Translucent

by Erin Noelle

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he begins, “but we had several serious car crash victims come in. Anyway, I’ve got some good news about your foot; there are no bone fractures. It’s a second degree sprain, meaning there’s a partial tear in the ligament. It can easily be treated with rest, ice, compression, and elevation. I expect you should be able to walk normally on it in four to five days, a week tops. Your head injury is a different story, however. The positive is there isn’t any visible bleeding at this point, but the swelling is quite severe and could be concealing a hemorrhage. We’re going to admit you for a few days until we begin to see a definite reduction in the swelling and can be confident there aren’t any other issues. I’ll be turning you over to the care of the on-call neurologist, unless you have one in mind.” He stops talking to look at me, making sure I’m following along.

  “Whoever is here is fine,” I reply quietly, still in disbelief this is happening.

  Madden chimes in. “Actually, Dr. Jeffries, I’d like to call someone and get a recommendation if you don’t mind.”

  “That’s not necessary,” I dispute.

  “Blake, please don’t fight me on this.” The pained expression in his eyes and sternness in his voice shuts me up.

  Nodding, I agree, “Okay.”

  The doctor tips his head and says, “Once you decide who you’d like to use, please let Mel know. Meanwhile, we’ll begin the admitting process and get you moved to a private room.”

  After he walks out the door, Madden excuses himself to make some phone calls, pleading with me to try to stay awake until he returns. He kisses me softly on the corner of my mouth before disappearing out the door.

  I try hard to stay awake.

  Really, really hard.

  But I can’t keep my eyes open.

  THE FIRST CALL I MAKE is to my mom; she’ll know the name of a reputable neurologist in the area, even though I’ll have to answer twenty questions about why I need it. Blake getting the best care possible is my primary concern, and I don’t mind telling my parents about her; I actually want them to know.

  “Hello, Madden,” she answers cheerfully, “I hope you were able to rest some this afternoon.”

  “Hi, Mom. Actually, I’ m calling because I need your help with something,” I reply. “I need the name of a highly-rated, local neurologist.”

  “Oh no! Are you okay? What’s happened?” she shrieks into the phone.

  “Calm down, Mom. I’m fine. Blake, the person I’m dating, fell and got hurt.”

  “Blake? Dating? Is it a woman?” The question is laced with confusion.

  I begin to pace the hallway outside the room Blake is in. I don’t want to leave her alone for long. “Yes, she’s a woman, Mom! Come on! She hit her head. We’re at West Hills Hospital in Woodland Hills, and they’ve determined she’s got a pretty severe concussion. We can discuss the details of this later, and assuming she’s doing better, you can meet her at the birthday thing, but I need the name of a doctor pretty quickly.”

  “Okay, okay! I’ll text you the name and number of who Dad sees.”

  “Perfect. Thanks, Mom. Love you.”

  “Love you too, son. I hope she’s okay.”

  After I hang up, I immediately call Mr. Thompson to let him know Blake won’t be at work the next week. I give him a shortened, slightly-modified version of what happened, and I’m pretty sure he wonders why the hell I’m with her at the hospital, but I use my I’m-in-charge tone when talking to him, so he simply thanks me for letting him know, asks me to keep him updated, and wishes her a speedy recovery.

  My last call is to Caroline. Once again, I give the Cliff’s notes version of what happened, explain I definitely won’t be in the office tomorrow, and depending on Blake’s progress, the rest of the week is up in the air. I need her to reschedule all meetings for the week just to be sure, and forward any vital messages to my email, which I will check regularly. I also ask her to keep me apprised of Easton’s comings and goings, and to alert me if he attempts to make any substantive decisions while I’m not there. She, too, wishes Blake a quick recovery, and assures me she’ll take care of the office.

  The text from my mom with the neurologist’s contact information comes through as I’m disconnecting with Caroline, so I locate Mel at the nurse’s station and give her the name and number. Rushing back to Blake, I find her fast asleep in the hospital bed. The sight of her delicate, frail frame lying helplessly on her bedroom floor this afternoon triggered something inside of me I can’t quite explain, making me realize this is more than attraction, more than the need to take care of her, and more than the desire to be buried inside of her. I was worried when I’d come home and she wasn’t there, but I knew I’d be able to track her down eventually, and we’d talk out whatever had caused her to run. After the initial relief of hearing from her though, seeing her in that state terrified me, not knowing what was wrong or if she’d be all right.

  In the several weeks I’ve known her, she’s busted her lip, clawed up her side, bitten her tongue, and now sprained her ankle and concussed herself, all because of whatever demons live inside her head. I’m sure her failed pregnancy plays a role in all of it somehow, and though I was surprised by her revelation, it didn’t change how I feel about her. I’ve refrained from asking too many questions up until now, wanting her to trust me and share her past when she’s ready, but I can’t bite my tongue any longer. Once she’s recovered, we must have a serious talk about what or who it is that makes her do these things to herself. I refuse to sit by and watch her destroy herself slowly. I need her in my life, and I’m willing to do whatever I have to do to keep her here.

  “Blake, wake up,” I say softly as I gently shake her shoulder. “Come on, Blake, the doctor said no sleeping yet.”

  She stirs for a moment, but doesn’t open her eyes. Leaning down, I kiss each closed lid, then the tip of her nose, and lastly, her pouty lips. “Wake up, sweet girl. We’re going to be moving rooms soon. We need to get you some food too.”

  Her lashes flutter as she gradually opens her striking blue eyes. “There’s my girl. I need you to stay awake until we get in your new room and eat dinner, okay?”

  She smiles faintly and nods. “You’re still here,” she murmurs.

  I brush her hair back off her forehead, then softly caress her cheek with my thumb. “Of course, I’m here. I told you I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re special to me, Blake; I can’t explain it. I’m not going to abandon you, and I’m going to help you get better. Somehow, some way, we’ll figure this entire thing out, but for now, we need to focus on your immediate recovery here. The best thing you can do is rest that swollen brain of yours, and not worry about anything else. I’ll take care of everything for you.”

  She chews on her bottom lip nervously. “I need to call Mr. Thom—”

  “I’ve already taken care of it,” I cut her off. “Please stop worrying and listen to me. I will take care of it all.”

  “Okay, I trust you,” she whispers, melting me a little inside. I won’t fail her.

  She eventually gets moved into a room outside of the emergency area, and once she’s all set up, I make the quick trip to grab us both a decent, non-hospital-issued meal and to her apartment to gather some toiletries and more pajamas for her. She’s asked no less than ten times if she can take a shower yet, and the nurse indicated she doesn’t have to wear the standard gown if she has her own night clothes.

  It feels a little strange entering her personal space alone, especially since the only other time I’ve been here was this morning, and I paid no attention to anything but her. Stepping through the front door, I notice she’s done a little decorating in the living room area, with several paintings mounted on the wall and bright-colored drapes framing the window. Everything is spotless, the furniture appears to be brand new, and it kind of reminds me of a model home—unlived in. I enter her bedroom, and the pungent smell of where she’d gotten sick looms heav
ily in the air. I’ve never in my life cleaned up someone else’s puke, but there’s always a first for everything, right?

  I locate the cleaning products under the kitchen sink, grab a couple of towels from the linen closet in the bathroom, and go to work. Thankfully, her floors are laminate wood and not carpet, and it doesn’t take me too long to get it all cleaned up. I even manage to make it through without gagging myself. Unsure of what to do with the dirty towels, I opt to throw them away; I can buy her new ones. I then refocus on my initial mission—getting her bath stuff and clothes. I find a small tote bag in her closet and toss in all of the items from her shower—shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and a razor—and then return to her bedroom and search through her drawers for a couple sets of pajamas and some underclothes. I feel a bit like a creeper digging through her panty drawer, but when I come across a small manila envelope near the back, I forget all about the silk, lacy items surrounding it and my attention solely focuses on the small rectangle.

  Several thoughts cross my mind as I decide whether or not to open it. By the feel of the contents, it’s either papers or pictures, nothing bulky. Whatever it is, it must be important to her, because she keeps it hidden in her drawer. If I decide to open it, I can’t un-see it, nor can I let on to her I know what’s in it. The right thing to do would be to put it back in the drawer and walk away, but with all the unknowns about her past, curiosity gets the best of me. I hope it will gift me some sort of insight of what haunts her memory.

  A stack of pictures slides out into my hands, and I sit down on the bed to look through them. The first picture is of a woman in her thirties or so, with two teenage kids who appear to be close in age—a boy and a girl—and as I look closely, I notice Blake’s bright blue eyes staring back at me from the young girl’s face. Despite the long, curly, dark brown hair, it’s definitely her, and based on the similarities between the facial structure of her and the boy, I’m guessing he’s her brother and the lady is their mom. Flipping to the next photo, there’s a picture of Blake and the same boy on a boat making goofy faces at the camera. I grin widely at the image of teenage Blake; she’s always been stunningly beautiful, and I wonder why she’s changed her hair so drastically from how it used to be. I quickly go through the remainder of the pictures; there are several with her and her mom, and some others with other young girls, who I assume are her friends.

  The very last one is a close up of Blake’s face. It appears to be more recent than the others, maybe in her late teens, and the expression on her face is pure bliss. Delight dances in her eyes, and her smile is brighter than a thousand-watt light bulb; I can’t stop staring at it. Turning it over, there’s a date on the bottom left corner from five-and-a-half years ago, making her seventeen in the photo. I often forget about the age difference between Blake and me; she’s much more mature than the average twenty-two-year-old, and makes me feel much younger than a guy in his mid-thirties, but realizing only a handful of years ago, she was this carefree, untroubled young woman makes me wonder what in the world happened to her during that time.

  I place all of the photos back in the envelope and arrange it exactly where I found it…all but that one. I keep it as a reminder of who she should be, of the untroubled person I want to return her to. My Blake deserves to be happy, and I have every intention to give her that life.

  Early Monday morning, I leave the hospital for a short bit to drop by the office before anyone else arrives, picking up my laptop and leaving the photo of her in the back of my desk drawer, where I know no one will find it. On the way back to the hospital, I stop off at my house to shower, change, and throw a few of my personal items in an overnight bag as well. I don’t leave her side the remainder of the day, or the next, watching her sleep the majority of the time. They’re administering both pain medicine and a mild sedative through an IV, attempting to limit her brain activity as she heals. Both Mr. Thompson and Jae come by to visit Tuesday at lunch, but she can’t keep her eyes open.

  Wednesday afternoon, they take her for a repeat CT scan and find the swelling has decreased substantially and there’s no bleeding anywhere on the brain. The neurologist agrees to release her into my care until she can see him in his office the following Monday morning. Blake tries to argue she can stay on her own and take care of herself, but there’s no way in hell I’m leaving her alone right now. Thankfully, the doctor threatens to keep her in the hospital if she doesn’t agree.

  Sarah helps me get Blake settled in my room Wednesday evening, and then disappears to the kitchen to make us both a “real” dinner, as she puts it. Blake is becoming more and more alert as the medicine works its way out of her system, and after we eat chicken and rice casserole, she’s downright restless.

  “I need to get out of this bed,” she grumbles.

  “And what exactly are you going to do when you get out of the bed?” I ask teasingly.

  “I dunno—stretch, run around, take a bath…anything but lay here another minute.” She scrunches up her nose and makes a bratty grunt-noise.

  A belly laugh rumbles deep inside me. I find her grouchiness adorable, and I’m so happy she’s feeling better. “I’m not sure about stretching or running around, but if you want to take a bath, I think we can make that happen. First, you need to take your medicine though.”

  She cocks her head and smiles languidly. “Deal. I was so tired of showering in that hospital bathroom I felt like screaming.”

  I grab the bottle of medicine off the nightstand and get out the prescribed dosage. She swallows the two pills together in one gulp, and then waits for me to carry her to the bath. Her ankle is still extremely sore and swollen, and I’m not taking any chances of her falling and jarring her head.

  “Let me undress you here on the bed first. It will be easier than in there,” I suggest before sweeping her t-shirt over her head and tugging her pajama pants and panties down her legs.

  My eyes sweep the length of her naked body, and I’m instantly hard. I love that she’s already comfortable enough around me not to try and cover up. Staring at my visible erection, she giggles nervously. “Did the doctor say anything about um…” She stops not wanting to say the word.

  I tilt my head and look at her with faux-naivety. “Say anything about what?”

  Her gaze moves from my tented boxers, up to my face and back down again. “About that.”

  “No, Blake, the doctor and I didn’t discuss my cock. He seems to be working just fine.”

  She slaps my bicep and huffs. “Don’t be difficult, Madden. Did the doctor say anything about how long we have to wait to have sex?” Narrowing her eyes at me, she scowls. “There—are you happy?”

  “I’m happy ‘cause you’re okay and here with me, and yes, the doctor said no sex until he examines you on Monday.” I bend down and press my lips to hers, wiping away the pouty expression. “Believe me, after last Saturday, feeling you wrapped tightly around me again is high on the priority list, but I’m not willing to jeopardize your recovery for anything. We’ll have plenty of opportunities to build on that in the future.”

  Scooping her up in my arms, I stride into the bathroom and lower her into the tub. I turn the warm water on and watch as she relaxes into the basin. “What do you mean by ‘build on’? Did you not enjoy it?” she questions apprehensively, peering up at me.

  I kneel down on the floor next to her, bringing my face to her eye level. “Enjoy doesn’t begin to describe how I felt, Blake. It was mind-blowing and unforgettable, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a helluva lot more I want to experience with you. That was just the tip of the iceberg.”

  “Really?” she squeaks. “I don’t think I can physically feel much better than that.”

  “Yes, really,” I reply, and my dick jumps at the mere thought of just a few of those things, “and I promise you—I’m going to push your body and mind to places you never thought possible.” Her eyes grow wide with bewilderment. “I’ve told you before I will never hurt you,” I reassure her before she can
even ask. I want to add, You do that to yourself enough, but I refrain. If I can help it, I want her thoughts to stay as far away from the negativity and self-loathing as long as possible. “But that will all come in due time, sweet girl. Now, lean your head back and let me wash your hair for you.”

  Less than an hour later, I’ve scrubbed her clean from head to toe, and she’s curled up like a tiny kitten in my arms, sound asleep. The lack of restful slumber from the last several nights on the hospital fold-out bed begins to catch up with me, so I kiss her head before laying my own down on the soft pillow next to hers with one word swirling around in my head…Mine.

  Caroline is waiting for me with a stack of messages the minute I walk into the office Thursday morning, and the disconcerted expression on her face tells me she’s about to deliver some bad news. I didn’t want to come in as it was, but Blake insisted I come in for at least a little while, her guilt over me missing time at work due to spending time at the hospital weighing heavily on her. Sarah guaranteed me she would take good care of her, making her rest, eat, and take her medications on time.

  “Morning, Car. Sorry I’m late,” I greet her with a forced smile.

  “It’s been one, all right,” she replies with a scowl. “Ms. Lister is waiting for you in your office. She wouldn’t take no for an answer when I told her not to go in there until you arrived.”

  I take the papers from her hands, wishing I hadn’t alerted anyone I was coming in. “Thanks. I’ll take care of her.”

  Upon entering my office, I don’t see Emerson anywhere, but as I close the door behind me, I find her leaning up against the wall completely naked, except for a pair of high heels.