“I told you I don’t care about the lawsuit. Her parents can sue me for everything I am, I don’t care. I want Claire to come out of this alive. I fucked up, Greg. I shouldn’t have but I did. She can’t pay the price for it.”
“Damn it,” he mutters. “Simon –”
“Just give me more time.”
He’s silent for a moment. Then, “I can give you two weeks.”
My head drops in relief and I stare at the puddle of leaking water. “Two weeks. Okay. Yeah.”
“But just that. No more. We’re pulling the plug after that.”
I know that’s the right course. I’m aware that patients like Claire don’t come back from their coma. But I have some ideas. I have scheduled a phone call with a group working at Berkley. They work with ABI – Acute Brain Injury, and I’m going to present Claire’s case to them.
“Okay,” I agree, letting it go.
“Good. Now don’t call me, I’m busy entertaining and I suggest you do the same.”
“Entertain, you mean?”
“Yes.”
My lips pull into a smile. “With what? Sausages?”
“Fuck you, man. I’ve got a good thing going here.”
“Who’s the lucky lady?”
“A drug rep.”
“No kidding. You hate drug reps.”
“This one’s got a great pair of legs.”
I smirk. “Is she aware that you’re not going to buy whatever she’s selling?”
“Hey, I’m open to whatever she’s selling. And as I said, you should do the same. Maybe that’ll take your mind off everything. Got any sexy doctors or drug reps or you know? Nurses?”
At his question, my eyes go to the willow tree again. “No, and I’m not interested.”
“Whatever. Though you do need to get laid. How long has it been, three months?”
“Didn’t know you kept tabs on my sex life.”
“Fuck you. Again. All right, I’m out.”
We say our goodbyes and then, it’s silence. Or actually, not. Because I hear her.
Do you have someone special, Dr. Blackwood?
I hear the words as if she’s here, in this room. As if I brought her with me. Inside this shaky debris of a house.
Willow Audrey Taylor, with her silver hair and blue eyes, and a fucking voice that sticks.
I wonder what she’ll think of this. The dusty furniture, the leaking roof, broken stairs. The fact that this house is stuck in the past.
You like fixing things, don’t you?
I wonder if her pale skin will light up this house, like the moon does.
He called me snow princess. He pulled me into this dark alley…
He pushed me against the wall. His hands felt so big. Like they could do anything.
He was dying to kiss me…
Fucking liar. And fucking Lee Jordan.
She’s such a liar. A liar who fights, every single second of every single day and doesn’t even know it.
I scrub my hand across my face when I feel something stir inside my gut. Something warm and fucking wrong. Something that makes me think of her skin and soft hair.
Her tiny body.
Just then I hear a noise from upstairs, alerting me to the fact that I’m not alone within these walls. Reminding me that I need to get out of here.
Shaking my head, I turn away from the window and walk out of the room. Walk out of this godforsaken place.
I could take Greg’s advice because he’s right. It’s been three months since I had sex. Random hook-ups are not my style, though. I prefer to know the person and I prefer for them to know that it’s strictly physical and nothing else. I don’t have time for anything else. I fuck and that’s it. It’s biology.
But for some elusive reason, I don’t want to fuck a nameless woman.
I drive to my hotel, change into my gym clothes and hit the treadmill downstairs. I know even pills won’t do the trick.
This is my only option. Work out till exhaustion. Till I overcome this strange, fucking warmth inside my body. The kind I’ve never felt before. The kind I don’t want to feel.
Because I’m not like the man who killed my mother.
I’m not my father.
My one bad day turns into several bad days.
Every day it’s a chore to wake up and face the routine. Every day I almost don’t go to breakfast or do my groups. Not to mention, my fucking meds are upping their game where the nausea is concerned. They tell me it’s psychological more than physiological. Meaning, it’s all in my head. And they can’t give me anti-emetics. Although, they finally give me saltines and ginger, probably to shut me up. So there’s that.
Every day I want to break down and cry or burst through the front doors and run away, or just dissolve.
But I don’t.
Because maybe, just maybe, I’m a fighter. And there’s no shame in fighting. There’s honor.
He told me that.
Dr. Simon Blackwood.
Simon.
I know I said I won’t call him by his name but I’m breaking my promise. He’s not Dr. Blackwood to me, he’s Simon.