“You’re hurt, baby. I need to take you to the hospital.”
Sure, her lacerations aren’t enough to warrant a trip to the emergency room, but that’s not why I want a doctor to see her. Valentina—my Valentina—is no longer here with me, and I need to know how I can bring her back.
“N-No hospitals,” she stammers, her body beginning to tremble.
I’m washed with relief that some life is coming back to her, but my gut still insists I take her to a doctor. I’m about to protest when her hands latch onto mine and her eyes start to clear from the heavy fog they were under. “No hospitals,” she repeats, and this time, her words are crisper, more urgent.
“No hospitals,” I echo, even though every fiber in my being begs me not to give in.
But my sliced-up heart is no match when facing Valentina’s pain.
It never was.
I carefully pick her up from the floor and head to the bathroom to clean up her wounds at least. She cradles her head into the crook of my neck, and I realize just how feather light she is. The girl I grew up with had curves in all the right places, but the woman in my arms doesn’t hold the same healthy glow or body. I sit her next to the tub, and she shivers the instant my body no longer soothes her with my warmth. I swallow dryly, taking in each inch of my love. Her ribs are too pronounced for me to ignore. The dark shade under her eyes and sunken cheeks are also apparent to me now.
How did I miss these changes?
Easy.
While I was protecting the last sliver of my soul from her grasp, I failed to see what was right in front of me—a very frail woman clutching to thin ribbons of sanity. I shake that horrid thought away and look everywhere for a first aid kit. Thankfully, I find one under the sink, and with delicate care, I try to clean her wounds. It’s a pointless effort though, when she keeps shivering so profusely.
This won’t do.
I get up off the floor and fill the large bath, making sure the water is warm enough to heat her cold bones. When I’ve made sure the tub is full enough, I pick my love up in my arms and gently place her inside. A small hiss spills from her lips when her cold body comes in contact with the warm water. When she lays back and closes her eyes, I feel more helpless than I ever did. It’s almost as if I’m witnessing the real life version of Ophelia from Hamlet meet her untimely end in her watery grave. The image is scorched into my brain in such a way, my own hand trembles as I begin to clean her wounds.
“Why are you taking care of me?” she hushes, tears streaking down her face. “You left.”
“I came back,” I reply, trying hard to keep my voice as neutral as possible so she doesn’t hear the panic in my voice.
“Why?” she asks, her lids slowly opening up, making me realize what a strenuous effort it is for her.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m here now.”
She turns her head away from me to stare at the wall, the cloudy haze beginning to take her under again.
“Valentina! Look at me, baby,” I order, pulling her chin my way.
She looks so fucking tired. Gaunt and exhausted.
“I’m going to clean you up, and then I’m taking you to bed, okay?”
“Okay.” She nods, but the word sounds just as brittle as she looks.
What’s happening to you, baby?
I keep that foreboding question locked in my throat, strangling me with doubt and fear. My worried questions remain bottled as I take a washcloth and clean her skin, taking extra care with her wounds. She flinches from time to time when I pass the cloth through them, but at least she’s no longer shivering. I wash her hair gently, methodically, while doing everything in my power not to demand answers. Once her shoulders relax and that droopy look in her eyes increases, déjà vu hits me hard. A memory filled with a similar pain edged on her face, telling me she needs to lie down and rest, and forget the world around her. I pull her out of the bath, drying her as meticulously as I can with a towel, and then take one of the complimentary hotel robes to keep her warm. It looks ridiculously big on her petite frame, and I’m shocked yet again at how blind I’ve been these past few days to not see that my girl was suffering.
I pick her up and lay Valentina on the bed, her body melting into it instantly, confirming that this is exactly what she needed. I lie behind her and wrap her in my arms, and she leans into me, a sigh passing her lips.
“Let me call the doctor,” I plead once more, but she just shakes her head.
“No doctors.”
I bite my inner cheek in frustration, but I don’t insist. Not yet anyway. When she’s better, I’ll approach the subject again. I have to. What I encountered when I walked through this room was something I never thought to find in a million years. Valentina has always been a fighter. But the woman I encountered had no fight in her to give. She looked lost and broken, and a part of me knew exactly how that felt.
I kiss the top of her head, my hand caressing her back as she starts to fall to her slumber.
“Don’t leave me, Carter. Not yet. This will all be over soon,” she hushes, stabbing my heart with her choice of words.
I tug her chin up so she can face me, but she’s too out of it to look me in the eye.
“What does that mean?” I croak.
“Not yet,” she mumbles sleepy, the darkness pulling her under.
She nestles her head on my chest, and in seconds, she’s given in to her slumber. I hold her to me, my embrace a bit too forceful, but I’m unwilling in letting her go. I’m not sure how much time passes, but every ticking second taunts me that I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t find out what’s wrong with her.
Reluctantly, I unlatch myself from her grip, taking great pains not to wake her up. I go to the small living room and immediately text Quaid and Logan for them to get their asses over here STAT. While I wait for them to arrive, I go out onto the balcony and smoke the minutes away while I slowly go mad, trying to decipher what I walked in on earlier.
I’m on my fifth cigarette when both Logan and Quaid arrive at the same time. Logan looks broken and shattered, while Quaid looks like he tried to find the answers he needed at the bottom of a bottle. It’s not even noon, and he’s already drunk.
“I’m just here to pick up my stuff,” Logan says.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I bite back.
“If you texted to finish what we started this morning, then believe me, you’re in for a world of pain because I’m fucking awake now.”
“This should be good. Let’s see a rematch, but count me out. I’d rather see you two assholes go at it than participate again,” Quaid counters, falling onto the sofa and spreading his arms over the headrest.
Logan scoffs, but the scorn in his eyes is directed at me and not the two hundred pounds of muscle slacking on the sofa.
“We’ve got bigger problems than going at each other’s throats.”
“You don’t say?” Quaid mocks with an exaggerated smirk.
“I don’t have time for your games, Carter, or your drunk ass, Quaid. I’m packing my stuff and getting on the first plane out of here. This was a mistake.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” I command with the same fire that’s breathing inside him.
“Fuck you, Carter!” he snaps, pointing me an accusing finger. “Everything was fine last night, and your fucking jealousy ruined it all.”