind me, with Ford on the other side, means that I’ve won.
Yup, I’ve won. So, why do I feel so damn shitty?
31
Ford
To say I fucked up would be an understatement. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror without wanting to spit at myself.
God, the way Addie looked at me after I beat that kid up, it was like she was looking at a deranged animal.
Pure disgust.
It was like she was analyzing everything we’ve been through together. Replaying all the events in her head, cringing at her own choices.
Regretting letting me protect her, touch her. Enter her.
Why did I let my emotions get carried away like that? If Addie thinks I’m an animal, then she’s right, because that’s how animals think:
Wild, unhinged, violent.
No chick wants to be around a guy who’s like that, especially not Addie.
I remember the wide-eyed look of fear in that boy’s eyes. How his thick blood poured down his swollen face and down his throat, making him gag.
My fists are still warm and sticky.
In the bathroom of the hotel, I wash my hands, watching the water turn a soft pink. I grudgingly look at my reflection in the mirror and notice there are spots of blood on my face.
Damn, I really am like an animal. Why did I let my emotions get to me like that? Sometimes I think I scare even myself.
It’s so strange being in the hotel room now. A day ago, it was a lavish room that looked so welcoming, like stepping into a familiar hug from an old friend. And I’m not even the hugging type.
But now the room feels like something foreign and different. The energy is tense and cold. I can’t even get comfortable because I now feel like a trespasser.
It’s like somebody has flipped a switch, and now everything’s different, and I no longer belong.
Just being here all alone with my thoughts is crushing me.
The weight of my own guilt is fucking suffocating. I can feel it all around me as it oozes through the walls and the windows. I beat my fists against my head, trying to beat out the thoughts.
I’m so stupid! I can’t do anything right, and now my bullshit has hurt the one person I give a shit about.
I admit that I have done some fucked-up shit in the past. I’m not proud of it, but I’m man enough to admit that I’ve made mistakes, ones that I can’t take back. Mistakes that will stay with me forever.
But you know what? I actually thought I was doing a good job moving away from my past.
I thought I was evolving, becoming some semblance of a human being again instead of some unemotional government robot.
And then Addie came back into my life, like a touch of sunshine straight from heaven.
My sweet Adelaide.
I should’ve known not to taint her with my past. She’s too perfect, too pure for my baggage.
I swear, if anything happens to her, I’d crumble and die. There are very little things I care about on this dumb planet, but she’s definitely number one.
And now that that motherfucker Demetri Bordeaux is back, things are really too dangerous for her to be around me.
What the fuck is he doing here in Nairobi anyway? Definitely nothing useful or good.
I give up.
I’ve tried, I really did.
I tried to be normal, and it didn’t work. I tried to be happy for once, and life turned around and fucked me up the ass.
It’s how my life has always been, and it’s how my life will always be.
It’s time for me to accept my fate. I’m a fucked-up guy with fucked-up problems, and no one
I love should be anywhere near me.
I destroy everything and everyone. It’s like I’m a virus.
Anyone I come in contact with catches it, and then they spread it, too. And then we’re all in this dark cloud together.
I was naive to think she and I could be together.
And to think I actually thought that she might be the one and that I might propose to her. Thinking about it now makes me want to cringe at my own stupidity.
I don’t deserve her, and she doesn’t need me.
Addie has everything: a career she loves, a perfect body, a rich family.
Just imagining us back at home, having a normal life, is just a fantastical dream.
Friends and family would wonder right away about us and wonder why she’s dating some broken asshole like me.
She deserves someone with the right pedigree, the right career, and the correct upbringing.
She deserves a boring guy whose life story could be summed up in a paragraph. Some pampered Ivy Leaguer who’s a huge mama’s boy, who listens to books on tape, meditates, hangs out at wine bars, and eats a dairy-free diet.
That’s the kind of guy Addie needs. Someone who’s as harmless as a field mouse, who would love her and be her plus-one at wedding parties.
Someone who’s safe. Someone who’s boring.
Someone who doesn’t beat teenagers on the street.
Someone who’s not a murderer.
Our relationship is a mistake, plain and simple. I know Addie and I have a past, a history that’s hard to let go. But maybe it’s time to close that chapter for good.
I mean, look at me. A grown man still pining over some old puppy love. Surely there are other women out there.
Honestly, maybe I’m not even worthy of love. I’m not sure if I can emotionally put some other chick through everything I’ve put Addie through.
No, it looks like it’s back to the way I was. Being a loner, a renegade.
The closer people get to me, the more they learn about my past. There’s no way I can keep it hidden anymore. It’s all out in the open now, and people can get seriously hurt from it.
I should’ve been more careful.
I should’ve spoken less and focused more on my work.
Addie, an angelic woman with beauty and intelligence, can pretty much have whoever she wants. And yet she descends from the heavens to fraternize with animals like me. Lowlifes who exploit her while she’s completely exposed and vulnerable in a foreign country.