Sail (Wake #2) (39 page)

Through the ringing in my ears, I thought I heard a voice.

My legs stopped moving, but my eyes wouldn’t open. I felt like I was underwater and my senses were diluted.

The sound was louder. Closer.

My fist squeezed again and a potent surge of adrenaline raced through my detached body.

Beep. Pulse.

I wasn’t alone. A sense of nearness to another person tiptoed into my dark awareness.

My senses worked collectively trying to unravel the mystery of who was there. My ears rang constantly and I could feel the vibration of a voice, but the words didn’t register clearly enough to listen.

My silent body screamed, each cell waving a flag.

Help.

A bitterness blanketed my tongue and there was something in my throat that made it itch. My lips didn’t move, except to bunch and pinch when the beeping and pulsing refrained.

The stinging underneath my dry eyelids was fiery hot and they watered to dowse the burn. They were heavy, yet they flinched in time to the routine the rest of my body aligned itself with.

My nose worked overtime. Looked for clues and taking stock of my surroundings. It wasn’t that my other senses were lazy; they were simply busy finding their places. Metallic air registered through my nose and my left lung ached each time I asked it to do more.

Inhale, pain. Exhale, more pain.

Beep. Pulse.

Where is he? Where was I? Why do I feel burglarized? What’s missing? Someone is in here. I need to say something.

My fingers felt like melting ice, liquid and light, yet cold and stiff.

Someone was talking. Their voice sounded muffled…like through a pillow.

A felt a touch on my leg. It was warm and gentle. It was him.

Casey,
I was trying to get to you. You didn’t leave me. I’m trying to get to you.

Then the darkness came back.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

COME BACK TO ME, Blake.

“She still has a lot of swelling and we’re going to keep her unconscious for another day to let it subside. She has some fluid lingering right here,” the doctor said and motioned with his hand right behind his ears. “We don’t think that there will be any permanent damage, but we’ll have to wait to be sure.”

Wait.

I knew waiting.

I’d say I was good at waiting, but who wasn’t when they didn’t have a choice. The talent of waiting was like the ability to change a tire. Most people can do it if they have to, but if someone will do it for you, that’s the way to go. I was just practiced at sucking it up and changing the tire myself.

She’d been asleep for three days. That’s a long time if you’ve ever watched someone just sleep. I knew she was asleep—for real—because when no one was around, I told her jokes. The dirty ones she said she hated, but laughed at every time.

I hadn’t heard her laugh for three fucking, long-ass, never-ending days.

Waiting for her laugh was the biggest, flattest, most off-the-rim blow-out of my life.

But I was hanging in there.

Most of the time.

Sometimes.

Sometimes I wasn’t. In those moments, when nobody was around—when her mom was getting coffee—I wasn’t okay. It’s not a manly thing to say, but you go fucking nuts just sitting there, thinking. And not knowing what happened. What he’d said to her. What he’d done to her. It was killing me.

That sweet fucking woman who never wanted to hurt anyone, least of all that selfish prick, was always the one getting the lion’s share of the pain.

But also, I really missed her laugh. Maybe I mentioned that.

When you’re in a hospital, thinking the worst things imaginable, and no one is there to tell you you’re wrong, you lose a little bit of control at a time. The things you can usually think about without becoming a wadded-up fool, become things that make you wish you looked as put together as the wadded-up fool. Because that would be better.

I thought about my mom a lot. It was hard not to when the last time I’d been in a hospital was with her. Then one day, we went home without her. And that’s a feeling you don’t soon forget.

But I wouldn’t be leaving without Blake.

I thought about how her dad apologized to me a few nights before, when he was having—what some might call—a weak moment. When he’d become pretty upset. It was a weird first time meeting her parents.

“I’m sorry I gave her away to him,” he’d said, as he’d sat in the coveted comfy chair, his hands praying in front of weepy eyes while he spoke to me. His daughter lay there with six fractured ribs, four on one side and two on the other. A herniated disc in her back, that would probably give her trouble again later in life—we were told. Thirteen stitches in her head, which the doctor said looked like a tear, and therefore, not likely sustained in the fall. A bruised arm, with definable fingers marks wrapping all the way around her small tricep. A fat lip and a bruised cheek. More bruises on her back, arms, and legs. And a goddamned concussion, bad enough they were keeping her asleep until the swelling subsided.

So I could see where her dad was coming from; I felt much the same. I knew she was going over there and I didn’t go with her, even when something said I should.

But at that moment, when her dad said that to me, I went back in time to where Blake’s dad thought giving her away to Grant had been the best option. And I felt the massive weight of that with him.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t man enough to prove you wrong back then,” I’d admitted.

That night, her dad and I talked about a lot of things and I told him, rather than asked him, that when she was ready, I wanted her to be my wife, for no other reason than I wanted to be
her
husband.

I wanted to prove I woke up every day for her and my every decision bore her in mind. I wanted to be her best friend and know I was the one she counted on.

I told her dad how I’d bought the new building in Seattle—mostly on my own—and if Blake wanted to stay there, I’d never pressure her to leave. But if she wanted to move, I had a house big enough for us to make it our home.

It didn’t matter to me either way anymore. There was only one thing I knew for certain. I wanted to be where she was, because those days were my favorites. Days without her I simply existed. My days with Blake were the ones I truly
lived.

Her mom stayed every night with Blake and me.

They never asked me to leave or give them privacy. I wouldn’t even if they had. I only left for about an hour the other afternoon after the doctors came in, to take a shower. Audrey had gotten some things together for me to take back to her place and made me eat a sandwich.

It was so weird going into Blake’s place—my building—alone. Her sweet smell lived in that apartment and if I had to leave her side to go anywhere, it was there.

I didn’t stay gone long, even though I knew they were keeping her medicated. I needed to be there when she woke up or if, God forbid, anything happened.

Grant sustained a gunshot wound to the shoulder and was released from the hospital into custody about twenty-four hours later. The police don’t like it when you don’t put your gun down.

Then Grant’s family’s lawyer put enough pressure on him that he signed the divorce papers on Monday, before he saw a judge regarding his other offenses. His lawyer thought it looked better if he was compliant with the papers, since Blake’s father had their lawyer officially serve Grant while he was in jail.

Then the motherfucker posted bail.

Blake’s dad didn’t mess around though, and we all got orders of protection against Grant. Because Phil, Blake’s dad, insisted. The only person who needed protection was Grant if he ever thought he’d step foot near Blake again.

I got to meet Dr. Rex when she came by on the fourth and last day Blake was asleep.

“Thanks for being there for her,” I told the doctor, who was more like a friend to my honeybee. “She really likes talking to you.”

“I really like listening,” she replied, as she looked her over and held her hand. “I never thought this would happen. She never said he was violent.” I saw guilt in her eyes as she quietly examined Blake’s many injuries.

“I don’t think she ever thought he’d go this far either.” She would have told me, or I would have been able to tell if she’d honestly been scared of him. I’d thought his behavior was awful over those past months, but even I never saw it coming. It’s crazy what can send a person over the edge.

Dr. Rex didn’t stay long, and as the drugs faded out of her system, I could see signs of Blake returning. Almost piece by piece.

They took out the breathing tube, since she was breathing well on her own, and the medicine didn’t have her so bogged down.

Her hands would move and her face would tick as if she were dreaming. Her mom and dad went down to the cafeteria for dinner, and it was just us.

“Open your eyes, Blake. Come on,” I said softly. I’d said it hundreds of times that day, but that time I’d said it out loud. “I’m waiting for you and I really miss you.” I sat in the comfy chair that had become permanently located next to her bed. Someone was always in it and it was finally my turn.

I held her hand in both of mine and kissed each of her fingers. They were warm, and every so often they’d twitch.

“Do you know how much I love you? Have I told you enough?” I asked her. “Did I ever tell you that I rigged it so our booths were across from each other at the first show we did in Atlanta? The organizer must have thought I was crazy. I even bribed her with free beer for her husband.” I looked up at her peaceful face. “Why didn’t I tell you I loved you
then?
Why didn’t I tell you in Chicago that you were it for me? Because I think I knew then, too. Please be okay, honeybee. I’ll do anything. I’ll never cut my hair again. I’ll never be gone for more than one night at a time. I’ll never let you wonder how perfect you are. Your perfect heart? It’s perfect for mine.”

“Don’t cut your hair,” I heard her rasp.

Her eyes were still closed, but I knew I hadn’t imagined it. I stood to lean over her and I smoothed my hand across the side of her face.

“I won’t. Blake, are you okay?” I thought maybe I should get a nurse. The swelling had gone down in her head, but they assured us she’d probably have a major headache when she finally woke up. They’d gauge how to treat it when she could tell them how bad it was.

“I’m sore,” she mumbled. Her sweet voice was the most gravely, hoarse, but wonderful music to my ears.

“I know you are. You’re pretty banged up.”

The police would want to come and talk to her. I didn’t want to be around for that. Still, I had to. I wouldn’t let her go through any of it alone.

“I’m in the hospital?” she asked. “I’m thirsty.”

I grabbed the Styrofoam cup, which Jackie, the nice nurse, kept fresh for her for when she finally came to, and bent the straw so she could sip.

“Here,” I told her, bringing the plastic to her mouth. Her eyes still didn’t open, they were closed tightly, but her mouth did and she took a small drink. “Do your eyes hurt?”

She shook her head no and then winced, no doubt feeling the contusion and bruising she had on the back of her scalp. Her stitches were up higher.

“I’m tired,” she said after she swallowed. “I’m so tired.”

“I know. Just sleep, I’ll be here.”

“Don’t leave,” she whispered and her fingers stretched out like they wanted mine. I gave them to her and she held them loosely, but inside it felt so tight. “Please don’t go. I was trying to get to you so you wouldn’t leave me.” Then she nodded back off.

Her mom and dad came back in, and Blake woke up again—just enough for them to see she was going to be okay. So they went home.

I stayed.

That was a long night.

I slept in the chair by her bed and laid my head on the mattress next to our linked hands. Whenever she’d stir, I’d wake up. The nurses came in almost every hour to check her IV and monitors, but they were used to me by then.

“Casey, let me get you another pillow. You know the comfy chair reclines, right? You can’t be getting any sleep like that,” said Jackie—did I mention Jackie was our favorite? She was. She brought me coffee every morning, too. And not just the shit from down the hall. She got me the better stuff from downstairs and brought it to me in a mug.