Chapter 8 – Wretched Patient

I was fucking sick.

My head was absolutely pounding, and my knees ached from all the kneeling in front of the toilet I had been doing.  Though I still hated vomiting with a passion, I was almost too exhausted to give a shit if my insides did start coming up.

I almost never so much as caught a cold, but whatever I had this time was nasty and unshakable.  I had no idea where I might have picked it up, but I had spent the last day and a half puking up anything and everything I put in my mouth.  Other than calling a dog-walking service to take Odin out on a regular basis, I had barely moved since yesterday morning.

To top it all off, every time I closed my eyes, I was hit with hideous dreams of blood, dust, and bodies all around me.  Even when I could drag myself out of the bathroom, I couldn’t get any actual sleep.  When I got to the point where I was feeling too weak to even get myself a glass of water, which I would undoubtedly throw back up, I reached for my phone.

Pride didn’t even enter into it – I knew when I was defeated.

“What’s up, brotha?” Jonathan said when he answered.  “Haven’t seen ya in a while.”

“Hey dude,” I replied, “I need a favor.”

I started coughing as soon as I got the words out.  My head started pounding in my temples again, and the pain was enough to make me squeeze my eyes shut.

“You sound like shit.”

“I feel like shit,” I agreed when I could speak again.  “Can you go pick something up for me?”

“Sure,” Jon said.

“Awesome.”  I swallowed a couple of times as my stomach lurched and the hammer inside my head began to nail up drywall on the inside of my skull.  “You know that pimp dude that hangs out by Mario’s old place?  Marvin or something, I think his name is?”

“Melvin,” Jonathan corrected.  “I know the guy.”

“He’s got a hooker named Bridgett,” I said.  “Pick her up and bring her here, will ya?  I’ll Paypal ya later.”

“You got your own hooker?”  Jon laughed.

“Just pick her up,” I moaned.

“Will do,” he replied.  “Be there shortly.”

It didn’t take him long at all.  At least, I didn’t think so.  It was also possible I passed out and lost track of time between the phone call and their arrival.  Either way, it seemed only a short time later someone was knocking at the door.  I dragged myself off the floor of the bathroom to answer it.

They were both there – Bridgett in her usual tiny skirt and fishnets, and Jonathan with an unlit cigarette sticking out between his lips.  Odin peeked out at both of them from the edge of the couch.

“You are a mess,” Bridgett said as soon as the door opened.

“Shut up and get in bed,” I mumbled.

Jonathan laughed and chewed on the end of his cigarette.

“She’s right, bro, you are a mess.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome, asshole.”  Jonathan laughed and then apologized.  “Sorry, bro – that was just mean.  You do look like shit, though – I can’t lie about that.”

“S’okay,” I muttered.  My stomach lurched.  “Thanks for pickin’ her up.”

“No problem, bro,” he said.  “I’m gettin’ outa here – you ain’t paying me to catch this shit.”

With Jonathan gone, Bridgett put her hands on her hips and looked me up and down.  Her eyes narrowed as she took a step forward and placed her palm against the side of my face.  As soon as she did, her look softened again.

Her hand felt cold on my skin.

“You are burning up,” she said quietly.  Her hand trailed down the side of my face and then came to rest on my bare chest.  “How long have you been like this?”

I shrugged and ignored her question.  Any additional actions would have put me in a coma.

“I just need sleep,” I told her.  “I swear I haven’t slept in days, so get in bed, okay?”

“When was the last time you drank anything?”

“I’m not that kind of sick!” I snapped.  My head began to spin a bit, and standing became quite a chore.

“You are that kind of dehydrated!” she retorted.

She probably had a pretty good point there.

Moaning, I turned and dropped down on the couch because I just couldn’t manage to get myself back to the bedroom.  At least there wasn’t anything in my stomach to puke up.  Bridgett started going through my refrigerator looking for something to force me to drink.  I heard her thumping around, and the noise took the shape of the aching in my head.  I leaned sideways until my head hit the arm of the couch and then I closed my eyes.

“Do you have any Gatorade?” Bridgett asked.

“I have no idea,” I groaned back.

She came around the couch holding a bottle of water with a straw sticking out of it.  I had no idea where she even came up with a straw, but I let her hold my head up a bit as I took a drink.  She disappeared for a minute and then came back out to shove a couple of pills down my throat and make me take another drink.

“It won’t stay down,” I mumbled.

“Maybe,” she said, “but it’s better than nothing.  How long have you really been like this?”

Completely relentless in her questioning, she kept harping on it until I finally told her.

“Since yesterday morning.”

“Could be worse,” she mumbled.

Her hands grasped onto my bicep, and she helped me off the couch and into the bedroom.  Once we got there, I flopped down on the bed and went completely immobile.  I was actually pretty sure if I did move, it would be my last action.  The water and pills in my stomach felt like they were being dragged behind one of those circus shows with the chick on the horse chasing dogs or something.  Maybe it was dogs riding elephants – I wasn’t sure.  I just knew it was all threatening to come back up again.

“Do you have a thermometer?” Bridgett called out from the bathroom.

I couldn’t answer her, so I just moaned in response.  I only wanted her here to help me sleep, not to play nursemaid.  I might have told her that if I could have formed a coherent sentence without my head exploding.

“This is the cleanest medicine cabinet I have ever seen,” she was saying from the bathroom located just off the far side of the bedroom.  “It would be more useful if there was something in it beside a razor and an extra toothbrush.”

“It’s for you,” I mumbled.  “In case you forgot yours.”

She poked her head out of the bathroom and looked over at me.  I returned the gaze, but I couldn’t really focus on her.  She shook her head and placed her hands on her hips again.

“What am I going to do with you?” she asked rhetorically.

“Please lay down.”  Yes, I had resorted to begging.

With an overdramatic sigh, Bridgett climbed into bed with me.  My arms immediately wrapped around her, and I placed my head against her shoulder.  Even though I was currently going through an episode of feeling cold instead of hot, it feel good to have her cooler skin against my face.

Her hand trailed from my temple down my jaw line.  I didn’t open my eyes, but I could both hear and feel her long sigh as she wrapped an arm around my head.  My body seemed to melt into her, and I thought for a brief moment that nothing else could feel this welcoming.  A warm, heavy feeling came over me, and I wondered if this was how it felt to be on heroin.

Then I was asleep.

There were times when I knew she was waking me up to get me to take a drink or medicine or whatever.  I was pretty sure at one point I heard her take Odin out as well, but I couldn’t be sure.  There were also dreams – lots and lots of dreams.  Some were benign, but most were far from it.  They weren’t awful, though, and when I woke up, Bridgett would be there.  Usually she was sitting up in the bed with my head on her stomach or against her shoulder.  Sometimes she was reading one of my books, and other times she would be reaching down to scratch Odin’s head with one hand while she ran her fingers over my hair with the other.  One time she was asleep beside me when I woke up.

My head had been pounding and was especially achy on one side right near my cheek.  Reflexively, I reached up and found a hand there.  I pulled it down against my chest as I opened my eyes and looked into Bridgett’s sleeping face.

She was curled up next to me with her head pressed into the pillow slightly above where I lay.  Her face was relaxed in deep sleep, and her breathing slow and regular.  I reached out and touched her cheek, and the touch made her flinch from whatever dream was going on in her head.  I moved my arm up around her middle and pulled her against me, which seemed to settle her down.

I swallowed a couple of times, which made me wince from the pain in my dry throat.  I had to pee, and my head spun around as I tried to get myself out of the bed.  I stumbled towards the bathroom and ended up having to actually sit down on the seat with my boxers around my ankles because I couldn’t stand long enough to take a piss.

When I stumbled out of the bathroom, Bridgett was there to take me back to bed, give me some nasty tasting liquid medicine, and then tuck herself around me as I fell back to sleep.  The dreams came back, but they were foggy and muted.

Sand.  Constant, relentless sand.

I know there is no way I will ever enjoy a vacation at the beach again.

It’s in my nose and throat, making me cough all the time.  As if that isn’t bad enough, the meager food I am offered contains the shit as well.

I still eat it.  I’m far beyond being stubborn about taking anything from them.  My assumption is that they will kill me eventually – when they decide once and for all that I won’t tell them anything and that the U.S. government wasn’t going to give into any demands to get me back.

Trying to move, my shoulder cramps up painfully.  I can’t move enough to get it out of the position it has been in for weeks, and I think it’s possible it’s been dislocated.  The ache is so familiar; now I barely notice it.

A sound.

Footsteps in the sand off to my right.  I turn my blindfolded head towards the distraction, and open my mouth as foul-tasting water is poured into it.

Disoriented, sweaty, and confused, I woke with my head on a soft stomach and feminine scent all around me.  My head was pounding, but there was some comfort in the small hand running over the top of my head.  I recognized the scene immediately.

“Lia,” I mumbled as I tucked my head against her.

Her body went a little tense, and her hand stopped moving.  I realized how pissed off at me she must be and tightened my grip on her.

“I’m sorry I left like that.  I didn’t want to.”  I tried to turn and look at her, but the throbbing inside my temples forced my eyes closed and sent me back to unconsciousness.

“What the fuck?”

I hear the sound of a woman’s laugh all around me.

“I’ve always wanted to try this.  You were in the military – it’s just like the quarter test on the bed after you’ve made it up.

“What, on my ass?”

“Exactly!”

The giggles are back, and they join my own laughter as Lia flings a quarter at my ass over and over again.  Every time she misses, it clangs on the floor.

“I can’t find it!” she calls out.

I roll over to help her look, but the wooden floor of the cabin has turned to sand.  As my hand reaches into the dry grains, I feel the round, metal object but can’t quite reach it with my fingers.  I push to the side of the bed but lose my balance and fall.  Sand fills my mouth…

When I woke, I really had no idea how long I had been out – only that Bridgett was still there with me.  I recognized her scent immediately and found it comforting.  I didn’t even bother to open my eyes.  My fingers twitched slightly against her side, and I pushed my nose into the skin of her neck.

Her soft voice curled into my ears.  The sound was far away, muted and windy-sounding.  After a minute or so, the words took form and began to make sense.

“I can’t really do that…I would have to wake him up…”

My eyes opened a crack to see her with one of those cheap flip-phones held to her ear.  Her expression was worried, and her fingers tensed minutely against the device as she spoke softly into it.

“You’ll have to take my word for it,” she continued.  There was tightness around the edge of her mouth.  “I don’t know if…no, Mel, he’s just sleeping…he’s been using me pretty hard.”

She shifted a little, and her hand came up to the back of my head.  Her fingers moved through my hair.

“No, I can’t.  I really don’t think he wants people knowing where he lives…”

I ran a hand up the side of her body as I stretched and yawned.  For the first time in a long time, my head was not pounding so hard that I couldn’t hear anything in my ears outside of my own heartbeat.

“Is that your pimp?” I mumbled against her skin.

Bridgett’s head turned to look at me, her eyes widened, and she nodded once.  Her teeth bit into her lower lip as she watched me.  I held out my hand, palm up, but she just continued to look at me and not move.

“Give me the phone,” I eventually said.  I could still hear the pimp’s muffled voice coming from the phone in her hand.

“Okay, Mel,” she said quietly, “he’s awake, and he says he wants to talk to you.”

She moved the phone away from her head and out towards me as her teeth continued to try to pierce her lip.  With an exaggerated sigh, I took it from her and held it close, but not too close, to my mouth.

“What’s the asshole’s name?” I asked loud enough for him to hear through the speaker.

“Um…” Bridgett cleared her throat.  “Mel…um…Melvin.”

I placed the phone against the side of my face.  The device felt hot, like she had been talking to him for a long time.

“Melvin, this is Evan Arden,” I said smoothly and emotionlessly.  My throat was still dry, and I hoped I wouldn’t actually break into a coughing fit, which definitely wouldn’t help with the reputation.  “Is there some kind of problem?”

“Uh-uh-um…” he stammered.

“Excuse me?” I said in the same deadpan voice.  I swallowed a couple of times to coat my throat in moisture.

“I was just checking up on my bitch,” the pimp said with a little more confidence.  “She’s been gone for some time, and–”

“Melvin,” I interrupted, “did one of my guys pick her up and say he was bringing her to me?”

“Uh…yes.  Yes he did.”

“Do you think if I kept your property for an extended period of time, or returned it damaged, that I would refuse to compensate you for that loss?”

There was a long pause before he answered.  I had the feeling he was choosing his words pretty carefully at this point.

“Um…you…ah, no, I never thought you’d do that,” he said.  “You’ve always been a good customer.”

“Do you think I’m somehow not good for the money all of a sudden?”

“No!  No, man – not at all!”

“Do you think that I want to be disturbed right at this time?” I asked.

“Uh…no…”

“Do you think calling your whore and harassing her when she’s with me is in your best interest?”

“No,” he replied softly.  “No, sir.”

“Then why are you calling and interfering with the business of my dick?”

“Sorry, um…”

“Don’t call again,” I said.  “I’ll bring your bitch back when I feel like it.”

The phone closed with a click, and I tossed it on the floor before I wrapped my arm back around Bridgett and nestled against her soft body.  That warm, comfortable feeling was all around me, and I didn’t want it getting chased away by being pissed off at her troll of a pimp.

She said nothing as I dozed a little but couldn’t seem to actually get back to sleep.  My hip hurt, and I had the feeling I had been lying like that for way too long.  I grumbled as I rolled to my back and stared at the ceiling.

“Do you want to try to drink something?” Bridgett asked.

“Not really.”

“You should.”

“Just thinking about it makes my stomach churn,” I told her.

Again, she was relentless and eventually convinced me to drink from a bottle of water.  After a few minutes, she was convinced it wasn’t coming back up and made me drink some more.  With the partially empty bottle sitting on the nightstand, she sat close to me on the edge of the bed as her fingers traced the side of my face.

“You don’t feel as warm,” she commented.  “Will you let me take your temperature?”

I shook my head.

“Come on,” she coaxed, “we’ve done this before.”

“We have?”  The next thing I knew, there was a thermometer in my mouth.  I didn’t even recall owning one, but it was suddenly under my tongue and going beep a minute later.

“Normal,” Bridgett announced as she beamed at me like I had just won a fucking triathlon.  “That’s good!  Do you feel better?”

“I feel like I’ve been run over by a tank,” I replied honestly.  I closed my eyes and tried to bury my head against the side of her body.  I was tempted to go back to sleep, but the ache in my hip wasn’t going to let me.

As I lay there and contemplated the idea that I just might survive this shit after all, Bridgett’s fingers moved up my back and into my hair again.  They traveled down my cheek and over my jaw.  There was several days’ worth of growth on my face, which I absolutely fucking hated.

“I should get a shower and shave,” I announced, but the actual idea of standing up to get to the bathroom was less appealing than the idea of having my body magically groom itself without having to move.

Someone should invent that.

Bridgett’s fingers ran the opposite way up my cheek, which made sounds like sandpaper over a two-by-four, and I grumbled again.

“I think it’s kind of hot.” Bridgett giggled.

“I hate having a scratchy face,” I replied.  “No stubble in the Marines.  It’s worse than needing a haircut.”

“You really seem to have liked being in the military,” Bridgett said.

“Yeah, I guess,” I replied with a slight shrug.

“So why did you leave?”

I should have ignored her or told her to just shut up, just like I did with anyone who asked me about that shit.  Maybe it was because I still wasn’t in my right mind or something, but for some reason I opened up my mouth.  I went against all my good sense and actually answered her question honestly.

“I was…discharged,” I told her.  I closed my eyes and look a long breath through my nose.  It was already more than most people knew, and I still had a strange impulse to tell her more.

“You didn’t want to leave,” she finally said softly.

I wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement.

“Not really,” I said.  “I had been in the desert a long time.  They just…”

My chest rose and fell with another deep breath as my fingers tensed against her hip.  Visions from my dreams came back into my head, causing the back of my neck to sweat.

“They just decided after what I had been through that I was no longer fit to serve.”

“I’m fine, sir.”

“No, son – I don’t think you are.”

“I’m a Marine,” I remind him.  “I’m perfectly fine.”

A hand on my shoulder that is supposed to be comforting isn’t.

“No one expects you to just walk away from that unscathed, Evan.  Consider it early retirement for a job well done.”

Fingers over my cheek again brought me back to the present.  Another long, drawn-out pause ensued until Bridgett finally asked in a whisper I could barely hear, like she thought I might kill her for uttering the words.

“What did you go through?”

I felt her body still beside me.  She didn’t quite go tense, but I could tell she was just waiting.  She didn’t know what she was waiting for, but she knew there was more, and she was going to try to out-patience me, and I let her.  I never should have – I never should have let her get as close as she did.  I never should have said anything at all to her.

It could only end in tears.

Or blood.

“I was a POW,” I finally told her.  “I was captured and held for a year and a half somewhere in the Middle East – Iraq, Afghanistan, or possibly both.  I couldn’t really tell, and the people who did it weren’t exactly forthcoming with a lot of information.  Once I was found and brought back to the States, the Colonel didn’t think I was fit for the military anymore.”

“You were…captured?”

I could barely hear her words, but I knew what she was saying – I’d heard similar reactions many times.  It was part of the reason why I didn’t talk about it.  It was everyone’s initial reaction – the disbelief that seemed to turn itself to some sort of plea to be told it was all a sick joke.

Like anyone would joke about that shit.

“The rest of my unit was killed a mile from our camp,” I told her.  “Since I was the only officer, they figured I must have information, so I was taken prisoner and tortured for eighteen months.”

“Oh my God,” she whispered under her breath.

“Don’t do that,” I growled.  I turned my eyes on her and glared.  “It was years ago.  I don’t want that shit from you, got it?  That’s just why I left – they said after all of that, the doctors didn’t think I was fit for combat any more, and I didn’t want some fucking desk job, so I was discharged.”

My head was pounding again, and my chest ached with the labor of breathing.  Aside from that, I still felt absolutely grimy, and talk of what had happened to me just made me think of sweat, sand, and dust.

“I need a shower,” I muttered as I tried to push myself back out of bed.

As soon as my feet hit the floor, I got dizzy and stumbled.  I didn’t quite fall, but I had to put the palm of my hand on the mattress to keep the floor from coming right up to my face.

Bridgett practically had to walk me all the way to the bathroom.  Once I was there, the dizziness left just long enough for me to take a piss in private.  I turned on the shower but immediately starting cussing the damn thing out when I couldn’t get the temperature right.

“How about I help you?”

Bridgett opened the door and moved up beside me.  She reached around, adjusted the water, stripped, and then got in with me.

“I need to shave first,” I told her as she reached for the bottle of shampoo.

She looked up to my face.

“I’m not sure I could do that for you.”

“I can do it.”  I wasn’t sure, but it was going to drive me crazy if I didn’t.  She got the razor for me and helped me lather up my face, and then I used the little round mirror in the shower to make sure I didn’t miss anywhere.

I felt a thousand times better.

“We’re going to have to make this quick,’ Bridgett said when I was done.  “You look like you’re going to pass out.  Just lean against the tiles.”

I was too weak to argue with her.

The tiles were cold on my back, but the water and Bridgett’s hands were warm.  She started with a small handful of shampoo, and I had to lean forward a bit so she could reach around my head and wash my hair.  Her fingers massaged my scalp, and I didn’t want to think about how good it felt.

She moved down my neck to my shoulders, filling her hands with liquid body-wash and coating my skin in lather.  She washed my chest, my stomach, and down my legs.  My eyes closed as she ran her hands all over me, and my cock remembered the way she had touched me in the past.

With my eyes opened just a slit, I watched her mouth move close to the head of my cock as she washed my feet and legs.  As my body reacted to her on her knees in front of me, Bridgett glanced up at me – her look questioning.

I shook my head.

“I’d just fall over,” I informed her, and she nodded.

Her hands still ran over me, cleaned me from top to bottom, and I made a mental note to bring her back in here when I was healthy again.  Images of her sucking my cock or with her back up against the tiles floated around in my dizzy head until she pulled me into the water, rinsed and dried me, and then hauled me back to bed, naked.

By the time she got herself dried off, I was already asleep.

* * * * *

The next morning I was markedly better.  I even took Odin out for a quick trip to the grassy area of Lake Shore East Park.  It ended up being all I was up for, but I figured it was still progress.  The air was warm for the end of February, and after I brought Odin back up to the apartment, I went out on the balcony and looked over at the lake.

“You have such a beautiful view up here,” Bridgett said as she came up behind me.  She wrapped her arms around my waist and placed her head against my shoulder.  “Is that Millennium Park over there?”

She pointed off to the south.

“Yep,” I replied.

“It’s on my list of places to visit,” she said quietly.

“Visit?”

“Yeah, when I first moved here I had this big long list of places I wanted to see – the Art Institute, the Shedd Aquarium – all those places.  I haven’t been to many yet.”

“What about The Bean?”

Bridgett snickered.

“Never been there,” she said with the emphasis on the pun, which I ignored.

“What do you mean you’ve never been to The Bean?”

Bridgett shrugged.

“I only moved here a few months ago,” she said.  “I haven’t exactly had a lot of time to check out the city.  It was always part of the plan, but then again – there are a lot of things I had planned that didn’t happen.  Ultimately, I have to make a living, and that pretty much takes up all my time.  I never got around to doing any sightseeing.”

“So what places in the city have you gone to?” I asked.

“A friend took me up to the Observatory when I first arrived,” she said.  “I’ve been out to Navy Pier and went to the area where all the museums are but never actually saw the exhibits.  I was just applying for jobs.”

“Why didn’t you go work at one of those places?”

“I didn’t get hired,” she shrugged.

I looked over to her and carefully observed her posture as she looked out over the balcony rail, obviously not actually looking at anything outside of her own mind.  I watched her hidden memories move around in her head as her tears formed in the corners of her eyes but wouldn’t fall from her lashes.

She’d come here – from where? – looking for something new, something better.  So many people did.  She was actually far luckier than a lot of those who ended up homeless and strung out on the street.  Not that she was in the best of places, of course, but I had seen far worse.  She had a good head on her shoulders, and had found a practical way she could get by.  It was far from the ideal, but there were far worse options.

Part of me wanted to keep asking questions – to pry into her background, her history, and get to know her better.  The rest of me knew that was a really, really bad idea.

This was just fucking.

“You should see The Bean,” I finally said as I turned to go back inside.

There was just no way she could live in Chicago without seeing The Bean.