Stolen by You (Fated To Love You)

“I think the question is, how come no one, no human or animal, can sound that cute while eating a banana?”

“So much mushy chomping,” Lindy sighs.

“So much mushy smacking,” I reply.

“I love mushy smacking.”

I nod. “I don’t know anyone who doesn’t love this kind of mushy smacking.”

The diversion works. Lindy lifts the smoothie to her lips and takes a sip out of the metal straw I found in her drawers. She’s a good person, as evidenced by the fact that I found carefully sorted recycling, compost, and reusable items in her kitchen. Her fridge was also bare enough to make me believe she hardly ever wastes food. She’s basically a hero in this day and age.

“Mmmmm,” she murmurs after drinking. “Okay, it is pretty good.”

I nod and steer us back into traffic. We’re only fifteen or so minutes away, and I can see us closing on the GPS. Lindy doesn’t look at the screen, which is probably a good thing. I have to say, if this were the other way around, I wouldn’t be so calm and collected, on the inside or outside. I’d be doing some hideous smacking, and I wouldn’t even be eating a banana.

When we get to the hospital, I get one of those tickets from the machine and pull into the parking lot. I get out of the car despite Lindy’s protests and open her door for her. I figure the least I can do after jamming a condom so far up her lady cave that it won’t come out even after jumping jacks is to be a gentleman.

She gets out and immediately shivers because it’s nighttime, and although it’s still hot, she’s also traumatized and stressed tonight. I shrug my leather jacket off and drape it over Lindy’s shoulders.

“You’re going to be okay?”

After having her insist multiple times that I not go inside with her, I finally complied, albeit reluctantly.

“I’ll be fine unless I need surgery. Then probably not.”

My heart drops at the thought of her needing to get the love glove surgically removed. I’m pretty sure they won’t have to go there. I hope. I mean, hospitals have instruments and doctors who know what they’re doing. They also have things to see and reach with that normal people don’t have at their disposal at home.

“Call me if something goes down…if anything goes down. I’ll be waiting right out here.”

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me to go in with you? That’s why I’m waiting out here. And you can bet that even if it takes ten or twelve hours, I’m going to be right here.”

Lindy doesn’t have the fight in her to argue anymore. She just ducks her head and starts walking through the parking lot to the double entrance doors. Watching her walk over there alone, I’ve never felt more helpless and useless in my life. I hate that she has to go through this, that she has to be embarrassed about this. I just hope it’s not painful when they remove it.

With a heavy sigh, I get back in the car and turn my attention to not boiling alive. Luckily, this is going down under some cover of darkness, so just having the windows rolled down helps keep things cool enough.

Then, I wait, and I wait. And I wait some more.

I try to think of something nice to do for Lindy. What a way for a first date to go. I know things keep happening. The first time we kissed, my family interrupted us, and the second time, she got scared, leaped up, and made a break for it after telling me all the things that were wrong with her. Well, things she thought were wrong. And now this. I could take this as a sign or get real and chalk this up to things happening. I mean, this is real life. People get interrupted, they get insecure, and they have accidents. It’s not pretty or perfect. It’s messy, and sometimes, the mess is funny, but sometimes it’s not. Real-life isn’t for the squeamish, and I don’t want to be squeamish anymore.

Four hours and forty minutes later, I spot Lindy walking through the parking lot. She knows where I’m parked, but she still seems surprised to see me. When she slides into the passenger seat, I don’t immediately start the car, and she doesn’t look over at me to ask me to. We just sit there silently. I don’t want to ask, and it’s clear she doesn’t want to talk about it, but I have to ask. I have to know she’s okay.

“Lindy…”

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” she says in the softest voice, all tinged with relief and sadness.

“Of course I’m still here! Did you think I was going to bail on you after I said I’d be here?”